Until You're Mine (Fighting for Her)

by Cindi Madsen

  We moved to the hook and undercut, then worked on combos. Her skin flushed pink, and I found myself slightly mesmerized by the pulse beating at the base of her throat. I wanted to put my lips there and feel it fluttering against my mouth.

  I flinched when the loud smack to the mitt in my left hand brought me out of my stray thoughts.

  She dropped her arms and inhaled and exhaled, working to catch her breath.

  I lowered my hands, catching my breath for an entirely different reason. “I did promise you could hit me, so”—I spread my arms and turned myself into a large target—“have at it.”

  “Oh, sure. You’re so brave now that my arms are tired.” She lifted her gloves in fighting stance and came at me. She landed a couple of body shots, but she didn’t hit nearly as hard as when I’d had the mitts. I liked to think that meant she didn’t totally hate me. Or maybe I should taunt her and tip the scales back in that direction, because if I thought about all the things we could do if she liked me, I’d dance closer to the fire.

  Considering she had a body made for sinning and I was well-versed in that subject, I’d think about fucking her regardless of like or hate and everything that came between. Add in the fact that she was cool as hell, though, and… Yeah, I might already be in trouble with this girl.

  Brooklyn flopped down on the mat. “What’s always crazy about punching drills is you throw, throw, throw…” She sucked in a breath and took off her gloves. “And the amount of energy you’ve expended doesn’t hit you until you stop, and then…” She exhaled and tossed the gloves aside. “You feel it.”

  I sat next to her, draping my arms over my knees and scanning the empty gym. I loved the buzz of the place during training sessions and how the energy from everyone built and made me push harder, but there was also something nice about an empty gym. Especially since it meant getting closer to a woman who’d started to invade my thoughts more and more, regardless of the wide berth we’d been giving each other. If I was smart I’d shut this down now, but with her sitting right next to me all I could think about was how I wanted to know more. “I reckon you’ve hit most of the bags in here.”

  “I reckon so,” she replied, but she added a southern twang.

  “Are you making fun of me?” I asked, dropping my jaw like I was shocked.

  She laughed that same laugh that had gotten me punched in the head the first day she crashed into my world, and held up her fingers. “Little bit.”

  “Oh, it’s on now. After you catch your breath, of course.”

  “I really want to act all tough and say I don’t need any time to do that, but my head’s still on the spinny side.” Her gaze moved over the 100 pound bags that hung from chains, the weight benches, and the cardio machines lined up in the back corner. “I grew up here. My dad loves telling the story about how I took my first steps in this gym, right over to a punching bag. As a kid, I loved it. Cheering on the fighters, and the times they’d take a break from their training to teach me moves. During my teen years, my eyes were opened to things I hadn’t noticed before, and that rubbed some of the shiny off it, and then there came a time when I couldn’t wait to break free.”

  “Why?”

  “Long story. What about you? How’d you get into the MMA world?”

  An expert at changing the subject myself, I recognized her diversion tactic. “I’m afraid if I tell you, you’ll accuse me of being a thug again.”

  She dropped her head back and sighed. “I said I was sorry. And thanks again for helping me get into my car and for not saying anything.”

  Again? I must’ve missed the first time she thanked me, but I didn’t think I’d win many points by calling her out. Since the answer was also the happiest part of my childhood, I didn’t mind revealing a bit. “Just reserve your judgment until the end of the story, okay?”

  “No promises,” she said, a cute half smile on her face. She had this sexy beauty mark above her lip, which naturally led my attention right to her mouth.

  No going there. “I was a typical foster kid. Shuffled around a lot, constantly in trouble, and I got into my fair share of fights.”

  “What exactly is a fair share when it comes to fighting?”

  “Enough that threats of juvie and boot camp were hanging over my head, and I’d already accepted my fate that I’d end up at one of them, so I figured I might as well go big and deserve it.” My lungs tightened. I hadn’t told my story to many people, but it’d never made me…whatever this mushy sensation filling my chest was called, and I wanted to plow on through as quickly as possible. “But then I moved to a new house, with a new couple. Admittedly, I was a little asshole.”

