A Fighter's Choice

by Sam Crescent

  She took her seat next to him as her clothes started drying.

  “You keep staring at me,” she said.

  “So?”

  “How did you get the bruises?” she asked, liking his attitude and annoyed with him at the same time. He looked like the kind of man who took what he wanted and didn’t give a shit about who he hurt in the process.

  “What do you do at night?”

  “Work.” She answered without hesitation. Amber had noticed he arrived back to the apartment block around the same time as she did.

  “Where?”

  She smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “You’re not a whore, are you?”

  Amber burst out laughing. She really couldn’t control herself.

  “What?” he asked, frowning again.

  Reaching out, she pressed a thumb to his forehead. “You’ve got to stop frowning otherwise you’ll end up with wrinkles.”

  “No, seriously. Where do you work?”

  “The titty bar with the glaring red and blue sign with the picture of a woman glowing on the window.” She watched the shock appear on his face. It was so funny to see.

  “Wait, you work at the strip club?”

  “Yep.”

  The washing machine beeped. “You’re ready,” she said, pointing at his washing machine.

  She watched his fine ass get up and start to do exactly what she just did. Her own washing machine was still going with all of her whites. Packing the paperback book into her bag, she smiled at his expression. She’d caught him by surprise with her profession.

  Minutes passed, and she watched his thick arms load the washing machine. The heat was getting to her, and she already felt the perspiration sliding down her back. He was large and muscular. Those bruises were not down to him being a coward or a wimp. There was something more to him. She didn’t know what it was, only that he continued to intrigue her even though he didn’t talk about himself.

  He joined her minutes later.

  His hair was messy like he didn’t brush it when he rolled out of bed this morning. She stared into his blue gaze and wondered what he was thinking.

  “You’re a stripper?”

  She smiled. “I never said I was a stripper.”

  “What are you then? Only strippers work in a strip club.”

  “Then you’ve not been to a lot of strip clubs. There are a lot of jobs out there for women to do.”

  “Not in a strip club.” His hands were fisted on his legs. Was he angry?

  “No, I don’t strip. I serve drinks and tend to the bar. I couldn’t strip.” She released a snort thinking about the prospect of stripping.

  “Why couldn’t you strip?” he asked.

  “There are so many reasons why I couldn’t strip.” The very thought made it difficult for her to contain her giggles.

  “Name them.” He folded his hands over his chest, glaring at her.

  “One, I can’t wear heels. Seriously, I struggle to wear them. It’s a disaster. Two, have you seen the pole they expect you to dance around? Three, I can’t dance. I look like a flapping duck mixed with a pig on stage. I cannot make this body look sexy to save my life.”

  “You’re not fat.”

  He was being really sweet. She squeezed into a size sixteen and hadn’t gotten cellulite yet, but she knew it was coming.

  “I didn’t say I was.” She looked back at him aware of his gaze on her body. She liked the feel of his eyes on her too much.

  The dryer started to make a beeping sound, and she got to her feet. This was for a different machine, as she had been here sometime before him. For the next few minutes every time she looked toward him, she saw his gaze was on hers. She folded her clothing as he placed his clothing into the dryer beside her.

  Jasper moved behind her, his hands resting on her hips as he leaned in close. “I fight.”

  She frowned, turning to look at him.

  “What?”

  “How I get the bruises, I fight.” He squeezed her hips and moved away.

  Okay, she had a lot more questions and wasn’t about to take no for an answer. She finished folding her washing and took her seat beside him on the bench. “You’re a fighter?”

  “Keep your voice down.” He looked over her shoulder, and she followed his gaze. No one was watching them or even paying attention to them. The women had long since left in a huff, and Beatrice was playing her bingo on the ‘net.

  “Sorry, you’re a fighter?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at the bruising and the state of his knuckles. “This is not the stuff you talk about in the open, right?” she asked.

  “No. Don’t talk about it to anyone.”

  “If you can’t talk why do you do it? I mean, how do you make a living looking like that?” She reached out, touching his face and turning it this way and that. He caught hold of her arms, stopping her from moving or touching him.

  “People who want to know find out. There’s a ways of finding everything out providing you know a fighter, or a fighter’s friend.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous?” She withdrew her hands while trying not to think about the feel of his hands on her body. Thinking about his hands wouldn’t do her any good. She cut off any thought of anything more and simply stared at him.

  “Yeah, it’s dangerous, but isn’t everything.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know all about getting hit by a bus and shit like that. I’m talking about something else. This is more dangerous than anything else you can encounter.”

  “Every time you leave the safety of your apartment you can get run down.”

  “But I watch where I walk. I take precautions for everything. What are you doing? You’re looking for fights. You’re willing to put your life at risk every time you go for a fight.”

  “There are rules.”

  “Not that many, clearly,” she said, and he gave her a pointed look. “What? It’s true. You’re the one with all the bruises, not me.”

  “You could get raped or hurt where you work.”

