5 Rounds: An Enemies to Lovers Sports Romance (The Fight Game Book 1)

‘So, Hailey, what’s with the outfit?’

My sister chokes on her drink at Lucy’s words. I can’t help my grin—we’ve been at the bar for almost two hours and the whole time I’ve been waiting for when Lucy would comment on my sister’s conservative attire. Apparently, it took a few drinks for her tongue to loosen.

Hailey glares at my teammate. “There’s nothing wrong with my outfit,” she growls. “I always dress like this.”

Lucy grins, very much enjoying tormenting my sister. ‘No, you usually dress like a model. Right now you look like a repressed only child that got sent to a girl’s boarding school for kissing the neighbor boy.’

Hailey’s glare is momentarily replaced with a look of blinking surprise. ‘That was… very descriptive.’

Lucy shrugs. ‘I dated a girl that had that vibe going on. I actually only approached her because I wanted to see if it was all a ruse or if she really was a prude.’

I smother the laugh that wants to break out of me at watching these two polar opposite women tease each other. ‘And what was the verdict?’ I manage to ask without laughing.

At that, a devious grin slides across Lucy’s face. ‘Total ruse. That girl was the freakiest bitch I ever got with.’

I can’t contain the laughter anymore—it bursts out of me, loud and happy. A group of guys next to us turn in our direction with raised eyebrows.

Hailey is back to glaring at Lucy. ‘Are you saying I look prude, sex-crazed, or ugly? Because it’s hard to keep up with so many insults, Lucy. ‘

Lucy lets out a loud laugh. ‘Okay calm down, I’ll stop teasing. You just… you look… not as hot as you usually do.’ She holds her hand up in surrender when Hailey’s glare intensifies. ‘You know what I mean. You just seem… conventionally dressed. I know I told Remy to ask you not to be at full hotness-capacity tonight, but this is overkill. Even Remy did up her outfit tonight.’ She casts an appreciative glance at my dress. ‘Girl, you look hot as fuck. Well done.’

Smirking, I stick my hip out in an exaggerated pose and flip my hair over my shoulder. But as I turn my head, I lock eyes with someone across the bar. The grin immediately slides from my face.

Tristan is standing at the bar next to Aiden and Max, staring straight at me. I saw him walk into the bar about an hour ago and beeline straight to the bar for a drink. Anyone could see the frown on his face and tension in his shoulders so I’m assuming alcohol was needed for whatever his problem was.

That tension is nonexistent now. He’s leaning casually on the bar top and lazily spinning his whiskey glass. He’s wearing dark jeans and a tight black T-shirt that accentuates every single mouth-watering muscle on his upper body. The tattoos that I know run over his chest and shoulder peek out past his sleeve, running down to his elbow. His dark hair looks as sex-tousled as it always does, and the bright blue of his eyes clashes perfectly with the permanent smirk on his lips.

He is the picture of male arrogance.

Slowly, shamelessly, his eyes rake down my body, spending extra seconds on the shortness of my dress and the way my heels lengthen my legs. I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling very dry.

Just as slowly, Tristan’s eyes move up the length of my body to meet mine again. When he grins, a rush of desire floods my core. Suddenly, I’m transported back to last night—to Tristan’s body pressed against mine, his lips touching my ear and whispering dirty things. The flame of my lust increases tenfold at the memory.

‘Earth to Remy!’

I snap out of my lust-drunk haze and turn toward Lucy. ‘Sorry, what?’

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. ‘Where did you just go? We were talking about that new Netflix show with Chris Hemsworth, and you totally zoned out. You love Hemsworth, I don’t know how you weren’t paying attention.’

I wince. ‘I just… remembered something that happened at work and got distracted. Sorry. What about the new show?’

With a sigh, Lucy launches back into whatever she was talking about. I chance a look back at Tristan, but he’s already turned back to Aiden. I try to focus on Lucy’s latest Netflix-obsession.

Suddenly, I see Hailey’s eyes go wide as she looks over my shoulder. I spin to see what’s caught her attention, and realize Steve is heading straight toward us. He’s not smiling.

‘Did you know he was coming out?’ I ask Hailey. She shakes her head, seemingly frozen in shock. I frown and take a step closer to her.

Steve finally pushes through the crowd and steps up to Hailey. Based on his furious expression I expect him to grab her, but he only glares at her and ignores the rest of us.

‘Why haven’t you been answering my calls?’ he demands. ‘It’s late, you were supposed to be home by now.’

Hailey’s cheeks light with an ashamed blush as she looks down at where her feet are shuffling nervously. She mumbles something that we can’t hear.

‘Steve, she probably didn’t hear her phone,’ I say gently, trying to deescalate the situation. ‘It’s loud in here. And it’s only midnight. Not that late to be worrying that something happened.’

He spins around, fury blazing in his eyes. He opens his mouth to snap at me, but then seems to realize who he’s talking to. He visibly softens. His posture slouches a little bit, and he forces a tight smile onto his face.

Can’t make an enemy of the girl’s family, after all, I think bitterly.

