"Thanks, Colt," I say breathlessly, when he sets me down. I hear whines of complaint from the groupies along the fence.

"Hey, why does she get ringside access?" a busty brunette squeals.

"Take me, too!" a hopeful blonde suggests.

"What's so special about her?" a redhead sneers.

Colt shoots them all a withering glare. Despite his blond, surfer-boy good looks, he can bring the heat when necessary.

"She is with Blaze."

Without another word to them, he hooks one arm around my neck and walks me to the cluster of metal folding chairs reserved for the fighters' teams.

"He'll be happy you're here," Colt yells into my ear. I can barely hear him, over the din behind us. "He's been a total nutcase all week."

I shrug. "He's always a nutcase, Colt."

"Yeah, well, nuttier than usual. You two fighting or something?"

"Or something," I mutter.

His blue eyes crinkle. "Well, don't take it out on him too long. He needs to focus."

"What are his odds?"

Colt shakes his head and his eyes dart across the ring to where Iceman's coach is standing. "They're pretty evenly matched, if I'm being honest. Hard to say who will take it. Iceman is brawn and brute force... Blaze is speed and strategy. Totally different approaches. It's anyone's game."

I suck in a breath. It's one thing to hear shitheads in the crowd talking about Luca losing - it's another to hear one of his best friends discuss the possibility.

"Don't worry, Zoe." Colt smirks. "Fire always melts ice."

I hope he's right.

A few minutes later, the crowd has swelled to bursting. I keep my eyes on the ring as the announcer runs up the short set of stairs and hoists his mic into the air. His voice booms like a clap of thunder.

"ARE YOU READY, BOSTON?"

The crowd roars in response.

"I SAID ARE YOU FUCKING READY?"

Five hundred people scream at the top of their lungs.

"Then make some noise for our first fighter.... a man built like a glacier... a powerhouse with fists like icebergs... your undefeated champ.... ICEMAN!"

A rap song blares from the speakers overhead, barely audible over the cheers. From the left side of the gym, a bare-chested man in shiny black shorts cuts a swathe through the crowd, flanked by bouncers on all sides. Fans reach out to touch him as he passes by, but he brushes them off - he's watching the ring, hyper-focused and frigid as he makes his way up into the octagon.

I feel my eyes widen.

He's built like an eighteen-wheeler - at least 260 pounds of solid muscle. His head goes straight into his shoulders, foregoing a neck entirely, and his fists are each about the size of my face. Just before he climbs into the ring, he cuts a cold glance at Colt... and then his black eyes slide to meet mine.

I shiver when he stares at me, suddenly understanding his nickname. There's not an ounce of warmth inside him.

Dropping my gaze, I refuse to watch as he does his victory lap around the inside of the ring, hyping the crowd to new levels. They chant like druids at the alter of their god.

ICE-MAN!.

ICE-MAN!.

ICE-MAN!.

The announcer's voice blares again. "And now, ladies and gents, your challenger this evening... your very own hometown hero... a man who'll bring the heat and try to burn his way to an upset... BLAZE BUCHANAN!"

Luca's entry music always makes me grin. What can I say? The Dropkick Murphy's I'm Shipping Up to Boston is an unbeatable soundtrack choice for a redheaded Irishman from the city. The crowd eats it up, singing along as Luca emerges from the back room and jogs to the stage, two beefy security guards at his sides to keep the fans back. Just before he hops up the steps into the ring, he spots me. His lips curl into a devilish grin.

I smile back and mouth, Good luck.

He winks and steps into the arena, all humor fading from his expression as his focus narrows on his opponent. He looks much, much smaller than his 210 pounds, up there next to the human ice sculpture.

Colt's shoulder bumps mine. "Breathe, babe."

I bump him back. "I'll breathe when it's over."

The announcer steps out. The referee steps in. The octagon door slams closed. The crowd screams. The fighters start to circle...

I hold my breath and force myself to watch as round one begins.

It's brutal. Bloody.

Colt was right - they're pretty evenly matched. Luca moves quickly, ducking punches and striking out strategically whenever Iceman drops his hands, like the sun unleashing a solar flare of pure heat. I cheer as he manages to land several sharp blows to Iceman's head. Still, the sheer strength of his opponent can't be dismissed, because no matter how many times Luca hits him, the bastard refuses to go down. By the final round, Luca's bleeding from his bottom lip, and I'm relatively certain Iceman is actually made of stone.

The crowd is growing uneasy, the longer the match persists without a clear victor. They expected Iceman to take Luca out in one hit - now, with the clock ticking down to the finals seconds, they're not so sure about the outcome... or the security of their bets.

Both competitors are breathing heavily as they move around the arena. My eyes never leave Luca as he moves sharply to the left, attempting a knock-out uppercut to the jaw. I feel the breath seize in my throat as Iceman anticipates his strike and lunges back, so Luca's fist hits nothing but air. The forward momentum of the punch pulls Luca off balance, stumbling a few steps toward the closest cage wall. Iceman uses it to his advantage, effectively backing Luca into a corner in the tiny slice of time it takes the smaller man to find his footing.

Fuck.

Once you're pinned, it's almost impossible to escape - especially if your opponent is roughly the size of Mount Everest. The audience cheers as Iceman grapples for a solid hold. I watch his big hand flying out, preparing to deliver a fatal blow to the top of Luca's spine...

