Page 30 of Erik's Salvation
Both friends looked at her like she’d just declared it would be raining hot dogs tomorrow.
“Rich isn’t your type?” Henry asked.
“Tall isn’t your type?” Brigid added.
“Muscular?”
“Friendly?”
“Gorgeous?”
“Okay, okay,” Hannah cut in. “Yes, he’s all those things. But for one, he’s staying in a hotel, so clearly not local or sticking around. And two, he’s too…clean-cut.”
She liked men who were rough around the edges…like Erik. Groan.
“Who cares about local?” Henry gasped. “One night with that man and your world will obviously be rocked.”
She frowned and was about to tell Henry he couldn’t tell that just by looking at him, but Brigid got in first.
“And something tells me he’s anything but clean-cut in the bedroom.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. Her friends were too much. There was no part of her that wanted to hop into bed with the man, particularly not when another dark set of eyes filled her every waking thought.
Marco returned with their drinks, and when he handed her a new vodka soda, their fingers grazed. And that right there was her big tell. She felt nothing. No spark. No tingle.
Whereas when she touched Erik…she felt everything.
* * *
Erik kepthis feet shoulder-width apart and his body low, weight evenly distributed between his legs.
Some would say boxing was all about defense. Shielding the body. Protecting it. Others would say offense. Making sure you hit first, and you hit hard. Sending the opponent to the ground and making sure they didn’t get up.
Both were true. But the biggest thing that could make or break the fighter was the stance.
His opponent swung, and Erik slipped to the right, narrowly missing the hit. One heartbeat later, another punch careened toward him. He slipped to the right again. Another miss.
It was on the third punch that Erik blocked and followed up with a jab, then an uppercut. Both landed, but his opponent barely grunted. Just danced back, arms raised, ready to block the next hit.
Erik never felt freedom like when he was in the ring. It was the only time his mind truly silenced, and he could almost convince himself he hadn’t lost his entire fucking world eight years ago—and that it hadn’t been his fault.
Right now, he needed to be in this ring like he needed air to breathe. His mind had been a fucking mess the last two days. All because of one kiss. One kiss that had both freed and annihilated him.
He blocked a hit and danced back.
There had been a time he’d been open to love. That time was gone. Hell, there wasn’t a fucking shred of that man left.
He blocked another hit.
But despite that, in one kiss, he’d felt more with Hannah than he’d ever felt with anyone…even Vicky. And for a fleeting moment, he’d wanted more. He’d wantedher, all of her, and not just in bed. He’d wanted her to behis.
He blocked another hit, absorbing the force behind it, welcoming the ache to his limbs.
He had to stop. Stop thinking about her. Stop letting memories of that kiss wreak havoc on his system. He needed to stop the emotions that stirred inside him when he saw her. Spoke to her.Touchedher.
He threw a hook at his opponent, catching him in the mouth.
Ryker stopped and swiped the blood from his lip.
