Page 4 of Falling for the Forbidden Fighter (She’s Worth the Trouble #3)

CATHERINE

I must be crazy.

No, crazy is too soft a word. I’ve lost my mind.

Not because I’ve invited a total stranger to sleep on my couch for more than a month. Not because if my family finds out, they’ll kill him.

I want Louis to stay with me.

The entire drive to his motel, I was searching for excuses to keep him in my car. It made no sense; it still makes no sense. This feeling that I want him near me is incessant, nagging.

I do not want a fighter.

It’s illogical. Why would I be with someone who gets their brain cells killed for a living? The guys who make this their life… they’ve got something to prove to themselves, or the world.

Louis isn’t like them.

I can tell by the way he strikes. When he hits the bag, it’s like there’s an enemy at the other end. His fists hit like his life depends on it. There’s no flair or pomp or pride. To him, boxing is a necessity, an obligation.

Why?

Even as we walk into my apartment, I’m screaming inside. There’s no way this ends well, but I can’t stop myself from doing it. Besides, I couldn’t let him sleep in that awful motel.

“Shoes off,” I say, throwing my keys on the kitchen counter. “Make yourself at home.”

Louis treads carefully. The way he looks at my place, you’d think he was bleeding and didn’t want to drip all over the floor. He looks cautious, careful.

“What’s wrong?”

His shoulders do that little shrug they’re so accustomed to. “Nice place.”

“Like my car?”

He nods.

Were things really that bad for him growing up? My car isn’t anything fancy, and while my apartment is in a new building, it’s pretty small.

Louis gets his shoes off and wanders into the living room toward the balcony.

“I keep the AC on,” I say, already getting my espresso machine warmed up. “So make sure the windows stay closed. And no smoking.”

“I don’t.”

“If you did, I’d make you quit. A smoker wouldn’t survive my dad’s training.” I wave a little cup in the air. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

He lingers around the window, looking out over the highway and the desert beyond. There’s an almost alien awkwardness to him that I find fascinating.

“The couch is all yours,” I say. “Shower is in my bathroom. There’s a half-bath across from my workout room.”

“You have a workout room ?” Louis is already down the hall and through the door. He comes back out, looking stunned. “You’re rich.”

“Hardly,” I snort. “I make good money. Student loans put a nice fat dent in my paychecks.”

Louis shakes his head. “This is the nicest house I’ve ever seen.”

“House? It’s a two-bedroom apartment. I’m barely breaking a thousand square feet. Though I guess you were living on a ship for a while. Dad told me how cramped that can be.”

The espresso machine buzzes, coiling out two creamy streams and filling my mansion with wonderful nutty notes.

“Here.” I hand him the little cup I made in a pottery class.

Louis takes it like he’s never seen coffee before.

“You ever had espresso?”

“No.”

“Try it.”

He lifts it to his lips and takes a gulp.

“Sip it,” I hiss.

“Wow. That is… amazing.”

“Tell my dad tomorrow.”

“So.” Louis nods, taking another big gulp. “This is rich-people coffee.”

“I’m not rich .”

“Nice car. Nice place. AC always on. And your dad owns a boxing gym.”

I roll my eyes. “The gym isn’t some cash cow. He keeps it afloat—that’s about it.”

“But he’s a legend.”

“And he hasn’t produced a belt-winning fighter in two decades.” I clean the metal basket and load it up with grounds. “He sunk too much time into my brother, and he didn’t pay off.”

Louis nods stoically. “I’ll change that.”

I eye him while the machine buzzes again. All my hopes for my dad… I don’t know. I feel like Louis is the fighter to do it. And at the same time, I wince at the idea of watching him step in the ring. Every time Ricky fought, I was scared.

I’m scared now.

“Confidence is good. We can work with that,” I say, sipping my own coffee. “Don’t get cocky, though.”

“I have to win. Confidence has nothing to do with it.”

“Why?”

Louis knocks his knuckles against the counter. “What else am I going to do? Fighting is the only thing I’m good at.”

I don’t respond.

In a way I can’t express, that’s sad too.

Louis sits his cup down as if to end the conversation. “Can I take a shower? Sorry, it’s just that the motel’s water pressure was nonexistent.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” I say. “Clean towels in the hallway closet. And there are showers at the gym if you want to clean up there after training.”

“Thanks… for everything.”

He darts off before I can say anything.

If he’s surfed couches for a while, I guess he’s used to this.

Before I leave, I head into my room to grab my work bag. The bathroom door is cracked. I can hear the shower running, see the steam pouring out.

From here, I spot Louis’s foggy reflection in the mirror as he steps into the shower. I drink him in, wishing I could wipe that mirror clean to take a better look.

He shuts the curtain.

For a moment, I consider canceling on my patients so I can hang out with him. No, that’s a stupid thought…

I leave feeling frustrated, not really understanding why.