‘Hey, Remy. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’ He steps closer to Hailey and takes her hand, stroking it lovingly. I look at their entwined hands, a deep part of me wishing he would’ve just been forceful about it so I’d have a reason to throw him out of my sister’s life. Instead, I have only his fake words to react to.

‘I’m sorry, baby,’ he tells Hailey tenderly. ‘I just get so worried about you. I know it’s not that late yet, but you said you were going to text me when you were getting ready to leave here and when I didn’t hear from you, I panicked. You know I worry about you partying in the city.’

I roll my eyes at the comment. My sister is the definition of a responsible adult, and she rarely ever has more than a drink or two. Being worried about her ‘partying’ is ridiculous. And clearly just a way to spin his possessive feelings.

Hailey doesn’t notice the tactic—or she ignores it—and instead looks up at him with a grateful smile. ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ she tells him. ‘I was just having a lot of fun and must’ve lost track of time. But you’re right, it’s late. We should get going.’

Steve visibly relaxes at her concession. He smiles again and gives her hand a squeeze.

But then the smile freezes in place. Slowly, his eyes rake over Hailey’s outfit.

‘What is that?’ he asks tightly. The disdain practically drips from his voice. I look around to find what he could be talking about.

‘My shoes?’ asks Hailey, sounding just as confused as I feel. I look down at her tan wedge sandals. They’re high because Hailey’s always been self-conscious about her height, but they’re otherwise modest, cute sandals. They’re about the only cute thing Hailey’s wearing right now.

‘Why would you wear those?’ Steve spits through clenched teeth. ‘They’re practically hooker heels.’

I can’t hear Hailey’s response over the roaring in my ears. My vision floods with a red haze at the degrading insinuation, and I open my mouth to finally tear into Steve. I don’t care if I’m butting into my sister’s business—right now it feels like I need to protect her from herself.

‘Everything okay here?’

I turn, startled, to find Tristan standing behind me. His stern gaze is focused on Steve.

‘We’re fine,’ Steve snaps as he turns back to Hailey.

‘I wasn’t asking you,’ Tristan responds coldly.

At that, Steve turns back with surprise, his angry mask cracking to reveal the insecure boy hiding underneath.

Tristan brushes by me to stand directly in front of Hailey, effectively stepping in between the couple and forcing Steve to drop her hand. He visibly becomes even more frazzled. Hailey stares up at Tristan with a wide-eyed, awed expression.

‘Hailey, you okay?’ he asks again.

Hailey swallows nervously but nods. ‘Yeah, I’m okay. Steve is my boyfriend. He was just coming to pick me up, we were about to leave.’

Tristan doesn’t let any reaction show on his face. He stares at Hailey for a moment longer, until she’s squirming under his all-seeing gaze. ‘And you’re sure you want to leave with him?’

At that, Steve finally snaps out of his nervous stupor. He glares at the back of Tristan’s head and steps around him to grab Hailey’s hand again.

‘What kind of question is that?’ he snaps. ‘She just told you I’m her boyfriend. Of course she wants to leave with me.’

Tristan ignores his comment and waits for Hailey to answer.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Hailey confirms, her voice sounding stronger now. ‘I love him.’

Tristan doesn’t react but he doesn’t ask her again.

Seemingly annoyed with the line of questioning, Steve tugs at Hailey’s hand to try to move her toward the exit. ‘Come on, babe, let’s go home.’ She smiles at Lucy and I by way of goodbye and turns to follow her boyfriend.

Except, Tristan steps into Steve’s path before he can take more than a step. Steve stares up at the very tall, very intimidating man in front of him with more wide-eyed shock.

‘I know what you are,’ Tristan says simply. ‘If you hurt her, I will know. So I suggest you don’t.’

We all stare at Tristan in stunned silence. Even though Steve doesn’t know Tristan very well, the words are said in such a way that it’s very clearly not an empty threat. Hailey just looks stunned, like she can’t believe she’s witnessing a fight break out over her.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Steve finally stammers. He goes to step around Tristan and, when he doesn’t meet more resistance, pulls Hailey out of the bar with him.

Tristan watches them leave, his expression still not giving away any reaction. Finally, he turns to Lucy and I. ‘Your sister should break up with that guy,’ he says before walking away. Lucy and I follow his path back to the bar with wide eyes.

‘Damn, I thought he was only protective yesterday because he wants to fuck you,’ Lucy mutters. ‘Guess he’s just protective, period.’

I whip my head around to glare at Lucy. ‘I already told you he doesn’t want to fuck me,’ I growl.

She raises an eyebrow at me. ‘No, he definitely still wants to fuck you, but I’m saying that’s not why he almost broke that guy’s neck yesterday. Apparently, Tristan has as much of a mama bear streak as you do.’

I frown and turn again to study my current roommate. He’s joined Aiden and Max at the bar and is listening to whatever inane argument those two are currently involved in.

I never would’ve expected Tristan to be the protective type. In fact, he’s always come off as the opposite: selfish, worried only about his career, and ignoring everyone else around him. I knew he had a soft spot for Jax, but I figured that was a reflection of the type of loyalty my best friend commands, not of Tristan himself. Apparently, I was wrong.

‘I guess I should go thank him,’ I mutter to Lucy. With a nod and a swat to my ass, she wanders off to go find someone else to talk to.

