Prepared to Fight

by E. J. Shortall

  As I left the room, my inquisitive nature got the better of me. I wondered what the other rooms were like. After all, he hadn’t given me a tour. I wanted to know what his bedroom looked like. Did that have colour? Had he made that his one decadent room, where he could chill out after a long day doing whatever it was he did? Or maybe he had it kitted out, warm and welcoming for all his female companions. My gut churned at the thought.

  Peeking round the corner to make sure he wasn’t looking, I opened the door next to the bathroom. It was just another white, cold and unloved room, a bedroom. I guessed it was probably a guestroom going by the size of it and the fact that it was furnished with nothing but a double bed and an oak wardrobe.

  Closing the door quietly behind me, I stepped across the hall to the room opposite, expecting either another plain guestroom or Nathan’s bedroom. I gasped when the door swung open and found myself looking at… a museum.

  Stepping further into the room, my eyes darted from left to right, up and down and then around again when I’d done a full three-sixty turn and was still trying to work out what I was seeing.

  Every wall, shelf and bookcase was covered in posters, trophies and news articles. There didn’t appear to be an inch of wall space that wasn’t somehow decorated with memorabilia. This room was such a stark contrast to the emptiness of the rest of the apartment.

  I walked to a large, glass frame adjacent to another floor to ceiling window. With the room bathed in darkness, I had to rely on the gentle glow of moonlight filtering through the tinted glass to help illuminate the picture. Only it wasn’t a picture. Inside the frame was what appeared to be a large, wide belt, the front of it being a huge circle of gold. It wasn’t the only one. Lined up alongside were another three frames, all with similar belts proudly displayed inside.

  I ran my fingers along the edge of a table littered with small picture frames and magazines. Picking up one of the magazines, I swivelled it into the light filtering in from the hallway to read the headline.

  Golden Boy retires after controversial Sanchez KO

  I dropped the magazine and scoured the table for more photos, articles, anything. Was this all for real? My shaking hands knocked over a small frame and I pulled that into the light. In the picture stood a smiling, shorter teenager who shared the same dark hair and stormy grey eyes as the slightly older guy next to him, the guy I thought I was getting to know. The taller of the two was shirtless, his exposed torso shining from bright lights hitting obviously sweat soaked skin. His arms were raised above his head with his hands wrapped in some sort of blue bandage. It was a pose of triumph.

  There was photo after photo after photo, article after article, all showing the same thing, a shirtless Nathan.

  Nathan ‘Golden Boy’ Oakes, MMA legend.

  ~CHAPTER EIGHT~

  Suddenly it all made sense. The closed off studio at the gym – the one with the bags and funny looking boxing ring—the constant fights being shown on the screens around the place, his fitness and health freakery. He wasn’t just a gym owner and personal trainer, he was a world famous mixed martial artist. A hugely successful mixed martial artist, going by the numbers of trophies and belts displayed around the room.

  I felt his presence watching me before I knew for sure he was there.

  “Why didn’t you tell me,” I whispered.

  “Would it have made a difference if I had?”

  I returned the photo to the table and ran my finger along the rim of a giant silver cup. “I don’t know, maybe. Probably.”

  “Why?”

  I finally looked up at the same time that he stepped into the room, flipping the light switch as he did. The shock of bright lights had me closing my eyes for a second. When I reopened them, Nathan was standing right in front of me, looking cool, calm and collected. He was every bit the Nathan I had begun to care for. Except now he wasn’t. Now he was this superstar, this highly respected athlete who I knew nothing about.

  “Because you’re famous, Nate,” I replied softly. Despite his eyes searching mine, looking concerned and unsure, his lips tipped into a small smile. I realised it was because it was the first time I’d called him anything other than his full name. That fact made me think that somewhere along the line our relationship had changed. It had morphed from just being trainer and trainee, helper and helpee, to something more. Was it friendship? Had we become friends? No, it felt different to that. Adam was my friend; I now classed Cassie a friend. With Nate, things felt different… more powerful.

  But had he not thought that at some point in the beginning it would have been useful to say ‘Keep that fucking back straight, oh and by the way, I’m Nathan Oakes, world famous MMA star. Thought you should know.’

