Clincher (DS Fight Club Book 6)

by Josie Kerr

  Colin made a rude noise and shifted the sleeping baby to his shoulder.

  “As much as I don’t like to listen to gossip, there’s usually more truth to it than not. So, given all the information that we’ve got, how do you feel about this fight? I don’t want to put you in a dangerous situation right off the bat.”

  “No offense, C, but you know every time we go into the cage, it’s a dangerous situation.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Miss Sassybritches.”

  Bridget snorted. Sassybritches. Where the hell does he come up with this shit?

  “I’m trying to watch my language. Maude called a kid ‘fartfucker’ last week. Needless to say, her teachers weren’t too thrilled.”

  “But was the kid a fartfucker?”

  Colin grinned. “Probably. I’ve met the kid’s dad, and he’s a complete tool.” He cleared his throat, and baby Nora stretched and mewled. “Whatever you wanna do, I’ll support you. You know that, right?”

  “I know, and I appreciate it. I’m taking the fight. I need this. I have to do this.”

  “Okay. Well, Matt called yesterday, and they want to do a presser at the SoPro headquarters. Neutral ground and all that crap. Is ‘crap’ a curse word?”

  “It’s scatological, so yeah, technically.”

  “You and Tig with your big vocabularies. Good grief.” He narrowed his eyes at Bridget. “What’s that face for?”

  “I’ve never done a press conference, C. I mean, I’ve seen them and I’ve been to them, but . . .” Bridget broke out into a cold sweat. Kicking someone in the liver, fine. Having a microphone stuck in her face? Maybe she wasn’t ready to do this fight.

  “Whoa, Birdie. Take a deep breath. Now take another one. Okay, tell you what. I want you to watch some tapes of the pressers to see how Kowalczyk handles herself, what sort of trash talk she does. But remember, I’ll be there, Paddy will be there, and Bruce will be there. We’ve got your back. Okay?”

  Bridget took some deep breaths and nodded. Yeah. Okay.

  Holy fuck, not okay. Not okay at all.

  Bridget swiped her hand across her face, mopping away the clammy sweat that had appeared as she watched the press conference. She’d managed to avoid Hanna Kowalczyk’s fights and media junkets after their fight, and now, watching hours upon hours of Hanna smirking and trash-talking proved to be almost too much to handle.

  Even worse, though, were the outfits she wore. Generally, the male fighters dressed in suits or business casual. The women? Not so much. “Short, tight, and shiny” was the standard female fighter dress code, and yeah, that was so not Bridget. She had exactly one dress, and that was her funeral dress.

  Oh God.

  And the makeup. And the hair.

  Bridget sprinted out the front door and across the lawn to bang on Annie and Pierce’s front door.

  “Hold on a sec,” she heard Pierce yell from somewhere inside the house.

  “Put a jock on, big man, this is an emergency. I have to talk to Annie, now!”

  Annie flung open the door. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright. “What’s going on, Bridget? Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not. I need to look like a girl on Friday.”

  “Oh, shit.” Pierce was buttoning his jeans, but he was still shirtless. Bridget held up her hand and shook her head.

  “Just don’t, Pierce. I’m in the middle of a crisis, and I don’t want to have to kick your ass.”

  “My bad. I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Annie gripped Bridget by the shoulders. “This calls for the big guns.”

  “Nanda?”

  Annie shook her head. “Charlotte and Ashley.”

  Oh, holy fuck.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Nolan tapped glumly on his keyboard, halfheartedly working on a new weekly menu for Colin instead of filling out one of the endless reports required of him for his job. He was not cut out for high-risk behavior, and sending that silly apologetic text to Bridget had definitely been a risk. He figured he might have to grovel a little more after his harsh words, but he didn’t think she would totally ignore his apology. Fuck. Maybe he should not have listened to Cal and texted her. Maybe she didn’t like biscuits.

  Oh, fuck. She was in training. No biscuits for Bridget. Damn.

