“What about that tattoo artist you said you were friends with?”

“Well, she was more of an older-sister, I guess? We weren’t really, like, you know, real friends. I liked her because she could teach me.”

Tina smiles warmly. “Okay, well, listen, it may not come easily, but it’ll come with practice, like most things in life. Anyway, I wanted to ask you, how are you doing? Settling in fine?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” I say. “Still not used to all the slang, and in America you’d never hear the c-word as much as you do here.” I give her a sheepish grin.

“And Pierce?”

I stiffen up. “What… what about him?”

“Is he bothering you still?”

“Not… exactly.”

“Be careful with him,” Tina warns me. “Do you understand?”

I furrow my brow, attempting to shrug it off. “Come on, Tina.”

“No, really Penelope. Be careful with him. He’s a heartbreaker.”

The words come out of my mouth in a whisper. “Right.”

“I assume you know what he does, right?”

“He’s a fighter… underground.”

“As in illegal.” Tina sees how uncomfortable I’m getting, and puts a hand on my knee. “I’m just looking out for you. If you ever need to talk, you can call me, okay?”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Now go on, get out of here. You want a lift home?”

“No, I’m going to walk.”

Tina’s voice grows stern. “Penelope.”

“Okay, I’ll take the tram.”

“Good enough. See you tomorrow.”

I smile, get up and leave the shop wondering at Tina’s slightly maternal behavior. As far as I know, she’s single, and if I had to guess I’d say she was in her late thirties. I’ve never seen her with a guy, and I’ve never failed to notice how she dotes on the children that clients sometimes bring in.

But then my mind moves to Pierce.

It’s like I can only get a few seconds of time to think about something else before my thoughts go back to him.

I wonder what he’s up to.

I’m… I hate to admit it, but I’m worried.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Three days left. Just three days until the fight.

I’m eating brown rice, broccoli and chicken breasts, followed by an electrolyte and mineral cocktail I made up myself.

The worst thing that can happen to a fighter in the cage is to get a cramp. You’ve got to prepare your body for many days before the fight. You’ve got to get everything just perfect. Hydration is key, and good food is, too.

You’d never guess it, because, fuck, calories are calories, right? But there’s a world of difference in the way you feel consuming one-thousand calories of junk versus one-thousand calories of good food. I eat four one-thousand calorie meals per day. It’s actually really hard work.

When I was younger, I paid diet no mind. Now, with the big three-zero coming up faster than I’d like, I live by it.

There’s a knock on the door. I haven’t showered yet – I stink of sweat from working out – but it’s probably just one of Fallon’s goons come around the house again, maybe to give me the details for the fight location.

After I specifically told them not to. My blood boils. I walk angrily to the door, fling it open, ready to grab Baldilocks or whoever the fuck by the collar, hoist him up against the wall, and pummel him.

But it’s not him. It’s Penelope.

“Pen,” I say, unclenching my fist. Her eyes roam up and down my body. I’m wearing nothing but compression shorts. When I notice her eyes linger on the bulge in my crotch, I smirk at her. “I knew you’d be back.”

“Oh Christ,” she says, turning around.

“Wait, wait,” I tell her. I take her hand, turn her back toward me. “I’m sorry. It’s… I don’t know.”

“Just the way you are?”

“A lifetime of bad habits,” I concede. “Come in.”

I guide her into my apartment, roll a weighted medicine ball out of her way. “Anything to drink?”

“You got something alcoholic?” she asks. I peer at her, and she shrugs. “Hey, I didn’t want to come here.”

“Anything in mind?”

“Vodka orange?”

“Sure. I won’t be joining you. I can’t drink at the moment.”

“It’s fine,” she says, flopping into my sofa. I watch her while I make her drink. She looks stressed out. She also looks sexy as fuck. She’s just dressed casually, black jeans, flats, and a white blouse, and she looks fucking fantastic in it.

She fiddles with her hair, coils a lock around a finger. I hand her the drink.

“Pierce,” she says. “I talked with my dad this morning.”

“Oh?”

“He says that your mother and him are really serious about having the wedding down here.”

I nod. “Is that right?”

“He says it’s because both of us have no extended family to speak of. So you and I are their only family, and they want to get married with family.”

“Cool,” I say. “When?”

“It’s not cool.”

I sit down, and resume eating my dinner. “Just say what you want to say.”

She looks frustrated, fiddles with the edge of her blouse. “We need to decide what to… do.”

“About what?”

“About what happened between us.”

“You mean since we fucked?”

Penny lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Yes.”

I get up from the sofa I’m on, and walk toward the one she’s on. I wrap her up. She resists at first, but then quits.

“Pen, how about we just tell each other what we want, okay?”

“Okay. You go first.”

“I want you. I want to be with you, I want to fuck you, I want to smell you. I want to see you smile. What do you want?”

She hesitates. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Way to play fair, Pen.”

“It’s not as simple as all that.”

“Then let me ask you something? Have you stopped thinking about me ever since you stopped talking to me?”

She doesn’t reply, but she knows that her silence is an admission.

“And you think that our parents getting married means we can’t be together?”

“Of course that’s what it means.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

“How?”

“It’s just weird, okay.”

“So you have a hang-up.”

“I do.”

“Sounds like it’s your problem to get over, then.”

“Oh, fuck you, Pierce.”