5 Rounds: An Enemies to Lovers Sports Romance (The Fight Game Book 1)

by Nikki Castle

  “My body frame has gotten me five gold medals in local jiu-jitsu tournaments,” I grind out.

  Tristan smirks and takes a swig of his beer. “You would have a lot more if you’d get out of your head and stop losing to girls you have no business losing to.”

  My eyes narrow as my body starts to bubble with anger. He’s not wrong, but it’s annoying that he’s noticed my main training flaw.

  "I could still submit you in under one round," I snarl at Tristan.

  His eyes light up in gleeful surprise. "Did you get punched in the head too many times this week? In what world do you really believe that's true?"

  Without a word, I stand up and cross my arms—offering a clear challenge.

  His face splits into a wide grin. He hands Jax his beer, who is now cringing at what he knows is about to happen.

  "You two have exactly one round. Joe's fight is starting soon," he mutters to us.

  There's a reason the guys don't have a coffee table in front of the TV. Because inevitably during fight nights someone will decide they want to fight. Whether it's wanting to try a move or simply to get out aggression, their friends always end up rolling around on the ground at some point.

  MMA is made up of several martial arts: boxing, Muay Thai, wrestling, judo, jiu-jitsu, and a dozen others. We train mostly Muay Thai—which is basically kickboxing with knees and elbows—and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu at the gym. Jiu-jitsu is a mix between wrestling and chess with the human body. The goal is to use your and your opponent’s body to force a submission with either a chokehold, an armlock, or a leglock. It’s the ultimate self-defense sport because by definition, size and strength don’t matter. Technique is the only thing that matters. It’s also very low risk because there are no punches or kicks being thrown, which is why it’s the go-to activity whenever people want to fight in the house.

  Tristan and I square up in our wrestling stances. I haven't trained with him in a while since he's switched to training during the day, so I'm not actually sure what I'm in for right now. Obviously, I know that he's a pro fighter, so way more skilled and dedicated than me, but I also have faith in my own skills. And my scrappiness.

  We circle each other and fake a few shots at a takedown. The grin on his face grows and I realize my face has probably morphed into an expression of sheer focus and determination. He knows he could destroy me at any point but he's enjoying playing with his prey a little longer.

  Sure enough, when he shoots for a real takedown, he gets it pretty easily. I land on my back but recover my guard quickly, wrapping my legs around his waist to keep him from being able to pull away. He tries to create space but my ‘non-ballerina frame’ makes it hard for him to unlock my legs.

  As I think about what I know of his fight game—and what I could possibly beat him with right now—I realize that he's still just playing with me. He's very clearly not taking me seriously. He's making rookie mistakes, moving slowly and leaving his arms out for me to easily trap.

  Anger starts bubbling through my veins.

  In a quick motion, I put one foot on his hip and push off so I can swing it around to trap the arm that he's lazily left out. I grin triumphantly because I can instantly feel that it's a solid attempt at an armbar.

  The grin drops from his face and I see his eyes flash in surprise. It takes him a few moments, but he manages to free his arm from my grasp.

  Not to be deterred, I use his escape to immediately swing into another submission attempt. This time I trap his other arm and wrap my legs around his neck and shoulders, effectively working to strangle him with my legs.

  This chokehold isn't as close of an attempt as the armbar was, but I'm still pretty proud of the speed at which I flipped from one move to the other. I always loved that jiu-jitsu is so strategic—to win you have to anticipate your opponent's moves and be three steps ahead.

  It doesn't take Tristan long to escape this submission, either. He shifts toward the side of my body and pulls himself out of my trap. Except now, he's in an even stronger position on top of me because I don't have my legs controlling him.

  He quickly manages to throw his leg over my waist and straddle me. In jiu-jitsu this position is called the full mount—and it's undoubtedly the worst position to be in.

  Tristan sits up slightly and grins when he sees my angry expression. He knows he's in the best spot to finish our little match.