I take a hesitant step toward the bar. Then it becomes two, and three, and the next thing I know I’m standing in front of Tristan.

He turns his even gaze toward me and raises a brow. I open my mouth to say something, but it’s at that moment that Aiden notices me standing there.

‘Hey, Remy!’ he chirps happily. He stands up from where he’s sitting at the bar and offers me the barstool. ‘I assume you want to ream Tristan out for whatever he just did. Here, take my seat. Max and I are heading back to the rest of the group now anyway.’

I chuckle uncomfortably. ‘Uh, thanks.’ By the time I take the seat and turn toward Tristan, the boys are gone. ‘I, um, just wanted to say thank you for what you did. And said.’

I stumble over the words. It feels awkward to aim them at Tristan.

He stares at me with his usual unyielding gaze, letting none of his feelings show. After a few moments, he asks, ‘Is she safe with him tonight?’

I turn my attention back to the cocktail I’ve been nursing for the past hour. I take a quick swig when I remember its existence. ‘Yeah,’ I answer easily and honestly. ‘They live together. And he’s not abusive—or at least not physically. He’s just kind of mean. I don’t think she realizes the effect he has on her. But he would never hurt her. I’d never let him.’ Then something occurs to me, and I chuckle. ‘Plus, that crazy bitch has too many daggers in her purse to be in any real danger.’

Tristan’s in the middle of gesturing at the bartender when he turns back to me with a startled look. ‘Seriously? She carries daggers?’

I grin. ‘And a few knives. It’s been a while since I’ve seen what’s in her purse.’

Tristan’s lips twitch into a grin, then he nods in approval. ‘Smart girl,’ he mutters. ‘I figured she was okay, since I doubt Jax would let her be around anyone that’s actually dangerous. But when I saw him with her, I just wanted to make sure.’

I nod, nervously spinning the drink in front of me. ‘Well, thank you anyway,’ I murmur. ‘That was… really nice of you. You know, to threaten him and all.’

The usual cocksure grin appears on Tristan’s face. It will never not be disconcerting that he has only two expressions: arrogant and stoic. ‘What good is all this muscle and talent if I don’t use it to boss people around once in a while?’

I roll my eyes at his arrogance finally making an appearance. I let out the tight breath I was holding, feeling much more comfortable with this version of Tristan that I know so well.

Just then, the bartender appears with two shots of tequila. I look quizzically at Tristan.

‘Isn’t tequila your preferred drink?’ he asks, sliding one of the shots in front of me. ‘I figured we both need it after that bullshit.’

I bark out a laugh and grab the shot glass. ‘You’re not wrong.’ I raise the glass and turn toward Tristan. ‘What are we cheers-ing?’

He stares thoughtfully at the clear liquid, then turns his soul-piercing gaze back to me. Without breaking eye contact, he lifts his glass and says, ‘To being willing to gut anyone that fucks with the people we care about.’

A shiver runs through me at the possessiveness of his words. In the back of my mind, it occurs to me how different this possession feels from Steve’s.

We both throw our shots back. I cringe, then sigh happily at the warm feeling that flows through me with the aftertaste.

I fidget nervously with the shot glass as I try to think of something to say. Now that I’ve said my thank you, I’m not quite sure how to keep being around Tristan.

‘So, uh, any fights coming up?’ I ask awkwardly.

Tristan is silent for a moment, then he chuckles. I twist my head toward him. ‘What?’ I snap.

His arrogant smirk is back in full force as he motions to the bartender again. ‘You really don’t know how to have a normal conversation with me, do you?’

I squirm under his curious gaze and turn back to my shot glass. ‘Nice Tristan is unnerving as fuck,’ I eventually mumble.

He barks a laugh at my admission. ‘I can go back to being an asshole if that would make you more comfortable,’ he grins. ‘I could tell you that dress is way too short because your ass is too big.’

My head snaps back toward him again, this time with the deadliest glare I can muster. ‘You can go fuck yourself,’ I grumble. ‘My ass is fantastic.’

I don’t miss his lazy, lingering glance down to the bottom of my dress, across my exposed thigh. I tug at my dress self-consciously.

He doesn’t miss the motion. His eyes dart back to my face, grin still firmly in place. ‘Okay, so no-go on that idea, too. We can figure this out, Remy.’ He turns his body to face me fully and leans his elbow casually on the bar, cocking his head slightly. ‘How about this: I’ll let you be your usual, charming self and give you full reign to insult me however you want. Assume whatever you want about me and I’ll tell you if it’s true or not.”

My eyes narrow as I study him suspiciously. ‘How would I know if you’re telling the truth?’

He nods at the bartender delivering the tequila shots before sliding one over toward me. ‘Guess you’ll just have to trust me,’ he answers with a grin. He lets me glare at him for another moment before grabbing his shot and nodding at mine. ‘What’s it gonna be? Wanna play with me?’

I turn toward the new shot glass to hide the blush that flames across my face at his bold words. ‘If you think I’m going to hold back, you’re delusional,’ I grumble.

