Dirty Boxing by Harper St. George & Tara Wyatt

Author:Harper St. George & Tara Wyatt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star Books

14

Jules rolled over and snuggled into the covers, unwilling to face the morning just yet. She was filled with the lovely contentment that came from being held all night. It was a feeling she’d only ever had when she woke up next to Nick.

Nick. Had that really happened last night? Her entire body hummed with the memory of his touch. She stretched, and every muscle in her body was pleasantly sore.

She couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across her face as she finally opened her eyes to face the day. Nick wasn’t in bed, but the water was running in the shower and he was rapping the lyrics to Young MC’s “Bust a Move.” She laughed when he sang the woman’s part in an enthusiastic, high-pitched voice. She loved that she never knew what to expect from him and that he could always make her laugh.

A few beams of sunlight streamed in through the blinds on the bedroom window. Shit. How late was it? Throwing the tangled covers back, she rose and picked up a T-shirt she found lying on the end of the bed, tugging it on over her head. Retrieving her purse from where she’d dropped it by the front door, she dug out her phone to check the time. She had an hour before she needed to be at work. If she hurried, it’d be just enough time to get across town to her apartment, shower, and dress.

But not without seeing Nick first. Everything between them was so new, and she wanted to touch him and talk to him before the world intruded. She wanted to feel his arms around her again before it was back to work and all the other problems that had made her run from him in the first place. Putting her purse and phone on the nightstand, she walked over to peek between the blinds. She’d been too preoccupied the night before to pay much attention to the apartment complex. There were probably a half dozen two-story buildings scattered around the property with manicured green spaces and rock gardens adjoining them. It was nice. The type of place workaholic, single professionals and travel-bitten empty nesters tended to live. It wasn’t a place to put down roots. A place to live, but not to call home.

Nick’s voice faded and he turned off the water. As she turned to go say hi, a pile of boxes in the corner drew her attention. A couple were half open as if he’d taken out a few things he needed, while the rest were still sealed shut. He hadn’t completely unpacked yet, even though he’d been here for weeks. Actually, none of the furniture in the apartment was the same furniture from his loft in Chicago. This was all neutral tones and clean lines. Boring, inoffensive furniture that was probably included in the rent.

She wondered what he had planned—did he even intend to stay around after the tournament? It certainly wasn’t necessary to live here to hold the middleweight championship belt.

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