Page 74 of Undisputed Chaos
"Can I get a picture after dinner?" he blurted. "None of my friends will believe this. One always said your last fight was fixed, but I told him?—"
"So Adrian," my mother said, carefully setting down her flute and smoothly cutting off Crew, "Isla mentioned you're quite successful in your career. How did you get started in boxing?"
Adrian smiled, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I started as a teenager when I met my forever family. I had lots of energy and figured out I was pretty good at hitting things."
My father nodded appreciatively. "Impressive. I've caught a few on TV. That knockout last spring was something else."
"Thank you." Adrian's thumb traced circles on my skin, the casual intimacy making it hard to focus on my pasta. "I got lucky later in life.”
Crew, not having the emotional intelligence for any level of modesty, jumped in.
“Luck? You have one of the highest knockout percentages in the league! And your footwork—did you invent that sidestep, or…?”
Adrian laughed. “Appreciate the support, little man. If you're interested, I can take you to the gym sometime, show you a few moves. That’s if your sister keeps me in her good graces.”
Crew looked ready to propose marriage. "Seriously? That would be awesome!"
My mother smiled, but I noticed something careful in her expression as she glanced between Adrian and me.
"It's wonderful to see Isla so happy," she said, her voice gentle. "She hasn't always been... lucky in relationships."
I tensed, knowing exactly where this was going. "Mom…"
"It's true, honey,” she continued, her tone apologetic but determined. "After what happened with Noah, we worried about you."
I knew she was trying to protect me, her way of letting Adrian know to be careful with me.
Adrian's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Noah?" he asked, his voice still pleasant, though something sharper flickered in his eyes.
"Her ex," Crew supplied, his expression darkening. "He seemed nice at first, you know? Brought flowers, remembered stuff. But he was always... I don't know how to explain it. Justoff."
"Crew," my father warned, but the dam had broken.
"What? It's true!" Crew continued, emboldened by Adrian's attentive expression.
"He was nice, I guess, just... intense with understanding why people liked her content when he couldn't figure out how to make her happy."
Adrian's smile remained in place, but I felt the change in him—the predatory stillness beneath the charm. "Intense how?” he asked, voice deceptively casual.
"He tried to be good to her," my mother interjected, always fair even when she disliked someone.
"But he had this way of... watching. Like he was studying her, trying to figure out how to keep her happy, but couldn’t. It was just… weird.”
“Weird?” Crew scoffed. “Understatement! Remember when he showed up at that gallery opening? He was stone-cold sober, which was somehow worse. Kept talking about how he'd 'studied' Isla's art and 'understood her vision' better than anyone there."
Adrian's gaze shifted to me, sharp and questioning.
I hadn't told him about Noah at all, much less about him cornering people at my exhibition to explain my paintings to them like he was some kind of expert. Security ended up asking him to leave.
"Ancient history," I mumbled lightly, squeezing Adrian's hand in return. "Really, it's not worth discussing."
"Well, if you ever see him around," Crew said to Adrian, leaning forward with conspiratory bravado, "you should totally punch him. You know, boxer to jerk. Teach him a lesson."
"Crew!" my mother gasped, but then she immediately took a sip of her champagne, hiding the fact that she was definitely down for that idea.
Adrian's eyes went dark, something familiar and predatory flickering across his features. His smile turned slow and razor-sharp. "Oh, I'd love that," he said, voice dropping to a velvet growl that sent heat straight to my core.
"One good hit would put his lights out permanently. But some lessons..."
