The Sport of Romance: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Cari Quinn

  I wouldn’t have as much fun adjusting my budget, especially since we’d just moved into our new place, but those were the lumps. I could always take on more shifts at Vinnie’s or new clients at The Cage. I only had a couple since I was on probation, but my track record on the circuit had helped me land the job. I definitely appreciated the extra cash now that I wasn’t fighting anymore and had a new spiffy apartment to decorate.

  Well, Carly was decorating. I was okay with my saggy couch and the chair with the broken springs, but we needed to be able to entertain guests. So she said.

  She seemed happy here in the city. I’d asked her flat out if she wasn’t, if she’d rather return home to Aunt Patty or hell, get away from me, period. Just because I’d chosen to stay in New York didn’t mean she had to do the same. But she’d told me she wanted to live with me, that she’d been waiting for years for our chance to be a couple of freewheeling young women making our own way.

  I’d only cried for twenty minutes or so.

  Tray had repeatedly asked us to move in with him. I’d been tempted, because we hadn’t had much time to look for safe, affordable housing. Okay, so that wasn’t the only reason. I wanted to set the right example for Carly, and moving us in with a guy I’d known for only three months didn’t seem like it. I could only imagine Aunt Patty’s reaction.

  But even so, we’d only signed a year lease, and I fully expected to be living with Tray by this time next year. Instead of that making me feel panicky and unsure, it gave me a warm glow. I was loved. I loved, even if I hadn’t quite said the words yet. And the world hadn’t ended.

  Everything wasn’t roses. I’d decided to try therapy once a week, and so far I’d gone through three therapists. The current one had lasted two sessions, and I was hopeful. As long as she didn’t start telling me to join an abuse recovery group like the others had, we might be okay.

  It had taken me this long to tell anyone about my rape, never mind a room of people. Group therapy helped plenty of others. Perhaps it would be help me too someday. But not now.

  Tray and I fought—a lot—but we enjoyed the making up part just as much. He still tried to tell me what to do more than I liked, and I still retreated into silence in defense. His parents weren’t particularly thrilled he was dating me, and I couldn’t say I adored them either. But we’d lived through a couple of family dinners and we even managed to laugh afterward.

  Usually while consuming an alcoholic beverage. Or three.

  We weren’t giving up. If fighting had taught us anything, it was the importance of not being a quitter. It had also taught us how to judge an opponent’s weakness.

  I hefted the boxes and headed back inside. I had one of Tray’s in my arms.

  Tray and Carly were cutting the cake and sliding pieces onto the paper plates we’d brought. They were both laughing. God, I loved that sound.

  Tray came over to help as I entered the room, cocking a brow at my pile of unwrapped presents. “Shopping? I feel privileged.”

  “It gets even better.” Carly sucked pudding off her thumb and waggled her brows. “Just wait until you saw what she bought. You will be a very happy man.”

  “Car, eat your penis and be quiet.”

  Tray took the top box from me and shook it like a five-year-old. “When do I get to open it?”

  “After my sister leaves. Which she is doing soon.”

  “Aww, you are no fun. The woman chains me to a hot stove all day then I’m forced out just when things are getting interesting.” She marched over to hug Tray, squealing when he lifted her off her feet. “There’s another cake for tonight. A real one. Not strictly dickly.”

  “Two cakes? This having a hot girlfriend with a cook for a sister is so working out in my favor.” He swung her around and finally set her down, smoothing back her flyaway curls. “Thank you. You’re awesome. Good luck and kick ass.” He flicked his wrist, making her giggle. “Now please get lost.”

  She laughed and grabbed a piece of cake on her way out. “Yeah, yeah. I’m outta here.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay to take the train there?” I asked, well aware I sounded like a worried mother. Or maybe grandma. Carly was visiting a culinary school that afternoon and insisted she wanted to do the first visit on her own.

  “I’m fine, Mama Bear. Have fun.” She made an obscene hand gesture and shut the door in Tray’s face when he pretended to chase after her.

