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

by Nikki Castle

  My days are long and tense. My workload piles up due to my lack of focus, and the engineers get increasingly disheartened with the quality of my work. And as much as I hate my job, it still kills me to hear that my work is suffering. I double down and try even harder.

  It's a vicious cycle. Every day the people around me grow more and more frustrated, and every day I try to push through the resulting chaos—unsuccessfully. Until one day it all comes to a head.

  Cassandra rounds the corner to my cubicle with a furious look on her face.

  "What did you do?" she snaps by way of greeting.

  I turn away from my screen to look at her with dead eyes. "What do you mean?"

  "I just sent you the email," she snaps, her eyes blazing with rage. "One of our competitors is threatening to sue us for copyright infringement on one of the playbooks that you wrote." She's gesturing wildly with her hands and she's not bothering to keep her voice down. The entire office can hear her scolding me.

  I look at her email in my inbox, trying to blink away my confusion. I've never once had legal issues with my work. All I can manage in response is a weak, "what?"

  "How could you fuck this up?" she continues yelling. Heads are starting to pop over the cubicles like prairie dogs, trying to see what all the fuss is about. "That playbook was on my product so now I'm being reamed out by my boss for your work! What is wrong with you?!"

  I continue to stare at my screen in confusion. She's not wrong—this is a huge deal. Copyright infringement can cost companies a lot of money.

  How did I miss this? What was I thinking?

  Answer: I clearly wasn't. This non-breakup-breakup is officially ruining every area of my life.

  I swallow nervously and finally turn toward Cassandra. She's got both hands planted on her hips and her eyes dance with angry flames, waiting for my response. "I'm sorry," I say simply. "I don't know what happened. How—how do I fix it?"

  She throws her hands in the air, clearly exasperated. "Not my problem," she growls. "But figure it out. I'm not going down for your stupid mistake." And with that, she turns around and stomps away, people's heads quickly popping back in their cubicles in an effort to not give away that they were watching our scene.

  I clear my suddenly very dry throat. A cold sweat rushes through my body as the nerves inside me skyrocket.

  Fuck. How did I fuck this up? What do I do now?

  Just then, an email pops up on my screen. My face pales further as I read through the body of the mail.

  A meeting with the Legal Department at 8:00 on Monday morning. Fuck.

  I drop my head into my hands and take a deep, shaky breath. Think, Remy, think. What do I do now? Who can I talk to about this before Monday?

  The idea comes so quickly that my head shoots up with a jolt. I know a lawyer. I can ask him how deep the shit is that I'm in, and how I can get myself out of it.

  I grab my phone and fire off the text before I can second guess myself.

  A few hours later, I'm sitting in a crowded bar for happy hour, scowling at the massive amounts of corporate assholes that are all around me. Working in the business center of a city means the surrounding bars are all packed starting at 5:00. Like now.

  My scowl deepens the longer I wait for Jason to show up. God only knows why he couldn't meet until now, or why it had to be in a bar. But I'm so desperate for his help that he convinced me without much trouble.

  Finally, I see his gel-greased head bobbing through the crowd. He's wearing his usual custom-tailored suit and, per usual, he reeks of money-obsessed Corporate America. His fake, used-car salesman expression splits with a grin when he sees me sitting on one of the lounges.

  "Remy! There you are! I'm so glad you could make it." He roughly pulls me to my feet and into a hug before I can respond. He doesn't let go of me when he pulls back.

  I try to fake a smile. "Thanks for taking the time for me. I just wanted to pick your legal brain for a few minutes if you don't mind, then I'll be out of your hair—"

  "Fuck that," he interrupts happily. "I always have time for you. But let's get you a drink first. We don't need to talk about work just yet."

  He waves over a waitress that's floating around the seating areas. He lets go of me with one hand so he can touch the girl's elbow with a flirtatious smile, whispering our order in her ear. I swallow the furious words that want to burst out of me at his assuming what I want to drink. Or that I even want to drink.