His grin widens. ‘I would expect nothing less.’ My breath catches as he leans in closer. Clinking his glass to mine, he whispers, ‘Do your worst, Remy baby.’ Then he slams the shot without even a grimace.

I throw one last glare his way before downing my own. I can feel the alcohol buzzing its way through my body and I can already tell it’s about to loosen my tongue more than it ever should around Tristan. But right now, I can’t bring myself to give a fuck. I welcome the return of my confidence. Turning my body completely toward him and taking my time crossing my legs, I lean against the bar and study him thoughtfully. I smirk when he tries to hide his glance at my legs.

‘The fighting and arrogance are an overcompensation for a tiny dick,’ I start with a straight face and way too much confidence.

Tristan’s eyes widen in surprise for a split second before he bursts into laughter.

‘I’m not sure why I expected anything different,’ he says with a chuckle after he’s calmed down. I raise my eyebrow, waiting for his answer. The cocky grin on his face appears right back where it was a moment ago. ‘No, I do not have a tiny dick. But good to know that’s the first part of me your brain goes to.’

I roll my eyes before waving at the bartender for another order of shots. I ignore Tristan’s amused glance.

Turning back toward the focus of my assumptions, I take another guess. ‘Your older brother got all the love in the family, so you got used to demanding attention by being obnoxious and arrogant.’

This time he’s the one that rolls his eyes. ‘Again with the arrogance,’ he mutters. But I frown when I notice the sudden tightness in his body and the lack of his usual flighty grin.

‘Not true,’ he finally answers. But when he doesn’t offer an explanation, I decide to take the obvious cue that I’ve struck a nerve and move on.

‘Jiu-jitsu is the biggest weakness in your fight game,’ I guess again.

I’m rewarded with the return of his trademark smirk. ‘Not true,’ he says again.

My eyes narrow suspiciously. ‘Wrestling is the biggest weakness in your fight game.’

He sighs in resignation. ‘True. But don’t be calling my competition with this information.’

I smirk in victory just as the bartender appears with our third round of shots. ‘Just keep putting them on his tab,’ I tell the guy with a coy smile. I hear Tristan snort as he shakes his head. I slide one of the shots over to him, thoroughly enjoying the comfortable buzz that’s now running through me. One more drink will put me at my favorite level of just barely drunk.

I clink my glass against his and throw back the shot without a second thought, sighing contentedly at the burn. I ignore Tristan’s appreciative glance.

Once he’s taken his shot, I take another guess, emboldened even further by the alcohol. ‘You don’t actually enjoy drinking. You only do it for one of two reasons: to shove down negative emotions or to make sex more enjoyable with the plastic fuck bunnies you love so much.’

His eyes widen again at my bluntness. Either that or I nailed it again with my first assumption.

He ignores the first one and instead focuses on the second, a grin once again stretching across his face. ‘You seem to love asking about my sexual activities, Remy. Why is that?’

I glare at him, refusing to dignify that with an answer. ‘Just answer the question, Tristan,’ I growl.

If possible, his grin actually grows in its smugness level. ‘True. I have my reasons for drinking. And amplifying the pleasure of sex is one of them.’ His eyes drop down to rake across my body, from the subtle exposure of my cleavage to the very exposed length of my legs.

My breath catches at his heated glance. I squeeze my thighs together, desperate to tamp down on the rush of lust that runs through me at the obvious direction of his thoughts.

Something’s changed between us in the past few days—Tristan no longer looks past me. Where before I was just Jax’s annoying childhood friend, the shower incident seems to have reminded him that I’m a woman. I should’ve known his male brain would be that predictable.

And although I see him as exactly the same arrogant womanizer that I always have—except maybe a little more protective than I anticipated—I also can’t deny that having his undivided sex-gaze on me ignites something deep inside me. I’ve always known he’s ridiculously hot; his athletic body and piercing blue eyes, coupled with his cocksure attitude, melts the panties off of women for a reason. But I’ve never had the full force of it directed at me.

It’s making me squirm.

I draw in a ragged breath, starting to second guess my decision to ask sexual questions in this game. It’s getting harder to hide how affected I am from Tristan’s blatant once-over.

‘Why so interested in my sex life, Remy?’ he purrs, leaning closer. His gaze darts across my face, and lands on my lips. ‘You can say it.”

‘I’m not,’ I blurt out. ‘I’m just playing your game.’

A smile slowly slides across his face. ‘I’m beginning to think you might actually know how to play,’ he murmurs. And I think I might combust from the heat in his words.

At that moment I think the last shot finally makes its way through my body because a surge of confidence drives a feline smile onto my lips. ‘You have no idea how well I can play,’ I purr.

His eyes widen in delighted shock.

Taking advantage of his momentary speechlessness, I push away from the bar and step off the barstool. ‘Order another round. I’m going to use the bathroom and then maybe you can do me.’ I grin when his eyes go even wider. ‘Make assumptions about me, I mean.’

I turn away before he has the chance to say anything else. I couldn’t stop the extra sway in my hips even if I wanted to. I’ll just blame it on the alcohol.

I take my time in the bathroom, using the extra minutes to touch up my makeup but mostly to get my heart rate under control again.