  “She is so subtle.” After setting down the boxes, I fingered my braid and headed toward the cake. Now that the moment of truth had arrived, I was nervous. As usual.

  When would I ever learn that I wasn’t some sexy chick? I was still a fighter girl down to the marrow, and I didn’t know how to be seductive. I screwed it up every time.

  “Can I open them now? Huh?”

  “Can’t we eat cake first?”

  He frowned. “You honestly expect a penis cake exploding with vanilla pudding and bearing whiskers to distract me from what’s in these boxes? Nope. Sorry. Gimme.”

  “But—”

  “You would deny a man on his birthday? Have you no soul?”

  I laughed helplessly. Screwing up commencing in one…two…three… “So I’ve been told.” Sighing, I waved him on. “Go ahead, boy-man-child.”

  He dug into the first box, yanking off the lid and tearing through the tissue paper. Clearly puzzled, he withdrew the satin black and red shorts. “What in the frilly fuck? Boxers?”

  “Special boxers.” I set down the forkful of cake I’d just picked up so it didn’t end up in my windpipe when I started laughing again. “Turn them around.”

  Eyeing me, he did as I asked—and choked. “Fox? You actually got me boxers that say that on the ass? What is this, a matching pair to go with your Juicy panties?”

  “Carly suggested we call them foxers instead.” I kept a straight face for all of ten seconds. “Come on, I couldn’t resist. They were there, and I have my new charge card.”

  “We’ve created a monster.”

  Barely hiding a smile, I motioned him on. “There’s more. Open the next one.”

  He carted the next box to the desk and popped the lid. “If this is a G-string, I’m breaking up with you.”

  A couple of months ago, I might’ve taken that threat at face value. Now I tossed back a smug reply. “No, you aren’t.”

  His grin flashed as he sifted through the tissue. “Fine. Busted. No, I’m not. But I’m only wearing it on holidays.” His hand stilled. “Oh shit.”

  “Take it out.”

  He drew out the ankle-length black leather duster, and my stomach quaked as I waited for the verdict. It wasn’t like his leather jacket. Not at all. But it was badass. At least I thought so. Carly had too.

  “So? Do you hate it? I knew you’d hate it. I suck at this. It’s just that you’re so tall and I thought it would look…yummy,” I trailed off as he pivoted toward me. “I kept the receipt,” I finished weakly.

  He grabbed my upper arms and pulled me in for a sizzling kiss that almost steamed my lips right off my face. “I love you. Do you know that?”

  “Uh.” Brain function was not optimal. Or even minimal. “Uhh…”

  “It’s incredible. I love it. God, I can’t wait to see what’s in the last box.” He whirled back to grab the third one.

  I was still trying to remember how to breathe. He told me he loved me almost every day, with the ease of someone who’d been saying it for a lifetime despite the fact that I knew he hadn’t. And he definitely gave me smoking kisses. But the two together? I was still so dazed that I almost missed his stunned expression as he tugged out the pale yellow see-through teddy.

  “Wow. Um. Wow.” He blew out a breath. “It’s great, but I don’t think it’s my size.”

  “That one’s technically not a gift for you.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  I slipped my arms around his waist, snuggling my hands under his T-shirt. “This was what I tried to buy that first night when I got those stupid panti
es. I sent pictures to Carly and she thought this one would work.”

  “I vote affirmative.”

  “I was going to get it then, but I blacked out. I grabbed the first thing I could.” He tensed under my fingers and I stroked his stomach, trying to soothe. “Darren liked me in yellow.”

  “Let’s take it back and get red,” he said after a long pause.

  We were both working on being able to talk about Darren in casual conversation. He’d had too much power over me for far too long.

  “Or, hey, animal print. I’ve developed a fascination for that.”

  “No. I like the yellow. You like the yellow.” I rubbed my nose over the back of his T-shirt and inhaled his spicy cologne and soap. That smell had centered me since the day we’d met. “This time, I went in and browsed without having a panic attack. You know why?”