  “I know, which is why I have my pepper spray and I grow nails. I’ve learned if you’re willing to gouge their eyes out, they’ll keep far enough away from you.” She leaned away, staring at him. “You like it?”

  “Yes, I like it.”

  “That makes you kind of creepy.”

  “There are a lot of chicks who are into it.”

  “I imagine there is more than enough pussy to fuck. Some groupies never grow up.”

  “Have you ever wanted to go?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Watching men beat the shit out of each other is not what I consider fun.” Her washing machine finished, and she left him alone. She checked the dryer before starting up a new machine. Wow, a fighter and from the looks of him, a savage fighter. Just looking at him scared the shit out of her at times. Still, it was nice to talk to the handsome man who lived across from her.

  Chapter Three

  Flipping his cell phone in the air, Jasper caught it with his other hand. Three days had passed since his encounter with Amber across the hall. He saw her when he went out at night, but they’d not spoken anymore. She would smile at him in a way that made him think she was imagining something funny. He didn’t know if he liked it or not.

  Last night he’d walked to the titty bar she’d been talking about and stared at the sign. Did he even want to go inside? Instead of going in and checking it out, he’d walked back to their apartment to wait outside. Amber had arrived a couple of hours later in her rundown car. She climbed out, took a couple of seconds to stare at him, then spun on her heel to make her way up to her apartment. He followed behind her, taking as much time as possible to get to his own door.

  What was going on between them? He didn’t know the correct answer to the question or what he should do about it. Glancing at his phone, he groaned. He was waiting for a call. The same call he’d been expecting all day. It had been a couple of days since the last fight and he usua
lly left it a good week before he went back into the ring, but he needed to pummel something.

  A knock at his door disrupted his thoughts. Getting to his feet, he walked the short distance and opened the door to find Amber on the other side. She held a pot in her hand and a smile.

  “Hey you. I don’t suppose you’ve got some sugar?” she asked, waving her pot underneath his nose.

  He glared at her feeling the heat fill his cock at the sight of her. What was it about this woman that she wouldn’t leave his thoughts? “Sugar? You’ve come to my place for sugar?”

  “I’m out.” She lifted the lid on the pot to reveal how empty she actually was. “See, nothing and I’ve got to have sugar in my coffee otherwise the world is a very shit and horrid place. Please, don’t let me go without sugar.” She stuck her lip out, staring up at him with tears in her eyes.

  “You’re playing me.”

  Her smile bloomed, and the tears were batted away. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  Jasper continued to stare at her. “You’re strange, you know that right?”

  “This coming from the guy who gets paid to take a hit or two in the line of his work?”

  “I get paid a lot of money to be a punching bag.”

  “So, it doesn’t make it any less strange.” She didn’t look anywhere else but at his face. A lot of women he was around would look at his body, stroke a hand down his chest, try to lure him in. Amber wasn’t doing anything, simply insulting him.

  “You’re telling me you wouldn’t do whatever was necessary for money?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “It would depend on what that something was.”

  He leaned against the doorframe, waiting.

  “You want me to list some of the crap I wouldn’t do?” He nodded. She blew out a breath, ran fingers through her hair, and then looked back at him. “Fine, I wouldn’t jump off a cliff for a million dollars, spend the night in a haunted house, go to prison, kiss a frog, or suck an infected dick. Is that good enough?”

  He tried not to laugh but failed miserably. “Suck an infected cock?”

  “You didn’t exactly give me any parameters of what we couldn’t or couldn’t do. You’ve got no chance of me doing anything for money.”

  “What about working in a strip club?”

  “Okay, you won’t see me doing anything extra when I earn enough money to keep myself in food and gas.” She held up her pot. “Well, are you going to give me sugar or not?”

  In the last few minutes he’d had more fun than he ever remembered. “You’re strange and weird,” he said, leaving a gap for her to enter his apartment.

  “You’re letting me into your space?” She stepped over the threshold. “Well, I’ve not been plummeted into hell, so I guess it’s safe.”

  He closed the door, leaning against the wood and watching her. She was a beautiful woman, strange yet beautiful.

  “Is staring a thing for you?”

  Smiling, he left the door and stepped toward her. She didn’t take a step back. He got right up close to her, feeling the heat of her body. She wore one of those baggy shirts that covered her body leaving everything to his imagination. He wanted to reach out and touch her but forced himself to hold back. It would be so easy to give in to what he wanted.

  “Why do I feel something else is going on here?” she asked, looking up at him.

  The world fell away for him. He stared down into her eyes then down to her mouth. Her lips looked plump and inviting. He wanted to kiss those lips and sink his tongue into her mouth. Would she be fiery in bed or demand respect with the curtains drawn, the lights off?

  Why are you thinking about her like this?

  His cell phone went off interrupting their moment. Jasper took his time accepting the call. He didn’t move away, invading her space.

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ve got a fight tonight. I know you like time between fights, but I thought you’d like first refusal,” Steve said.

  Looking at the woman before him, Jasper knew he needed to blow off steam. “Who is it against?” he asked.

