Page 40 of The Knockout Rule

She slumped on her seat.

People around them pointed and whispered as Eric walked over. He stopped at their table and rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t want to intrude if you’re…”

His eyes darted between them, and Isla wanted to shout NO. Confess that she’d lied and there would never be anything going on between her and Preston Church. She wanted to climb Eric like a tree, not his manager. Yank off his clothes and ride him until he growled her name in ten languages. She shoved a bite of toast in her mouth and chewed.

“You’re not intruding,” Preston said. “I’m just waiting on Isla to agree to go on a date with me.”

She choked on her toast and struggled to swallow. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s what the ladies tell me. Right, Brick?” He pulled out a chair from the table and motioned for Eric to sit.

The big man obliged. His knee touched hers under the diner-style table. He didn’t glance at her, but she clenched her thighs.

“Preston’s as loyal as they come,” Eric said. “You two should go out.”

There was no hesitation in his voice. No questioning look shot to Isla, and she felt…hurt. Resentful, almost. Both of which were relationship feelings, more proof the worst thing of things had happened: she liked Eric on a deeper, intimate level. She could feel it—how badly she wanted him to want her. For him to care. These traitorous feelings were no doubt his big brain’s fault. The man’s overdeveloped organ had tipped the scales, his language knowledge and poetry talk casting her under his smarty-pants spell. A freaking boxer.

Her only option was to train her mind to plant him firmly in a professional zone. There would be no more friendly hanging out. No fantastic hugs. She wouldn’t ask about his language studies or discuss poetry with him again. He likely wouldn’t notice or care. He’d been the one to suggest the friend boundary last night. He was pushing her to date Preston now.

Which was good. Smart even. If her friend Eric thought Preston was worth dating, maybe that poem in the bar hadn’t been a one off. Maybe Preston’s time with Eric had brought out Preston’s intellectual leanings.

The two men were watching the car racing on TV.

She chugged some water and wiped her mouth. “I’ll go out with you,” she told Preston.

They both swiveled toward her. Preston positively beamed. Eric looked...uninterested, like he was bored. Sinking disappointment took her belly for another drop.

“Yep.” She nodded so quickly her neck hurt. “Tonight works. Or tomorrow.”

“Tonight, it is.” Preston leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. “I’ll pick you up at your door at eight.”

The baby screamed. Isla shuffled through her purse, desperate to find her wallet and pay for this meal. Get away and regroup before her physio session. Eric was talking to the table beside them, low tones she couldn’t decipher. By the time she found her cash, he had that baby in his arms, nestled against his man-chest, as he cooed in a foreign language.

Her ovaries exploded. Along with her heart.

His guttural words sounded Russian, low and gravelly. The kid quit crying, of course. She knew the power of his hugs. Lord help me. People in the restaurant held up their phones, snapping shots of the adorable scene. Isla didn’t need a photo to burn that heart-melting image into her mind.

She slapped her money on the table and gathered her things in a rush, making vague utterances about why she had to bolt. This date with Preston would be wonderful. Really great. Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic. She’d be open-minded and give him a real chance to win her over. She’d kick these unwanted feelings for Eric cold turkey like the bad habit they were.

* * *

Eric watched Isla rush out, unsure what had set her off this time. He focused on the baby in his arms, rocked him until he settled. He’d loved holding Asher and Eliza after they’d been born. So tiny and fragile, innocent and trusting. He smiled at the kid’s parents and passed the little peanut back. “He’s beautiful,” he told them.

“We’re huge fans,” the father said. “Mind signing this?”

The man held out a napkin and pen. Eric obliged and passed it all back, a final smile aimed at their now-sleeping son. “Have a great day.”

He sat back down with Preston, who was scowling at him. “You can’t do stuff like that.”

Eric sipped his water and crunched an ice cube. “Like what?”

“Holding a baby—‘he’s beautiful, have a great day.’ In public you’ve got to maintain your persona.”

Eric’s neck bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with being kind to a family and their child.”

“There is when half the restaurant snapped photos of it.” Preston pushed his empty coffee cup aside. “We’ve spent thousands on PR for a reason. Part of why you were booked for this fight was because of your image.”

And the fact that Eric was willing to sign their shitty contract.