Page 7 of Love Punch

“Fine.” Though his tone said he was anything but.

“Is it the venue? My opponent?” I pressed.

“No, no…nothing like that.” Arthur’s brows were so furrowed they were practically one.

“Want to talk about it?” I wanted to hold his hand, to reassure him. I didn’t, though.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It’s my dad. Wants VIP tickets to the fight.”

“Well, that’s easy! You know you can get them any time,” I said.

“I filled all of them with celebrity requests.”

“Jase said you managed to get his daughters into VIP though,” I argued.

Arthur glared at me. “Fine. Maybe I don’t want my dad and his friends there. Okay?”

“Why? Don’t you get along?”

“No, it’s…complicated. It’s easier to just tell him I can’t get the tickets.” Arthur frowned. “Though I did say…”

“Do whatever you think is best,” I told him. “But don’t stop on my account. You’ve arranged for my cousins to get their tickets right?”

“Cory and Xavier? Yup. All sorted.” Arthur put his phone down and finally got back to his batter. I watched as he spooned out little circles onto a baking sheet and turning to the oven to put them in.

“What would I do without you?” I asked.

“Starve. Miss big fights. Not leave the house.” Arthur was joking, but we both knew he was totally right. He was a super-assistant.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” I asked. Arthur had an annexe connected to my house with its own separate kitchen and bathroom. Him being in my own kitchen was usually a sign of one or both of us needing the company.

“Nah, was just going to watch some films, eat my cookies, help myself to your most expensive red wine,” said Arthur.

“In the cinema room?”

“Unless you were going to use it. It’s your house.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“I remind you once again…it’syourhouse. You can be anywhere.” Arthur rolled his eyes like it was a lecture he’d given me a thousand times—which he had.

“And I’m asking if I can join you.”

Arthur hesitated. “Sure. But I’ll be in my PJs. And I’m not keeping the cookies away from you. I’m off the clock, you can fight your own food demons. And we arenotwatching a stupid fighting film.”

“I’ll let you take the lead,” I said with a smile. If he wouldn’t let me pay him what he deserved, the least I could do was let him pick what film he wanted to watch. So long as it wasn’tLegally Blondeagain. I didn’t think I could cope with that chick-flick shit.

Twenty minutes later, I made my way to the cinema room with my own PJs on. Arthur was already waiting, sat in a pair of tartan trousers and a fluffy dressing gown I was sure had belonged to me at some point.

“Oh God, not another chick flick romance,” I groaned as I spotted the face on the screen.

“Tell me her name and you can pick a different film,” Arthur challenged.

“…bastard,” I conceded. “I don’t know. I just know she does all those romances you like.”

“Anne Hathawayis a serious, Oscar-winning actress of great renown,” said Arthur. “And this isDevil Wears Prada. You might learn something.”

There were multiple seats in the cinema room with a two-person sofa front and centre. The sensible thing to do would be to keep some professional distance. So, I switched the light off and plonked myself down right next to him. I was a glutton for punishment. Then again, if my plan worked out, maybe I wouldn’t need to keep any professional distance soon.

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