the spot beside her as her knees bounce up and down excitedly.
I look back at Harrison, and he nods toward her. “Go enjoy yourself.”
I didn’t ask permission, but right now, I’m not half as pissed off at him as I was earlier.
As I start to walk away, he grabs my elbow and stops me. “I’ve trusted you with a lot tonight; don’t make me regret it.”
I shake my head. “I’m not the kind of girl to kiss and tell.”
He flashes me a wicked grin.
Shit.
I roll my eyes and try to dig myself out of the hole I seem to continually be putting myself in. “Meaning, I can keep a secret. I’ve kissed and told plenty.”
He winks. “I figured I could trust you when your cousin didn’t try to drag me into the ring. Go. Have fun.”
I hurry past the other two horsemen without a glance. I’m not naïve enough to think any one of them has gotten over the earlier happenings. I’m not even sure I trust Harrison, either, but he did extend the mecca of olive branches and obviously wants to trust me. I don’t look at the woman, either. I’ve yet to get over the embarrassment of not only sort of breaking into Easton’s house but hearing then seeing them right after they had sex … naked.
I sit on the other side of Brisa, look at both her and Patrick, and smile. “This is kind of cool, huh?”
“It’s something to do, I suppose.” Patrick leans back and stretches his arm over the back of the couch.
Brisa looks at me, grinning from ear to ear. Then she leans in and whispers, “He’s so fucking hot.” She grips my chin and turns my face toward the ring. “Look. At. That.”
Lean, muscular arms covered in sleeves of gray and black tattoos dance up his arms and across his chiseled chest. His hair in a messy bun, and his face, admittedly very handsome, but when the music changes and the announcer begins, it morphs from playful to anger and rage.
“At six-foot-one, weighing in at two hundred and one pounds … Easton the Experience!”
The crowd cheers louder and louder as he makes his way ringside and slips through the ropes and into the ring. Unlike Ranger’s, Tobias’s face is completely void of emotion.
“I hope he knocks the fucking chip off his shoulder!” Brisa yells in my ear so I can hear her over the crowd.
My stomach turns at the idea and, for the first time since we got the invitation, I’m really not sure if I actually want to see a fight.
“Yeah,” I say as I take in Tobias Easton who, until tonight, I didn’t even know the color of his eyes, and in seconds, they’re sure to be black, blue, and bloodied.
Such a shame that the man with Persian blue eyes is about to get raged on by Manbun.
I take him in as he stands in his corner, alone, no coach or companion unlike what Ranger has in his corner. He stretches his arms, swinging them in circular motions, making his muscles flex and his tattoos dance atop his skin. The work is exquisite.
My father has stressed to me since I can remember that what someone puts on their body has to mean something deeper than the ink penetrates, something you want to carry with you for your entire life. I wonder if Tobias’s father taught him the same. And I wonder why exactly I wonder such a thing.
With lights, distance, and movement, it is hard to see or read most of the art on his incredibly hard and muscular body that rivals the definition and size of my brother’s. How I didn’t get swept up in seeing him earlier is baffling at the moment, but being half terrified and fully guilty about doing something I knew to be wrong drowned out the remarkable physical form standing before me—I mean all of us—right now.
Across his collarbone, the words Strength, Love, and Honor mark his body … his soul. If, by chance, he has depth to him, which I find doubtful, it is telling of what’s most important to him. I ponder for a moment why strength is before love and why honor is last.
My scrutinization of his body lowers and falls upon his pecs, where birds fly free behind roses, stars dancing above them. Feeling a blush pinken my skin, I lower my eyes to his abs, then to the V. Swallowing back the saliva pooling in my mouth, I close my