Clincher (DS Fight Club Book 6)

by Josie Kerr

  “You ready to go, chulo? You look like you’re ready to drop.” Junior kissed Ryan again, this time on the mouth.

  Ryan merely nodded and slipped off his barstool. “Ladies, as always, it’s been enlightening. And remember, the plural of penis is penes.”

  “I don’t even wanna know.” Junior held his hand up. “No, we’re not even going there.”

  “But what if I wanna go there,” Ryan insisted as they walked out the door, their arms wrapped around the other’s waist.

  Bridget shook her head and sighed. She was thrilled to be divorced, but damn, she missed being part of a happy couple.

  No, that might not actually be true.

  She missed sex.

  Not the unhappy sex that was the result of obligation, but the wild sex that happened when two people were crazy in love, the sweet lovemaking that occurred when one person wanted to take care of their partner—she missed that sex. She’s not had that sex in a long, long time. She’d been separated from her now ex-husband for five years, but that didn’t mean she’d not had sex. There had been some car quickies and a few one-night stands here and there, but they’d left her feeling empty and depressed, so she’d abstained from everything except for self-pleasure for the past year and a half.

  Annie bumped Bridget’s shoulder, redirecting her attention.

  “How are you doing, Bridget?”

  Bridget shrugged. “Better, I guess. Definitely better than that night when you came over. Yeah, better.”

  “But not great.”

  “Eh—not bad, though. Thank you for asking.”

  Annie patted Bridget’s knee.

  “Hey, hey, hey—no long faces.” Nanda wagged a finger at the two women sitting across from her. “What’s up, chica? Tell me.”

  “I got my divorce decree in the mail a few weeks ago. It’s . . . been harder than I anticipated.”

  Nanda grew solemn. “I get it. I tried to break up with my ex so many times. God, so many times. When it was finally really over, it was hard. I mean, he’d been lying to me and almost got me killed, so that made it easier.”

  “Oh my gosh, Nanda. You’re so blasé about things,” Annie said with a laugh. “ ‘Oh, he almost got me killed.’  You say that so casually, like, ‘Oh, he really likes Justin Bieber.’ You’re kinda nuts, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I do. And you’re one to talk about crazy exes.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know, I know. But Pierce is totally different from Jeff, thank goodness. We’re in a good place.” Annie leaned back and waved to Pierce, who was acting as a bouncer as the crowd grew larger and more boisterous. Pierce winked at her and gave her a shy smile before turning his attention back to the line at the door.

  “He’s super sweet, isn’t he?” Bridget shook her head, and Annie nodded.

  “He is. He’s definitely got a naughty streak, though.”

  Bridget snorted. She knew something about Pierce’s naughty streak because her neighbors had a tendency for sexual shenanigans in the dining room, which had a straight sight line from Bridget’s kitchen. She’d never forget coming home, going into the darkened kitchen for a beer, and turning around to see Pierce’s tattooed back and bare ass, all his muscles straining as he fucked a fully clothed Annie against the wall and then on the dining room table.

  Damn, that was hot. Bridget never realized that she liked to watch, but boy, she did, at least that night.

  I need to stop thinking about sex.

  “Whoa—is that . . . damn, it is.” Nanda whistled.

  “Well, well, well. Check out the big man.” Bridget craned her head around to see whom Dig and Nanda were talking about, and her jaw dropped.

  Bridget had only seen Nolan in gym wear, late in the day, and then he often seemed frazzled and tired. She barely recognized the man who now stood at the bar, ordering a drink. This version of Nolan Harper looked well rested and relaxed and . . .

  This Nolan Harper . . . was friggin’ hot.

  Another almost equally large man came up to Nolan and patted him on the back. Nolan grinned at him and shook his hand. As Bridget watched and compared the two men, she came to the conclusion that they must be brothers. The other man looked to be quite a bit older, but that was most likely due to the salt and pepper in his beard and the overall grizzled appearance.

  An ear-piercing whistle right next to her ear almost deafened her, and she turned to glare at Nanda, who followed up trying to attract his attention by yelling, “Oi! Nolan!” and standing on her chair. Subtle, she wasn’t.