And then, the unthinkable - Luca ducks, quicker than I've ever seen him, pivots behind the lumbering hunk of ice, and swipes Iceman's legs out from under him with a perfectly placed roundhouse kick to the back of the thighs. The giant falls like a tree in the forest, face-first onto the canvas mats, and before he has time to find his feet, Luca's there, delivering a series of sharp jabs to his ribs. His arm snakes around Iceman's throat in a chokehold as he presses him into the mat, demanding submission.

It's over quickly, after that.

The ache of worry inside my chest eases as soon as Iceman's fist taps the mat, crying uncle. The crowd is stunned, their roars louder than ever - some are pissed to see their champion fall, but most are thrilled that the underdog dominated. It's akin to David taking on Goliath - albeit a bit bloodier. (And I'm relatively certain there were no bikini-clad ring girls pressed up against David after he won that biblical bout.) Colt is whooping in celebration as he pulls me up the stairs into the octagon. We're barely on the canvas when Luca appears. Dismissing his corner men and clingy cheerleaders without a word, he grabs me in a giant bear hug.

"You did it," I yell into his ear, returning his tight embrace as he spins me in a circle. "Are you okay? You nose is bleeding."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because-"

"Mom, I said I'm fine."

I huff.

"Thanks for coming, babe," he says, pulling back so he can look down into my face. "I know I was a dick, the other day."

"You think?" I ask, arching a brow.

He smirks. "I'll make it up to you. You'll see."

"You can start by setting me down. You're so sweaty, I might actually drown standing this close to you. It's gross."

With a laugh, he sets me back on my feet. He turns to accept a back-slapping hug from Colton - but not before wiping a sweat-coated arm against my face just to taunt me, the rotten bastard.

"Ew!" I exclaim, dragging my sleeve against the sweat mark. "Now I have to go wash my face."

Luca rolls his eyes. "Priss."

Colt shakes his head. "Such a girl."

I flip them both off.

"Hurry back! We're going out to celebrate!" Colton scuffs his knuckles against Luca's head in a playful gesture. "Pretty sure this guy could use a few drinks."

I laugh as I turn away, calling back over my shoulder, "Oh, get a room, you two."

Luca's grin is the last thing I see before the mob of fans closes in around him.

It takes a while, but eventually I maneuver through the dozens of people crowding the octagon and make my way down the stairs. My eyes scan the crowd as everyone slowly funnels out the front doors onto the street - five hundred people trying to exit at once has resulted in a serious traffic jam. I'm searching in vain for a bathroom sign, eyes moving along the walls, when I see something that makes my heart clench inside my chest.

It's been a while, but I'd recognize her anywhere.

Long, dark hair. Impeccable clothing. Skyscraper heels.

And, most familiar, a set of hazel eyes so like her brother's it makes my heart twist.

Phoebe West.

She's standing with a group of girls about fifty feet to my left. A brunette with large blue eyes - who looks so strikingly similar to Phoebe she must be her sister - is telling a story, making everyone laugh. A petite woman with a platinum pixie cut is standing with her back to me. By her side is a willowy brunette who must teach yoga because, damn the girl has a rocking body. Rounding out the group is a curvaceous strawberry blond with big brown eyes I can see, even from this distance, are glossy and long-lashed.

They're all giggling and grinning, clearly having a great night.

I tell myself to walk away, to fade into the crowd before Phoebe has a chance to spot me, but it's like I've lost control of my senses. My eyes move of their own accord, seeking someone else in the crowd... someone with tousled blond hair and a broad chest...

I don't find him.

Instead, my eyes latch onto the man hovering just behind Phoebe. The way he's standing - feet planted, arms crossed, eyes hyper-vigilant as they scan the crowd - tells me he's guarding her from any potential threats. I know who he is without blinking twice.

Nathaniel Knox.

Parker's best friend; Phoebe's boyfriend.

Knox Investigations is well-known and well-respected by everyone in this city. Knox is smart, capable, and exceedingly good at his job. Which probably explains why he notices my scrutiny almost instantly.

Dark eyes lock on mine, a question in their depths. He takes a stride closer to Phoebe, never looking away from me, and as I see him bend to catch her attention, I finally snap into motion.

She can't see me. She'll recognize me. Confront me about abandoning her last year. Remind me what a shitty fucking person I am for walking away.

And somehow, it'll all get back to Parker... who I've determined to avoid for the rest of infinity...

I whirl and bolt in the opposite direction, cursing myself for being so incapacitated by just the thought of Parker, I let my guard down entirely. Spotting the small, illuminated bathroom sign at the far end of the gym, I race toward it, hoping Phoebe hasn't spotted me. My black Toms eat up the distance in seconds. When my hand curls around the knob, I ignore the tinge of disappointment in my stomach.

I made it without being spotted. That should be a relief.

So, why isn't it?

Just before the door shuts at my back, it happens.

"Holy frack!" a feminine voice shouts, her excited squawk is so loud I can hear her even from this distance. "That's Tinkerbell!"

Shit.

I step into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, even though I know it's futile. She spotted me. And, if she's anything at all like her brother, she's not going to let it go without a confrontation.

With nowhere else to go, I enter the nearest stall and quickly bolt the door behind me. I've barely gotten the latch closed when I hear the outer door swing inward. I wince as the sound of stiletto heels clack across the floor, coming ever closer. Two black shiny pumps come to a stop right outside my stall.

"Tink!" Phoebe's voice is impatient. "I know it's you! You might as well come out."

"You've got the wrong person."

"I don't think so."

"Seriously," I insist. "Just tying to pee in peace."

"Lying promotes wrinkles, Tink."

"Fuck off."