A whiff of rank body odor hit her full force, and Nalah shrank further into her seat, wrapping her coat around her in a doomed-to-fail bid for invisibility. A couple of guys eyed her with interest, their leers and comments growing louder with each additional fight, each additional drink. Not that she couldn’t put them in their place if necessary, but who needed yet another level of annoyance?
And then a different sensation, a charged energy raced over the crowd. Everyone quieted, their gazes and rapt attention on the fighting cage in the front. Nalah straightened and looked at the ring.
He was in the cage, bigger now than the last time she’d seen him – any gangliness of body or baby fat in the face gone from this version. Here was sculpted muscle and hard edges as he walked the ring, not showboating to the crowd but projecting his confidence, his superiority all the same. No shirt, only worn light-denim jeans, scuffed black boots, and a chunky silver-linked bracelet around his wrist.
She couldn’t see his eyes from this distance, but the dark brown hair was shorter, a bit spikier on top rather than the mop from her memory, and his skin was the same sun-warmed brown it always was. She had placed her hand on that chest, marveled at the firm muscle and enjoyed the contrast of their skin, how he was a few shades lighter than she. The melding of tones looked perfect together.
More noise signaled another man entering the ring – tall and blacker than she was, bigger than his opponent but nowhere near the same presence. The crowd burst forth with an equal amount of cheers and boos at this entrance, as well as quite a few catcalls.
“Destroy the King!”
“I’m going to spit on your grave, you dumb fuck!”
“Beat him and make me some money!”
The announcer came forth, a short, fat man with a too-tight T-shirt, strutting around like he thought he had the same build as the fighters. Maybe once upon a time, but that time was now long ago. He started to talk, too high of a voice, but before she could even begin to focus on the words his head shot up, the direction of his gaze coming straight at her.
She ducked. No. No, no. This wasn’t…She wasn’t ready to face him, was still entertaining daydreams of telling Fallon to stick Tenro somewhere impossible. Besides, there was still the smallest of chances this assignment wouldn’t be necessary. She was here to watch him fight and go back to her apartment and completely and absolutely not talk to him.
The crowd was on its feet, upping the energy with smack talk while last-minute bets were made hand over fist.
She shouldn’t have come. She wasn’t ready yet. She’d never be ready, but now was stupid, when there was still a chance she wouldn’t need to convince him.
Time to go.
She rose from the seat, keeping her body low and tight to hide from that damned gaze of his. Growing up, she had always been exposed before his eyes, secrets laid bare and willpower gone, and the fire that lived in his eyes danced because the bastard knew it. When she was a child the fire had an affectionate, familial warmth, and then she got older and the cast changed, hunger and desire replacing unassuming and comfortable. Now was a different time, and she was a different woman, older, harder, but still, she didn’t want to test if she was immune to his eyes.
A meaty hand wrapped around her wrist. “Hey little thing, where ya goin?” a slightly slurred voice asked, and dammit, she really wasn’t in the mood.
She kept her voice even, the same way she always spoke to drunks. “Need to use the bathroom. Can you watch my seat for me?”
The hand pulled her toward its owner, a middle-aged man who was all potbelly and faded glory, the type she’d seen thousands of times at the fights. “Nah, you don’t need to leave now. How bout after this match we go ta my place? You can use anything you want there.”
“I really do have to leave unless you want a big mess. Can you let me go?”
“Told ya no.” His voice got determined, mean, and Nalah glanced around for anything she could use as a weapon.
It was too easy. A twist of her arm broke his grasp and in quick turn she had his arm pinned behind his back. A jerk upwards wrenched his arm enough that he yelled in pain, falling away from her and onto his knees.
People turned at the man’s cry and took in the scene, though no one stepped forward to help. A part in the crowd gave her a clear view of the ring, and he stared at her, eyes burning bright and as intense as she had ever seen.
Five years fell away, and it might as well have been yesterday when she saw him last. The sweat that beaded off him had the same effect it always had, the desire to nuzzle into him, the desire to stick out her tongue and follow each individual droplet down to wherever it led.