  The team leader, Steve, slithered up to Nolan’s cube, making Nolan scramble to switch screens lest he either bust him for doing noncorporate work on company time or, worse, mock him for the menu. The guy was a douche, especially to people who he deemed were not cool enough to be his “bro.” Nolan found himself thankful that he was too much of a square peg to fit into the fratty douche’s inner circle, but it still twanged part of his teenage insecurities.

  “Hey, Nolan. I need you to come in this weekend.”

  “I was on last weekend.”

  “Well, yeah, I know. But you said you never had anything to do, so I’d appreciate your doing me a solid and swapping weekends with me.”

  “I’d be doing you a solid, huh?” Nolan stared at Steve, weighing his options and calculating how big of a pain in the ass Steve was going to be if he didn’t swap these days.

  “I’ll take one of your weekends next quarter, okay?” Steve arched an eyebrow at him, not even attempting to appear sincere in his offer to trade. Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have anything scheduled, ever.

  “Okay, sure.”

  “Great. Don’t be late. You know Jim hates it when people are late.” Steve spun on his heel and headed off, whistling a jaunty tune.

  “You’re welcome,” Nolan muttered.

  He glanced at his phone again. Seeing the blue notification light made his breath catch in his chest. He thumbed the screen nonchalantly and then slumped back in his chair.

  Well?!?

  Nothing like a sexual status check from your big brother to leave you feeling desperate and pathetic. He typed a noncommittal response and rolled his eyes as he returned to his reports. His phone buzzed on his desk with a call, and he groaned.

  “Jesus, Cal. Give it a rest!” he hissed into the receiver, craning his head around to see if any nosy parkers were eavesdropping.

  “Uh, okay . . .”

  Nolan cringed and silently cursed himself before replying, he hoped nonchalantly, “Oh, hey, C. Sorry about that. My obnoxious brother has been giving me a hard time.”

  The big fighter chuckled. “No worries. I just wanted to ask if we could shift our session to another day. We’ve got a big press conference this afternoon, and the way these things have a tendency to go, I’m not assured to make it back in time.”

  “Sure, sure. I still want to drop the sample menu off if that’s okay.”

  “Sure thing. Nanda will be at the front desk as usual.”

  The two talked a bit more, and Nolan debated asking Colin about Bridget, but in the end, he decided not to and simply said good-bye.

  You have it bad, Nolan. Thirty-eight must be the new sixteen.

  With another disgusted grunt, Nolan set to finishing the meal prep menus. At least he had something to be proud of.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “You look nice. Your hair looks really pretty.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “Uh . . . your hair looks pretty and you look nice?”

  Bridget grunted. That afternoon had been insane with Charlotte, Ashley, Nanda, and Annie invading her house to help her get ready for the press conference. She didn’t have as much help on her wedding day. Hell, she wasn’t wearing this much makeup on her wedding day, either. Charlotte, whose skin always looked flawless, did something magic with about three different colors of foundation, plus eyeliner and eyeshadow, though Bridget had drawn the line at false eyelashes. The eyelashes were just tempting fate. All the women had trooped to the mall earlier in the week, where Bridget procured a pair of slim black cigarette pants and a white silk blouse along with the most expensive pair of thong underwear she’d ever put on her body. Well, the only pa
ir of thong underwear she’d ever put on her body. She shifted in her seat. How anyone wore these things on a daily basis was beyond her. She should have just gone commando.

  Bridget glared at Colin’s sideways glance, and then she noticed Paddy trying not to laugh. Bruce Pryde was smart enough to keep looking ahead, concentrating on the road in front of him, his face impassive.

  “What is so fucking funny?”

  Paddy shook his head. “Whoo, I dinna think that Raptor and SoPro knew what they were getting into with this presser. All I have to say is, try not to knock her out before the match.” The wily Irishman grinned at her. “But you do look nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bridget closed her eyes and visualized the bay. She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, willing herself to be calm before this presser. After all, it’s not like Hanna Kowalczyk was an unknown entity; in actuality, Bridget knew her a little too well. Didn’t mean it wasn’t nerve-racking.