  In a final attempt at a Hail Mary, I trap his hands and bump my hips up as hard as I can. Since he doesn't have his arms to brace with, my motion rolls us easily. And now I'm the one on top of him.

  "All right, assholes, round's over," Jax calls. "Joe's fight is starting."

  I grin triumphantly down at Tristan. I know technically neither of us won, but a part of me feels smug seeing the shock on Tristan's face. He almost looks impressed.

  "You're too cocky for your own good," I smirk. "If that was a points match, I would've won. That's what you get for not taking me seriously." I stand up without offering him a helping hand. Grabbing my beer, I curl happily into the couch to watch the fight starting on the TV.

  I hear Jax snicker. "She's right, dude, you could've beaten her if you weren't playing around the whole time."

  Tristan glares at his best friend and stands up. But he doesn't look even a little bit embarrassed. He just shrugs and saunters over to his spot on the couch with the same cocky smirk he had on his face a few minutes ago.

  We watch in anxious silence as our friend Joe appears on the TV screen. It's Tuesday night and we're watching an MMA reality show where fighters compete for a contract in the UFC: the biggest MMA organization in the world. Philly is finally starting to make its mark in the sport, which is why we were all so excited to hear Joe got the call to be on the show.

  None of us say a word throughout the entire fight. Jax is definitely the closest to Joe, so I know he's concerned for his friend's success. The guys at the gym like to joke that watching each other fight is actually worse than the nerves of their own fights. Which seems absolutely bizarre to me, though I know it's true because I see how they all act with each other.

  I can tell Tristan is watching the fight from a fighter's point of view. He's analyzing the strategy, the style, everything that makes the big leagues different from the local circuit he's currently running in. Being undefeated and the champion in one of the local organizations, it's no secret that he's eagerly waiting for his call from the UFC. He gets closer with each victory but for now, he continues to study the televised fights.

  Joe ends up submitting his opponent in the third round with a chokehold. It's a great fight, and we all breathe an audible sigh of relief.

  "Thank God," Jax mutters. "The gym would've sucked tomorrow with a loss hanging in the air." He yawns, then turns to us. "Okay, I'm going to bed. I grabbed an early flight tomorrow, so I'll be gone by the time you two wake up. Remy, I'll try not to be too loud in the morning."

  I snort, both of us knowing there are very few things in this world that can wake me from a dead sleep.

  Jax takes turns glaring at Tristan and I. "Okay, then I will say this one time and one time only." He points an angry finger at us. "I love you both, and I really, really don't want to come home to a funeral, or the house in pieces. Neither would make me happy. So, if you could somehow find it in your hearts to keep the soul-piercing barbs to a minimum, that would be great." He smiles, the look of a scolding parent now gone. "Other than that, enjoy your time together."

  I roll my eyes, knowing that is the opposite of what I'll be doing while I’m here. I glare at Tristan, conveying my displeasure with my eyes. I nudge him angrily with my foot.

  "Get up, I want to go to sleep," I growl at him. Since Jax is still here tonight I decided I’m going to sleep on the couch, which means I need Tristan to leave. "And don't you dare try any stupid pranks while I'm out in the open like this because I swear to god, I will make your life a living hell for the next week and a half."

  He lets loose a bark of laughter but st
ands up anyway. "I'm not sure why you think I'm going to abide by your made-up rules in my own damn house, Remy," he says, shaking his head.

  "Oh, dear god," Jax mutters, rubbing his eyes. "This was the worst idea ever." With a final glare in our direction, he says, "Don't make me regret this."

  He starts up the stairs, Tristan right behind him, when Tristan turns around to wink at me. "Goodnight, Remy baby."

  I launch a pillow at his head. "Goddamnit, stop calling me that!" I shriek. He chuckles and disappears up the stairs.

  I settle back on the couch with an angry huff. Pulling the blanket up to my chin, I think about how I'm probably going to be throwing a lot of pillows for the next ten days.

  5

  Remy

  The next morning, I wake up to a quiet house. Jax is already gone, and Tristan is probably at the gym. I smile and stretch my arms over my head, happy to have the house to myself for an hour before work. Sitting down with a cup of coffee and a good book is my own form of morning meditation. I glance excitedly at the espresso machine sitting on the kitchen counter.