  “Because you’re so fucking strong you amaze me every minute of the day?” The emotion in his voice made my eyes go damp.

  “No. Because I kept looking at your boxers and grinning. I found them as soon as I walked in, and they helped me think about you, not Darren. By the time I left, he wasn’t even in my head.”

  “Move back. I’ll put them on right now. Actually, I’ll wear them every day. You’ll have to get me a whole wardrobe of them.” He rubbed the back of my hand. “I hope there are more colors. Maybe a nice blue?”

  Laughter really was the best medicine. That’s what he’d given me. Laughter, and joy, and love. I needed to give those right back. Ached to.

  “Nope, sorry, just black. But if you like them that much, I can—” I’d been idly caressing his abs but the raised area under my fingers snagged my attention. “What is this?”

  “A little tattoo I got today. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “Little tattoo, hmm?” I twisted up his shirt as he turned toward me. There in black ink on his ripped as hell stomach, a single word.

  Believe.

  “It’s a good word,” he said nonchalantly. “A strong one. It says a lot, don’t you think? It’s hopeful and positive and—”

  I laid my finger over his mouth, silencing him. He’d believed for me for a while and it had gotten us to this place. A fucking awesome place, if I said so myself. And now I believed every bit as fervently as he did.

  “I love you so much.” A tremor went through him. Through me. I leaned up to kiss his jaw. His cheeks. His lips. I said it again over the lump in my throat. “I love you, Tray.”

  He framed my face in his fingers and kissed me in the spaces between. “About fucking time,” he said hoarsely. “Do you know how much I’ve been dying to hear those words?”

  “I’m sorry it took me forever to say them. It didn’t take me that long to feel them.” He was staring at me so intently that I started to squirm. “What?”

  “Hang on a sec.” He released me to go over to the coat closet and pull out his hoodie.

  He’d refused to take back his leather jacket, which was a big reason why I’d bought him a new one. The other being that he’d look amazing in the one I’d got.

  Because I was still picturing Tray in black leather—and only black leather—when he turned back with a little black velvet box in his hand, it took me a second to realize what I was seeing. I didn’t take a step back, but I definitely swayed. “Um…”

  He grinned at my expression and held out the box. “Just open it.”

  “That’s twice today you’ve reduced me to grunts.” Steeling myself, I popped the lid and blinked at the tiny gold boxing glove earrings nestled within. “Earrings?”

  He pried them out of the box and managed to get them in my ears himself after a couple of fumbling tries. “I’ve been carrying them around since the night of Carly’s party, waiting for the right moment to give them to you.”

  “Slater picked them out?” I asked slyly, thinking of the man who had become a friend to me too over the last couple of months. He was hanging out with us more and more, and Tray had a feeling he didn’t want to spend time at home for some reason. But he didn’t push.

  Unlike me. I’d get it out of Slater one of these days, preferably when Tray wasn’t around to tell me to stop prying.

  “Do you like them?” Tray asked.

  “I love them. They’re perfect.”

  Tray’s lips curved. “Then fuck no, he didn’t pick them out.”

  “Perfect.” I traced the tiny gloves. “Even if I don’t fight anymore.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re fighting every minute.” He fingered my earlobes, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’m fighting with you too. Always.”

  “If you make me cry on your birthday, I’m going to have to kick your ass.” I sniffled.

  He flashed a smug grin. “Promise?”

  “Oh, I promise.” I nipped the inside of his wrist. We enjoyed fighting as foreplay. If we were weird, at least we kept each other off the streets. “I still owe you for last night.”

  “That you do.” He tucked my hair behind my ears to admire my earrings. “They look good on you.”

  I snuggled against his chest, amazed as always at how natural it felt now to do so. “They’re beautiful. You have great taste.”

  “A ring would look better.”

  I didn’t move. Did. Not. Move.

  He twirled my hair, still seeming perfectly at ease. “But I know you’re not down with that yet.”

  “And you are?” Do not hyperventilate.

  “I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. And we have all the time in the world.”

