He wore a pair of loose fitting workout pants and a white t-shirt. He watched her, the shadows wrapping around him and making him seem slightly menacing. Licking her lips, feeling the delicate skin parched and dry, she didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to actually answer honestly. What would he say if she admitted that she watched him because she was fascinated, because she wanted to know what his story was? What would he say if she admitted she’d come to the fight to see him solely, because she’d heard the other fighters at the gym talking about where it was being held? Even hearing that in her head made her feel like a creep. But she wanted to be honest, too. “I overheard the guys at the gym talking about it¸ and that you were going to be there tonight. I wanted to see you fight.” She didn’t look away, although his gaze was penetrating and made her feel bare. “And why would you want to see me fight?” he asked with this hardness to his voice, but it was a steeliness that was just him, and not anger directed at her.
