Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(94)

“Your eye’s starting to swell up,” she says quietly.

I gently prod the eye in question. It does feel a little puffy, a little sore. “He caught me a good one there.”

“Yeah. It was a hard fight.” She hesitates, as if afraid she might have inadvertently insulted me. “I mean…it looked like it from where I was.”

I’m willing to agree with her though. “You’re not wrong. That guy knew his shit. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to let your pops down again.”

She nods. I wonder if she knows anything about how her father sets up the fights—how he decides when I’m supposed to win and when I’m supposed to lose. How he makes sure the right man is in the ring across from me. It’s a complicated process, I know. And, in the long run, it pays for the pretty clothes she’s wearing, the nice food I’m about to buy for her. My stomach twists a little, nauseated. This is no fucking way for a man to live. It’s like Gladiator. I’m basically just a slave.

“Well, you didn’t let him down.” Her smile looks genuine. She seems off-kilter, though, like something’s bothering her. I wonder if I should ask. Instead, I pick up the menu. Not like I need to. I’ve been here before, and I always order the same thing. Meat. Lots of it. And maybe a little pasta.

Things are quiet for a bit, verging on awkward. Great. So we can fuck nine ways to Sunday, but we can’t have a conversation? I’m not sure why that bothers me. Not that it matters. Not like having a conversation is high on our priority list. A waiter comes by, brings my usual bottle of wine and jots down my order, and then asks Jess what she wants. She orders one of those barely food things—pasta with vegetables and a salad. No meat. Pointless, I think, like decaffeinated coffee.

On the other hand, if it keeps her looking like that…

She must sense the way I’m scraping my eyes over her tits, because she gives me a look as the waiter departs. “Is there a problem?”

I grin. “Oh no. Not at all.” I lean forward. “I was just thinking how good your tits look right now.”

“Nice.” Her tone isn’t impressed, but her lips curve ever so slightly.

I just chuckle at her. “So. What have you been up to lately? Anything interesting?” I might as well act like I care as long as she’s here, right?

It seems like an innocent, polite sort of question, but her hands come together in front of her on the table, her fingers tangling with one another, and her shoulders go a little tight. Not innocent at all. And I was right. Something’s bugging her.

“I’ve been busy. Studying mostly.”

“Oh?” I take a drink of the wine and it slides hot into my stomach. That’s going to make me horny. Not that I’m not already horny. I might want to be careful with that tonight though. I wonder how the night might shape up. Getting Jessica off somewhere I can get her naked might be a little trickier than it has been in the past.

I shake my head and remind myself of what we’re talking about. “Studying?” I repeat. “What are you studying?”

She shakes her head a little. “It doesn’t matter.”

Holy fuck, she’s about to cry.

I see tears along the edges of her eyes. I reach out to lay a hand over hers, and she looks up into my face. Yes. She’s trying so hard not to cry. “What’s wrong, Jess?” I’m surprised at the way my voice sounds—gentle, concerned. And my chest hurts a little. The asshole in the ring must have hit me there.

“It’s nothing. Really.”

“No. Tell me.”

She takes a shuddery breath and uses the back of one finger to shove tears away from her eye. “Dammit,” she mutters, and then she’s quiet for a second before she goes on. “I’m trying to get into UCLA to get a Master’s degree. I want to be a PA.”

“PA?”

“Physician’s assistant.”

“Ah.” I laugh. “I should know that—I see enough doctors.”

I’m happy when she laughs back. Maybe she’s lightening up a little. I hope so.

“Anyway, it’s an advanced degree, and I need to take some classes before I can qualify, so I’m doing some classes online.”

“That’s cool.” It is cool. I have to say, I admire anybody who works to better themselves like that. God knows I never had the chance. Straight from my last foster home into my current career, if you want to call it that. Fighting was the only thing that kept me out of juvie in my teenage years, I’m pretty sure. Although it nearly got me into juvie once or twice, but that’s another story. “Good for you.”