  Bruce pulled into the parking lot of Southland Promotions and drove through the parking lot, driving up and down each row slowly. Bridget thought she was going to lose her mind if the man didn’t pull into a place and park.

  “Raptor’s not here yet,” Bruce announced. “Fifty says that they’re at least half an hour late.”

  “Jaysus, I hope not. I don’t know how long I can deal with these panties.” Bridget wiggled again.

  “I did not need to know that.” Colin made a face.

  “Yeah, well, I get mouthy when I’m nervous, so get prepared.” Bridget shoved the van door open. “Let’s go.”

  And she was out of the van and striding up to the door with a confidence she didn’t really feel. Fake it ’til you make it, Doherty. Fake it ’til you make it.

  When they got to the entrance, Paddy said in a low voice, “Hold up.” Bruce and Colin stepped in front of Bridget and pulled open the heavy double doors, and the four representatives of DS Fight Club walked into the building as one.

  True to form, the Raptor team was tardy, though only by fifteen minutes. Still, it was enough for Bridget to almost crawl out of her skin with anticipation. The press conference itself started off civilly with the fighters trading standard verbal jabs. Bridget surprised herself by relaxing as the event proceeded, delighted in the fact that Kowalczyk seemed to have to think about her retorts.

  Then the subject of previous fights came up, and interestingly enough, it was the Raptor/Kowalczyk contingent who did not want to talk about Bridget and Hanna’s earlier meetings, even though Kowalczyk won. Bridget vowed to return to that little tidbit after the presser when she had had time to consider things.

  Then came time for the face-off. Bridget knew that if there was going to be an issue during the presser, it would be at this time because the two fighters would be in close quarters with no microphones, and knowing Kowalczyk, she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to say something in semiprivate that wouldn’t be acceptable to voice in general.

  The women stood on either side of Matt, and when he called for the face-off, they both moved in close. Bridget put her fists up and stared straight ahead, right into Hanna’s face. Hanna put one fist up, the other on her hip, and sneered. For forty-five long seconds, the fighters glared at each other, and Bridget made a mental note to buy some sort of thank-you gift for Ashley, who had insisted that she wear heels.

  The fighters turned to the front and posed for photos, and both smiled taut, fierce smiles while flashes popped around them. After the photographers had their fill, Bridget turned and extended her hand to Kowalczyk.

  A flash went off.

  Kowalczyk shoved Bridget’s hand away and showed Bridget the back of hers, flashing a very familiar-looking engagement ring before saying, “Kevin says ‘hi.’ ” She gave Bridget a mean smile and then walked off the stage.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  After receiving more inane requests from Steve and yet another reminder that he needed to show up that weekend, Nolan had had enough. In a fit of pique, he used a whole ream of paper to make copies of his meal plans before he left early to go to DS Fight Club. Petty? Sure. But it made him feel better.

  He sat in the parking lot for a while just looking at the people going in and out of the fight club. Many of the patrons were very fit, but a good amount looked a lot like Nolan, and he appreciated that. Having decided he’d procrastinated enough, Nolan gathered up the menus and hauled himself out of his truck.

  Once inside the double doors of the gym, he suddenly became unsure about dropping off the meal prep menus. Maybe he should wait until Colin was there? What if he hated the plans?

  “Nolan?” Nanda stopped pushing a towel-laden cart to approach him, peering at his face. “Your color isn’t great. I’m not sure if you need to be having a session today, guy.”

  “Oh, no. I’m, I’m not having a session today,” Nolan stammered. “I promised C some meal prep menus last week and wanted to drop them off.” He waved the manila folder in the air and felt like an idiot. “He said you’d be at the front desk.”

  “You did those meal prep plans? Everyone was going nuts over the samples he teased in the newsletter last week.” Nanda clucked her tongue. “Bridget’s been keeping you a secret.”

  Nolan’s stomach clenched at the mention of Bridget. He still hadn’t heard from her, not even a “Fuck off.” He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he hoped to see her today and timed his visit for when she usually finished her afternoon workouts, but he didn’t see her messy topknot anywhere.

