Full Contact (Worth the Fight #2) Read Online Free Page B

his smile grew even bigger.
    “You know, women don’t usually tell me what’s on their mind.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s kinda refreshing. Glad you don’t feel the need to go along with what you think I want.”
    “Huh?”
    “It’s just that most women seem to get on the back of my bike, happily. If they have issues with their hair, their dress, their panties showing, and all that other chick shit, they’ve never said anything. They just hop on. You’re right, I’m an asshole. Shoulda come in my truck. Wasn’t thinking.”
    “Your weird compliment is appreciated. But I’m not such a fan of all this talk about other women, their panties, and their legs wrapped around you on the back of your bike. If you want to get to first base, maybe you can just shut it, take my keys, and feed me.”
    “God, you’re perfect.” He grabbed her keys and led her to her car. Jessica couldn’t help but look at him. He wore dark loose-fitting jeans and a gray button-down shirt that strained around the forearms, where he had bunched up the sleeves. He looked hot. H-O-T. He opened the door for her, and when she sat down, he leaned in to help her with her seat belt.
    “Seriously? Slade, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman. I don’t need help with my seat belt.”
    He dropped his hands. “Sorry. Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Habit, I guess.” He closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side, then folded his body into the car and put on his seat belt. He didn’t seem like himself; he seemed frazzled.
    She placed her hand on his knee. “You okay?”
    He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and slowly turned his head to look at her. “Yeah, I’m good. Been a little out of it today.”
    She noticed the slight tremor of his hand. With all the blows to the head from years of professional cage fighting, not to mention the underground fights where there were no rules, Slade had had to quit or risk becoming permanently impaired. As it stood, he still had some residual symptoms, and she had noticed that when he was stressed they seemed to be more prevalent. But that was a boundary she dared not cross. His fighting, or lack thereof, was an off-limits conversation. Chrissy had mentioned it before, and Jessica remembered that Slade had quickly changed the subject. When he faced forward again and turned the car on, she noticed some back-and-blue marks around his neck.
    She touched the bruise with the back of her hand. “What happened?”
    “Fucking Cain, one of the fighters I train. He blindsided me and almost choked me out.”
    “Oh my God.”
    He looked over at her and smiled. “It’s okay. It didn’t hurt. Just caught me off guard. I’m fine.” He reached for the hand that was still gently caressing his neck and placed it on his lap, giving her fingers a little squeeze. “Seriously, Jess. I’m good.”
    “You promise you’re being careful, right?” She was treading lightly. This wasn’t a conversation they’d had before.
    “Yes.” His answer was short. It wasn’t angry, but the way he said it made it clear that the topic was closed.
    “So, where is this first date of ours?”
    He smiled. “The Tackle Box.”
    “As in
the
Tackle Box?”
    “Do you know any other restaurant called the Tackle Box?”
    “No.” The Tackle Box was one town south, at Palm Harbor. It was a very upscale seafood restaurant by the beach. Dennis loved the Tackle Box, so she had been there before. Local politicians and socialites met there to drink, dine, and try to fix the world—in their own skewed, self-serving sort of way. She hated it. It was snooty and stuffy and not her kind of place. She was surprised he’d be interested in going there. It didn’t seem like his kind of place either.
    “Have you been before?” he asked.
    “Yes. You?”
    “No. But I hear it has the best lobster in Florida.”
    She hated lobster.
    “Well, I’m glad I dressed up.” She leaned her head back on the car seat