  I swing my feet off the couch—and freeze.

  There is whipped cream all over the floor.

  There is whipped cream all over the floor.

  There is whipped cream all over my feet.

  A red haze begins to cloud my vision. I know in an instant that Tristan did this. He actually pranked me.

  I grab a pillow and scream into it.

  I stand up but fall right back down when I slip on the slick floor. The red haze grows.

  I stand again, carefully, and take a few tentative steps toward the kitchen. There's so much whipped cream on my feet that I leave several slippery footprints behind me. I'm seething by the time I reach the paper towels on the counter.

  I quickly wipe the whipped cream off my feet. I grab the whole roll of paper towels and set to cleaning up the trail I left, then eventually the origin of the mess. It takes several minutes and several sheets of paper before the evidence of Tristan's prank is gone. I grab the mop to get rid of any remaining residue on the floors.

  By the time I'm finished cleaning, I've already planned out Tristan's murder in my head. I grab my phone to compose a text.

  Remy: You know, I would've bet money that you'd at least make it to day five. Who knew I'd have to off you the very first day.

  My phone lights up with a text reply almost instantly.

  Tristan: New rule: no making rules in my house. Because you won't like the ones I come up with.

  I furiously type out a response.

  Remy: You're an ass. I'm not engaging in a prank war with you just to appease your childish inability to be a decent person. You remember what happened the last time we did this.

  Tristan: I still cringe when I see a hair trimmer. But that was a while ago. You wouldn’t win now.

  Tristan: But I won’t continue without your retaliation, or at least without any newly declared "rules."

  I angrily throw my phone on the couch. Any semblance of a peaceful morning has completely vanished, leaving me irritated and unhappy. I discard my plans of lounging around with a book and instead stomp upstairs to take a shower and get ready for work. Getting a head start on my workday is better than sitting around here and fuming.

  It's a shitty start to an increasingly shitty day. It takes me twenty minutes to catch a bus to work, and then when I finally get to the office, I realize there's construction going on in the building right outside my window. The sounds of machinery give me a migraine that only gets worse throughout the day. That coupled with the fact that the company's engineers have apparently taken asshole pills today, and my whole day has become an increasingly frustrating hump day.

  My only savior is knowing I'll be able to punch my frustrations out at the gym later. I leave the office late, so I only make it in time for an hour cardio bagwork class, but it's better than nothing.

  I leave everything on the mats. I put my anger into every punch, every kick, until I'm drenched in sweat and struggling to catch my breath.

  "Damn, girl, who pissed you off?" Aiden grumbles next to me.

  I shake my head, too tired to answer. But then I hear Lucy start to laugh. "She's pissed because she's stuck in the same house with Tristan for almost two weeks," she laughs.

  The guys around me look startled. "Tristan? Why?" Aiden asks.

  I aim a glare at Lucy for finding amusement in my pain, but answer Aiden's question anyway. "I'm in between apartments for a little bit so Jax offered me his room while he's traveling for work. Unfortunately, that also means dealing with Tristan's annoying ass." I pause, then grumble, "He sprayed the floor with whipped cream this morning so I'd step in it when I woke up."

  The gym fills with raucous laughter.

  "I'm glad you guys find it funny," I snap. "I hate all of you."

  "Can we take bets on who's going to make it out alive?" Aiden grins.

  I scowl at my so-called teammates and stomp toward the showers.

  It's almost 10:00 when I finally get home. I'm exhausted after my less-than-stellar day, and all I want to do is eat my dinner and go to bed.

  I drag myself into the kitchen and onto one of the barstools. I stopped to grab a burger at one of my favorite burger spots in the city and I groan happily when I'm finally able to bite into it. A little bit of joy seeps into my atrocious day.

  I'm barely three bites in when I realize I can hear voices coming from upstairs. I pause my chewing and strain my ears to listen.

