Page 119 of Forgotten Comeback
Stepping inside, I stroll around the room, pretending I’m not searching every nook and cranny for a certain boxer.
But of course Gavin’s not here; he ghosted me, I remind myself.
Refusing to cry by sheer willpower, I get to work outlining the numbers on my “artsy-fartsy” signs. With a glance at the clock, oh shit, I realize I only have a few minutes left. Changing out of my overalls, I slip on my new red dress and slap on a coat of matching lipstick.
My wardrobe decision having nothing to do with making Gavin regret hisdecision.
Locking up, I make my way to the stage. Steve spots me in the crowd, and he hustles over. “Now this look I approve.”
“Thank God,” I say, releasing an exaggerated sigh.
“You’re still the bigger pain in the ass,” he informs me, leading me to the stage.
With a grin, I take my position. All the while I’m mentally armoring up for when a certain boxer’s name is called.
Except Gavin’s name is never called. The Spider isn’t on the fight card tonight, and I should be relieved.
Yeah, I should be.
At least there’s a silver lining: Mike’s name isn’t called, either.
The weigh-in festivities come to an end, and I’m escorted off stage to a slew of catcalls and whistles.
“The crowd loves the red,” Steve tells me excitedly. “I’ll agree to the artsy-fartsy stuff if you agree to make red your signature look.”
I shrug. “Deal.”
Returning to my empty dressing room, I change into my new red bikini and examine myself in the mirror. As long as the bottoms don’t ride up, you won’t be able to see the ghost of a hand print on my ass cheek.
Fuck Gavin and his ass smacks.
With signs tucked under my arm and water bottle in hand, I march my way ringside.
“Damn, girl. What those tits do?”
“Slap you in the face. Smother you. That sort of thing.”
He can’t hear me, and figuring this guy will eventually run out of questions about my body parts, I wave and keep walking.
“Taylor?” A familiar voice has my spine steeling.
Seated ringside is Mia, and next to her is the handsy bartender coworker. Eyes wide, Mia says, “You’re the ring girl?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the p. Turning to her coworker, I say, “You must be Mia’s boyfriend.”
His eyes linger over my chest before meeting mine. “Mia and I are just friends.”
“Taylor, I need to talk to you,” Mia interjects.
“Sorry, I’m working,” I say dismissively. “Enjoy the fight.” I continue to my seat.
Trying to settle myself, I go through my pre-fight routine. Water bottle, check. Round signs in order, check. No Spider getting my ovaries worked up, check.
Chapter
Forty-Six
Taylor