  As if he hadn’t just sort of asked me to marry him—had he? I wasn’t sure—he turned to pick up a piece of his penis cake and took a healthy bite. Vanilla pudding oozed out of the corner of his mouth and he licked it up, grinning.

  I barely held back a girly sigh. God, he’d made me stupid for him. And he so knew it.

  He motioned to my slice of cake. “Hurry up and eat that. Studying can wait. We need to go home right away.”

  I did as he asked. It wasn’t hard. Erm, the cake wasn’t hard, of course, but it wasn’t hard to eat it fast. My sister was one hell of a good cook, even when it came to pudding-filled phalluses.

  The instant I was done, he dumped the paper plates in the garbage, covered the rest of the cake, and split up his gift boxes to carry out to the car.

  “So why are we in such a hurry, may I ask?”

  “Hello, did you see that fucking hot teddy? And someone promised me birthday spankings, though I’m pretty sure we never clarified who got to spank who.”

  He grinned over his shoulder as he locked the office. Then he took my hand and we headed up the hall, ignoring the usual catcalls from the guys and Vanity and her crew, some of whom had migrated from the newly MMA-free Mark’s Gym—much to Kizzy’s unrelenting, loud disgust—to The Cage. They loved making fun of us, but we didn’t care. Right then, I especially didn’t give a shit, since I could see my sister through the glass front door.

  Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t alone.

  Giovanni leaned against the stone wall beside her, his arm above her head. Sunglasses on, cocky smirk in place as she held out her cake-laden fork for him to taste.

  “Dammit, he’s eating your penis.”

  “Yep. That did it.” Tray glanced down at his track pants. “Teddy boner, officially gone.”

  My grin lasted until my sister inched closer to Costas and tilted her head in full-on flirt mode. She was laughing and tossing her hair, and he was sucking on her fork like it had turned into a pronged lollipop.

  “If we keep telling her to stay away, we’ll push her right into his arms. You know that.”

  He was right. As usual. Trying to keep them apart was a losing proposition. Unless I chained her up, I couldn’t ensure she didn’t see him. Maybe I had no right to ensure it.

  Loving someone meant letting her make her own choices. No matter how dumb. If she insisted on offering her sweets to dangerous men, I couldn’t stop her. But I could still bitch.

  “I hate teenagers
,” I muttered. “Full of hormones and stupidity.”

  “So does that mean kids are out of the equation?” Understanding I had no desire to walk past my sister and Giovanni, Tray guided me toward the side exit. With his hand on my ass.

  The guy gave good distraction, I had to admit.

  Instead of freaking out at his question, I decided to take a page out of his book and flow. Lots of flow. “Put a ring on it in a few years, then maybe we’ll talk.”

  He leaned forward to hold open the door then followed me out. “I’ll remember that.”

  I reached for his hand as we emerged into the sunshine. “I’m counting on it.”

  The End

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  Dear Reader,

  I never intended to write this book. I’d carried the title “Shadowboxer” in my head ever since I heard Fiona Apple’s amazing song by the same name, but I didn’t have a story to go with it. Then one day I did. This book poured out of me in fits and starts—more starts than fits—and I loved writing it more than I’ve loved writing any other book. I cried with Mia more than once. Laughed with her too. And just like Mia, I was afraid. I didn’t know if people would like this book. If I’d gotten it “right.” Abuse is so deeply personal. I was scared of screwing up, much like Fox. Several times I nearly shoved this manuscript under my bed and moved on. But I couldn’t. My best friend, co-writer and CP, Taryn Elliott, wouldn’t let me. Neither would Mia and Fox. Because if I let myself down, I’d be letting them down too—and all the people I hoped would perhaps read this story. I, too, have often felt like I didn’t have a voice. I’ve screamed in my head because I thought no one would listen or care.

  Writing Mia helped heal me in a lot of different ways. She helped give me my sense of hope back. She might be fictional, but she’s not to me. She’s me, and you, and every one of us. She’s angry and messed up and absolutely perfect.

  Thank you for reading. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.