didn’t know her well enough to make that judgment, but she enjoyed hearing it anyway. “You think so?”
“Know so. I mean, what’s not to like, right?”
She half turned to face him. “So tell me, what do you consider my sterling qualities?”
He glanced in the rearview mirror again. “Would that be crossing a line? I mean, I don’t look forward to your dad unloading on me again.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
He grinned wide enough to put dimples in his whiskery cheeks. “Alrighty, then. For one thing, you’re cute as hell. Big bedroom eyes, soft sexy mouth, and you have such a sweet little body.”
Fallon ducked her head as guilt swamped her. “I don’t.”
“See, this is why I should pound on Marcus. Did that prick say or do something to make you—”
“No.” Caught between wanting to laugh and dying of embarrassment, Fallon said, “And your language is deteriorating by the second.”
“Let’s blame Marcus,” Justice grumbled. “He brings out the worst in me.”
Shaking her head, Fallon said, “You’re incorrigible.”
“Just speaking the truth.” He grew more serious. “You’re also really nice. And smart. You have a good sense of humor. You’re daring. And... I dunno. You’re genuine.” With a fast shrug, he added, “I didn’t expect that. I thought with you being rich and all, you’d maybe be snooty or bitchy, but you’re not. You’re real down-to-earth.”
Never in her life had she been so flattered. “Thank you, Justice.” For obvious reasons, compliments to her character were far nicer than commenting on her physical appearance.
He gave a nod, then said, “You also look really great dancing. Too good, maybe.”
Having no idea what he meant by that, Fallon said again, “Thank you. I haven’t had much practice dancing either, but I enjoy it.”
“I could tell that you did,” he murmured. “Hell, every guy there could tell.” Then he asked, “Marcus never took you dancing?”
“A few times. Not often.” She didn’t want to detail everything she hadn’t done, so she switched gears. “While we’re discussing Marcus, I should probably explain that none of this was his fault.”
Justice snorted. “I saw him, remember? He was all butt-hurt and bossy, probably because he knew he’d screwed up.”
Fallon choked. “Butt-hurt?”
He grinned again. “Yeah, you know. All pouty and belligerent.”
“I’ve, ah, never heard the term.”
He dismissed that with a shrug. “Take my word for it—men don’t act that way unless they’re butt-hurt. Not real men, anyway.”
With Justice having been a fighter, his ideas of how real men should behave might differ from many others. “Could I ask you something now?”
“Shoot.”
“Why did you give up fighting when you’re so obviously good?”
“Ouch.” He gave a theatrical wince. “Tough question. See, I’m not that good. Not good enough to win a title and that’s what it’s all about.”
“But you’re fast, and strong and—”
He grinned at her. “Keep going.”
“Admittedly, I don’t know that much about fighting, but I was certainly impressed.”
“Because,” he repeated, “you don’t know that much about fighting. The dudes you’ll meet tonight at Rowdy’s? Some of them are top-notch. Championship quality. Without sounding too cocky, I am good, but only against untrained idiots. You could throw street thugs at me all day long and I wouldn’t break a sweat. But in the cage...” He gave a small shake of his head. “Whole different ballgame.”
Fascinated, Fallon thought about the men she’d meet, even while wanting to know more about Justice. “How so?”
He lifted one hand from the wheel and curled it into a tight fist. Muscles bulged all along his forearm, his biceps, shoulder and into his neck. “I have bricks for fists. Real knock-out power. Problem is, trained fighters aren’t still long enough to let me hit them. MMA is a mixed fighting style, so it’s not just boxing. It’s grappling, too.”
“Grappling?”
“Sort of a mix between wrestling, submission and strikes. My takedowns are too slow and once I’m on the ground the best fighters have an advantage over me with speed. If I get hold of a guy, or if I can land a punch or kick, I can put him down. That’s my strength.”
She agreed—he looked very strong.
“But any scenario other than that and I’d get in trouble. The losses I had were all submissions.”
“How many losses did you have?”
“Twenty wins, six losses.”
“Pfft. And for that you gave up?”
He scowled at her. “There wasn’t a path to the belt. The heavyweight title holder is a beast. He beat me twice. If I lost weight and dropped down to light heavyweight, my buddy Cannon was in the way.”
“You didn’t want to fight a buddy?”
“Hell, I don’t mind that. Guys compete with their friends all the time. It’s a sport, not a grudge match.”
He sounded disgruntled, making her smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”
“I trained at Cannon’s camp. I’d seen him fight plenty of times, but even in training he was slicker than most. I knew I’d only beat him with a lucky punch, and so far, no one’s gotten a lucky punch in on him. You’ll like him.”
“You don’t sound resentful.”
“Of Cannon?” He snorted. “No, ’course not. He’s a great guy. Not just at fighting either. That camp? It’s his gym, a way for fighters to learn new techniques from each other, but he also runs classes for the neighborhood kids. Everyone in Warfield idolizes him because that’s the type of man he is.”
She held silent for a bit, noticing that he again checked the rearview mirror, then the side mirror. Just cautious, or was there a problem? She checked her side mirror but saw nothing amiss, just other cars on the road.
As the light faded from the horizon, streetlamps flickered on. They each removed their sunglasses. The headlights automatically flicked on as Justice took another exit and turned down a busy street.
“Do you miss fighting?”
“Yeah. A lot.”
She heard the longing
