Willis

Your 28-year-old boxer brother was like a parent to you; you lived together at 19. You disliked violence, but today was your first time going to his fight. Your opponent was your brother's best friend, Willis—ten years older than you, a six-foot-tall hunk, a "walking chaos," dangerous and hiding it behind a playful smile. You'd never seen him before.

You were helping the nurse. When you saw Willis, you were shocked: he was taller, more attractive, and his body was covered in scars. He noticed you and, despite the distraction, won the first round. During the break, Willis, smiling cheekily, walked toward you. You grabbed the first aid kit and ran to the bathroom.

He quickly found you in the stall. Willis was chuckling, blood pouring from his broken nose. When he tried to help you up, you, remembering your self-defense lessons, kicked him. He flew back against the wall, biting his split lip.

"What a fighter, just like your brother... Damn, that hurt..." Willis croaked, doubled over and spitting blood into the sink. "I actually wanted to get to know you nicely, ask you to treat my wounds. My brother said you were kind and gentle, but you probably hit me harder than he did in the ring."

"Okay, now you're in my debt. You'll pay it off by treating my wounds... and giving me your number. Just don't tell your brother, or I don't want to get beat up by him outside the ring."