“The embarrassing thing will be if they aren’t too big.” She picks them up and disappears into her bedroom.
I check my emails on my phone for a minute and then Nikki walks out of her bedroom wearing my gray sweatpants that are rolled up at the bottom more than a few times. “They’ll work.”
She sits on the couch and I realize—this is what I want. Someone to share my time with. I’m usually surrounded by people. Vince, the trainers, cooks, other fighters, you name it. But I wouldn’t mind someone being here because they want to be here, not because I’m paying them.
Then again, if I think hard about it, Nikki’s only here because I swindled a deal with her.
The knock at the door means the food is here. Perfect timing.
I answer the door and two guys bring in two trays of food on carts. I ask if they’ll put them on the coffee table in the living area, and I sign the bill and they leave.
Nikki leans forward and removes the lid off one of the plates. “Potato skins!”
“I knew you didn’t eat enough at dinner.” I sit and take the lids off all the platters. There isn’t much nutrition in front of us, but I’ll suffer the consequences tomorrow.
“That dress didn’t leave me any room.” She eats another bite while knocking a straw packaged in paper on the table to get it loose to put in her water.
I sit back and watch her enjoying herself, but she notices.
“Why aren’t you eating?” She chokes down the rest of her bite and covers her mouth with a napkin.
“I am.” I slide to the edge of the couch. “How about we get to know one another?”
She grabs a nacho and dips it in salsa. “What do you have in mind?”
“If we’re gonna keep up the charade of our marriage, I need to know some important things.”
That grabs her attention. “True.” Sitting back on the couch, she brings the plate of nacho chips to her lap. “You go first.”
“Favorite color?” I grab a carrot off the veggie platter.
“Seriously? I’m pigging out on nachos and potato skins and you’re going to graze vegetables like a rabbit?” She reaches for another potato skin. “Good thing we’re already married.”
I laugh. “I’m still full from dinner. If you want more, let me know. I’ll call room service again.”
She sticks out her tongue at me then makes a show of biting into the potato skin.
“So, favorite color?”
“Black.”
“Black?” I ask.
“Just kidding. Red.”
“The color of love? I thought you didn’t believe in love?” I take a sip from my water.
“Why do you say that?”
“Am I wrong?” I’m probably venturing into territory I shouldn’t. Maybe I should’ve waited to ask her such a deep question, but in order for me to figure out how to win her over, I have to know what I’m up against. She’s already made it pretty clear she’s not a big believer in marriage.
“You’re not wrong. I’m a product of divorce.” She moves the plate back onto the table and grabs a water. I hope I didn’t ruin her appetite.
“That’s right. Kissing cousins.”
She frowns, then shakes her head. “You have no idea how many times I’ve had to tell people that my mom and Hank are not cousins. Enough about me. What’s your favorite color?”
“Black.”
“Hardy har har. Really, what is it?”
“Green.”
“The color of money? I’m surprised red isn’t your favorite color.”
I snap off a piece of celery. “Why’s that?”
“It’s the color of blood.”
“Is that payback for my kissing cousins remark?”
She gives me a smirk. “No. I don’t play games.”
“I don’t either.”
“Next question?” She brings the platter of nachos back to her lap, which is a clear indication that talking about love or her parents’ divorce isn’t something she’s comfortable with.
So I ask, “What’s your favorite food? Nachos or potato skins?”
“Ha. Actually, Twinkies. What about you?”
“Ho Hos.” She gives me a glare and I laugh. “What? Apparently we both like creamy fillings?” She throws a chip at me and I pick it up and eat it.
“Oh, so you are human. You can eat a nacho chip?”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“Please, what would you be doing if you weren’t here with me? Probably out at some club, getting bottle service while girls hang all over you.”
I like to think that there’s jealousy in her tone, but maybe that’s hopeful thinking. “I’d probably be in bed.”
“With how many women?” She gives me a smug smile.
I narrow my gaze. “By myself.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I’m kind of a boring guy outside of beating the shit outta guys for money.”
“Tell me why you do it—other than for the money.”
I grab the veggie platter and situate myself on the corner of the couch. “I didn’t realize we were gonna get this deep. If I answer, then you’ll have to answer what you have against love.”
She’s quiet for a moment and I think she might tap out, but she nods.
“I grew up in a shitty neighborhood and got picked on. Eventually I fought back, earned myself some respect, and I liked the feeling. Vince was from the same neighborhood and saw me sparring with a guy and wanted to work with me to bring me onto the circuit. I didn’t have any other options and figured using my fists rather than my brains was an easier way to earn a living.” She doesn’t have to know the long road it took to get here and how scared I am that it’s all coming to a close. Maybe not in the next ninety days, but eventually, I’ll have to retire. “The money is good though.”
“So you like the fact that people look up to you?”
I shake my head. “No. I like the fact that people don’t treat me like a piece of shit.”
Her lips tip down. I probably should’ve kept that to myself.
I raise my hand before she can chime in with some half-assed attempt to make me feel better. “I’m far from that scrawny kid who got cornered in the alley of our neighborhood every week, but winning makes me feel powerful and I’ve grown addicted to it.” I shrug.
“What will happen when you don’t win?” She switches the nachos for the potato skins.
“I think that time is growing closer. This fight against Brett Rinaldo in a few months… some people think it’ll be my demise. That I’ll have to give up the title and never come back from it.”
Her shoulders sink and she stares at me for a moment. As hard-shelled as Nikki is, she has a soft side. “That’s horrible for them to say.”
I shrug. “They’re not wrong. With age comes a decline in reflexes, and I’m already nursing so many injuries from previous fights.”
“How old are you?”
“You mean you haven’t Googled me yet?” I raise an eyebrow.
She shakes her head. I’m surprised.