  “I thought you were just an ordinary guy—”

  “I am.”

  “—feeling sorry for the ugly, fat butted burden on society.”

  “You are not ugly or fat and certainly no burden on anyone,” he growled.

  I smiled courteously but knew he was only being polite. “But you’re not are you? You’re not some ordinary guy. Why waste your time helping out someone like me?”

  Making my way back over to the framed belts, I studied each one. Those things weren’t easy to win. I’d heard Adam and the guys ranting about enough boxing matches over the years to understand that only the best of the best won them.

  “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want this. I didn’t want it to have any bearing on how you saw me. Women throw themselves at me on a daily basis, Liv. They are willing to pay extortionate amounts for my time but they don’t focus. It isn’t personal training they are really after. They come to me for one reason only. To bed a famous MMA star.”

  I barked out a laugh. “You have no worries there with me. I could care less what your status is. I don’t even get the sport. To me it seems like a bunch of guys rolling around together using the ‘manly’ sport as an excuse to feel each other up… no thanks. Not for me.”

  He smiled, his eyes twinkling under the inset spotlights. “I can assure you, no touching up takes place in the octagon.”

  I scoffed. “The octagon? What, four sides isn’t enough for you, you need eight?” I stood tall and crossed my arms over my chest. I needed to show him I hadn’t been affected by this news, yet in reality, it had rocked me to the very core. I was standing in front of someone famous, someone women across the globe probably lusted over. Women he could easily have and probably did. My eyes closed and my lips pulled into a flat line as I imagined some blonde bimbo on his arm, accompanying him to his fights and seeing him rip into his opponent with feral power. Afterwards, they would be together as she helped him come down from his fight high. I shook my head and opened my eyes, trying to rid myself of the unwelcome images.

  Nate started laughing. The sight of it was so unexpected and beautiful that I found myself completely forgetting my unpleasant thoughts. My scowl was soon replaced by a quirk of my lips.

  “You are a breath of fresh air, you know that, JB?” he said, drawing me against his firm body and placing a kiss to my forehead.

  ***

  Nate could cook. I mean really cook. Having pulled me out of his hall of fame, he led me to his dining table where he’d pulled out my chair for me. That had made me giggle. I couldn’t ever remember a guy being so… gentlemanly. He’d wowed me with a delightful main meal of succulent steak with sautéd potatoes and roasted vegetables. It was all very healthy, apparently. And delicious.

  “Tell me about your family,” Nate said, lifting his glass of water to his lips. During the meal, any tension between us had slowly dispersed and we slowly began opening up, getting to know each other a little more. Not deep and meaningful things, just little tidbits of information that helped us understand each other more. It hadn’t escaped my notice that I was more forthcoming with information than he was, but I shrugged it off and hoped he would loosen up eventually.

  “There isn’t much to tell,” I replied with a shrug. “My mum is a hou
sewife and plant murderer… Don’t ask,” I said quickly when he opened his mouth at my ridiculous statement. “My dad is a neurotic accountant and wannabe Scrooge. I love them both dearly but they are eccentric. How about you?”

  I lifted my fork to my lips and took a bite of the succulent strawberry I’d speared from the fruit salad in front of me. Juice burst from the plump berry and trickled down my lip.

  “Here, let me.” Nate leaned across the table and ran his thumb along my lower lip, wiping away the juice. I watched in awe, and maybe a lot of heat, as he sucked his thumb into his mouth and licked it away.

  “Do you… was that… I…”

  Nate laughed at my inability to string more than two words together and scooped up a strawberry of his own.

  “Delicious, right?”

  Words could not describe the thoughts that ran through my mind when he bit into the fruit and then slowly licked the juice from his lips. It was like a slow motion scene from a hot romance novel or blockbuster movie. I was transfixed. Unable to process thoughts as his tongue slowly drew across the plush pink of his…

  “You’re staring, JB,” he chuckled.

  “And you’re hot,” I mumbled under my breath, fiddling with my napkin. His eyes shot to mine and I realised I’d not mumbled that quietly at all.

  Shit, shit, shit. Why did he have the ability to make me act like a bumbling idiot around him?

