Fighting for Forever

by J. B. Salsbury

  Her hands move over her body, sensual swipes of her palms over her belly that move between her legs, reminding me of last night. I shift in my seat, harder than steel, and watch as she dances just for me. All that hair, longer than it was the last time I saw her is draped and thrown around her face, which is fixed in an expression of ecstasy.

  She turns, sliding her shorts down with a tug of her thumb, teasing to within an inch of my sanity. My fists clench against my thighs; the urge to rip those tiny scraps of material from her body and sink deep inside her is so strong it’s all I can do to remain in my seat.

  The shorts drop to her ankles to reveal a bright yellow G-string, and she kicks them into the crowd to get swallowed up by a group of hungry men.

  I blink, mesmerized by how she can move her body. Like liquid, she glides. Crawling on all fours, she dips her chin to the floor. Her chest, belly, hips, thighs . . . like a serpent. Fuck, she’s outstanding.

  My legs push me to standing, and before I realize what I’m doing, they carry me toward the stage.

  She pushes up to her knees, legs wide, and her hands glide up over her breasts, squeezing them gently before she moves them to around her neck, and with a flick of her wrist, her top is gone. Adrenaline fires through my veins; lust and the need to pop the eyes from every man in the room battle for dominance.

  She drops into a wide split, the globes of her tanned ass in the faces of the entire front row. The song goes on at an erotic pace and sings about swerving on a surfboard. She mimics the motion of sex, her knee cocked as she rolls her hips in waves and grinds down on nothing beneath her.

  For a split and selfish second, I imagine this is all for me. I take my head to a place where everything she does is for me and only for me. Where her body and all she has to offer she gives freely to the one man she can trust with it.

  Me.

  Warmth explodes in my chest.

  She inches her gorgeous ass toward the edge of the stage, and hands come at her from every direction. I jerk from my fantasy and blink away the fog of lust as patrons shove as many bills as they can fit into the tiny strings of fabric that cover her most private places.

  Rage, hot and welcome, fires beneath my skin. I move, grab the first body that stands between my woman and me, and toss it away. One by one, I pick them off like ants, grabbing the backs of their shirts, flinging them aside to get to her, and making a path that will get my arms around her to protect her from these lecherous animals that can’t keep their fucking hands to themselves.

  The murmur of chaos explodes around me, but I ignore it. Fists pound at my back and arms, but it’s static compared to the drive to get to Trix.

  Her head jerks around, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Mason?”

  I can hardly hear her over the commotion, but I’m so transfixed on her face I read her lips. In one long stride, I’m on stage. I scoop her into my arms.

  “Put me down!” She kicks her legs, but it only makes me squeeze her tighter to me.

  “No.”

  “Mason, please.” Her words are rushed and panicked. “I can walk, just . . . trust me. You need to put me down.”

  “No fucking way.” I carry her back toward the curtain only to be met by Santos, who’s grinning and cracking his knuckles.

  He tilts his head. “Hands off her.”

  “Okay, never mind.” Trix’s arms tighten around my neck. “Don’t put me down. Do not put me down.”

  She’s safe backstage and away from prying eyes. “It’s okay.” I kiss the top of her head.

  “No, Mason. Don’t.” Her hold gets tight, but gravity wins, and her legs drop to the floor. “Oh shit. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  Her mumbled words are the last thing I hear before Santos hauls back and knocks me in the jaw.

  Pain splinters through my face, and I brace my weight on my knees. “Motherfuck!”

  “Santos! You’re such a bully!” Trix drops down to her knees to see my face, concern pinching her pretty forehead. “Oh my God, are you okay?” She grimaces and sucks air through her teeth. “I was trying to warn you.”

  “Dammit to fuck, that hurt.” I rub my jaw and stand up to see a very satisfied Santos.

  “Don’t look at me.” He shrugs. “House rules, man.”

  Trix pops her hands on her hips, glaring. “Great. And now they’re going to ban you!” She throws her arms out to her sides, her breasts bouncing with the force of it, totally unaware that she’s practically bare-ass naked. “What were you thinking?”

