Oh Please…

Elena’s POV

The adrenaline from my fight hadn’t completely worn off by the time we wandered over to the bar. Allan ordered himself a bourbon while Lyra happily claimed another drink herself. I stuck with bottled water. Fighting for fun was one thing. But sabotaging my training with alcohol was another.

Lyra looked at the bottle in my hand and sighed dramatically. “I swear, Elena, you don’t know how to celebrate.”

I laughed, twisting off the cap before taking a drink. “I celebrate by waking up without a hangover.”

She muttered something about me being hopeless while Allan smirked over the rim of his glass.

We carried our drinks to a corner booth overlooking the ring. From there, we could see almost everything happening inside Ringside. Music pounded through the speakers, people crowded around the betting windows, and bartenders worked nonstop trying to keep up with the flood of customers. Wednesday nights usually weren’t this busy.

Conversation drifted from my fight to weekend plans, although every time I shifted in my seat, my ribs reminded me Hugo fought like a wrecking ball disguised as a man. Allan noticed the occasional wince but wisely chose not to lecture me. He knew it wouldn’t accomplish anything.

The smell reached me before the voice did. Beer. Whiskey. Cheap cologne. I barely had time to glance up before a man stopped beside our table, swaying enough to make me wonder how he was still standing.

“Hey, sweet ass. Wanna dance?” His words slurred together.

I forced a polite smile. No thanks. I’m about to head out.”

Instead of taking the hint, he leaned closer. Wonderful. Apparently, common sense had abandoned him hours ago. Without drawing attention to myself, I slid my hand across the booth until it rested over Allan’s. He glanced down before looking at me. One quick wink was enough. He understood immediately.

I slide my hand over to Allan’s and put my hand over his, grabbing ahold of it. I looked to the side and winked at him. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. "I know what your doing lil lady but I'll hold your hand any damn time you want." He says and takes my earlobe between his teeth.

I know my face turns many shades of red.

"Allan" I whisper as he caught me off guard.

"Oh is my girl acting shy in front of others now." He said as he took my earlobe into his mouth and sucked on it.

"Allan" I breathed out. Damn this man has my heart pounding.

"Are you alright." He whispered in my ear as he took his tongue and ran it down my neck.

The drunk mumbled an apology before waving his friends after him, disappearing into the crowd without another word.

I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. “Thanks.”

Allan only shrugged, wearing the kind of grin that usually meant he was about to become insufferable. “What are best friends for?”

I laughed despite myself. There was no denying Allan cleaned up exceptionally well. At twenty-two, he stood an even six feet tall with broad shoulders, a strong jawline, dark brown hair, and hazel eyes that had probably caused more than a few questionable decisions. Hours in the gym had carved every muscle across his frame, yet he somehow wore it all with effortless confidence. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine.

Unfortunately, he knew it. That was Allan’s greatest strength and his greatest flaw. Women practically threw themselves at him, and he never seemed interested in anything beyond the chase. Relationships weren’t his thing. Commitment wasn’t even in his vocabulary. He collected phone numbers the way other people collected baseball cards. As attractive as he was, I knew better than to take his flirting seriously. He was my best friend. Mine and Lyra’s. That line had never been crossed.

Lyra looked between us before breaking into a knowing smile. “You two are adorable.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re friends.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she teased. “Anyone with eyes can see the chemistry.”

Allan leaned back, clearly enjoying every second of her attempt to play matchmaker. “I mean,” he said with a crooked smile, “she does make a compelling argument.”

“Oh, please.” I laughed, shaking my head. “You don’t do relationships, Allan. I don’t do one-night stands. Besides, you don’t even sleep with the same woman twice.”

For the first time all evening, his grin softened. “Maybe I’d make an exception.”

For a heartbeat, I almost believed him. Almost. Then reality caught up with me. Get it together, Elena. He’s a flirt. He tells women exactly what they want to hear, then disappears before breakfast. That’s who he’s always been.

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “You and the word forever don’t belong in the same sentence.”

His smile returned. “Probably not,” he shrugged his shoulders.

Lyra interrupted before either of us could continue. “I’m still thirsty.”

I laughed. “Shocking.”

She stuck her tongue out at me before polishing off the last of her drink. My ribs protested as I shifted again. “I think I’m about ready to call it a night.”

Allan looked over immediately. “I’ll drive both of you home.”

“You sure? It’s out of your way,” I looked up into his eyes.

He waved off the concern. “Not a problem.”

Before I could agree, Lyra’s attention snapped toward the ring. “Oh! Another fight!” She looked at me with exaggerated puppy-dog eyes. “Please?”

I sighed dramatically. “One more.”

She squealed loud enough to earn a few amused looks from nearby tables. As we made our way closer to the ring, I realized just how packed Ringside had become. The crowd was easily twice the size it had been during my match.

“For a Wednesday,” I said, looking around, “this place is busy.”

“Amateur night,” Allan replied.

The announcer climbed into the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen! Dudley ‘No Chance’ Duncey versus… the one… the only… Draven!”

The building erupted. My attention shifted toward the entrance. Then I saw him. Whoever called this amateur night had a strange definition of the word. The man walking toward the ring carried himself with quiet confidence, every step calm and deliberate. He stood around six-foot-two with shoulder-length dark brown hair, broad shoulders, and enough muscle to make it obvious he spent more time training than talking. A neatly trimmed shadow framed his jaw, while striking hazel eyes swept across the room with effortless authority.

“Isn’t that the owner?” I asked.

Allan nodded his head. “Yep.”

The fight wasn’t even close. Dudley spent more time running his mouth than protecting himself. He charged the moment the bell rang, throwing a wild punch that sliced through empty air. The second swing met the same result before Draven redirected the attack effortlessly and answered with a crushing right hand.

Dudley stumbled. Another punch landed before he recovered. His body hit the canvas hard. Then he was out cold.

“The winner by knockout… Draven!” The announcer reached for his wrist, but Draven calmly pulled away before his arm could be raised. No celebration. No showboating. No acknowledgment of the crowd screaming his name.

Instead, he lifted his head. His hazel eyes locked onto mine. Everything around me disappeared. Out of everyone inside Ringside… He was looking directly at me. And for reasons I couldn’t explain… I couldn’t look away.