now—all the while hoping that whatever the hell is going on between my legs rectifies itself before it comes time to put my money where my mouth is.
The whooping and hollering in the basement kicks up a notch as Nate’s uncle’s opponent enters before it becomes a thunderous roar as he’s introduced. It drowns out Jep’s response. I remove his hand from my leg and stand, making my way next to Nate. He looks down at me, the hurt in his eyes making it apparent that he’s witnessed what was going on between me and Jep. I widen my eyes with feigned innocence before directing my attention to the octagon.
“And, entering through the red door, we have our undisputed, undefeated, reigning champion. Give it up for Hooligan Harvie.”
The crowd goes wilder. Ear-splitting whistles erupt and I cover my ears with my palms. This is crazy. I thought the gathering was enthusiastic before, but that was nothing on the electrifying feeling that’s filling the basement with Hooligan’s entrance.
I lift onto my tiptoes, eager to get a glimpse of the man capable of causing this type of reaction. I can hardly see a thing since everyone groups around the entrance and then mobs him as he makes his way inside. All I glimpse is the top of a head covered in short dark-brown hair sticking out from the crowd as he makes his way to the ring without the entourage that his opponent entered with. He seems to be alone; one man in a sea of bodies, and I wonder why he doesn’t have anyone in his corner like a fighter should. Before I can ask Nate why, I’m jostled by the crowd as it surges to the side of the cage. Annoyed at my lack of view, I hop from one foot to the other, waiting for him to enter the cage so I can catch a glimpse of the man who’s responsible for the hysteria growing in the room.
“It’s fucking insane,” Nate looks down at me. The hurt I caught sight of before is gone from his eyes and he appears amped. His flushed face and bright eyes telecast his excitement. “He’s on a four year winning streak. Everyone reckons he’s gonna lose tonight. This new guy is a hotshot, some mixed martial arts whiz kid, but they’re underestimating Hooligan.”
Some of his words are lost in the noise echoing around the basement but I catch enough to understand most of what he’s saying. Nodding as if I agree, I look back to the cage to find that the two fighters are now locked in with the referee.
“Fuck them all,” Nate continues while I assess the challenger and his ripped physique. “Hooligan might be thirty-two but he’ll still smash this asshole without breaking a sweat.
The challenger looks nasty, bashing his gloved hands together and snarling at Nate’s uncle who has his broad, rippling back to us. Just from my current view of the man, I’m disinclined to buy into Nate’s assessment of the situation. The man his uncle’s facing looks like the epitome of a fighter to me.
Nate sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out a high-pitched whistle.
“Hey, Hooligan,” he yells. Even with the booming noise of the basement, he manages to catch his uncle’s attention, who turns toward the sound.
My breath catches in my throat, and I feel my eyes widen of their own volition when piercing emerald green eyes meet mine. The bleakness in their depths matches the barrenness of my own soul; equaling my constant loneliness and despair at the state of my life. The exact emotions that I try my hardest to hide behind my in-your-face appearance and take-no-shit persona. A strangled gasp leaves me, my hand lifting to my chest, right over my heart without thought or reason. My pulse quickens, racing in my chest and my heart—that almost dead organ that beats only for Cooper and Zali—flips in my chest and makes me conscious of its existence for the first time in a very long time.
Surprise followed by an intense flare of electricity that makes me feel as if I’m the only person in the room briefly makes an appearance in Hooligan’s
The whooping and hollering in the basement kicks up a notch as Nate’s uncle’s opponent enters before it becomes a thunderous roar as he’s introduced. It drowns out Jep’s response. I remove his hand from my leg and stand, making my way next to Nate. He looks down at me, the hurt in his eyes making it apparent that he’s witnessed what was going on between me and Jep. I widen my eyes with feigned innocence before directing my attention to the octagon.
“And, entering through the red door, we have our undisputed, undefeated, reigning champion. Give it up for Hooligan Harvie.”
The crowd goes wilder. Ear-splitting whistles erupt and I cover my ears with my palms. This is crazy. I thought the gathering was enthusiastic before, but that was nothing on the electrifying feeling that’s filling the basement with Hooligan’s entrance.
I lift onto my tiptoes, eager to get a glimpse of the man capable of causing this type of reaction. I can hardly see a thing since everyone groups around the entrance and then mobs him as he makes his way inside. All I glimpse is the top of a head covered in short dark-brown hair sticking out from the crowd as he makes his way to the ring without the entourage that his opponent entered with. He seems to be alone; one man in a sea of bodies, and I wonder why he doesn’t have anyone in his corner like a fighter should. Before I can ask Nate why, I’m jostled by the crowd as it surges to the side of the cage. Annoyed at my lack of view, I hop from one foot to the other, waiting for him to enter the cage so I can catch a glimpse of the man who’s responsible for the hysteria growing in the room.
“It’s fucking insane,” Nate looks down at me. The hurt I caught sight of before is gone from his eyes and he appears amped. His flushed face and bright eyes telecast his excitement. “He’s on a four year winning streak. Everyone reckons he’s gonna lose tonight. This new guy is a hotshot, some mixed martial arts whiz kid, but they’re underestimating Hooligan.”
Some of his words are lost in the noise echoing around the basement but I catch enough to understand most of what he’s saying. Nodding as if I agree, I look back to the cage to find that the two fighters are now locked in with the referee.
“Fuck them all,” Nate continues while I assess the challenger and his ripped physique. “Hooligan might be thirty-two but he’ll still smash this asshole without breaking a sweat.
The challenger looks nasty, bashing his gloved hands together and snarling at Nate’s uncle who has his broad, rippling back to us. Just from my current view of the man, I’m disinclined to buy into Nate’s assessment of the situation. The man his uncle’s facing looks like the epitome of a fighter to me.
Nate sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out a high-pitched whistle.
“Hey, Hooligan,” he yells. Even with the booming noise of the basement, he manages to catch his uncle’s attention, who turns toward the sound.
My breath catches in my throat, and I feel my eyes widen of their own volition when piercing emerald green eyes meet mine. The bleakness in their depths matches the barrenness of my own soul; equaling my constant loneliness and despair at the state of my life. The exact emotions that I try my hardest to hide behind my in-your-face appearance and take-no-shit persona. A strangled gasp leaves me, my hand lifting to my chest, right over my heart without thought or reason. My pulse quickens, racing in my chest and my heart—that almost dead organ that beats only for Cooper and Zali—flips in my chest and makes me conscious of its existence for the first time in a very long time.
Surprise followed by an intense flare of electricity that makes me feel as if I’m the only person in the room briefly makes an appearance in Hooligan’s
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