Page 19 of On the Ropes
“Never?”
“Never,” I said.
She studied me over the salted rim of her glass. My shoulder blades rippled with restrained motion. Having Tabitha Tyler across the table from me, legs touching mine, tempting me into drinking alcohol with her, was urging me toward actions I’d never have the courage to take. To place my lips and tongue where hers had been. To enjoy the tart lime, the burn of tequila, to overindulge because it didn’t always have to mean anything.
“Mr. Machine?”
I blinked, muscles flexing in response to the husky tone of her voice. “You go ahead and have the whole thing. Thank you for the offer though.”
She held my gaze. “No getting a little wild for you, then?”
I cut my attention to my phone. “It’s now thirty minutes past my bedtime. You’re seeing me at my most spontaneous.”
She reached for my wrist. “It’s truly an honor to witness this debauchery. I only hope being seen with you while you’re so clearly out of control doesn’t besmirch my innocent and angelic reputation around here.”
I chuckled softly and looked away, sure she was a fever dream. But when I let my eyes rise back up, there she was—beautiful, happy, and very real.
“Tabitha,” I said.
She was knocking her drink back. “What’s up?”
“I’m not a boxer anymore.” I scratched the back of my head. “My workouts are grueling, but I’m not…training. I retired three years ago. I’m just Dean now.”
She placed her glass down gently. Licked her lips. “When we were in school, I thought just Dean was pretty awesome. Did you retire for good reasons or hard reasons?”
My knee jumped up and down beneath the table. No one ever asked me that. “Hard reasons.”
“Well, that sucks.”
Her candor startled a smile from me. “You’re from here. You can imagine…” I waved my hand around me.
“The city of brotherly love does not, in fact, love any of its athletes,” she said. “Maybe I should be going around scowling on your behalf instead. Or I can use the pepper spray I carry. That works just as well, if not better.”
I turned my attention to the giant TV to give my brain a second to catch up. In school, the nicer Tabitha was to me, the more nervous I got, stammering through one-word answers to her friendly questions. But while she was off filming movies or whatever, I was stuck in a fucking rut, hanging around the neighborhood bar with nothin’ to show for it.
I wasn’t embarrassed by my injury or my decision to retire. I was embarrassed because I wasn’t doing shit and I knew it.
“It’s all fine though,” I said, hoping I sounded casual and not like I was totally lying. “It was a great career while it lasted. I’m happy.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m so glad to hear it. Am I embarrassing myself if I admit that I’ve never seen you compete before? Like seen any of your videos or anything?”
I kept my face impassive. “Wait. You’re not my biggest fan?”
“Biggest fan?”
“That’s what I heard around the block.”
She went still. “How is that possible? I don’t…really…even…watch sports?”
I sniffed. “Your dad told me you never missed a match. Used to make me feel proud, knowin’ you were out there, watching me. That I had a hometown fan who believed in me.”
Those gorgeous eyes went wide as saucers. “My dad said what?”
I stayed silent.
Her mouth scrunched up to the side. “I’m so sorry, there must be some mistake. Are you mad? Please don’t be mad. I’ll go home and watch them all on YouTube. I don’t know what my dad was talking about. You know, he’s over the grill all day at the diner and there’s, like, a lot of fumes and stuff. Maybe it’s affecting his memory? Oh my God this is next-level awkward.”
I managed not to smile at her rambling, but just barely. She was adorable. A word I never used. But I did maintain eye contact until she realized what I was doing. Dropping her face into her hands, she laughed, the sound muffled. Then she fluttered her fingers to her red cheeks.