  Bridget snickered at his surprised expression but stopped cold when a huge grin spread across his handsome face, a grin that seemed directed at her. He sauntered over to their table, followed by the second man, and still laser-focused on Bridget, simply said, “Hey.”

  Her responding greeting stuck in her throat. She felt suddenly shy, like his being at the same bar was some sort of cosmic meeting, which was ridiculous, right? Right?

  “Hey, Nolan. You look really nice.” Bridget, you’re an idiot.

  “See? What’d I tell you?” Nolan’s brother ribbed him, causing Nolan to scowl. “Tobias Harper,” he said, extending his hand. “Nolan’s older, wiser brother.”

  Nolan continued to scowl and added an eye roll when Bridget grinned and shook Tobias’s hand.

  “This is Bridget. She’s the personal trainer who’s been filling in for the guy I usually work with,” Nolan interjected before Bridget could say anything. “And these two are Nanda and Dig DiGiacomo. They’re at the fight club as well.”

  Tobias nodded in greeting at Dig and Nanda, but his focus remained on Bridget. “Oh, so you’re Bridget. Nice to meet you.”

  Bridget tried to ignore Nanda, whose eyebrows rose so high that the bangs on her pixie cut obscured them, but all she really wanted to do was pull the gym manager into the restroom to gossip like squealing preteens. Settle down, Birdie. Nolan was probably just updating his brother about his progress.

  “Yes, I’m Bridget.” I promise I’m not as stupid as I sound. Maybe. She cleared her throat. “It didn’t dawn on me that we’d be at the same venue, Nolan.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  Bridget stammered, trying to formulate a response that wouldn’t make her sound like some sort of a condescending snob.

  Tobias barked a laugh. “Guess she didn’t expect a bunch of bluegrass hillbillies to be playing at an Irish pub in Hipster Central, huh? Speaking of, I gotta get to it. Dig, Nanda, Bridget, nice to meet y’all.”

  Nolan sighed, and Nanda nodded her head. “I know. Brothers.”

  Chapter Seven

  Nolan hated it when Tobias was right. After months of pestering, his eldest brother physically put him in the car and drove him to the best local Big and Tall store for a new wardrobe. He’d balked at the cost, but when the attendant had chosen clothes a full three sizes smaller than he currently wore, he reconsidered. During the subsequent weeks, Nolan had to admit he felt better wearing clothes that actually fit him. And tonight, Bridget’s reaction? Yeah, he liked that a lot.

  He used Bridget’s distraction by the band to study her. He liked the way he could see the curve of her neck when she pulled her hair up into a messy knot on the top of her head. She sat with one muscular arm looped over the back of the chair; he liked looking at that, too, as well as the large compass tattoo she had on her back and the small scrolls that wound their way over her shoulders and down the inside of her arms.

  She rocked and swayed in the high top chair, her eyes closed, completely submerged in the music. A few couples swung around the dance floor, accompanied by Tobias’s pedal steel guitar, and Nolan surprised himself by laying his hand on Bridget’s bare arm and motioning with his head toward the dance floor. He was even more shocked when Bridget beamed at him. She hopped out of her chair and shimmied across the dance floor, beckoning him to follow. He hesitated for a split second and then joined her.

  They danced until the band took a break, and then Tobias joined them at the
high top. Bridget kept bumping his shoulder and tempting him with flirty touches that made him want to reciprocate by stroking the inky designs on her skin. Nanda and Dig had gone home, with Nanda giving Bridget a knowing look and a reminder that they had “that thing” tomorrow, which Nolan assumed was some sort of woman code for “kiss and tell,” though he doubted there would be any kissing. But a guy could dream, right?

  When Bridget had excused herself to go to the restroom, Tobias leaned close to him and said, “She likes you. You should do something about it.”

  Nolan started three separate sentences, but then he just smiled weakly and shrugged. Why in the world would a woman like Bridget be interested in a guy like him? And anyway, he wanted to avoid any potential for awkwardness, so he was just going to keep his hands to himself, as much as he didn’t want to.

  Tobias scoffed at him. “You’re going to regret it. But I’m not saying anything.” He tapped on the table, and Nolan heaved a sigh. The tapping was always a precursor to Tobias giving some usually unwelcome but useful advice, so Nolan gritted his teeth and steeled himself.