  It doesn't even matter. I'll just ask my questions and then get out of here.

  He turns back to me with a smile and guides me to sit down with the hand that's still holding my arm. "So, I have to confess that I'm surprised—though extremely happy, don’t get me wrong—that you called. I knew when we ran into each other two weeks ago that we ended up back on each other's radars for a reason. I'm glad we could meet up tonight."

  His eyes sparkle with excitement and I suddenly realize that this is probably not going to work out how I want it to. He thinks it's a social call, whereas I couldn't care less about fucking anyone else right now.

  I shake thoughts of Tristan from my head before they can fully manifest. I try to focus on the hopeful, happy man in front of me, and how I'm going to let him down nicely while still getting the answers to my questions.

  "I actually wanted to get your legal advice, if you don't mind. I have a problem—"

  "Let's not talk about work," he interrupts with a wave of his hand. "We're at a bar during happy hour. Work should be the last thing we talk about."

  I try to hide my wince. "It's kind of important. I wanted to talk in your office, but I know you're busy—"

  Once again, he cuts me off. "My office is too stuffy. I can't have a real conversation with you there, not like I can here. I promise I'll answer your questions, but do me a favor and have a drink with me first, yeah?"

  As if on cue, the waitress returns with our drinks. She hands him a beer and places a fruity cocktail in front of me. I can barely stop myself from rolling my eyes at the cliché girly drink that Jason just ordered me. Clearly, he has no idea who I am.

  I sigh internally at the thought. At least he's trying. He's trying to get to know me. I can give him some of my time before I bolt out of here; I can at least give him that.

  I sip the drink through the straw with a tight smile. He seems pleased with my reaction and leans back into the lounge cushions with a grin, pulling his ankle to rest on his opposite knee. He looks supremely comfortable as he stretches out his arm to rest along the top of the cushions behind me.

  "So, how's life been since college?" he asks conversationally. "Other than working in the tech industry, what's Remy baby been up to?"

  I smother my wince, both at the nickname and at the fact that we're actually going through with this small talk right now. But the faster I can get through it, the faster I can get my answers and get out of here.

  "Life's great," I squeak. "I work a lot, and I still spend a lot of time with Jax, if you remember him. He was that guy that was always at my dorm."

  Jason frowns. "Yeah, I think I remember some guy hanging all over you," he says hesitantly. "Are you two together or something?"

  This time I let my wince show. This is the default reaction for both Jax and I when people assume we're together just because we're a guy and a girl. "God, no. He's just a really old friend."

  Jason seems to relax at that. Unfortunately, it leads me straight into his next question. "So, are you seeing anyone right now?"

  "N—no," I stutter, ignoring the sharp pain that pierces my heart. I force out a stronger response. "No, I'm not."

  He reclines into the cushions again with a smile. I'm careful not to touch his arm where it's stretched behind me.

  "But I spend a lot of time at the gym," I continue hurriedly, trying to keep any kind of opening away from Jason where he might ask me out. "I'm there most days after work and on the weekends."

  A smirk twitches at the corners of his lips as he gives me a lazy—and v
ery blatant—once-over. "I can tell," he purrs shamelessly. "You have a great body, Remy. Whatever you're doing is working."

  I fidget nervously. I'm typically more than comfortable with flirting, but Jason is being so straightforward right now that it's coming off as sleazy. I try to breeze past the compliment.

  "I got into martial arts in college," I say by way of explanation. "I started doing kickboxing and then it kind of spiraled from there."

  "Like an aerobics thing?"

  I frown. "No, it's a real MMA gym. I've been learning Muay Thai and jiu-jitsu for years."

  His eyebrows shoot up and I think he looks at me with admiration, but then the sleazy smirk comes back. "Ooh, jiu-jitsu, huh? You should teach me some moves. Maybe we can roll together sometime—I promise I'll go easy on you."

  It's his wink at the end that makes my blood boil. Not just for the sexualization of a sport that I love so much, but also because of his assumption that he could beat me.

