Worth the fight Read Online Free PDF Page B

any of my clientele look anything like the people at your gym either.”
    I look at Nico confused and he explains.  “It’s a fighter’s gym, Elle.  It’s filled with men with tattoos and raging testosterone.  I’d hate to see what would happen in here if you walked into this place dressed how you probably look for the gym.”  Nico shakes his head and chuckles. 
    Oh.  I’m not sure if I should be offended or take his words as a compliment, so I choose the latter.
    After a few more minutes, we walk into a freight elevator and Nico pulls down a metal gate.  He inserts a key into the control panel and the elevator slowly ascends.   Nico lifts the gate and his hand is back on my lower back, as he steers me out of the elevator and into his loft.  It’s enormous, almost as wide as the downstairs. 
    At least half of the floor is a huge open space.  Off to one side is a sleek modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances.  There’s an oversized island and gleaming granite countertops that modernize the dark wood cabinetry beneath them.  The living area takes up the other half of the floor and has the largest sectional couch that I have ever seen.  I bet the couch can hold ten men. I notice it’s  strategically positioned in front of a large flat screen TV and I envision a bunch of guys sitting around watching fights.  A complete bachelor pad, but a very nice one at that.
    My nose catches a scent and I’m surprised.  “Chicken Franchese?”
    Nico smiles at me as he walks into the kitchen.  “Very good.”
    “I’m impressed.  You can cook?”  I never gave it any thought before, but in the years that I have been seeing William, he has never once cooked for me.  I’m not even sure if he even can cook.
    “Don’t look so surprised.  I’m pretty good at it, if I m ay say so myself.”  Nico walks to the oven and checks on dinner.
    “Do you cook often?”  I’m so curious about this man.
    “I have to, it’s part of the sport.  You can’t keep in shape and eat crap, so you learn to cook healthy pretty fast if you’re serious about fighting.”
    I nod , it makes sense.  It’s next to impossible to maintain a good diet when you live off restaurants and takeout.  I should know.  The only choice is salad, which is how I have been able to keep thin, but a man that looks like Nico needs an intake of way more calories than a salad could supply.  “Do you still fight?”  I don’t even think before the words come out of my mouth.  Maybe he doesn’t like to talk about fighting.  I remember the newspaper saying he had retired after what had happened, but he was definitely younger than whatever the normal age is for fighters to retire.
    Nico tells me dinner is ready and puts out an entire meal of salad, vegetables and the main dish.  I noticed that he didn’t answer my question, and I ’m not sure if it was intentional or just the timing.
    We sit at the table for a long time after we eat.  I tease him about how domestic he is and he teases me about how dependent I am on takeout.  He laughs when I tell him I’m on a first name basis with at least five deliverymen.  Our conversation flows naturally and time goes by fast.  Too fast.  Eventually we relocate to the couch and our conversation turns to how he got into MMA.  Nico tells me he’s the youngest of four boys and was raised by a single mother who worked two jobs.
    “I got my ass kicked a lot.  M y mom was at work at night and my brothers were into wrestling big time.”
    I laugh at the notion that Nico could get his ass kicked.  “You?  I hate to see what your brothers look like.” 
    Nico laughs, “I was always big for my age.  When I was eight or nine my mother would warn my brothers that some day I was going to be bigger and stronger and get even with them for the years of ganging up on me.  I don’t think they expected that day to come when I was only twelve.” 
    “How old were your brothers when you were