  Nanda cocked her head to the side. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Nolan pressed his lips together, fearful that if he answered Nanda’s question even a tiny bit, he would vomit his insecurities all over the woman standing in front of him. He sucked in some air through his nose and nodded. Nanda gave him a skeptical look and then grabbed the cart and motioned for him to follow her.

  Nanda had pulled a copy of a meal plan from the envelope and was oohing and aahing over the plans when a burst of sunlight appeared, denoting that the front doors had been flung open. He heard the click-click-click of fast-approaching high heels on the resin floor.

  Nanda’s face screwed up in concern. “Whoa—Bridget?”

  Bridget burst past the two, holding up her hand, fingers splayed out as she booked it down the long hall toward the locker room.

  Nanda whistled low. “Oh, shit. What the hell happened at that presser?” Nanda asked someone behind Nolan.

  “It was good until it wasn’t. And when it wasn’t good, it was really, really bad.” Bruce shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know the details, but Birdie and Kowalczyk? They have history, and I think it’s well beyond the cage.”

  “Ow!” A sharp blow on the arm redirected Nolan’s attention away from Bridget’s tense figure.

  “Go get her, you goof! What are you waiting for?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We haven’t talked in a few days. Since . . .”

  Nanda put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, did y’all . . . ?”

  “No, no, no. She called me, and I might have called her desperate. I apologized, but . . .” He smiled weakly and gave a little shrug. “Yeah. So.”

  “She has been nuts about this press conference—totally preoccupied. I’m sure it was just an oversight. Go. Go get her. She’s in the locker room.”

  “The women’s locker room?”

  Nanda rolled her eyes. “There aren’t any other women in the gym right now. Go, or I’m going to kick your ass.”

  Fuck.

  Nolan exhaled and set off across the gym. Yeah, his going into the women’s locker room to see the woman he had already pissed off was a great idea, right? He got to the door and paused, taking a deep breath before glancing back at Nanda, whose gesturing compelled him across the threshold.

  He poked his head inside. “Bridget?” He took one step inside the door but didn’t proceed any farther. “Bridget?” he called again.

  Okay, t
his is not the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Nolan, but it’s probably up there.

  He took a deep breath and rounded the corner . . . and the room was empty. Huh. He figured she’d slipped out the back door and crossed the street to her house. His next decision: to go to her house or not?

  Fuck it. He was going over there.

  He spun around, meaning to head to Bridget’s before he lost his nerve, and crashed into the woman as she came around the corner, sending her sprawling.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “What the actual fuck, Nolan?” Bridget spluttered. She glared up at him, but the look on his face, all wide-eyed, jaw-dropped shock, made her snort. “Well, don’t just stand there gawping; help me up!”

  Nolan scrambled to help her up. He put his hands on her upper arms and physically set her on her feet.

  “Are you all right? Did I hurt you? Oh my God, Bridget, I am so sorry!” he babbled while patting her down, checking to see if she was okay. Which was kind of sweet, except . . .

  “What the hell are you doing in the women’s locker room?”

  “Um, uh.”

  Bridget followed his eyes and realized, too late, that the buttons on her very tight-fitting—Thanks, Ashley—blouse had popped, leaving her décolletage, complete with lacy bra, exposed.

  “See something you like, Nolan?”

  “God, yes. Holy.”

  His frank answer shocked a laugh out of her. “What?”

  Nolan stepped up close to her, crowding her. He ran a thick finger down the curve of her neck to her sternum and stopped at the tiny bow nestled between her breasts. Then he took her lapels and pulled them together, covering her.

  He leaned into her. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, ghosting a kiss on her cheek.

  “Oh.”

  Nolan took a deep breath and then stepped back and grinned sheepishly. “Nanda thought you might be upset. She told me to come in because there weren’t any other women in the gym, and . . . not such a great move on my part. I’ve not been making a lot of great moves when it comes to you, Bridget.”