As much as I know nothing can happen between us, I can’t deny that exchanging drunken banter with Tristan is entertaining. Of course, the clear attraction of a hot guy is a boost to my ego, but there’s something extra appealing about that attention coming from the bane of my existence who’s only ever looked at me like a little girl. I send a mental thank you to Hailey for my outfit.

As I walk back toward our spot at the bar, I realize from across the room that my seat has been taken over by a very attractive blonde—that is now hanging all over Tristan.

I frown. I was only gone for a few minutes, and he’s already replaced me? Annoyance starts to sizzle in my veins, despite knowing that Tristan can’t help that he’s a magnet for women, especially in bars. It makes no difference that we were actually having a decent conversation.

I study the girl. She’s easily one of the prettiest girls in the room, with a model’s body and the tiniest silver sequin club dress to show it off. Her long legs are further elongated by the stilettos she’s wearing. Her makeup is perfect, with dark vampy lips and sultry, smoky eyes, and her blonde hair is pulled back in a high pony that exposes her long neck and thin shoulders. She’s taken over my seat and is currently leaning so far into Tristan that her breasts are pressed flat against the side of his chest. She has one arm wrapped around his neck, her other hand tracing patterns on his forearm. She whispers something into his ear.

Tristan whips his head to the side before she can kiss him—and immediately locks eyes with me. I realize then that his body language is stiff—he’s not touching her at all—and that he’s actually trying to lean away from her and back against the bar. When his eyes meet mine, they almost seem to be pleading.

My frown deepens as I look between the two of them. There’s something off about her…

And then it hits me. It’s his recent ex, Sabrina. The one that’s still not over him and that runs into him a little too often for it not to be suspicious.

I rack my memory for what I know about her. I vaguely remember Tristan telling Jax about how she was great in the beginning: she understood that he wasn’t looking for anything and was content with just a physical relationship. He liked that she wasn’t trying to “tame him” like most girls do. But after a few weeks it turned out she was actually playing a very different game. Instead of trying to lock Tristan down, she was trying to hang on his coattails until he made it to the UFC, where she was planning to find a “real fighter” to seduce. She just wanted to be a WAG. Tristan broke it off with her after he overheard her telling a friend as much.

From across the bar, I watch her press against Tristan, and I realize that she clearly hasn’t given up on that idea.

He looks at me again, still pleading. When he mouths ‘help me,’ I roll my eyes and throw my hands up in defeat.

I don’t know if it’s because I feel grateful for how he protected Hailey or if I just hate the sight of Sabrina hanging all over him, but I decide to play along.

I saunter up to Tristan. Ignoring Sabrina completely, I straddle Tristan’s hips and wrap my arms around his neck.

‘Baby,’ I pout dramatically. ‘I thought we were leaving.’

Tristan’s expression is equal parts shock and amusement, but he contains himself enough not to let it show. He slides his hands over my hips and pulls me a little closer, forcing me to arch my back. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

‘I’m sorry, baby,’ he responds, and I can hear the sarcasm in the endearment. He knows I’m the last girl to ever call a guy baby. ‘You’re right, I promised I’d take you home.’

I smile seductively and lean forward, brushing my lips against his cheek. ‘Good, because there’s something I want to try tonight,’ I purr, just loud enough for Sabrina to hear. I hear Tristan’s sharp intake of air and feel his grip tighten on my hips. I smirk and lightly nip his earlobe before pulling away.

His eyes still sparkle with delight but now there’s an intense fire smoldering behind them, as well. His stare tries to burn through my charade to see what’s behind it, and for a moment I forget that I’m faking it all. I get lost in his gaze. For a few seconds, it feels like we’re the only two people in the entire bar.

‘Umm, who the fuck are you?’ I hear from beside me. I turn startled eyes to a very angry looking Sabrina. Her arms are crossed and she’s willing me to drop dead with her eyes.

‘Oh. Hi. I’m Remy,’ I offer sweetly. ‘His girlfriend.’

Her eyes narrow and I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears. ‘He’s never mentioned you,’ she says tightly.

I shrug and turn back to Tristan with a sexy smile. ‘It’s a new thing. But when it’s this good…’ I purr softly as I shift closer to him, ‘…you forget about everyone else.’

As I watch, the fire in his eyes becomes a blazing inferno.

‘Listen, slut—’ Sabrina starts. But without waiting for the rest of her threat, I unwind myself from Tristan and step back. I grab his hand and tug gently.

‘Come on, baby, let’s get out of here,’ I whine. ‘The vibe in here is way too plastic.’ Tristan is one joke away from outright laughing at my poorly concealed insults, but he stands anyway.

Sabrina, on the other hand, reaches a whole new level of infuriated when I cut her off. She rips our hands apart and steps between Tristan and I, putting herself right in my face.

‘You have no idea who you’re dealing with,’ she snarls. ‘He would never pick an ugly dyke like you over someone like me. Just stop embarrassing yourself and go home.’

Over her shoulder I see Tristan’s nostrils flare with anger. He opens his mouth to say something, but I stop him with a slight shake of my head.

