Page 2 of Fighting Fate
Six o’clock comesaround a lot faster than it should. I have one last sip of my grenache before I apply my lipstick. While I pull on my vegan, pale blue fur coat, I look in the mirror to check on my little black dress. The stretchy fabric clings to my slight curves, leaving very little to the imagination even with the high, criss-cross neckline that buttons behind my neck. The triangle cut-out shows the smallest hint of under-boob. Not that I have much, but it’s just enough that it looks sexy rather than trashy.
With a fluff of my hair, I grab my glass and take it to the sink, just as my phone vibrates in my small Chanel bag and the brusque beep of a horn tells me that my carriage is downstairs.
“Jesus, I told you to be ready,” Frank tells me as I step outside the front door. “It’s past six, and you still left me waiting.”
“Fuck me, chill your tits!” I get into the back seat of his chauffeur-driven Merc. Frank loves a private hire when he’s in the mood to let his hair down. “It took me all of two seconds to make it down the stairs.”
“You ready? Got your best smile at hand?” he asks as we navigate the streets of the city towards the arena. “Best behaviour and definitely best foot forward.”
“All right, Dad.”
Levelling me with a narrowed stare, he pokes my side. It’s the one thing that I can’t deal with. Literally, I fall apart into a flail of limbs.
“Quit it!”
“Stop being a brat.”
“I can’t help it,” I laugh, partly pissed that I’m now a mess and partly because I’m ticklish as fuck.
“I know,” he says, sitting back in his seat and crossing his leg. “You need to get over this shit. Pronto.”
“You keep telling me.”
“You need to listen.”
The rest of the drive is silent. I’m left trying not to go down the rabbit hole of my thoughts. When the car comes to a stop, it jolts me out of my head and into the chaos of the evening. Something I’m grateful for as Frank steps out of the car and I follow him.
Cameras are flashing all around us while we head inside. There are people all over the place. We’re being herded like sheep towards the two large doors that lead ringside.
Frank wasn’t lying. The energy seeps through my skin, churning in my stomach with every step we take. Meanwhile, my heart is going a few rounds with my lungs, pounding faster and faster as we get to our seats and watch the girls parading around the ring.
“Incredible, right?” Frank asks as I look around the arena, slipping off my jacket.
“It’s definitely something.”
What I’m feeling now is almost as electrifying as the jitters and excitement I get when I stand in the wings before the curtain goes up. The action hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already on tenterhooks. Not that I have any interest in who wins or loses. I have no interest in the sport, let alone know anything about it.
“You want me to explain the rul—” Frank stops suddenly, a grin cutting his face as he stands, and I become sandwiched between two hot bodies. “Been a while, asshole!” he says, pulling back and giving me space again.
“You’re telling me,” the other guy replies. He’s massive, and even though I haven’t looked at him properly, I can tell by the way his thighs fill out the checked-suit trousers.
When I finally glance up between them, I freeze.
Holy. Fucking. Shitballs.
The guy is as tall as he is broad. He’s a fucking giant who clearly looks like he’s taken a hit or two with the slight crook of his nose.
“Like what you see?” he asks, smirking at me.
Fuck me, he acts like he’s taken a hit or two to the head as well.
Covering my mouth with my hand, I laugh, making a point of sounding as annoying as I can.
“Fuck,” Frank curses beside me. His hand rests on my shoulder as if to stop me from getting up. “Rory, this is Willow.”
“You didn’t tell me you have a girlfriend,” the dickhead laughs.
Confusion contorts his face as he studies me and Frank’s hand on my shoulder. Men like him make my blood boil. It was all good to act like a twat before, but now that he thinks I’m with his mate, it’s not all right.