The Next Line ( The Lineage Series #2)

Chapter 8

Just for a second.

But that's all it takes.

Because in that second, my heart skips the way it always does around him, and my stomach flips like we're back to being kids, except we're not.

Not anymore.

And when Lena catches me looking, she smirks.

"Oh, we are definitely talking about this later."

The Fight

The bell rings.

And it's brutal.

Joshuan moves like he was built for this.

Every punch lands.
Every dodge looks effortless.
Every hit sends the other guy stumbling until it's clear it's not a fight anymore—it's just survival.

By round three, the crowd is on its feet.

"FINÍSHALO, PAPI!" (finish it man!) someone yells behind us.

And Joshuan does.

One last clean right hook, and the other guy goes down like a tree in the forest.

Out cold.

The bell clangs.

And it's over.

Jamie's yelling beside me.

"Easy money! Called it!"

Lena's cheering.

And me?

I'm clapping, but my hands feel numb, because Joshuan is standing in the middle of the ring, sweaty and glowing under the lights, breathing heavy and victorious...

And staring straight at me.

Like none of this was for anyone else.

Just me.

And for once?

I don't look away.

Not this time.

By the time the fight was over, the arena was still shaking from the knockout.

Everyone's on their feet, cheering, yelling, rushing toward the ropes to get closer to Joshuan.

And me?

I'm frozen.

Still sitting, still staring, like I forgot how to move.

Because he's standing in the middle of the ring, chest rising and falling, sweat dripping down his neck, and he's looking right at me.

Not at Jamie.
Not at the crowd.
Not at anyone else.

Just me.

And the way my heart is pounding right now?

It has nothing to do with the fight.

I swear he smirks when I finally look away.

I run my hand through my hair, suddenly feeling hot, like the lights are too bright and the air's too thick.

Before I can even stand to join Jamie and Lena, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Preston.

Of course.

I consider ignoring it, but Lena notices.

"That him?"

I nod.

"Ugh," she groans. "If he's calling after that performance, he better be cheering you on, not crying about NYU again."

I laugh weakly and step away to answer.