KNOCK OUT [LH]

Chapter 7: My Type

[LUKE'S POV:]

Winifred Turner is an odd girl.

I realized this the very second her voice cut through the crowd during my match against Atwood when I spotted her so out of place, dressed in that horrendous neon orange sweater.

She was the walking definition of a distraction... and I fell for it.

Somehow the mere presence of the kid was enough to pull my attention away from my match, and the consequence came in the form of a busted nose and a bruised jaw. Nothing I hadn't dealt with before, but I'm lucky Atwood didn't get the chance to knock my teeth out.

After shamelessly shoving tampons up my broken and bloody nose, I had planned to leave whatever the hell happened at the match behind me. I was undefeated for crying out loud, I didn't need some high school girl getting in the way of that.

Whatever the kid was doing at The Rumble was none of my business, and I shouldn't have been distracted by her in the first place.

Unfortunately that wasn't the last I saw of Winifred Turner that night, because minutes after the match she came stumbling into my truck, begging me to flee the cop busted scene, and I did.

Two things became very clear when I drove Winifred Turner home that night. First, I had actually read about the girl's ridiculous BigFoot hunt in the paper, and unlike Michael, I wasn't impressed. Second, not only was Winifred Turner an extremely bold kid, but she was also annoying and utterly exhausting--to the point where I even attempted to pull her out of my truck, leaving her to find her own way home in the dark, while it was below freezing.

For the record, I'm not particularly proud of that moment, yet part of me still wishes that I had ditched the kid on the side of the road last week.

Maybe then, she wouldn't have come to The Rumble today and puked on me. Maybe then, I wouldn't be sitting across from her as she tauntingly swirls her tongue around in her mouth. And maybe then, I wouldn't have to worry about the current situation forming in my pants...

Tucking a damp semi-curled bit of brown hair behind her ear, Winifred sits so innocently across from me in my giant long sleeve as she watches the white snowfall, mindlessly working the cherry stem around in her mouth.

Her pink tongue peeks out of her perfectly plump lips every now and then, and it's enough to send a plethora of dirty thoughts running through my head.

All of which have Winifred Turner's face attached to them.

This isn't fucking happening.

I must be sex-deprived.

Yes, I am definitely sex-deprived, because there is no way this infuriating kid is giving me a fucking boner right now.

Even though I fucked that girl yesterday, and that other girl the day before that, and that other girl the day before that...

Ah, all of the women I mindlessly hook-up with for a brief moment of satisfaction and a quick ego boost. They're all the same, bratty, clingy, and desperate. Sure they get the job done, but they're not my type. They never truly satisfy me.

I try to push the dirty thoughts of Winifred away as I observe her, but the moment I see her tongue poke into the side of her cheek, I completely lose it.

My jaw slackens, and my pants continue to increasingly tighten by the second, as I watch the girl delicately pull the cherry stem out of her mouth--a perfect knot tied in it's center, as her tongue slowly drags over her bottom lip.