  With zero training.

  Just because he's a guy.

  Which, for the record, he can't. Jiu-jitsu is the skilled person's sport, through and through, and has nothing to do with size or strength. But even if we were only talking about kickboxing, I'd still beat the shit out of Jason. Especially with how angry his typical chauvinistic male argument just made me.

  I'm trembling, actually trembling with fury, trying to figure out how to respond to this dumbass without completely driving him out of the bar. Only I never actually get to say anything because just then, I see Jason glance over my shoulder.

  "Hey," he says in surprise. "What're you doing here?"

  "Well hello to you, too," chuckles a deep voice from behind me. I turn to look over my shoulder and find another professional frat boy in a suit.

  Jason stands up with a grin and gives him a bro hug. "I just never expected to see you in this area. You were working in NYC, last I heard. Are you just visiting?"

  The suit—albeit a good-looking suit—shakes his head as Jason settles back on the cushion next to me. "Nah, I just transferred here for good. I got sick of the Big Apple, figured Philly would give me a better crowd." His gaze finally flicks to me and slowly, lazily, looks me up and down. He brazenly licks his lips as his eyes meet mine. "The view here is way better."

  I shudder and look away, hating my physical reaction for most likely making him think I was turned on by him.

  I don't even care. I just want to get this over with. I turn back to Jason and open my mouth, ready to launch into my legal problem.

  "Remy, this is my friend Zach. We went to law school together. Zach, this is Remy."

  I smile politely at the man now taking a seat across from us. He gives me a grin that probably tends to drop women's panties.

  "Remy, huh? That's a sexy name."

  I sigh and look around the bar, avoiding eye contact and trying to look bored. Anything to get this over with. "Thanks. I was named after a pornstar."

  Jason chuckles tightly next to me. I can tell he feels the awkward tension radiating from me, so he leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees and instead gives Zach his full attention.

  "So where are you working now?" he asks his friend.

  I zone out as they start talking. I lean back in my chair with a scowl, internally trying to suffocate the scream that's threatening to break out of me. I throw back half of my drink in frustration. In this moment I hate the fact that my job is important enough that I need to wait for Jason to finish his conversation. Resigning myself to the fact, I tear my eyes away from him and turn to scan the bar instead.

  And then very quickly wish I hadn't, when I catch sight of Tristan at the bar.

  My breath catches, and my heart immediately begins beating a million miles per minute. It's been weeks since I've seen him, but at the sight of him, I'm transported right back to the time we spent together at the house. My heart aches at the perfect vision of him.

  He looks amazing. He's wearing jeans and my favorite kind of simple black t-shirt that accentuates his muscular frame. His hair is slightly ruffled and he's laughing at something that Aiden said. He's leaning casually against the bar, just as comfortable and confident in his stance as he always is, looking nothing but carefree and happy.

  Looking nothing like how I feel.

  I've been trying so hard to make myself hate Tristan—hate being easier to bear than heartache—but I realize now that's nearly impossible when he's actually in front of me. Now, I'm having a really hard time remembering why I walked away from him. Now, at the sight of his smile and natural confidence, I'm only remembering our easy banter on the couch, his genuine encouragement at the gym, his sweet reverence in my apartment. I'm remembering how perfectly we fit against each other, how in sync our chemistry felt once we stopped fighting it.

  I'm remembering how much I miss him. My chest actually aches from the intensity of it. I even miss the Tristan I had before all of this, because I realize in this moment that I must have always liked the excitement of our verbal sparring, and our fighting rounds both in and outside of the gym. Our dinners and fight nights at the house, which were comfortable and fun even if I convinced myself I hated the teasing. I must've liked it because right now I fucking miss it.

  Maybe I was wrong about Tristan.

  Maybe it's worth giving us a shot.

  Maybe I pulled away too quickly.

  My heartbeat, slow and depressed for weeks, stutters at the thought—at the terrified hope that that's true. That stutter feels like a jumpstart to my heart, and it starts to beat again.

