Fight For Her (MMA Fighter Romance Book 1)

by Vanessa Vale

  The doors opened and he led me back out into the heat, which hit us like a wet blanket as we walked to the car. I glanced back at the gym, curious. This was Gray’s business. His life. When I first saw him on Friday night I’d thought he was fit and lived it instead of just pumping iron. I’d been right.

  Through the wall of windows, I could see dark mats on most of the floors, a large reception area, punching and kicking bags hanging from the ceiling and what appeared to be a boxing ring with chain-link fence around it. Several people were working out.

  “Want to check it out?” he asked, angling his head toward the gym.

  “Sure.” I didn’t want to tell him I was curious, but I was. I followed him to the door, which he held open for me. The space was large with high ceilings, the windows faced the street so whatever was happening in the gym was advertising itself. It was clean, just like Gray’s apartment and didn’t have that sweaty-sock smell I was expecting.

  A guy was punching a small bag that hung from the ceiling that swung back and forth, Rocky-style. Two men were in the fenced ring, sparring with headgear, mouth guards and gloves. A woman ran on the treadmill, earbuds in place even though music came from hidden speakers.

  The young guy at the front desk was on the phone but gave a quick wave to us.

  “You used to fight like those guys?”

  Gray turned to face the ring. “No, they’re just boxing. I did MMA.”

  I bit my lip, hoping I didn’t sound too much like an idiot. “What’s the difference?”

  “Boxing’s like Muhammad Ali, just punches. See, they’re only using their arms.” When I nodded that I followed, he continued. “MMA is combining boxing with kicking, like Muay Thai or karate, then fighting on the ground like wrestling, but some Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in there for submissions.”

  An electronic bell rung from a timer on the wall. The men touched gloves and stepped out of the ring, sweat dripping from their faces, their t-shirts wet.

  “You do all that? The different martial arts styles?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  I saw Gray here, just right for his surroundings, his job. The knowledge and experience it took to run a place such as this, to have the following, the backing, the fame, was impressive. I was impressed. I was also completely in awe and a little bit in lust, because the testosterone seeping from him in this space was heady.

  “Want to give it a try?” he asked.

  I frowned. “What, me? In there?” I pointed to the ring, the walls made of black chain link fencing. “That looks like something out of a Mad Max movie.”

  He smiled. “Come on. I'll show you what I do, but you have to promise not to hurt me.”

  Kicking off his flip flops, I did the same. He let me step in the ring first, and I rolled my eyes at him.

  “Okay, so you want to stand like this and put your hands up in fists, here and here.” He stood beside me and I copied his stance. “Good.”

  He moved to stand in front of me, hands up like mine. “Punch me.”

  My eyes widened and I dropped my arms. “Are you serious? I can't punch you,” I said, looking at the other men who were over by the locker rooms, taking off their gloves and squirting water in their mouths from their water bottles. “Besides, we aren't even wearing gloves.”

  “Think of something that makes you mad. Got it?”

  The first thing that came to mind was Jack. My eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I got it. My ex.”

  He offered a quick smile. “Good. Now pretend I'm him. Punch him. Left, right. Like you mean it.”

  I lifted my arms back to the position he'd showed me, then thrust out with my left hand. Gray's arm came up to block my strike. When I shifted my stance and punched with my right, I felt my feet come out from underneath me and the next thing I knew, his hands were on me and I was on the ground with Gray sideways on top of me. In the blink of an eye—and with a care I doubted he gave to his usual opponents—he'd swept me to the ring floor. Gray's chest was pressed into mine and his face loomed over me. I was breathing hard, perhaps from the surprise move, but most likely because I had him on top of me, his mouth only inches from mine. I felt the firm floor of the ring beneath my back. There was no question he could hurt me, for there was no way I could defend myself from him. Sure, I hadn't really tried to punch him all that hard or quickly, but still. As a champion at fighting, then he was so far out of my league. I knew, though, if I pushed against him, he'd let me up. I wasn't afraid of him. I was in awe.

