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pretty good.”
    “It’s good. The trajectory is not. He was eight last month. It’s easier to lose your spot than get it back.”
    That much made sense, too. It had happened to my debate team, after a string of losses. “So what difference does three spots make?”
    “It depends on what type of sanctioned fight the UFC brings when they come to town. If it’s round robin out of eight, well, your boy won’t be in that. Even if it is out of sixteen, another loss and he may be out of that, too.”
    I nodded, as if understanding helped me any in making sure he won. All I knew now was that he really shouldn’t lose tomorrow’s fight, which was not the sort of energy he needed coming from me.
    In fact, if he had a ritual that got him prepped, he probably shouldn’t be seeing me at all. I glanced at my screen and wondered if I should tell him.
    Then again, his ritual hadn’t helped the last two times. If seeing me somehow broke the curse, it was worth a shot. I wasn’t exactly dressed to take his mind off things. I had on just jeans and a loose wrap blouse. He’d just have to use his imagination.
    I hugged Jada and Jamal goodbye and headed downtown. I ran the numbers over and over in my head. Sean often said his fortunes rested on staying a rising star. If he dropped below sixteen, what would happen to him?
    I was kinda ashamed, but I immediately wondered how much he had saved up. His apartment was expensive. If the pots dropped exponentially in size, then he’d have to move out.
    I ran the math over and over, trying to figure burn rates. It helped me from thinking other things.
    Things that no girl should be thinking when her boyfriend needs her.
    Things like, Would I still date him, if he truly had nothing?
    I nearly crashed the car on the freeway beating the thought out of my head. God, what was I, a gold digger? Sean had always been worried about it, and I’d always told him he was silly. Well, here I was being a total jerk.
    He was a great guy, with a sharp mind. MMA would be his first talent, but he had a bright future even when that was over. After all, it had to end someday.
    Besides, nothing had been decided about his fight. The future would be something way different than what we expected.
    I saw how right I was, the moment I arrived and laid eyes on Sean.
    The line to the Sandwich Spot ran out the door. Sean waited off to the side, standing out in the best way possible.
    He was wearing a three-piece suit. It was charcoal grey, dark and shimmering, and it fit perfectly. It hugged the hard ridges of his body, blew out to accommodate his muscular torso and draped sharply down the pistons he called legs. A crimson tie glowed on his chest and a grin sparkled on his face.
    I walked up as if I were seeing his ghost.
    “Yeah, that was the reaction I expected,” he said, draping an arm around me.
    “I didn’t even know you had a suit,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you cycle everything in your wardrobe.”
    “Troy just got it for me.” He tugged the lapels. “Said I should look the part of a champion.”
    “Honey, I’m not seeing just a champion.” I took another admiring look. “You look like you own the city.”
    Sean chuckled. “One step at a time.”
    We strolled down the boulevard in just that way. I had no idea why I had ever doubted Sean. It wasn’t just how good he looked in that suit; it was how he carried himself. People would listen to men like that. All he had to do was pick a direction to lead.
    We meandered until Sean tugged me quite suddenly into a nice little French bistro.
    “I think we need reservations for this place,” I said. The entire interior seemed to be appointed with deep rosewood and furnished in marble.
    “Ah, Monsieur Smith,” the chic blonde hostess up front said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
    We followed her over to a table in the corner. She dropped off a wine list and nothing else. The courses must be set by the restaurant.
    I took another look