  I run a hand through my hair and breathe through the letdown of adrenaline. God, I stormed up on that stage like a damn Neanderthal. “I don’t . . . I’m sorry.”

  She steps in close and peers up at me, her violet eyes searching mine. She’s so tiny now; barefoot, she only comes up to my chest. “You can’t do that. I could lose my job.”

  The corner of my mouth lifts as I try to fight off the joy at the prospect of her no longer stripping. I rub the back of my neck and shrug. “Would that be so bad?”

  She thwacks me in the stomach. “Stop it!”

  “Put a shirt on. And some pants and . . . maybe I’ll think about it.”

  Her eyes widen, but a contagious grin curls her lips.

  “Come on, man.” Santos throws a big meaty thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta escort you out.”

  “Santos, can you give us a second?” Trix turns her pleading eyes toward him, and his expression softens. “Pleeeaaase?” She turns out her lower lip, and the guy is a goner. What guy wouldn’t be?

  “Fine. Five minutes, Trix.” He points a finger at me then two fingers at his own eyes. “I’m watching you.”

  “Creepy.”

  Trix grabs my hand and pulls me deeper backstage into a dark corner. It’s hard to focus on anything other than her perfect naked body.

  “Here.” I reach behind me and pull my T-shirt over my head, leaving me in my undershirt. Shaking it out, I put it over her and smile as her glaring face pops through the neck hole.

  “Really?” She slides her arms in but shakes her head.

  “Yes.” I cross my arms over my chest, locking my hands beneath my biceps. “Unless you want me to throw you up against this wall and do dirty things to that sweet little body, you need to cover up.”

  Her breath hitches, and I smile inwardly at how affected she is by the simplest things I say. My fingers itch to run through her hair, to pull her to me and taste those lips that look as if they’re dipped in candy. I want to pick her up, have her wrap her legs around my waist and beg me to take her away from all this.

  “Mason, tomorrow night I think we need to talk.” She turns her head to see Santos standing off to the side, giving us space, but not nearly enough.

  Talk. Great, this is where she tells me she’d rather pull out all her own toenails than date a guy like me.

  “Trix, hurry it up!”

  “Hold on!” she yells at Santos and turns back to me. “Tomorrow at seven, right?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

  “Okay, here . . .” She grips the hem of my shirt and starts to take it off.

  I still her hand, and the heat and softness of her skin make me groan. “No, keep it.” I lean in and place a long, lingering kiss on her forehead, staying away from her lips because if I allow myself that I’ll never stop there. “Tonight, watching you dance?” I press my forehead to hers. “You took my breath away.”

  And with that, I move toward the bouncer, grinning like an idiot. Yeah, I might be walking away, leaving her here to get naked for men for the remainder of her shift, but right now she’s wearing my shirt, and that screams victory. Even if only a minor one.

  Fourteen

  Mason

  Not much could make this day any sweeter. After getting home last night and texting Drake that I ran his little-bitch errand, I pushed all thoughts of my brother’s problems aside and thought about Trix.

  After Santos escorted me out and explained that I’d usually be blackballed from ever return
ing but that Trix would have his balls if he refused me, I felt like an Olympic champion.

  I lay in bed all night, thinking about the talk we’re going to have on our date. I’m sure she’ll toss out a million reasons why she can’t date me, but she’s insane if she thinks I’ll agree to any of them. There’s not an athlete in the world that is as competitive as a fighter, and I’ll be dipped in dog shit before I’ll give her up.

  I’ll have to convince her to quit her job, which will be the hardest part. Hopefully, I can convince her I’m worth the risk rather than having to live through the crushing jealousy of her exploiting her body—a body I’m determined to have as mine—for money.

  “Come on, Baywatch, you still have to spar.” Rex knocks me in the back of the head, and I lie back down on the weight bench, bracing myself to lift the bar. “Fucking, Peter Pan.” He’s sweating and grinning down at me.

  “Since when did I get the stupid fucking nickname award?” I push up the weight and grind through a few reps.

  “You earned it,” he says as if it’s an easy connection to make.

  I growl through a few more reps before my chest starts to burn and my arms quake. “Shit.” I slam the bar back on the rack. “You trying to kill me?”