  I licked my lips. My heart was racing and surely he could feel it. I could feel every inch of him. “Now what do you do?”

  Gray's eyes lowered to my mouth. “If you were my competition, I'd try to either choke you out or do an arm bar.”

  I felt every hard muscle of his torso, even though he held himself off of me with his forearms. Regardless, I felt pinned and at his mercy. I did not mind in the slightest.

  “Choking doesn't sound like fun and I have no idea what an arm bar is,” I replied, licking my lips.

  “It's not fun either,” he said, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “As for you—” His eyes lifted to mine and I blushed. “—I take you to lunch.”

  He levered off me, stood and held out his hand. I just laid there for a few seconds and looked up at him. I had been ready for him to kiss me and I'd loved how he felt pressing me down. My body felt taunted and now neglected. Was he torturing me on purpose or did he really not want to kiss me? Realizing he was staring down at me waiting, I took his hand and he helped me up, but didn't let go.

  “Wow. Um, okay, I know what you’re talking about now.” I had to get my bearings. The feel of a man above me—specifically Gray—had me hot all over. “Chris used to go to a friend’s house because they watched the fights on Pay-Per-View. Were any of those fights you?”

  He nodded. “Sure, that’s it, but I also fought back in the old days before satellite and cable.”

  A long career then. “All you did was take me to the mat. The choking and the arm bars, isn’t it really violent?”

  He grinned. “Very.” He pointed to his ear, then his nose. “I got these along with my trophies.”

  I took in the whole package and the scars and marks on his body from his career didn’t detract. Instead, it showed he had a past, a history and he survived. “As a nurse, I have a pretty good idea of how those injuries must have felt.”

  His smile slipped a bit. “I’m sure you can.” He led me out of the ring with a gentle hand at the small of my back. We put on our flip flops.

  I walked over to one of the long punching bags, ran my hand over the black leather. “How did you get your start though? I mean, did you do karate as a kid or something?”

  This time his smile dropped away completely. “No. Nothing like that. Let’s just say I learned early on how to defend myself and give as good as I got. After high school, I went into the army and they honed that skill.”

  My eyebrows went up. Earlier, he'd glossed over his childhood and downplayed how bad it must have been. The army, perhaps, had been his escape, and it would have made him really skilled.

  “You left the army and became a professional fighter then.”

  He nodded. “I did what I was good at.”

  I looked around the space. It was really impressive. It wasn't a cookie cutter gym. It wasn't a meat market, but a place for serious fighters. “Looks like you were really good at it.”

  He offered a small shrug. “I’m not as interesting as the Internet says.”

  “Now that I know your full name, I’ll have to look you up.”

  He didn’t seem too keen on that as he glanced away.

  “Does it say something like you fathered some movie star’s kid?”

  He grinned again and I liked it. I liked knowing I could make him smile. He met my gaze. “Something like that.”

  My eyebrows went up. “I was only joking.” A laugh sputtered out of me. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” When he didn’t say more, but watched t
he boxers get back in the ring, I asked, “Was it the lady who stars in that sci-fi blockbuster? I take you more for an action-adventure type.”

  Gray wasn't the kind of guy to be flippant about a baby. From what he told me about being afraid he'd hurt one, I knew it was all tabloid fodder and I played it off as that.

  He turned his head toward me and grinned. “There’s only one type I care about,” he replied, stepping closer.

  “Oh?”

  He nodded and tucked a wayward curl behind my ear. “Emory’s type.”

  “Oh.” I had no idea what to say to that. I had absolutely no comeback and I was flustered. Of course, that made him grin even bigger.

  “I love the way you blush.” He ran a knuckle down my warm cheek, which made my face heat even more. “Ready to get out of here?”

  I could only nod, still stuck on Emory’s type. I followed him to the car and his gaze raked over my body as he opened the door for me.

  “So, rowing?”

  “It’s not MMA, but it’s a good workout,” I replied, getting in.