  It only takes a moment for me to realize that what I heard… is exactly what I thought it was.

  The red haze from this morning clouds my vision again.

  This motherfucker actually has a girl over right now.

  I'm fuming when I hear the girl's laughter drift down the stairs. The sound is clear enough that I have a feeling Tristan's bedroom door is wide open. Which he only would've done if he wanted to make this even more awkward for me than it already is. He’s probably trying to piss me off by making me stay downstairs until he’s done, since there's no way to get to Jax's bedroom without passing Tristan's first.

  I let loose a low growl. I cannot believe he could be this infantile.

  It only takes me a second to decide that Tristan can no longer go unpunished. I tried to be nice—even my house rules were meant to make it easy for us to avoid each other—but between this and the morning prank, I've had about enough of his games.

  I can play games of my own.

  I walk quietly up the stairs so they can't hear me coming. Just before I reach Tristan's bedroom, I plaster a shell-shocked expression on my face.

  "Oh my god, Tristan!" I shriek. "What are you doing?!"

  They both jump when they hear me come through the door. Tristan is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless, and a half-naked girl in only her bra and panties is straddling him. They're both openly staring at me.

  I cover my face with my hands and cry loud, fake sobs. "How could you?" I cry. "You said I was the love of your life!" I gesture angrily at the girl who has now jumped up and is looking back and forth between Tristan and I. "Who is this bitch? Is she who you've been fucking behind my back?"

  Tristan is still staring at me, slack-jawed.

  "I—I didn't—" stammers the poor girl. "I didn't know he—I sh-should go." She quickly grabs her clothes off the floor and pushes past me toward the stairs.

  "Babe, wait!" Tristan finally says, following her path into the hallway. "She's not who you think! She's—" But to her credit, the girl is already gone.

  I chuckle and cross my arms. "Babe?" I mock. "Is that what you call them when you can't remember their names?"

  I watch Tristan slowly turn back toward me, anger radiating from every inch of his body.

  Every inch of his perfect, muscled body, I realize, as it registers in my brain that he's still half-naked.

  I swallow roughly, trying very hard not to let my eyes wander.

  "You," he growls. He inches closer to where I'm sta
nding against the doorway. "Does it make you happy to ruin my fun?"

  My nerves fade in the face of his anger. I glare daggers at him and step forward, putting myself right in his face. "Your fun?" I shout. "I don't give a shit about your fun! Not when you're trying to make my life a living hell! I was going to be an adult and let this morning's incident slide, but did you really expect me to wait downstairs like a blushing nun while you finished with your sorority girl?"

  Despite our height difference we're barely a breath away from each other, both seething through clenched teeth and squeezing our hands into fists. I can actually see the anger flashing like lightning in his eyes. I can feel the fury radiating off of him in waves, can see how badly he wants to throw me out for ruining his night. But I’m just as angry, and there’s not a chance in hell that I’m going to roll over and let him keep playing me.

  Neither of us wants to be the first to back down.

  Suddenly the anger drains from him, to be replaced with his typical cocky grin. His eyes trail across my face, down to my chest that's practically pushed against him because of our closeness, then back up to my scowl.

  "Jealous, Remy baby?" he taunts. "You can admit that's why you got rid of her. I would completely understand."

  The red haze clouds my vision again—for the fourth time since I moved into this house twenty-four hours ago.

  "Hardly," I snap. "She should be thanking me for saving her from a night of subpar sex."

  Tristan's white teeth flash in a grin. "Subpar? Hardly," he chuckles. His eyes shine with his arrogance.

  He takes a step forward, forcing me to take a step back. With another step he's backed me against the wall. My eyes widen when he braces his hands on either side of my head, trapping me in place. I know I should push him away, but I can’t quite catch my breath enough to move. This feels so different from when we train at the gym. Now, there’s no purpose for our closeness. Now, there’s just emotion and intimidation and… tension. I’m shockingly aware of the fury in his gaze that’s cooled to annoyance, and the angry warmth that’s still radiating from his bare skin.