  “Drake Hound, he’s pretty good. Rarely loses but leaves his opponent bloody.”

  “Fix it up, I’ll be there tonight.” He closed the cell phone staring at her.

  “You’re fighting tonight?”

  “Yeah, I need to hurt something.”

  He took her jar and forced himself to move away. Filling up her jar, he noticed the chip in the side. The jar was old. “Is this a family heirloom?” he asked, returning to her.

  “Probably for someone. I got it from the thrift store. Take care, have fun.” She started making her way toward the door.

  “Do you want to see me fight tonight?” he asked.

  The words left his lips before he could stop them.

  She smiled at him. “Watch a couple of men get all naked, sweaty, covered with blood?”

  “You’d be surprised how hot it gets.”

  Amber chuckled. “I’m working.” She opened his door ready to leave. He admired the curves of her ass. She turned back. “Blood doesn’t do it for me or broken bones. Sweat does though. You need to get sweaty to make it worth it.”

  She left him alone imagining her all sweaty from sex. Yeah, there was some fire in Amber, even if she was strange.

  ****

  Popping her gum, Amber glanced down at her watch seeing she still had three hours left of her shift. Brooke was on stage, shaking her ass and tits at any man’s face. The girl was good, and if Amber was a lesbian she’d totally go for that. Chewing the peppermint gum, she looked at the man practically salivating at the sight of Brooke.

  Amber kept her arms folded waiting for the next customer to approach the bar.

  Harold was at the end of the bar staring at Brooke as she shook her ass. It would only be a matter of seconds before Brooke was completely naked, showing off her pussy to the waiting crowd. Harold was Brooke’s husband, and Amber didn’t have the first clue as to how the two continued their relationship. From the look on Harold’s face, he loved every second of the men watching his woman.

  There was no jealousy, possessiveness but not jealousy.

  A guy in a business suit approached the bar, and she stepped away and offered up a smile.

  “Hey, darling, I’ll have a shot of your best liquor.”

  Turning her back to him, she grabbed a glass and started pouring some whiskey into the shot glass.

  “Here you go.” She told him the cost, took his money, and handed him back the change.

  “You’re a beauty. How come you’re never up on the stage?” the guy said.

  Heat filled her cheeks. He wasn’t the first man to ask, and he wouldn’t be the last. The men who frequented the bar were always damn greedy wanting more women.

  “Someone’s got to serve you fine gentlemen. I’m your girl.” She leaned on her hand, thrusting her chest out exactly how Harold had told her to. Harold owned the nightclub. He could be an asshole at times, but he knew what to do for his staff to get the extra tips.

  Business guy looked at her chest, and smiled. “Well, the moment you get on stage let me know.” He handed over a card. “I’d love to see you there and maybe afterward.”

  Big no.

  Hell no.

  In fact, don’t go there. No one ever got to see her after work.

  “Sure thing, baby.” She pocketed the card, like Harold told her to.

  “Do you have a boyfriend waiting for you back at home?”

  Amber smiled. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend.” For some reason she thought about Jasper but cut the thought immediately.

  “That’s a shame. Something tells me you’re not going to be alone for long.” The businessman had been coming around for some time now. She didn’t know his name, and he hadn’t shown much of an interest until now. He grabbed his drink, making his way back to his quiet table in the back. When the business guy was far enough away, she pulled the card out, fisted it, and threw it in the trash without e
ven looking at it.

  “Good girl,” Harold said, coming to stand beside her. She looked out at the dance floor to see Brooke gone.

  “Crowd loves her,” Amber said.

  “That they certainly do. I’ve got the bar if you want to head back and help her out.” Harold offered for her.

  Any chance she got of leaving the main club, she always took. She ducked under the bar and headed toward Brooke’s changing area. Unlike the other women, Brooke had her own room.

  Amber knocked three times for the other woman to know it was her. Opening the door, she found Brooke smoking a cigarette.

  “Come in, honey.” She waved the smoke out of the way. Glancing up at the fire alarm in Brooke’s room, she saw it was disconnected.

  “Harold will be pissed,” Amber said, closing the door.

  “Nah, he’s the one who disconnected it for me.”

  “Is that your last set for the night?” Amber went into the small bathroom and started fixing up the wash basin.

  “Yeah, I’m not in the mood to see men salivating after me who are not my husband.” Brooke pulled a robe on, taking a seat in the chair.

  “I don’t know how you two do it. I always expected for men to be a little more possessive of their women. Harold is certainly different.”

  She entered the room again, to see Brooke removing the red wig she always wore. The other woman had beautiful blonde hair, but she always covered it up with a wig or some crap to hide her natural color.

  “Harold’s always been a little different, honey. He gets off on seeing men looking at what’s his.” Brooke finished the cigarette and grabbed a bottle of water. “The other girls, they offer something else in those rooms in the back. You know it, I know it, and so does Harold. He makes them pay him a percentage in order to keep them safe. I’d never be in those rooms, and he knows it. He likes men to look but not touch. I like driving him crazy.”