  “Not with three hundred. Stop being a pussy.”

  The door to the weight room swings open. “Where’s my welcome home party, motherfuckers?”

  “Holy shit.” I sit up and stare as Blake struts into the room, now with a black band around his ring finger, and an obnoxious grin on his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He shrugs then moves in for a fist bump. “Cut the honeymoon short. Jack got sick and Layla lost her shit, thinking he had some island fever or some crap. Came home to find out the kid had a cold. Now he’s healthy as a horse.”

  “That’s too bad.” I run a towel over my sweaty forehead. “I know how much chicks dig honeymoons.”

  He flashes a crooked grin. “Every day is a honeymoon in my bed, Baywatch. My woman isn’t missin’ shit, trust me.”

  Rex slaps Blake on the back. “You got here just in time for sparring.” He jerks his head to me. “Baywatch is all primed for an ass-kicking. Need to knock his little-bitch ass outta the clouds.”

  “Is that right?” Blake cracks his knuckles and rolls his head on his shoulders. “Fuckin’ A, I’m ready.”

  Great.

  “Fuck, old man.” I dodge Blake’s left hook. “Fatherhood made you lazy.” He lunges for my legs. I jump back, just out of reach.

  “Lazy’s still kickin’ your ass.” He steps in and lands a body shot.

  “Baywatch, concentrate!” Rex’s command is laced with irritation.

  I swing my left and Blake spins away. Shit.

  My muscles are loose with fatigue. I move around Blake and focus on his hands, waiting for my opening. Fuck, this guy is a damn machine. Never off his game.

  “You looking to fight me or fuck me, Baywatch? Stop flirting and take a shot.” His taunts roll off my back as I zone in, ready to put forth all my energy to end this little dance we’ve been doing.

  If he’d just drop his guard . . .

  I swing. He ducks and lunges for my legs. I jump back. Not fast enough. His arms lock around my thigh. Shit! I’m airborne. My back hits the mat with a whoosh of air escaping my lungs.

  “Fuck!” I pound the mat with my fists.

  He shoves my jaw in a mock punch. “Nah . . . but thanks for the offer.”

  Asshole.

  He pushes to stand, and Rex shows up at his side, glaring down at me with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “What?” I avoid their eyes, knowing the lecture that’s sure to pour from their stupid mouths.

  “Where’s your head at, Baywatch?” Rex digs the ball of his foot into my ribs. “And I swear to shit if you say it’s in the fight I’ll sweep your leg Karate-Kid style.” He holds out his arms and lifts a knee as if he’s Danielson, and Blake chokes on a laugh.

  I roll away from them and hop to my feet. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m training my ass off.”

  Rex’s teasing expression sobers. “No . . . you were on fire a few weeks ago. Now you’re, I don’t know”—he taps his temple with two fingers—“not here.”

  Blake’s squinting at me or, wait . . . just over my shoulder. I turn to see a grinning Layla headed toward us with a little bundle of baby wrapped in a blanket and cradled in her arms.

  He grips the chain link. “Mouse, what the hell are you doing here?” A proud smile splits his face as he takes in his woman and their son.

  Layla tilts her head and presses a kiss to his lips through the cage. “I wanted to bring Jack by so he could watch Daddy work.” She smiles down at her baby, and I don’t miss Blake’s hands flex on the metal link like he’s itching to touch his kid.

  “Yeah? Or were you bored and wanted to come shoot the shit with Eve?” He takes two steps back and hops up and over the octagon fence.

  She giggles. “That too.” Her gaze swings from Blake to Rex and me. “Hey, you guys should meet us out tonight.”

  “Whoa, what?” Blake plucks Jack from his mother’s arms, dwarfing the infant with the size of his arms. “Tonight?”

  “Yeah, I was talking to Eve, and we thought it would be fun to go out for happy hour tonight. Ya know, get caught up.” She shrugs and waits for Rex and me to answer.

  “Oh, um . . . I can’t tonight.”

  Blake glares at me. “Why not?”

  “I uh . . .” I shift on my feet and avoid their eyes. “It’s, um, I have a date.”

