Page 94 of The Knockout Rule
She was an anxious mess.
His eyes snapped back up. “The third reason I quit boxing is because I fell in love with the most beautiful, smart, funny, strong woman I’ve ever met. Through her I learned love is a language I didn’t understand—the nuance of smiles and touches. How much power every action holds. Through her I learned I deserved more. She’s why I had the courage to make a change. I unfortunately lost her in the process of getting here, and I desperately want her back.”
A knock sounded on Isla’s door. The sound wasn’t as loud as her pounding heart. No one had ever said such profoundly romantic things about her before, but of course Eric would: the brilliant linguist who’d turned her world upside down.
Another knock rang out.
She shot a look at her door. The interviewer was talking. Isla had missed what she’d said. Isla was still struggling to absorb all Eric had said.
Through him, her father had come out publicly about his illness. Not directing the focus toward the harm boxing caused. He was using his name to raise money for his disease. An illness that affected millions of people, most of them non-boxers. And Eric was retiring.
She still worried this was like her father all over again, one minute retired, the next announcing his return to the ring. But her father had never planned for his future during his retirement. He’d spent money and moped around and had created his own ass-groove in the couch. This was Eric making a public declaration about his studies and future plans: assistant coaching, fundraising, studying. He was telling the world he loved Isla, even though he hadn’t used her name.
The interviewer was still talking, and when the camera panned back to Eric, the person at her door knocked again. Isla growled and hit pause, thankful for DVR. There was no way she’d miss Eric’s interview. Not when he was fidgety and nervous about what he’d been about to say.
“Let me check who that is,” she told Heather as she stood. Her head swam slightly from the boob-shot and wine and Eric’s revelations. Seeing his face again, even on a TV screen, added an extra spin to her belly. When her focus cleared, she marched to the stupid door and the stupid person interrupting the moment.
One look through the peephole had her clutching her chest. “It’s him.” Not a stupid person. The smartest man she knew. Looming large in her hallway.
“The cunni-linguist?” Heather asked.
“Yeah,” Isla whispered, scared any volume would send this mirage away.
Eric was here. At her apartment.
Heather released a giddy laugh. “He’s totally here to get you back. The bird should be ready. I’ll take it out of the oven and leave it for you two to enjoy.”
Isla couldn’t look away from the door. Everything was happening so fast she was struggling to keep up. Hand still pressed over her pounding heart, she faced Heather. “I should trust him, right? Believe he’s done with boxing for good?”
Heather paused at the kitchen entrance. “I can’t tell you what to do, but that man’s making major life changes. I’m guessing the only reason he’d be this public about it is to prove himself to you. Either way, you need to open the door. I’ll hide in the kitchen, then sneak out.” She blew Isla a kiss and hightailed it into the kitchen.
Isla ran her shaky hands over her hair, glanced down at her yoga pants and tank top. Sad, mopey attire. There was no changing now. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to let Eric in.
* * *
Eric stood in front of Isla’s door, reliving his awkward teen years in every nervous breath. He wiped his damp palms on his jeans. Tried to swallow through the dryness in his mouth.
He’d never been this anxious to speak to a woman. Maybe it was the stretch of time. He hadn’t seen Isla in three months. They’d gone from seeing each other twice a day, with added sleepovers and room service dinner dates during their last few weeks together. Not the last week, when he’d been in training mode. But before then, she’d been part of his every day and night, and he couldn’t believe how much he missed her. The intensity often flattened him with its ferocity.
If everything had gone to plan, she was behind this door, watching his taped interview. Graham had said she’d planned to be home, that he’d text her and tell her to turn the program on. There were no guarantees, though. She could be out or napping or hadn’t bothered checking her phone. She might not have heard Eric’s public declaration and his very important third reason for quitting boxing.
He raised his fist to knock again, but the door opened. The second he saw her, his stomach flipped.
“Hey,” she said. One soft sound that hit him in his heart.
“Hey,” was all he managed back.
Her dark eyes had a glow to them. So damn beautiful. Her gorgeous lips were slightly parted as she stared up at him with a look of…
He wasn’t sure how to describe her expression. A cross between wonder and surprise and longing? He really hoped he saw longing.
She was in yoga pants and a light blue tank top. The thin fabric clung to her breasts and flat stomach. His mouth dried more, and he suddenly couldn’t speak. He wasn’t sure if he should get on his knees and beg her to take him back, or if he should follow his body’s urge to kiss her until neither of them remembered the past three months.
Unsure what to do, he glanced past her, into her small apartment. All the time they’d spent together, they hadn’t seen each other’s homes. He was curious, wanted to catalogue every inch of her space, but he saw her dining table, which was set for two. He noticed the smells. Meat roasting in an oven. Fancy meal smells. Having-a-date smells. Eric’s gut twisted.
He should have known a woman like Isla wouldn’t stay single. When she’d first installed that dating app, it had pinged ceaselessly with matches, men who’d wanted to take her out. Of course he’d missed his chance. He’d screwed up and waited too long and now Isla was seeing someone else.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, stepping back. “You obviously have a date. I shouldn’t have come.” Shouldn’t have made an ass of himself, when she’d clearly moved on.
