Page 37 of Movers and Fakers

My brows rise. “Alone, huh?”

She smacks my chest and tips her head back to glare at me. Cute. She’s unbelievably cute, and she’d hate it if I said so right now.

“Don’t twist my words, Prince Charming.”

I grin and tuck a strand of hair that escaped from her low ponytail back.

“Apologies, Princess. I couldn’t resist.”

Her blue eyes roll.

“You ruined my method of pretending no one was here,” she grumbles as she glances around at our audience. They avert their gazes in far-from-subtle ways.

“I’m happy to continue being your human shield,” I say, and I mean it. Whatever keeps her in my arms. “But, you should know, they’re staring because they’re jealous.”

She gives me a flat look. “Because I’m with you?”

“Well …” She hits me again and I laugh. “I’m kidding. The women are jealous because you look better in sweats than they do in thousand-dollar dresses,” I say quietly, and enjoy the way her skin blooms pink. “And the guys—as evidenced by Donovan the idiot—all wish you were on their arm.”

Her ponytail sways as she shakes her head.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” I argue. “People might talk bad about you—that does come with the spotlight. But they’re also going to look to you. I’d bet all the money from tonight’s fight that a few girls will show up in sweatpants next week.”

Her eyes widen. “Because of me?”

“Everyone wants someone to tell them what’s popular, what will make them popular,” I explain, and her nose wrinkles in distaste.

“Rosewood!” a voice calls out. “Fight in ten, man.”

“That’s my cue,” I say, and press a kiss to her forehead. “After I win, we’ll leave.”

I should probably hold back more, but it feels easy with her. I’ve kissed other women, but I’ve never wanted to be so close to someone before.

“Then win fast,” she says, and I laugh.

“I have to give people a show, or else they won’t come back.”

I give her a parting wink and savor the almost smile on her lips before turning and heading to the area designated for fighters to change and prepare for a fight. Usually, I like to take some time to block everything out before a fight. But it was worth sacrificing that to get more time with Aurora. I slip behind the curtain and head to my bag. The guy I’m fighting, Jordan, is sitting on a bench with headphones over his ears, staring at the ground.

There’s another guy back here, Martinez, who was supposed to fight Donovan. I rake a hand through my hair. I was too busy resisting the urge to kill Donovan to think about how it would mess up the fight schedule. An idea comes to mind and I grin.

“Martinez, Jordan,” I call out. Their heads snap up in unison. Jordan takes off his headphones. “Change of plans. You two fight first. Whoever wins fights me.”

They share a look of confusion but give their approval.

I push out of the curtain again and motion to Carson, who’s chatting up a girl at the bar top. He throws back his drink, then saunters over.

“What’s up, boss?”

“Need you to announce a new schedule …”

I explain the plan to him, then head back over to Aurora, who looks only marginally better than earlier.

She hates this life. She wouldn’t want to be with me for real, based on this alone.

The thought makes my chest tight, and I can’t figure out why. I’ve never cared about something like this before. I shake off the odd feeling and grin at my fake girlfriend.