Page 141 of Undisputed Chaos
I tucked that nagging question away for later, though it certainly wasn’t easy.
I wandered over to his kitchen, intent on making up for that lack of information with plenty of other totally useful information, like what he world's most dangerous boxer kept in his pantry.
I began opening cabinets randomly, and the first revealed a surprisingly organized array of protein supplements, each container labeled with Adrian's distinctive scrawl.
The second held normal kitchen stuff—plates, glasses, bowls, all mismatched and expensive-looking. But the third cabinet made me gasp with delight.
"Jackpot," I whispered, staring at the treasure trove before me.
Every junk food known to mankind seemed to be crammed into this single cabinet.
Packages of double-stuffed Oreos, sour gummy worms, boxes of Pop-Tarts in at least six different flavors, three varieties of Goldfish, and an entire shelf dedicated to different flavors of chips.
I reached for a package of strawberry Poptarts, grinning as I remembered Adrian's body with his fully sculpted muscles and perfect abs.
His public image as a disciplined athlete clearly had some private exceptions.
The thought of him sitting on this couch, devouring Oreos while watching fights, was almost too adorable to imagine.
The refrigerator revealed further contradictions: Protein shakes and eggs sharing space with chocolate milk and four different kinds of ice cream.
"You're such a child," I mused, laughing as I eyed a pint of cookies ’n cream.
The bookshelves near his desk held a strange mix of technical manuals, true crime books, and a huge collection of romance novels.
I was contemplating raiding his junk food stash when my phone chimed with a text notification:
Crew
Where’s Adrian?
I frowned, puzzled by the question.
Crew had met Adrian exactly once, at that awkward dinner where my brother had practically exploded with excitement to be in the presence of the boxer.
Isla
At some boxing therapy thing. Why?
I watched the typing bubbles appear, then disappear, then appear again. Something about the hesitation made my skin prickle with unease.
Crew
I need to
And then nothing. The typing bubbles vanished.
Isla
Crew? You need to what?
Hello?
???
Still nothing. The silence stretched, each passing second ratcheting up my nerves.
This wasn't like Crew, who was usually glued to his phone and responded instantly.