  “Okay, yeah, I’m gonna say something else,” Tobias began. But then he said, “Oh, fuck me. What the hell is he doing here?”

  Nolan turned around and saw his father striding through the bar, straight for their table. He carried a fiddle case in one hand and wheeled his oxygen with the other.

  “Did you tell Cal I was playing here?” Tobias ground out.

  “No, man. I haven’t talked to Cal all week.”

  “Fuck.”

  Chet Harper put the instrument case on the table. “Boys,” he wheezed. “What a serendipitous meeting.”

  “What a crock of horseshit,” Tobias spat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “We’d come into town for some supper, and Candy thought she’d heard that you were playing somewhere around here, so we stopped in.” He fixed his rheumy eyes on Tobias. “Thought you might let your old man sit in for a set or two.”

  And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, a platinum blonde—all hair, shiny lip gloss, and tits—tottered over to the table.

  “There you are, Chet. Why didn’t you wait outside for me like I asked you to?”

  “Because I didn’t want to, Candy.” Chet didn’t look at his wife because he was too busy having a staring contest with this firstborn child. Nolan thought he was going to be sick. They hadn’t had a public confrontation in a few years. Unfortunately, a gap usually promised something very ugly.

  “Hello, Toby, Nolan.” Nolan nodded at the woman but didn’t meet her eyes. Tobias ignored her and spoke directly to his father.

  “You’re goddamn crazy if you think you’re playing today.” Tobias’s voice was soft and lethal. “So why don’t you and your . . . ,” he said and cut his eyes to Candy for a split second before continuing, “go on home.”

  “Sorry, Nolan, I got to talking to the owner about . . . Oh.” Bridget looked around the table, and then she looked at Nolan as if searching for a signal. He shook his head almost imperceptibly and swallowed hard.

  “Well, who do we have here? Nolan? Surely she’s not with you?” Chet laughed. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  Nolan held his breath as Bridget’s dark eyes flashed.

  “Not ‘sweetheart,’ that’s for fucking sure.” She and Nolan’s father locked eyes, and for once, Nolan wasn’t sure his father would win this particular stare down.

  “Spirited. That’s a change.”

  Bridget glanced at the fiddle case on the table and then did a double take.

  “Oh my God. You’re the Harpers, aren’t you?” Bridget coughed an incredulous laugh. “Holy shit.”

  Chet inclined his head. “That we are.”

  “Wow, okay. My father is a traditional musician, and I grew up listening to you.” Her bright smile melted into the hard line of her mouth. “I’ll have to tell him I met you.”

  “You do that. Sweetheart.”

  Meghan Sullivan, the manager of Foley’s Public House, approached the table.

  “Tobias, sorry, but because of the new construction, there’re new noise ordinances. I hadn’t realized how late it was. You’re not going to be able to do another set.”

  “Sure thing, Meghan. Wouldn’t want to piss off people right off the bat, right?”

  Meghan looked around the table and then turned back to Tobias. “Thanks for understanding. Great set earlier. Come find me before you leave.”

  Tobias shrugged and held up his hands. “Sorry, Chet. No more sets.” He leaned across the table. “Now get the fuck out.”

  Tobias stalked away from the table, leaving Bridget, Nolan, and the Harper patriarch and his wife standing around the high top. Chet grabbed the fiddle case and his oxygen tank and started out the door, not saying good-bye to his children and merely barking, “Candy! Now!” as he stomped out the door.

  Nolan swallowed hard, and he jolted when Bridget slid her hands around his arm and laid her head on his bicep.

  “Nolan, I’m so sorry.”

  He huffed a laugh and looked down at her. She was looking up at him, eyes full of compassion.

  “He’s dying, you know. His insides are just as rotten and toxic as his personality.”

  “I know he’s your father, but the man’s a prick.”

  Nolan laughed at her very accurate assessment, and without thinking, pulled Bridget into his arms. He felt her arms wrap around his waist and give him a little squeeze. Bridget rested her head on his chest and rubbed his lower back, soothing him, and he wished, again, that he’d be the type of man who would be worthy of her.

