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

by Nikki Castle

  I try to think of the signs that made it seem like he had become interested in me.

  And then fight the urge to vomit when I realize all of them—every action, every glance, every word—happened either before or during sex. Even asking me to sleep in his bed could've just been so he would have someone to fuck in the morning.

  I've never really had a fuck buddy or a one night stand so I have no idea what guys might say when they just want to get laid—no idea what lies they might tell to keep a girl coming back to their bed. Right now, it feels like everything Tristan said must've just been a part of his act to get me into bed. That must be his game with women: to make them feel loved and wanted in order to make them interested.

  And I played right into it.

  I've never been one to believe in "making love" but I never thought to treat the words spoken during sex as anything but truth. I didn't expect him to fall in love with me just from having sex, but I don't understand how he could say those things—how he could touch me adoringly, how he could kiss me so softly—without meaning it. How could someone lie that well?

  I close my eyes, the tears finally spilling down my cheeks. My grip on the banister is so hard that my hands begin to ache, but even that pain doesn't register compared to what’s warring inside me. A quiet, broken sob tears from my throat as my heart surrenders to the pain.

  I never should have expected Tristan to be anything more than what he is. And I definitely shouldn't have let myself get attached to him, especially so quickly. I should have listened to the part of my brain that knew this would happen. The worst part about this is the fact that this pain is my own fault.

  After a few ragged breaths I realize I need to get out of this house. I need to get as far away from Tristan as I can. Even though part of me wants to cling to him and convince him that we mesh perfectly, that he doesn’t need to look anywhere else and that he should give us a chance, I also know that I will never be the girl that begs a guy to be with her. I have never understood how women could chase men. Why would I want to be with someone that doesn’t want to be with me?

  And Tristan clearly doesn’t. If he’s still thinking about other women and treating us like we won’t last, then he’s sure as fuck not interested in being with me in a way that matters. And his feelings clearly aren’t even close to the depth that mine are. If I continue down this path with him, I’m only going to end up in more pain than I feel even now. I need to end this thing between us and get as far away from Tristan as I can.

  I hastily brush the tears from my cheeks and stride back to Jax's bedroom. I stuff the last of my clothes in the half-filled box and tape it shut. Before I grab it to take downstairs, I take a quick look at myself in the mirror—and immediately wince at how I look.

  My face is white as a sheet and my pink-rimmed eyes clearly show that I've been crying. I dig frantically through my bag for the concealer I rarely use, then apply it quickly to my under eyes. It hides any proof of my tears, but my face still looks like I've seen a ghost. I slap and pinch my cheeks to bring some pink into them.

  Good enough. I only need to look normal long enough to rush out of here.

  I grab the box and head for the stairs. By the time I reach the landing I realize that Jax is nowhere to be found, and Tristan is the only one sitting in the living room.

  A warm smile lights up his face when he sees me. “Hey, I didn’t know you were here. Why didn’t you come grab me? I would’ve helped carry these.” He stands from the couch and walks over to grab the box out of my hands.

  I twist so he can't take it from me. "It's okay, I got it," I blurt out hastily. A flash of confusion appears on his face but disappears as quickly as it came. A small frown takes its place.

  "Where's Jax?" I ask, refusing eye contact.

  "He wanted to run out and grab some groceries," Tristan answers. "He said he wants to do a home-cooked lunch when he gets back."

  "Oh, I was actually going to head out. I want to unpack and get settled and I don't want to take up your guys' space anymore," I babble. I glance nervously between the door and the box in my hands, wanting desperately to walk out of this conversation. "Just tell Jax I'll see him later."

  Before I can move toward the door, Tristan's fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look at him. My eyes finally meet his and I see that they're flashing with anger. The frown on his face has deepened.

  "What is going on with you?" he growls. "Why are you freaking out right now?"

  I rip my face from his hands and glare at him. "I'm not freaking out," I snap. "I just want to go home. Ten days is a long time to look at your ugly face and I'm eager to get out of here."

  I realize suddenly that my anger is actually making it easier to deal with the pain. So, I stand a little straighter and look directly at Tristan. "Although I guess we knew that nothing good would come of us being cooped up together. Maybe fucking was our way of not killing each other."

  I'm being harsh. I know I'm being harsh. But the blade that sliced through me only a few minutes ago has evoked a fight or flight response, and I can't help the frantic fight that's coming out of me.

  I study him closely, debating for only a moment if I want to put the nail in the coffin of my heartbroken tirade. When I see the shock and hurt flash across his face I almost don't—but then decide that it's either him or me, and he's already made his choice.

  "Thanks for the dick," I sneer. "It's been fun, but I think we're done here."

  Without waiting for his answer, I stride down the hall and through the front door.

  19

  Tristan

  I stare wide-eyed at the front door as it slams shut. I'm so shocked at Remy's parting comment that I just stand there, blinking, for what feels like a very long minute.

  There's an ache in my chest. Unthinking, I start to rub it. It suddenly feels hollow and cold.

  Thanks for the dick, but we're done here.

  Thanks for the dick? Is that all this was? A fuck?