  She nodded, a bit too enthusiastically, and without a hint of surprise. “Sounds like you.”

  I leveled a look on her, and she laughed and then mimed zipping her lips. “But Tammy…” I shook my head. “She’s one of those ladies who just won’t give up, even when she should. I’d gotten in my third fight at school, and I was sure that would be the last straw. I’d even started packing the few items I had to my name, mostly hand-me-down clothes. But then she came in and told me she’d enrolled me at a gym, and I could punch to my heart’s content while I was there, but that the instant I stepped out of line, my lessons would be done.

  “Since I was a punk, I rolled my eyes. But then I walked into that gym for the first time…” When I searched for happy memories, that one stood out as one of the brightest. “The guys there were so awesome, and I got all my aggression out on punching bags. Or in sparring matches, where afterward, I’d bump gloves with the guy and we’d share a laugh. It was the first time I’d felt a sense of belonging somewhere. It was, in short, life changing.”

  It was also life changing when the only person who’d believed in me—even when I least deserved it—got sick. I’d thought the people around me, from my manager to my team and my girlfriend, were my family. But when I couldn’t get my head in the fight and those losses started stacking up, the novelty wore off and they left me behind.

  I’d never forget that moment in the locker room after loss number two, when my girlfriend Jacquie squatted across from me. I thought she’d say something encouraging, tell me it’d be okay—hell, maybe even wipe away the blood dripping from the cut on my eyebrow that had popped back open. Instead, she’d said, “I’m not sure I can do this anymore. You’re heading nowhere fast, and since it doesn’t even seem like you care…” She’d hesitated. “Do you even care that you just lost that fight?”

  I shrugged. “Not really.” A distant part of me did, sure, but caring required feeling and I was numb. My mom hadn’t been there in the audience, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how she might never be there again, and nothing seemed to matter after that.

  “Then I’m getting off the ride before it crashes.” The sound of her heels echoed across the locker room and then she was gone. Those were her final words, and she was one of the few people who actually knew my mom had cancer.

  And I didn’t know how I got down this sad path, but it was time to shove away thoughts of the past.

  When I glanced at Brooklyn, her eyes were leveled on me. I thought she’d ask for more details, or say something overly sentimental or pity-filled, and just the thought of that made me want to stand up and hit the punching bag until adrenaline replaced the weaker emotions hanging out in my chest.

  “That makes me feel like a selfish princess for the resentment I’ve held toward some of Dad’s fighters through the years,” she said. “They probably needed him more than I did, but they got the lion’s share of his attention and I got scraps.” She twisted the end of her ponytail around her finger. “I’ve never really said that out loud.”

  “I think there’s something in the air. Truth serum or some shit.”

  Her smile kicked me in the gut. Then she looked around the room again. “I was so determined to get away from this world that I cut out as much of it as I could, even things I loved, like that surge of adrenaline that accompanies a solid
hit, and how each punch I land makes me feel stronger. I kind of regret that now.”

  “It’s not too late. You’re strong. My hand’s still stinging from your punches.”

  She narrowed her eyes, not buying my bullshit even though I sincerely meant the strong compliment. Form was half the battle, and she had that down pat. She fiddled with the neon pink laces on her colorful tennis shoes. “I also worry I might regret dipping a toe back in, though. This world tends to suck you in, chew you up, and spit you out.”

  I knew that better than anyone. “Yeah, but those highs…there’s nothing like it.” Since this had steered into more serious territory than I meant it to, I was the subject changer this time. I pushed myself to my feet and extended a hand to her. “Shall we move to some light sparring? Maybe throw in a few takedowns?”

  “I think we shall. But first, I need to know what this says…” She lifted up my arm and read the small line of script inked on my biceps. Pain into power.