  Chapter Eight

  “Take it high, high, high, low, left, now right. Good, Doherty, good!”

  Bridget moved through the combinations, not really registering Junior’s directions, just striking and kicking where she automatically would. She felt more mentally engaged than she had in weeks, maybe even since arriving at DS Fight Club.

  “Let it go, Birdie. Let’s see it.”

  Bridget let loose, concentrating on the much-taller trainer’s chest, raining the majority of her blows on his torso. She pressured Junior back across the mat with her kicks and strikes, using every combination that came to her. The session ended with Bridget kicking Junior hard enough for him to grunt.

  Junior signaled the end of the session, and Bridget sank to the floor, her head down, and panted. When she raised her head, the wide grin on her trainer’s face said everything she could hope for. She’d had a good practice today, maybe even a great practice, which was exactly what she needed. She gulped some air to stave off the unexpected flood of emotion that currently threatened to overwhelm her, making sure to keep her eyes locked with Junior’s.

  He huffed a laugh, and suddenly Bridget found herself wrapped in the big bald man’s arms. She tapped him on the back, and he let her go.

  “Wow. Yeah. I don’t know what . . .” Bridget wiped an errant tear that dripped down her nose.

  Junior nodded in understanding. “Go get a shake. C wants to see you in his office.”

  “What for?”

  “Do what I said and then you’ll find out.”

  “But, Junior . . .”

  “Do you wanna know or not? Jesus.”

  Bridget trotted over to the kitchen, a million conflicting thoughts running through her head. Maybe C decided she was ready for a fight. Maybe she was going to get cut from the roster. Maybe he just needed babysitting.

  “Whoa—what’d that protein mix do to you?”

  Bridget stopped shaking the tumbler. “What? Oh.” She leaned a hip against the counter before taking a swig of the shake. “Yeah, I’m a little bit distracted, I guess. What’s up, Tig?”

  “Not a thing, Bridg, not a thing. Just doing what needs to get done. And speaking of . . .” Tig whistled. “Girl, you were gettin’ it done today. Damn. You had Junior backed off the mat. That never happens, even during training sessions.”

  Bridget shrugged nonchalantl
y but allowed herself a big grin. “Yeah, I had a good day.”

  An ear-piercing whistle cracked through the air.

  “Doherty! Stop gossiping with Mashburn and get your ass in my office!” Colin turned to Bridget’s training partner. “Tig, I wanna see you next, so don’t think of leaving just yet.”

  “Well then. I guess both of us had —”

  “Bridget! NOW!”

  “Jaysus,” she muttered. She could hear Tig laughing as she sprinted to Colin’s office.

  Bridget bounded into the office, spluttering an apology. “Sorry about that, C—whoa. Um.” She found all four the DS Fight Club principals looking at her.

  “Have a seat, Bridget.” Colin motioned to the only empty chair in the room, and Bridget sat. “So, I’m assuming you’ve heard the news.”

  Bridget racked her brain, trying to remember whether she’d heard any momentous news. She assumed simply by him being in the office that the news wasn’t about the birth of Colin’s new baby girl. Fuck. Colin’s chuckle let her off the hook.

  “Okay, I guess you haven’t. Karina Petrov is out of the Southland Promotion fight. Says she has an ACL injury that’s flared up.”

  “Well, shit. That’s not something you can mess around with.” Bridget hoped she looked exactly as calm as she didn’t feel. “But it’s probably good for Petrov. She didn’t need to be looking at a title fight when she’s been out for three years, even if she has been keeping up with her training.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly how I feel. That’s not good matchmaking at all.” Paddy Doyle tapped his wedding band on the arm of the chair, a sure sign that he was completely agitated and ready to blow. “Her management needed to push for a warm-up fight to ease her back in. The fight world is a different place than it was three years ago.”

  The room fell silent, and the four men looked expectantly at Bridget, who wondered what in the hell they wanted her to say.

  “Tell me about your experience with Estes.” Bruce Pryde was the newest member of the DS Fight Club team, a trainer who was the former principal of DS Fight Club’s biggest rival. He was an old-school grappling coach turned Jiu Jitsu instructor, and his control inside and outside of the octagon was legendary.