A Fighter's Choice Read Free Page A

this morning. She stared into his blue gaze and wondered what
he was thinking.
    “You’re a stripper?”
    She smiled. “I never said I was a stripper.”
    “What are you then? Only strippers work in a strip
club.”
    “Then you’ve not been to a lot of strip clubs. There
are a lot of jobs out there for women to do.”
    “Not in a strip club.” His hands were fisted on his
legs. Was he angry?
    “No, I don’t strip. I serve drinks and tend to the
bar. I couldn’t strip.” She released a snort thinking
about the prospect of stripping.
    “Why couldn’t you strip?” he asked.
    “There are so many reasons why I couldn’t strip.” The
very thought made it difficult for her to contain her giggles.
    “Name them.” He folded his hands over his chest,
glaring at her.
    “One, I can’t wear heels. Seriously, I struggle to
wear them. It’s a disaster. Two, have you seen the pole they expect you to
dance around? Three, I can’t dance. I look like a flapping duck mixed with a
pig on stage. I cannot make this body look sexy to save my life.”
    “You’re not fat.”
    He was being really sweet. She squeezed into a size
sixteen and hadn’t gotten cellulite yet, but she knew it was coming.
    “I didn’t say I was.” She looked back at him aware of
his gaze on her body. She liked the feel of his eyes on her too much.
    The dryer started to make a beeping sound, and she got
to her feet. This was for a different machine, as she had been here sometime
before him. For the next few minutes every time she looked toward him, she saw
his gaze was on hers. She folded her clothing as he placed his clothing into
the dryer beside her.
    Jasper moved behind her, his hands resting on her hips
as he leaned in close. “I fight.”
    She frowned, turning to look at him.
    “What?”
    “How I get the bruises, I fight.” He squeezed her hips
and moved away.
    Okay, she had a lot more questions and wasn’t about to
take no for an answer. She finished folding her washing and took her seat
beside him on the bench. “You’re a fighter?”
    “Keep your voice down.” He looked over her shoulder,
and she followed his gaze. No one was watching them or even paying attention to
them. The women had long since left in a huff, and Beatrice was playing her
bingo on the ‘net.
    “Sorry, you’re a fighter?”
    “Yes.”
    She looked at the bruising and the state of his
knuckles. “This is not the stuff you talk about in the open, right?” she asked.
    “No. Don’t talk about it to anyone.”
    “If you can’t talk why do you do it? I mean, how do
you make a living looking like that?” She reached out, touching his face and
turning it this way and that. He caught hold of her arms, stopping her from
moving or touching him.
    “People who want to know find out. There’s a ways of
finding everything out providing you know a fighter, or a fighter’s friend.”
    “Isn’t it dangerous?” She withdrew her hands while
trying not to think about the feel of his hands on her body. Thinking about his
hands wouldn’t do her any good. She cut off any thought of anything more and
simply stared at him.
    “Yeah, it’s dangerous, but isn’t everything.”
    She rolled her eyes. “I know all about getting hit by
a bus and shit like that. I’m talking about something else. This is more
dangerous than anything else you can encounter.”
    “Every time you leave the safety of your apartment you
can get run down.”
    “But I watch where I walk. I take precautions for
everything. What are you doing? You’re looking for fights. You’re willing to
put your life at risk every time you go for a fight.”
    “There are rules.”
    “Not that many, clearly,” she said, and he gave her a
pointed look. “What? It’s true. You’re the one with all the bruises, not me.”
    “You could get raped or hurt where you work.”
    “I know, which is why I have
my pepper spray and I grow nails. I’ve learned if you’re willing to gouge their
eyes out, they’ll