  “I can tell.” Was his voice a little rough?

  He climbed into his seat, turned on the engine to get the air conditioning going. His car was new and sleek. Sporty yet understated, and it matched Gray’s personality.

  Turning to face me, he said, “We can go to the bar and meet up with the team, but they’re going to be three beers in by now and singing crude rugby songs as loud as they can. Most guys probably haven’t showered, which won’t be pleasant, so I was thinking we could get some lunch on our own. Something a little less crazy.”

  He sat less than two feet away. I could clearly see the scar in his eyebrow, the start of new whiskers on his cheeks. One of his ears had a hint of fighting damage to it, cauliflower ear, that he’d pointed to. But that was all superficial. Inconsequential. It was his eyes that hooked me. The way he looked at me with that dark, piercing gaze as if I was the only person around. In this case, I was, but he was completely and totally focused on me, not the car blaring its horn on the street, not the bad song that came on the radio. It was as if he wanted to be just with me.

  I licked my bottom lip and he sucked in a breath. “What about your friend, Thor?”

  “He texted me while I was in the shower. Laura, his wife, didn’t want to waste a babysitter on a bunch of drunk guys singing off key. Her words.”

  “Yeah, I don’t blame her. Thor’s a smart man for doing what she wants.”

  He cocked his head in question.

  “If she gets what she wants, I promise you, he’ll get exactly what he wants,” I explained. I folded my hands in my lap.

  He nodded slowly, thinking about my words, then grinned. “So if I take you where you want, will I get exactly what I want?”

  My eyes widened. Even though the air conditioner was blowing out cool air, it was awfully hot inside the car all of a sudden and my heart skidded to a halt. “And…um, what is it that you want?” I whispered. I was dying to know and petrified to find out.

  “Your phone number.” He grinned at my expression. It must have been priceless because I was expecting him to say something completely different, something that involved a first-date BJ. And he knew that.

  Shaking my head slightly, I laughed as I retrieved my cell from my bag, handed it to him. He fiddled with it for a minute, then I heard a ring from his pocket. Then he gave the phone back, put the car in gear and backed out of the parking spot.

  “There, now you have my number, too.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  EMORY

  I let Gray decide where to eat for lunch. He took me to a place on the water near Annapolis for steamed crabs, a Maryland summer specialty. We ate outside on a covered patio at a picnic table covered in newspaper. A tin bucket sat between us for empty crab shells and we used wooden mallets to crack open the legs. It was a really smart choice on Gray’s part. It was slow picking the meat out of a crab, so we were able to linger and talk. Our hands were busy the entire time, which helped to avoid awkward moments. It was also a messy task, and it was hard to take anything too seriously when you were swinging a wooden mallet with crab seasoning all over your hands.

  It was after three when Gray pulled his car into an empty spot just down the street from my house.

  “I had a really good time. Thank you,” I said.

  He turned off the car. “You’re welcome. I did, too.” He shifted his shoulders to face me. “Do you work this week?”

  I nodded. “I work a consistent schedule. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, seven to seven. Days.”

  “Those are long shifts.”

  “They are, but I only work three days a week, which is nice.”

  All of a sudden, I started to feel nervous again, the panic and confusion on first-date etiquette clogged my brain. Was I supposed to kiss him as a thank-you? I wanted to, boy did I, but I didn’t know how to initiate. It was going to be an awkward kiss because I felt awkward. Did I lean in first? Close my eyes? Did I—

  “Would it be all right if I called you?” he asked, breaking into my ridiculous train of thought.

  “Oh.” That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. Once again. I figured he’d ask if he could come inside. Every single time he did the unexpected. “I… I’d like that.”

  I licked my lips again and I couldn’t help but fiddle with the seat belt. I wanted to look anywhere but at him. It would be rude to bolt from the car, so was I supposed to open my own door? He’d done it for me all the other times today. “Gray—”

  “Breathe, Emory.”

  This had my gaze whipping up to his.