  “I didn’t choose the message,” I said. “It came with my bad boy starter kit, and I just wanted to be a member so bad.”

  She added pursed lips to her head tilt, as if she didn’t think I was funny, even though the smile that broke free proved she did—and if she was going to smile like that, I’d make a lot more jokes in the future. Then she said, “I like it,” dropped my arm, and pulled on a set of grappling gloves.

  I put on a pair as well, and then returned to the center of the ring. “Just remember, on top of the three hours of training I’ve already put in, I had to do an extra hour, since evidently you were never going to leave the gym.”

  She circled me. “Are you seriously already making excuses about why I’m going to kick your ass?”

  “No, I was giving you tips. My reflexes won’t be as quick, and you can use my weight against me.”

  “I think you’re attempting to talk me to death.”

  Her feistiness was a hell of a turn-on, and a different type of adrenaline than usually accompanied my sparring matches coursed through my veins. “Bring it on, then, bruiser.”

  We circled each other, bobbing and weaving, mimicking each other’s movements as we felt each other out. I wondered which she’d start with. Blake Roth was a submission specialist, often ending his fights by choking out his opponents. Liam favored striking, and Finn was all about the ground-and-pound.

  She kicked, a high kick toward my head I didn’t know she could complete. I barely jumped back in time, her foot coming close enough it stirred the air in front of my face. I lifted my fists and gave her a couple of seconds to steady herself.

  “Not quite as flexible as I used to be,” she said. “I’m gonna have to work on that.”

  “Looks pretty damn good to me, but I’d love a full demonstration of your flexibility. I bet together, we could really push it to the next level.”

  She gave me a reprimanding glare.

  “What?” I asked, putting on my most innocent expression. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant stretching after our workout, dirty.”

  I blocked the right hook she was partial to, and we went back to bobbing and weaving. My focus on my opponent and every miniscule movement had never been better—maybe it wasn’t exactly for the right reasons, but it provided great practice on how to hone my concentration.

  She kicked again, and when I leaned back and lifted my arms to block, she used her forward momentum to dive for my legs, getting her shoulder in on it as she attempted a single leg takedown. I was about to counterbalance with a sprawl when she swept her outside leg around behind me, hooking both of my ankles as she pushed on through.

  My weight went out from under me and I found myself flat on my back. Didn’t see that one coming.

  I automatically started to roll, and if it were a fight I’d definitely be attempting the guillotine choke she’d opened herself up to, but then I realized it would be more fun to let her get full mount and see what she did with it. Not to mention it meant her sitting on top of me and a great view of her boobs from a highly underrated angle.

  She frowned down at me. “That was way too easy. Do you think I’m a sucker? I don’t want pity takedowns.”

  “I don’t give pity takedowns. But as to your first question…” I rolled, pinning her to the mat with my body. “I do think you’re a sucker.” If I were in the cage with an opponent, this would be when I rained down punch after punch, maybe throw a few elbows for good measure.

  But I wanted the opposite of punching. I wanted my hands and mouth on her. Nice and slow, tasting and feeling every curve. She squirmed underneath me, lifting her hips in an attempt to escape the mount, and the friction was making it hard to control a certain growing situation in my shorts. I could see the moment she felt it. Her eyes widened and her lips parted on a shallow breath.

  The lust pumping through my body fired hotter and faster, turning my desire to taste her into a need. I leaned forward, bracing my palms on either side of her head. “What about you? Are you sure you don’t want pity? Because I’m open to hearing you beg.”

  Her eyes met mine and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. That was my opening, and I was going to fucking take it, consequences be damned. My mouth was a breath away from hers when she turned her head. “I can’t do this, Shane. This is…” She tapped my leg—tapped out—and I quickly rolled off her.

  I raked a hand through my hair. “I guess I read those signals wrong.”

  “You did. Kind of. I mean…” She sat up and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “I have a boyfriend. I told you that.”