A crazy smile stretches across my face—as if I’m happy for the confrontation. ‘I know exactly who I’m dealing with,’ I tell her. ‘You’re hardly the first attention whore that’s tried to attach herself to his career. And trust me, honey, you’re going to need more than fake words and a plastic rack to keep his attention.’ I hear snickering from around us. Shocker—our cat fight has drawn some attention. ‘I would recommend trying for one of the idiot narcissists in the amateur circuit. They’re probably the only ones your act can fool.’

Sabrina’s eyes flare with anger and she opens her mouth to snap back at me. But once again I cut her off. ‘Stay the fuck away from Tristan,’ I snarl. ‘I don’t want to see your desperate ass stalking him ever again. And if I do, or if you ever lay a hand on me again…’ I step close enough to her that our noses almost touch. I don’t even care that she’s a few inches taller than me—I know how to straighten my shoulders to make myself seem dominant, even from below. Her eyes widen in fear. ‘…I will fuck you up so bad that you’ll never be pretty enough for anyone, ever again.’

I hold her terrified gaze, waiting patiently for her to look away first.

She takes a shaky step away from me, her eyes darting between Tristan and I. Then with a final attempt at appearing dignified, she straightens with a huff before turning and walking away. I watch her leave with a victorious grin plastered on my face.

‘Holy shit,’ I hear Tristan whisper in shock. He looks at me with awe. ‘You actually got rid of her. I’ve been trying to do that for weeks.’

I roll my eyes and take my seat at the bar again, trying very hard to forget how close Tristan and I were just a few moments ago. I try to will my heartrate to slow down. I even flag the bartender down for two shots, hoping that’ll do the trick.

‘Poor Tristan,’ I coo mockingly. ‘Too many women fawning over him.’ I flash a tight grin at his scowl.

‘It’s not funny,’ he grumbles. He sits down on the barstool next to me. ‘She was awful. I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of her without an actual restraining order.’ He grins at me, still looking impressed. ‘I had no idea I just had to sic Remy on her. I might need you to do that for a few other girls, too.’

I glare at him before downing the double shot of tequila that just appeared in front of me. ‘You’re a pig,’ I growl, wincing at the feel of the liquor’s comforting burn. ‘I should’ve just let her have you.’

I feel Tristan’s body shift to face me. ‘Yeah, why didn’t you let her have me?’ he muses. ‘That’s now the second woman you’ve driven away from me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.’

I don’t know if it’s a placebo effect or if the tequila really has hit me already, but the extra dose of alcohol settles me into the category of perfectly tipsy—which is my favorite level of drunk, since I just end up happy and unable to give two shits about anything else.

Emboldened by the buzz running through my veins, I turn to study Tristan thoughtfully. ‘Maybe I was just trying to repay you for helping my sister,’ I answer honestly. I lean a little bit closer to whisper, ‘Maybe, out of the two of us, I’m not the one that’s doing the chasing.’

There’s no longer any amusement in his eyes—the inferno from only a few minutes ago is back in full force. I suck in a breath at the intensity of being enveloped by his fire, unable to look away.

His eyes dart to my lips. The hunger in his gaze makes my heart start to beat faster.

I try to say something, anything, to break the spell, but no words come out. I lick my lips and try again.

At the sight of my tongue running along my bottom lip, a low growl slips from Tristan. His grip tightens around his shot glass. My breath catches when he starts to lean in.

‘Damn, you two are just magnets for bar drama.’

I jump, startled. Tristan and I quickly pull away from each other as we turn stunned eyes toward a very drunk Aiden.

He just chuckles. ‘First that guy went after Remy, then today Tristan’s stalker shows up. You guys should be each other’s bodyguards.’ And with that, he claps Tristan on the shoulder and walks away, completely oblivious to his interruption.

Fortunately, his intrusion is enough to shake me from whatever spell I was just under. I glance nervously at Tristan as I stand up. I’m about to be actually drunk in a few minutes and I feel like I need to get out of this bar.

‘I’m going home,’ I announce, looking everywhere but at Tristan. ‘Aiden’s right, I’ve had enough excitement this weekend. I’ll just see you… around the house.’ I turn to search the bar for the remaining friends in our group.

I feel Tristan gently grab my wrist before I can walk away. ‘I don’t want you out there alone,’ he says gruffly. ‘I’ll take you.’

I finally turn to look at him. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol that’s driven away my need to fight, or the protective tone in his voice, but I nod my acceptance.

Without letting go of my arm, he downs the remaining double shot before pulling me after him. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here,’ he murmurs.

We quickly realize that Aiden and Max are the only ones left from our group. They’re both heavily invested in a drunk debate—most likely about boxing versus wrestling, if I know those guys at all. Only an attractive, single female could tear them from their conversation.

Instead of interrupting them, we pay our tabs and head outside. I stand awkwardly on the sidewalk as Tristan calls an Uber on his phone. And I suddenly realize: I have no idea how to act around him right now. I feel like I have whiplash from the evening as a whole, and when I said I was leaving it was mostly because I wanted to come outside for a breath of fresh air and to clear my thoughts for a minute. But now Tristan is with me and I feel like I can’t accomplish either of those things.