  The decision to approach him forms in my head without a second thought. I take a deep breath to steady myself.

  But I never even make it to my feet, because an attractive woman joins Tristan at the bar before I can even get my feet moving under me. He wraps his arm around her waist to pull her close, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously and leaving no doubt about his intent. His usual cocky smirk appears on his face.

  And I realize in this moment that somewhere along the way I fell in love with Tristan West.

  There's no other reason for why this hurts so bad. It physically feels like he's ripping my heart out of my chest and having another woman stomp on it while he just stares and smirks. I feel the same blade that sliced through my heart that morning in the house now cutting up my insides. My stomach drops, and my core aches so hard that I can't help but wrap my arms around my middle. The pain from the sight in front of me feels like it's clawing its way out of my body, shredding me from the inside out.

  I see the blonde throw her head back with a laugh, touching Tristan's chest as she does so. Tristan's smile grows when she doesn't remove her hand and instead presses closer against his body. He leans forward to whisper something in her ear, causing her to blush and giggle.

  The knife in my gut twists deeper with every glance between them. My arms tighten around my stomach, as if trying to keep my insides from spilling out, whether from the blade or from the sickness that I feel.

  I can't watch this. It's one thing to hear him reject me, but another to watch him move on right in front of me. I don't have the strength for this. I stand up, ready to tell Jason off for dragging me to a place like this for a business meeting.

  He turns away from his conversation with his buddy and looks up at me with a startled expression. "You're leaving?" he asks incredulously. I restrain my urge to grab his collar and shake him for his daftness.

  "Yeah, I have to get back to the office," I say quickly, grabbing my purse. "Sorry we couldn't chat. I'll call you next week if I still have questions." With barely a wave goodbye, I turn to walk—or run—from the bar.

  Except, at some point Tristan has spotted me and decided he wants to come over to say… something. Anything out of his mouth will butcher me right now. I feel the anger start churning in my still-shredded gut, slowly and messily holding my body together.

  With one hand in his pocket and his other arm slung casually around the blonde's shoulders, he's walked over t
o our sitting area and is looking at us with a tilted head and a curious expression.

  "Remy, Jason, didn't think I'd run into you two here," he smirks. "Isn't it too early to leave the office? You can hardly be overachievers from a bar."

  "Spoken exactly like someone who's never had a real job," I spit. I can't help it. I don't even mean it, but I hate that we've reverted to jabs about my nerdiness.

  I also hate that he's touching someone else. My stomach churns again.

  Tristan's lips thin as they press together at my comment. But if he wanted to say something else, he doesn't get the chance because at that moment Jason comes up behind me and slides his arm around my waist. He tugs me against his chest.

  "Aw, come on, Remy, that's not fair," Jason defends. I stiffen, both from his touch and from thinking I'm about to be ganged up on. "It's hard work throwing weights around and still having the energy to charm a lady. Give him some credit." I don't have to turn around to know he winks at the blonde and gives her a sleazy once-over. I can feel it in the way the girl blushes and turns her face into Tristan's neck with a smile.

  Tristan's arm tightens around her and I know him well enough to see the fury now dancing in his eyes. Suddenly I flash back to the last time he was around Jason—and how much he seemed to hate him. But that had felt like jealousy. Only, that doesn't make sense anymore, seeing as Tristan is making it very clear right now that he's not interested in me.

  Once again, I marvel at the fact that Tristan's actions were for the sole purpose of getting in my pants. I replay his possessive ‘you're mine’ declaration from the night of the house party when he pulled me away from Jason.

  And fight the urge to vomit when I now hear it through this new understanding of him.

  "It looks like I'm not the only one doing a little charming," Tristan observes, looking directly at me.

  Jason chuckles and pulls me tighter against him. The closeness makes me sick, but I refuse to pull away and let Tristan think he's the only one that's moved on. "What can I say, I haven't been able to get Remy out of my head since we ran into each other a few weeks ago." He turns to nuzzle into my neck.