Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology by Cathryn Fox, Mari Carr, Cari Quinn, Margo Bond Collins, Christine Bell, Gina Robinson, Jennifer Dawson, Rhian Cahill, Zoe York, Molly McLain, Willow Summers, Evelyn Adams, Allison Gatta, Taryn Elliot, Katherine Reid Page B
Authors: Cathryn Fox, Mari Carr, Cari Quinn, Margo Bond Collins, Christine Bell, Gina Robinson, Jennifer Dawson, Rhian Cahill, Zoe York, Molly McLain, Willow Summers, Evelyn Adams, Allison Gatta, Taryn Elliot, Katherine Reid
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out of tonight’s plans. Which was good. Saved me from having to lie to her.
I jammed the phone back into my purse and straightened my spine. Robbie’s bout was scheduled to start any second, and I wasn’t about to miss a second of it. And when it was over, I’d walk away for real this time. True closure.
My heart gave a squeeze as I headed to the will-call window. Had he even remembered he’d asked me? What if, after all this, I showed up and there was no ticket?
“Melissa Halpern…there, um, there might be tickets here for me?”
I waited as the woman behind the window thumbed through a sheaf of paper before slowly shaking her head. “No, sorry, I don’t see—Oh, yup. There you are!”
She shot me a smile and handed me a pair of ticket stubs, but I slid one back to her with a shaking hand. “I’ll just need the one.”
I almost didn’t even need that, because when she hadn’t seen my name, I’d almost died. With every passing second, it was becoming more and more clear just how badly I wanted to be here tonight. How much I needed to see Robbie fight. He’d been through countless battles in our time apart, but there had always been some weird connection between us that made me feel like I was a part of it all. That, when he could feel me there rooting for him and absorb my strength or something.
I knew it was silly, but as I pushed my way through the crowd to find my seat, it felt true to this very day. If I wasn’t here tonight and Robbie lost his big break, I’d never forgive myself.
Ironic, considering how badly he’d hurt me.
When we got back home, I seriously needed to look into getting a therapist, because I had some major masochistic issues to work through.
I ignored my empty seat in the first row and headed for an open one in row five instead, trying to block out the chatter around me. Lots of talk about how fast Robbie’s opponent, Paul O’Malley, was. Even more talk about how one clean uppercut would end it in round one in favor of the Irishman due to his precision.
I’d barely had time to add those worries onto the pile when the announcer came into the ring to the roar of the crowd.
He started speaking but the blood was rushing so hard in my ears, I couldn’t make out the words.
It wasn’t until he got to the important part, that it finally started penetrating.
“In this corner, weighing one hundred ninety pounds, with a professional record of 12 wins, 9 of them by way of knockouts, and 1 draw, Robbie “Sledgehammer” Stevens!”
I didn’t turn to watch him walk in. I couldn’t. I was frozen there, like a block of ice, as the music blared through the speakers.
Our music. The same fight music we’d picked together four years ago after spending an entire snowy day shut in my room listening to song after song and compiling a “short” list of thirty potential options for when he finally went pro.
We’d finally settled on an Eminem track. And now, four years later, here it was. Actually playing in the first professional bout of Robbie’s that I’d ever attended. I kept my tear-blurred eyes locked on the ring as the procession moved forward to cheers and jeers from the crowd.
It wasn’t until he climbed between the ropes that I lifted my gaze, unable to stop myself.
He looked amazing. A light sheen of sweat coating his muscular body. The set of his lean jaw, eyes narrowed with the intense focus that made him as good of a lover as he was a fighter. He bounced easily from one foot to the other, rolling his shoulders as he settled in his corner of the ring.
His music faded out and the announcer introduced Robbie’s opponent. Death metal filled the air and he bounded into the ring like a ball of unleashed fury. He and Robbie were built similarly, but for some reason, this guy’s shock of red hair and the glint in his wild, blue eyes was enough to send a shaft of terror through me. He looked like he was out for blood.
The next few minutes went by in a blur. One
I jammed the phone back into my purse and straightened my spine. Robbie’s bout was scheduled to start any second, and I wasn’t about to miss a second of it. And when it was over, I’d walk away for real this time. True closure.
My heart gave a squeeze as I headed to the will-call window. Had he even remembered he’d asked me? What if, after all this, I showed up and there was no ticket?
“Melissa Halpern…there, um, there might be tickets here for me?”
I waited as the woman behind the window thumbed through a sheaf of paper before slowly shaking her head. “No, sorry, I don’t see—Oh, yup. There you are!”
She shot me a smile and handed me a pair of ticket stubs, but I slid one back to her with a shaking hand. “I’ll just need the one.”
I almost didn’t even need that, because when she hadn’t seen my name, I’d almost died. With every passing second, it was becoming more and more clear just how badly I wanted to be here tonight. How much I needed to see Robbie fight. He’d been through countless battles in our time apart, but there had always been some weird connection between us that made me feel like I was a part of it all. That, when he could feel me there rooting for him and absorb my strength or something.
I knew it was silly, but as I pushed my way through the crowd to find my seat, it felt true to this very day. If I wasn’t here tonight and Robbie lost his big break, I’d never forgive myself.
Ironic, considering how badly he’d hurt me.
When we got back home, I seriously needed to look into getting a therapist, because I had some major masochistic issues to work through.
I ignored my empty seat in the first row and headed for an open one in row five instead, trying to block out the chatter around me. Lots of talk about how fast Robbie’s opponent, Paul O’Malley, was. Even more talk about how one clean uppercut would end it in round one in favor of the Irishman due to his precision.
I’d barely had time to add those worries onto the pile when the announcer came into the ring to the roar of the crowd.
He started speaking but the blood was rushing so hard in my ears, I couldn’t make out the words.
It wasn’t until he got to the important part, that it finally started penetrating.
“In this corner, weighing one hundred ninety pounds, with a professional record of 12 wins, 9 of them by way of knockouts, and 1 draw, Robbie “Sledgehammer” Stevens!”
I didn’t turn to watch him walk in. I couldn’t. I was frozen there, like a block of ice, as the music blared through the speakers.
Our music. The same fight music we’d picked together four years ago after spending an entire snowy day shut in my room listening to song after song and compiling a “short” list of thirty potential options for when he finally went pro.
We’d finally settled on an Eminem track. And now, four years later, here it was. Actually playing in the first professional bout of Robbie’s that I’d ever attended. I kept my tear-blurred eyes locked on the ring as the procession moved forward to cheers and jeers from the crowd.
It wasn’t until he climbed between the ropes that I lifted my gaze, unable to stop myself.
He looked amazing. A light sheen of sweat coating his muscular body. The set of his lean jaw, eyes narrowed with the intense focus that made him as good of a lover as he was a fighter. He bounced easily from one foot to the other, rolling his shoulders as he settled in his corner of the ring.
His music faded out and the announcer introduced Robbie’s opponent. Death metal filled the air and he bounded into the ring like a ball of unleashed fury. He and Robbie were built similarly, but for some reason, this guy’s shock of red hair and the glint in his wild, blue eyes was enough to send a shaft of terror through me. He looked like he was out for blood.
The next few minutes went by in a blur. One
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