Between him protecting Hailey and then what happened with Sabrina, are we supposed to be friendly now? I feel like we had a comfortable, not-quite-aggressive flow going with his game at the bar before the fake-girlfriend act completely threw me off of that. I don’t know if Tristan’s gotten sexier or if I’m just tipsier than I realize, but either way I can still feel the taste of desire choking me. I can’t even look at him without blushing from the memory of his hands tightening on my hips and pulling me closer.

As I’m standing on the sidewalk waging an internal war with myself, I notice a familiar face out of the corner of my eye. I turn slightly and realize Sabrina is on the other side of the street with a group of her girlfriends.

She sees me at the same time that I spot her. Her eyes dart from me to Tristan and I realize with a jolt that what she thinks she’s seeing is Tristan taking me home for the night. And even though we’ll both get in the car and we really will be going home to the same place, my fake girlfriend story from earlier probably won’t sell very well if I’m standing awkwardly to the side with my arms wrapped around myself. If I were his girlfriend with the promise of sex, I’d most likely be all over him.

I only hesitate for a heartbeat before I grit my teeth and steel myself for what I’m about to do. I make a quick wish that my drunken attraction to Tristan doesn’t carry me away in my performance this time.

I step up to stand in front of him and nervously wrap my arms around his waist. I tilt my head up to appear like I’m demanding his full attention.

Tristan looks up from his phone in surprise but moves his arms out of the way so I can move my body closer to his. My skin tingles even through my dress where the hand not holding his phone comes to rest on my hip. He looks down at me in confusion, and I can’t help but feel the same way, even as I feel a comfortable warmth being this close to him. It vaguely registers in the back of my mind that this is now the second time tonight we’ve been this intimate, and neither of us has seemed very put-off by it.

‘I… um… I thought…’ I stutter. I have so many things I should be saying right now. I want to tell him that Sabrina is watching us and that I assume he’d want me to keep the charade going—that we should probably try to look like we’re going home together. But the tequila is running through my veins now and I can’t tell if I’m feeling drunk or just drunk on his closeness. Suddenly every single thought flies out of my mind, and all I can think about is that his blue eyes are boring into mine and his lips are only a breath away.

At that thought, my gaze drops to his mouth. My heart starts beating so loud that I’m afraid he’ll hear it, but I don’t think I could avoid the pull of my body to his even if I wanted to.

My gaze darts back to his eyes to see him studying me, looking equal amounts surprised and hungry. That look is what gives me the confidence to push up on my toes and press my lips to his.

My eyes close at the contact. His lips are soft and warm, and a comfortable buzz runs through my body. I feel Tristan’s hand tighten on my hip as his mouth starts to move against mine. I sigh and settle into the kiss.

I gently kiss his top lip, then his bottom. I pause, feeling unsure of myself for only a moment before I open my mouth to deepen the kiss. Our tongues touch and my breath catches at the sensation.

It seems to affect Tristan, too. The moment our kiss intensifies and our tongues begin to tangle, a deep groan rumbles through his chest. His grip tightens on my hips and he pulls me forward so that there isn’t an inch of space between us. He tilts his head and greedily demands control of the kiss. I give him that power with a grateful shiver.

He licks my lips, coaxing them to open further. Every swipe of his tongue drives a bolt of lightning through me, another rush of liquid heat to my core. It doesn’t take long for the power of this kiss to destroy me so thoroughly that my head spins and my knees grow weak, and I’m left breathless and clinging to Tristan’s waist.

I somehow manage to end the kiss before I demand he drag me down an alley to finish what I started. I pull back just far enough so I can look at him and tell him… something that I need to tell him but can’t quite remember right now.

He’s just as breathless as I am. We stand there, completely oblivious to the fact that we’re blocking the sidewalk and forcing people to walk around us, and stare at each other as we suck air into our lungs and try to make sense of what just happened. He looks completely confused, but his hands stay holding my hips, as if he doesn’t want to give me more than an inch of space.

Because he looks like he wants to go in for round two.

We’re shocked out of our mess of thoughts when Tristan’s phone rings. He looks down at the phone in his hand as if he’s never seen one before and is now trying to figure out what to do with it.

The shrill sound snaps me out of my trance. I shuffle out of his embrace, still dizzy from the tequila or lust-drunk haze. I feel my senses come back to me along with the memory of what I was trying to tell Tristan. ‘Sabrina was watching us,’ I tell him hurriedly. I’m not sure why I need him to understand that there was a reason for what I did but I suddenly feel the need to explain my actions.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. Then his eyes dart around, looking for the girl in question, and it seems like he finds her because his gaze immediately hardens and a scowl forms on his face. I think it’s intended for Sabrina but when he turns back to me, that angry expression grows even angrier when it’s aimed at me.

He finally answers the phone with a terse, ‘Hello?’ He looks away from me and down the street.

I swallow roughly as my face flames with embarrassment. I thought I was helping the situation by kissing him but based on his reaction, it seems I’ve misjudged everything. I step further away from him.

After a short phone conversation, he turns back to me, jerking his head over his shoulder and signaling the car that’s currently pulling up in front of us. ‘That’s us. Get in,’ he says gruffly. There’s definitely a bite in his tone.