  How could she think we were just fucking? Last night was like nothing I've ever experienced before. I've never felt so connected to a person, or so obsessed with their pleasure. I almost fell to my knees when she stood naked in front of me yesterday, beautifully clothed only in moonlight. In that moment, I would've given her anything she asked for—my only thought was to make her happy. I could've skipped the orgasms and been just as happy doing anything she asked of me.

  I don’t think it’s ever been just fucking. How could I have misread the situation so badly?

  I shake my head with a frown, trying to physically straighten the muddled thoughts in my brain into some kind of order. Why does the thought of not having Remy around make me feel worse than a fifteen-pound weight cut the day before a fight?

  I feel dizzy, like I might pass out. I reach for the banister to steady myself as I start to sway. I realize then that I've never before wanted to be more than a booty call to anyone. These thoughts of wanting to keep her, of getting jealous when someone else pays attention to her, of wanting to see her smile and feeling lighter in my own body when she does—these are all brand new thoughts to me. And it never fucking occurred to me that she might not feel the same way.

  Jax walks through the front door and finds me wide-eyed and glued to the spot, gripping the banister with white knuckles. "Whoa, dude, what the fuck?” he cries. “You look like you just saw a ghost. What happened?"

  I shake my head with a frown, once again trying to organize my own clusterfuck of thoughts. I let go of the banister and shove my hands into my pockets with a cough.

  "Nothing, I just got a big fight offer," I lie quickly. "And then I had to turn it down."

  Okay, so not a complete lie, just a few days late with the news.

  And yes, a little lie about why I'm white as a sheet right now.

  "What?!" Jax yelps. He braces his hands on his hips and aims a very angry frown in my direction. "What do you mean you turned it down?!"

  I nervously run my fingers through my h
air, turning my gaze to the ceiling. "They finally offered me Jenkins," I admit. "But I had to turn it down because I'm already scheduled to go to Myrtle Beach with Mom for her 50th birthday weekend. I tried to make her understand how big an opportunity this was, but she couldn't let go of the idea that I was picking fighting over her. She practically burst into tears when I mentioned not going." I wince at the memory.

  Jax mutters a curse and starts pacing the hallway. "How does your family not understand how good you are?" he spits angrily. "Why do they still think you're just a kid playing at karate? It's fucking ridiculous to turn down a possible interview for the UFC for a goddamn birthday party."

  Jax is seething, glaring at the wall as he tries to calm his thoughts. In this moment I'm once again reminded how good a friend he is. How hard he'd fight for me and how much he actually gives a shit about me. He might be more upset about this situation than even I was after the phone call with my mom.

  That might be because you had Remy underneath you immediately afterwards.

  I shake away the thoughts of Remy. I can't handle more than one life crisis at a time.

  "This is bullshit," Jax growls. "So, you're really not going to take the fight?"

  I wince and awkwardly rub the back of my neck. "I can't hurt my own mom, Jax. My parents aren't like yours. You know you'll always have them, no matter what happens to you or them. With my parents… with my parents this would be the last straw. It would break Mom's heart and Dad would cut me out." I hang my head, guilt seeping out of my every pore. "I can't do that to my own mother, man."

  Jax sighs angrily and throws up his hands in defeat. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. It's the right call." He pauses and aims one more glare my way before dropping it. "But dude, your family fucking sucks when it comes to fighting."

  I sigh in defeat of my own. "Yeah, I know. If I want to make it to the UFC, I might have to break their hearts someday. I know that. But… just not today."

  He nods sympathetically before looking around. "By the way, where's Remy? I thought we were doing lunch when I got back. Is she back yet?"

  A hot blade of pain pierces through my chest at the mention of her name.

  "Uh, she left," I stammer. That blade twists further in my heart when I hear just how true those words ring.

  She left me. Even though I never really had her.

  Jax's brows furrow and he tilts his head, staring at me with an unspoken question. Of course he'd be able to sense that something is different.

  I try to remember how I acted with Remy before this all started. All sarcasm and condescension, right? Some sexist jokes? A generally uncaring attitude?

  Fuck, has it really only been ten days?

  "She said she was tired of my ugly face and wanted to get out of here," I choke out hastily, remembering her parting words and swallowing the dizziness that threatens to knock me over at the memory. "She went back to the new apartment. Not sure if she'll come back, she seemed pretty over this house after being stuck with me for so long."

  Jax nods in understanding, the skepticism finally leaving his face. I exhale my relief and purposefully ignore the pang of fear that slices through me at the thought of Remy never coming back—to the house or to me.

  I'll deal with that issue later.

  Jax finally pushes past me into the kitchen, unloading the groceries I didn't realize he'd dropped at the door when he first came in. I quickly reach for the remaining bags and help him unload the food.

  "I've been living off fast food and hotel buffet bars," he grunts as he reaches for the sous vide to make steaks. "I'm ready for some healthy, homemade food. Figured I'd make us some steak and vegetables. Maybe some eggs. And some bacon. And maybe a salad? I think Remy said she had some chicken in here that I could throw in a salad…"

  I shake my head with a smile. I have never met anyone that can eat as much as Jax does.

