14
GRAY
The second dinner with the PR rep went well, as much as a dinner meeting can go. Reed in a suit was hard to wrangle; he was more comfortable in MMA shorts and a T-shirt than a tie. I didn’t blame him since I never wore one. I was too old for that s**t. I wore a snap shirt and jeans, and I didn’t give a f**k if anyone cared. But Reed? He was the fighter. He wore the tie for s**t like this.
With a full stomach from the fancy meal, he couldn’t train, so we watched fight videos and talked strategy. The upcoming competition would be in a ring, but training was more than just practice fighting. I’d been relaxed on the sofa, my feet on the coffee table, remote in hand, when Emory called. The rush of pleasure at the sight of her name on the screen still surprised me.
I hadn’t expected