  “Aha . . . so that’s where your head’s at.” Rex knocks me in the back of the skull.

  “Ow! Fucking cut that shit out!” I rub the back of my head.

  Rex shakes his head and then answers Layla. “Gia and I will be there. What time?”

  Layla grins. “Six o’clock at The Bacon Bar.” She swings her gaze to Mason. “Bring her with, Mase, just for one drink.”

  “Oh, sure. Yeah, okay.” I can’t think of a single reason to say no other than to tell the truth, which is that I don’t want to share Trix with anyone tonight, but I suppose a drink before dinner would be alright.

  After all, if she agrees to date me exclusively, she’ll have to meet my UFL family. She seemed to get along great with Eve, and she’s already tight with Gia. What could possibly go wrong?

  Fifteen

  Trix

  I’m sitting at my kitchen table, pounding a furious beat with the heel of my shoe. My calf burns, but nerves insist I continue. I check my phone for the time, wondering what the surprise detour Mason told me about earlier could possibly be.

  The text came in shortly after I woke up. I’m assuming he got my number from Gia. I click through and open the message again.

  Surprise detour. Be ready at six. :) Mason

  An explosion of flutters takes flight in my belly. “It’s only a date! Teenagers do it for crying out loud.” Jeez. I push up to pace the small kitchen, smoothing the front of my white dress.

  I searched for my most conservative outfit for my first date, and although this dress hangs loosely off my shoulder and around my body, it’s shorter than I’d have liked.

  Shit. Maybe I should’ve gone shopping for something else. The rumble of a truck engine sounds and my heart beats wildly. I rush to the spare bathroom to check my face one more time before slowing my pace to answer the door.

  He knocks twice, and I take a deep breath to fake calm.

  I swing open the door and lock my knees to keep from throwing myself into his arms. Wow, he’s beautiful. “Hey.”

  He doesn’t greet me, and rather than his usual easy smile, his expression is intense. He scrutinizes every inch of me, making me squirm as I feel the sweep of his gaze against my skin.

  His blue button-up shirt offsets his cobalt eyes framed with shaggy blond hair that looks as if he tried to tame it. His jeans aren’t tight, but they’re not baggy. A dark denim hugs his long legs perfectly, giv
ing a hint to the powerful muscle that lies underneath.

  “Trix . . . I . . .” He clears his throat. “You’re like . . .” He covers his mouth with his hand and shakes his head, his gaze giving away that he approves of my attire for the night.

  Even with his admiration, I can’t shake the feeling of inadequacy. My gold bangles jingle as I fidget with the short hem of my dress. “It’s short, I know.”

  “Damn.” He runs his hand through his hair, studying my legs. “I don’t know what else to say.” His eyes find me. “You look really pretty.”

  A giggle bubbles up from my chest, cooling the heat of my nerves. “Thank you. You clean up well too.” I grab my purse off the small table in the foyer and lock the door before walking out and closing it behind me.

  He offers me his elbow, and I blush at the kindness of his overly formal gesture.

  “What do you have planned for me? More midnight four-wheeling?” I motion to my gold strappy heels. “Just want to make sure I’m wearing appropriate shoes.”

  He cocks his head and flashes a confident half-smile that stirs something deep in my belly.

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.” He opens the passenger-side door of his truck. “Are you hungry?”

  I climb inside his truck as gracefully as I can. He groans, but covers it with a fake cough. My face heats when I realize I’d most likely given him a peek at my modest nude-colored lace panties.

  I try to ignore that and answer him. “I’m okay for now.”

  He nods and shuts me in, moving around the hood and climbing in the driver’s side. “We’ll hit up one stop, and then the rest of the night is all about us.”

  I turn and watch him as he studies the rearview mirror, backing out of the driveway. “All about us? So, the one stop involves someone else?”

  He cringes slightly. “Eh . . . a few someones.” His eyes find me, reassuring and kind. “But don’t worry. It’ll be fun.”

  “I trust you.”

  A shy grin curls his lips, and I have to look away to keep from leaning in to see if that smile tastes as good as it looks.