The ride home is a quiet one. The last shot from the bar seems to have finally made its way into my bloodstream because despite my lips still tingling and the feel of Tristan’s fingers imprinted on my hips, my shoulders relax, and I forget about the scowling man sitting next to me. I even forget about the sudden desperation to escape Tristan that shot through me when he became angry after our kiss. I can see the rigid set of Tristan’s jaw out of the corner of my eye and the tense way he’s gripping his thighs. If I were sober, I’d probably try to figure out how he went from seductive gentleman to his usual emotionless, pain-in-the-ass self in under a minute. But I’m not, so instead I sigh and close my eyes.

When we pull up to the house, Tristan thanks the driver and gets out of the car. I follow quietly behind him as he starts walking toward the house. We’re almost to the door when I trip—on thin air, like a cliché drunk—and fall forward.

Tristan catches me before my face can meet the pavement and pulls me upright. ‘Jesus, watch it,’ he barks, steadying me on my feet. ‘Can you not be a klutz for just one second?’

I study him for a moment, then sigh and decide not to fight him. I blame—or credit?—the alcohol for my lack of anger and aggressive comebacks. Instead of feeling defensive, I realize suddenly that I just don’t care.

Without thinking about what I’m doing, I step closer to him and run my fingers through his hair, trying to understand the sudden shift in his mood. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he stands still and lets me play with strands of his hair. Without the tequila coursing through my veins, I never would have let myself touch him like this. But right now, I can’t find it in me to care.

‘It must be exhausting being so mean all the time,’ I observe thoughtfully. Something flashes in his eyes, but I can’t put a name to it, and then it’s gone just as quickly.

I turn away from him, completely oblivious to how much I just overstepped our normal boundaries. ‘Not to mention you would be so much hotter with just a little less snark,’ I call over my shoulder. I’m too busy drunkenly fumbling with my keys in the lock to notice his eyes widen at my honest comment.

‘Ha!’ I exclaim triumphantly, pushing the door open and stepping inside. But before I can take more than two steps in, I feel myself being pushed to the wall, Tristan’s body pressing tightly against mine. ‘Hey!’ I cry. His moody expression is gone, replaced with the smug face that I know so well.

‘You would hate me if I was a nice guy,’ he drawls.

I roll my eyes at him, trying to push him off me. ‘Guess we’ll never know, because you being a nice guy is as likely as me using the word ‘literally’ wrong.’ He grins, knowing how much I hate when girls use the word to describe something that is very clearly not literal.

‘Admit it,’ he says softly, pushing me harder into the wall with his body. My breath catches as his face nears mine. ‘You like me the way I am.’

‘I—I don’t—’ my brain no longer seems to be able to form a coherent sentence. All I can do is stare into his hungry gaze and try not to picture what it would feel like if he fucked me against this wall right now.

His lips brush against my cheek, at the same time that he kneads my hips with his fingers. Every touch, every whisper of his breath, is further uncoiling the heat that’s growing between my legs.

‘You don’t want someone to pull your chair out for you, or ask you what you want to eat,’ he continues. ‘You want someone that doesn’t need your permission. Someone that will call you on your shit.’ He tangles his fingers in my hair and pulls my head back. I gasp in surprise. ‘You want someone that will spank you when you’re acting stupid.’

I can’t contain the whimper that slips from my lips. I squeeze my legs together, trying to think of a response but failing. When he pulls back to wait for my reply, I know that no words could answer his unspoken question.

There are so many things that I hate about this man—he’s arrogant, and selfish, and rude. He’s a player that uses women for sex, and the only thing he actually gives a shit about is fighting. He’s the definition of self-absorbed. I should be shoving him away from me, telling him to fuck off and to stay on his side of the house for the rest of the week. I shouldn’t be thinking about what he tastes like, or how his cock might feel inside of me. I shouldn’t be wondering how hard he could make me come.

But his words remind me that the same alpha qualities that make me hate him… are also the ones that are making my knees weak.

I realize in that moment that every insult, every prank, every teasing comment, is exactly what ratcheted up our sexual tension this week. His alpha personality is what drives the fire between us. We couldn’t have one without the other. And I am so desperately, achingly, tired of fighting that fire…

So, whether it’s the tequila or the need to finish the kiss that we started, I decide I don’t want to fight it anymore.

I learn forward and roughly press my lips against his, my hands fisting in his shirt. I press my body as close to his as possible—suddenly, I can’t seem to get close enough. The tension between us steals my breath away. It feels like every place we touch is on fire. I part my lips, my tongue darting forward to stroke his.

He groans and opens his mouth. He pushes me harder against the wall—it feels like he can’t get close enough, either. His kiss is brutal and aggressive, and I know my lips will bruise but I don’t care. In this moment, I want all of his roughness.

As if reading my mind, his hand shoots up to grip the front of my throat and push my head back against the wall. I moan in pleasure. He grins at my response and kisses me again.

‘You might regret what you just started,’ he growls against my lips. ‘Hate sex can be intense. And with the way you and I feel about each other, I might actually kill you with pleasure.”

His arrogant promises make my cunt pulse, because I have zero doubt that he is going to do exactly as he says.

‘Just shut up,’ I snap—and pull his lips back to mine.