  "If I throw the steak in the sous vide then instead of lunch we can do an early dinner in a few hours," he muses aloud, staring at the cuts of steak he just bought from the store. I can already tell he's laying claim to the bigger piece, and that he'll finish it all. "I might throw these in and then unpack and work for an hour. I'll make the eggs and bacon while the meat is cooking if you throw the chicken Caesar salad together. Good plan?"

  I nod, even though he can't see it because his mouth is still watering over the steak. "Yeah, that sounds good. I might go for a quick run while you work then. Dinner at 5:00?"

  He nods and I stand from the barstool to head upstairs to get changed. I barely make it to the stairs when I hear Jax mutter to himself, "It's probably a good thing Remy's not here. I don't think we'd have enough food for her."

  I swallow roughly as her name drives another stab of pain through my heart. I sprint the rest of the way up the stairs, wanting to be pounding the pavement and letting the wind and my own physical exertion drive any remaining thoughts of her from my aching brain.

  Thanks to an exhausting six miles, I manage to keep my inner turmoil out of my brain and away from Jax's attention. We make dinner and then hang out on the couch, chatting about his trip and our California friends that he was training with. Talking about fighting is an easy and welcome distraction, and when the conversation dies down, I turn some fights on to keep the topic going.

  Eventually we decide to call it an early night. And even though I find myself yawning from the hard run I just put my body through, I can already tell I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight.

  I say goodnight to Jax at the top of the stairs, ignoring the pang of agony that beats through me when I see him turn into what was Remy's room. I quickly shuffle into my own room and slam the door.

  Except here, the pain magnifies. Because she was here, too. With me.

  And of course, I hadn't realized it then, but I was already into her at that point. It probably started the night we sat on the couch and quizzed each other. Every question revealed a new side of her that I never anticipated liking so much. I always knew she was smart, and loyal to her friends, but that night I found out she was fierce, and passionate, and smart in a way that she was able to be both of those things yet still stay rational. I learned that she was unlike any woman I have ever known.

  And that night she slept in my arms.

  And the next night she helped me face the painful issue of my parents.

  And then slept in my arms again.

  The funny thing is, I'm not even considering the sex we've had. It's not that I don't think it's the most mind-blowing, passionate, addicting sex I've ever had—because it's 1000% that. In all honesty, I don't know how I'll be able to fuck anyone else after Remy.

  I lean against my door, nauseous at the thought of sleeping with another woman. I shake the ugly thoughts from my head and instead sit down on my bed, dropping my head into my hands.

  I’m not considering the sex because that aspect of our connection just seems like a cherry on top. It makes me think we're more compatible, sure, but sex wasn't the reason I kept looking for more time to spend with her. Maybe at first, but definitely not after the night on the couch. I wanted her around because I actually liked talking to her; I liked hearing what she had to say. And that's never happened with a female. Typically, I can't wait for girls to leave after the sex is over. But with Remy…

  With Remy I found myself looking forward to the non-sex part just as much as the sex part.

  I groan and throw myself on the bed. I'm definitely not going to be sleeping tonight.

  Why did it take Remy leaving for me to realize I want to be with her?

  I can barely function at the gym the next day. I slept, but I didn't sleep. I closed my eyes, but it felt like I had pulled an all-nighter when my alarm went off this morning.

  I force myself to fake a smile and a high energy level when I teach morning classes, and later my private lessons. I must do a decent job with my acting because nobody mentions anything to me all day. It isn't until the evening classes start that my mask slips for the first time.


  When I realize that Remy trains on Monday nights.

  Fuck. Will I see her tonight? Will she treat me like she used to? Or will she ignore me and act like I'm nothing more than a fuck buddy that she got tired of?

  I scowl and angrily shake my head clear of ridiculous 'what if' questions. Since when did I turn into such a girl? I'm Tristan fucking West, why are my palms starting to sweat with nerves over a girl I've known for years?

  You're being ridiculous. Shape the fuck up and just do your job like you normally would.

  Only, my nervous glances toward the door are wasted. Remy never shows up to her usual class.

  By fifteen minutes after the hour, I realize I can't put off leaving any longer. I'm usually gone, or at least getting ready to leave, by the time the last class of the night starts. If I continue to hang around—desperate for a glance, a reaction, anything, from Remy—people are going to notice. I need to leave. She's obviously not coming.

  I ignore my agitated brain that's trying to figure out what that could mean.

  Relax. She might just be at work. Maybe she's sick. It could be anything. It's one day, calm the fuck down and stop reading into everything. Go home, you'll see her on Wednesday.

  Only, she doesn't show up on Wednesday. Or Saturday.

  I go from being desperate to see her, to frantic that something's wrong. It's not like Remy to not train, especially on Saturdays.

  I debate asking Jax if he knows anything. If there's something going on, he'll know. But asking him about Remy will tip him off that something went down between us, so I need to phrase it in a way that doesn't make him suspicious. But I definitely need to ask because I'm going crazy with all the unknowns.