  I placed my hand on her arm in an attempt to calm her down and keep things from spiraling, but she jerked away and I let my hand drop to the mat. “I got caught up in the moment and forgot. And honestly, I thought you’d only said that the other day to get rid of me.”

  “I said it because he’s real. He’s real, and I should never have put myself in this situation.” She shook her head, and I could tell she was beating herself up. “I should’ve known better.”

  All of tonight’s progress undone, just like that. “I’m the one who fucked up. You shouldn’t let that stop you from enjoying a workout. Now I know where the line is, and I won’t cross it.” The second the words left my mouth I wanted to take them back, so I couldn’t help adding, “Unless you ask me to.”

  “I won’t,” she said, no hesitation.

  I told myself that was for the best. One of us should be strong enough to prevent line crossing that’d only make a huge mess. But now that I’d had her underneath me, her lips tantalizingly close, all I could think about was finding a way to end up there again.

  Chapter Eight

  Brooklyn

  I’d camped out at Finn’s all weekend, and there’d been much binge watching and consuming of cookie dough. I hesitated at the back door of the gym, not wanting to have to face…so, so many things. The endless piles of work. Dad. Shane. Myself.

  Not that I’d so much have to face myself once inside, but every time I caught my reflection, I wondered at the girl looking back at me. She’d let her guard down, gotten carried away talking, laughing, and getting a workout in with Shane, and then…he hadn’t read the signals wrong, but I didn’t know I’d been broadcasting them until too late.

  Didn’t mean I absolved myself, and I’d resolved to never put myself in another situation where my body would be on top of or underneath Shane Knox’s—or even too near his in general. Friday night’s incident didn’t mean I didn’t care about my boyfriend. Hormones were physical, undiscerning things, and I believed a big part of remaining faithful came down to not putting yourself in risky situations where you might be tempted.

  Growing up in the world of professional athletes who were on the road a lot, I’d seen it time and time again. I’d experienced it secondhand through Mom when I found her crying into a bottle of vodka after Dad confessed to another affair, and then—since that didn’t suck enough—I experienced it firsthand with a guy I’d given up so much
for, including a piece of my heart.

  It was just one more reason I appreciated the calm, drama-free relationship I had with Trey. He was good during the ups and downs—like how he’d stuck by my side during that last hectic semester of college, constantly reassuring me about my artwork when I needed to hear it the most. Even if I weren’t already dating him, I’d never fall for another fighter, and over the past two days, I’d amped up my defenses against ripped dudes with wrapped fists and intense eyes that bored right into my soul.

  It always ends badly—never let yourself forget that. You’re not the exception to the rule, and a mistake repeated more than once is a decision. Why would you choose future pain?

  I wouldn’t, which was why my priorities were back in order. No more getting caught up in risky, tempting situations. Basically from now until Trey came to visit, I was going to have no life besides work, work, and more work.

  Head down, I strode over to my desk. The giant piles—along with a new one—made me feel extra stabby, but I shoved the fossil-that-doubled-as-a-computer to the back corner of the desk and then opened my laptop. I’d have to buy a couple of programs for it, but I wasn’t dealing with the ancient machine anymore, and this way, I could take work home with me if needed.

  When I sensed someone approaching, I grabbed my Super Big Gulp of Mountain Dew, sucked down a generous swig, and then took a couple of extra seconds to steel myself. A quick glance revealed it wasn’t the young cocky fighter I’d sparred with, but the old cocky fighter who’d given his life and name to his gym, and that wasn’t much better.

  “Morning, Brooki—lyn. I was hoping you’d let me take you to dinner tonight. We still haven’t had a real chance to catch up.”

  “Will Finn and Liam be there?” I asked.

  His face dropped and a lump of guilt formed in my gut. Which seemed epically unfair. Like the guys in the octagon who held up their fists to block, I was merely trying to keep myself from getting hurt. Why drop your guard and risk a knockout punch that might land you on your ass?