  “What?” I asked, my voice a little high pitched, and I blushed.

  “You seem…nervous again.” His dark eyes met mine, then drifted to my mouth.

  “I am,” I admitted. I gave him a thin smile. “I know your neat-freak secret so I’ll tell you one of mine.”

  He cocked his head to the side slightly. I recognized this as something he did when curious. “Okay. But it’s got to be a good one. I mean, being a neat freak is pretty hard to top.”

  I rolled my eyes, instantly relaxed. “I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen now. I’ve…I’ve never really been on a date before. I know, this was just a coincidence, but still.” I glanced down at my lap, then back at him. “I met my ex in college, and we didn’t really date. We skipped a whole bunch of steps to the one where I got pregnant by mistake. Then married. Then fourteen years later, divorced. Those two awful blind dates I mentioned don't count, so I think this is actually my first real date.”

  He looked surprised for a moment, then he smiled. “I really like that I’m your first.”

  I looked at him sideways. “It…doesn’t bother you?”

  He reached across the center console and brushed a lock of hair that had escaped my ponytail back from my face, tucked it behind my ear. It seemed to be something he really liked to do and I didn't mind. At all. I lifted my eyes to meet his as he ran his finger down my cheek. The feeling was exhilarating, the skin he touched tingling in his wake. I really wasn’t breathing now.

  “That you’re not a player?” His voice was almost a whisper. “That you’re smart and honest and open and starting your life all over again?”

  “Well, yeah.” I sighed because he understood.

  Instead of answering my question, he said, “Do you know what happens now?” He dropped his hand. “At the end of a date?”

  “I thought this wasn’t a date.”

  “Right, a coincidence,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “Let’s pretend it was a date then. Do you know what happens?”

  The car seemed very small all of a sudden. “Well, I have some ideas.” I lowered my eyes to his mouth.

  “Such as…” His dark voice trailed off.

  “My single friends always talk about kissing, or asking a guy inside, or they talk about their one-night stands and even their walks of shame.”

  “I never want you to do a walk of shame, Emory.”
He sounded a little mad mentioning that.

  He took my hand, held it beside the stick shift. His fingers were warm, his touch gentle as his thumb rubbed over my palm in slow circles. I felt the zing behind this simple gesture all the way to my toes. I darted a look up at his eyes and saw the same reaction I felt, the same flare of heat at the simple touch.

  “I don’t want a one-night stand with you. You’re not going to ask me inside either. I’m the one that’s going to seduce you, Emory, which means you’ll be in my bed. Soon.” His eyes dropped to my lips. “I want to kiss you. Jesus, I want to taste you, but I want you to be ready first.”

  I frowned, yet surprisingly turned on by his words. He was rejecting me? Wait, he said he was going to seduce me.

  “Gray, I don’t under—”

  He gave my hand a little squeeze to silence me. “When you’re ready, you won’t be nervous or unsure, like you are right now. You’ll know. You’ll want it just as much as I do. I’ll be waiting.”

  Holy shit.

  GRAY

  “No, do it again. You need to get the bend of your elbow beneath their chin in order to get the choke,” I yelled at the guy I’d been training all afternoon, running my hand over my neck in frustration. He wasn’t getting it. We were on the mat and he was practicing his Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. He wanted to break into the MMA pro circuit but as a stand-up fighter, his groundwork needed serious help and he wasn’t picking it up fast enough for his first fight. But that was why he'd hired me, to literally beat him into shape. We’d been at it two hours now and everyone needed a break.

  He tried it two more times, sitting behind his partner, wrapping his arm around his neck the right way for the choke. With the slight change in position, his partner tapped out, which meant he would have passed out if he hadn't used his hand to tell the guy to release. Besides knocking someone out cold, a tap out was the only other way to win a competition that didn't involve a judge's call. No fighter wanted to go all the rounds and let the judges decide. We wanted our opponent to submit. “Good. Now do it ten more times each, then get some water.”