Page 84 of Player

Finn

“You’re an idiot.”

I scratch my chin and give Clarissa a firm look. It’s the first full sentence she’s said to me since I went into total wanker mode. “You still sore about the other night?”

In a voice barely above a whisper, she lays into me. “You broke your promise that we’d do this together. And why? Because we had okay sex then you couldn’t handle the aftermath, so you ghosted me like I had a contagious disease. Yes, I’m pissed. There’s nothing worse than a liar, and you reneging on our agreement is a step toward that fine line.”

Nothing worse than a liar? Jaysus, if she ever discovered the truth. Everything about me is a lie. “Okay sex?” I say in a booming voice, deflecting by trying to make her laugh. Her on my side tonight is what I need. Not her brooding over the illusions of us.

Behind me, a few eavesdroppers snicker.

She breaks into an earsplitting grin.

I frown in confusion.

She waits until the crowd’s attention turns elsewhere. “You’re an idiot because the guy you were antagonizing is Johnny’s brother. I spent an hour discussing how you’d be perfect for the laborer job he’s looking to fill. You know, plan B in case you get your ass handed to you in the cage.”

“Ye of little faith,” I mutter. Me arse handed to me? That’s as likely to happen as these fine lads walking out of the cage without limping. But her cleverness makes me smile.

“I bet half your life is spent pissing people off and the other half apologizing.”

“Partially true.” I pause. “But usually my colleen’s gentle heart finds a way to forgive me.”

She scowls. No forgiveness there.

A bell rings just as I’ve half a mind to apologize for being a shyster. She deserves better than the trouble I’ll be causing her.

“Wish me luck,” I say.

“I’ll be waiting over there by the stretchers,” the sassy woman says, quick with a comeback. Jaysus, I must be rubbing off on her. “Make amends with Eddie, Finn,” she adds. “If you can.”

I can.

Clarissa stalks off.

But I won’t.

* * *

My first bout is against Donovan, a lad with a wild uppercut and the patience of a saint. Conor McGregor would be an easier opponent.

I can tell from how Donovan’s warming up that he’s ambitious. It’s in every jab, every kick, every cool assessment he passes over the other fellas. There’s a reason the pup has a winning record in these fight clubs. He’s hungry for more than a few quick quid.

I know the feeling. Lived, breathed, and almost died for it. Excellent preparation for what was to come, TORC’s Hell Camp. Thanks to my stint as Antonio, I’m nowhere near the maximum physical condition I’d been in.

Clarissa returns with a pint and a whiskey.

“Here.” She hands me the shot glass. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“Can’t say that I do.” I toss back the whiskey then follow it with a sip of Guinness.

“He’s a professional fighter. Everyone says he can punch.”

“Then I’ll just have to get out of his way.”

“And he’s fast.”

“Then I best finish my drink and savor the anticipation.”