Selling Scarlett
“He's shorter than I am—maybe five-foot-ten—and without clothes to give him bulk, I can see his upper body is well-defined but lean. His biceps and pecs are oiled and his black hair is slicked back, so his sunken cheeks and sharply square jaw stand out like a caricature. His wary brown eyes haven't left my body since I came into the ring, but I've noticed he doesn't like to look me in the eye. The crowd around us cheers, and he widens his legs, trying to adopt a more intimidating posture.
Fa...t chance.
I've got maybe forty pounds on this guy, four inches or so, and I hate him down to his bones. I think I’d kill him with my bare hands here and now, if I didn’t need him alive. I flex my hands inside my gloves and try to ignore the pain radiating from my back.
We’re announced, and then we step forward to tap gloves. I look into Lockwood's eyes, and for a second he looks into mine, and there’s plenty of hate there.MoreLess
Fa...t chance.
I've got maybe forty pounds on this guy, four inches or so, and I hate him down to his bones. I think I’d kill him with my bare hands here and now, if I didn’t need him alive. I flex my hands inside my gloves and try to ignore the pain radiating from my back.
We’re announced, and then we step forward to tap gloves. I look into Lockwood's eyes, and for a second he looks into mine, and there’s plenty of hate there.MoreLess
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