  “Well I’m glad you think so. And you’re beautiful,” he replied with a smile.

  My cheeks burned and my hands shook. I knew he was only being polite and friendly, but still. This was Nathan Oakes telling me I was beautiful. Nathan Oakes, MMA God. He was famous.

  “Oh my God!” I shrieked and bolted out of my chair.

  He was by my side in a second, gripping my upper arms and staring concern into my eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “You’re famous. You’re fucking famous, Nate. People all around the world know who you are. You must have millions of people who want a piece of you and I’m sitting here dribbling strawberry juice everywhere and talking crap.” I was breathing hard, on the verge of hysteria.

  His eyes grew soft as his smile returned. “You weren’t talking crap.” His arms circled around my waist and pulled me close again. I didn’t fight it. In fact I was beginning to really like the feeling of being wrapped in his arms. “And everyone dribbles strawberry juice, JB.”

  I sighed and snuggled in. It really did feel good to be cocooned in his strong arms.

  I savoured the comforting feeling for a moment before tilting my head and asked, “What’s with the JB thing? Spill it, Oakes.”

  His whole body vibrated with his chuckle. “JB… As in Jelly Bean.”

  Trying to pull back, I slapped him on the chest. “That’s just…”

  Nate laughed harder. “You. It’s you, JB. My sweet little jelly bean.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I tried to be angry with him. I tried to show my displeasure at the ridiculous pet name. But it was difficult with happiness zipping through me. ‘My jelly bean’. I actually really liked the sound of that.

  After a moment or two of total serenity, Nate let me go and returned to his seat. The playfulness and softness in his eyes had disappeared. It was replaced with the same blank—maybe determined—expression I was usually greeted with.

  “We, um… we kind of went off track there,” I declared, wanting to try to break the sudden, unexplained tension between us. “Tell me about your family.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” He scooped up more fruit and shovelled it into his mouth.

  “Oh come on, I’m sure you have plenty of stories. How about relationships? Are you involved with anyone?” A cold sweat broke out across my back, wanting but not wanting his answer.

  “No. I don’t have the time or desire to be tied down.” The relief of knowing he wasn’t seeing someone was immense.

  “How about brothers or sisters? Do you have any?”

  “One younger brother,” he replied bluntly.

  “Okay, how about your mum and dad? What do they do?”

  “Nothing. They’re dead.”

  The clipped tone of his voice told me he didn’t want to discuss it.

  I pushed the fruit around in my bowl using the tip of my fork. “I’m sorry,” I replied quietly. Sorry for bringing it up. Sorry for souring the mood, and sorry for him, for something that clearly still hurt.

  Peering up from under my eyelashes with my head still bowed down, I quietly watched him. Here was a man who seemed to have everything going for him. On the face of it, he was successful, popular, wealthy and handsome. He had it all. The storm brewing in the depths of his eyes told me otherwise. There was a sadness to him that pulled at my heart strings. It made me want to cuddle him and protect him. I inwardly laughed at the irony. I was sure he was perfectly capable of protecting himself, at least on a physical level.

  My eyes followed him when he scraped his chair back along the wooden floor and took his bowl into the kitchen. Placing it in the sink, he stood there for a moment, his head bowed and his shoulders rising and falling sharply. I wished I could see his face, wished I knew what was going through his mind.

  “Nate, are you okay? Do you want me to go?” I asked quietly, coming up beside him with my own half-full bowl. My appetite had vanished.

  He turned his head and regarded me with his gorgeous grey eyes that had softened slightly. “No. Please don’t go yet.” His grip on the edge of the counter increased, the knuckles on his hands turning white. It was almost as if he were trying to rein in the temptation to touch me.

  I nodded with a smile and rubbed along his arm as I passed by. He needed a minute to himself, and I wanted to give it to him. I’d pretty much give him anything he wanted.

  ***

  Nate pulled himself out of his momentary funk and joined me on one of the white leather couches in the living room as I tried to think of ways to rescue our evening. He shocked the hell out of me by handing me a chilled bottle of my favourite beer.

  “All in moderation,” he’d replied, in answer to my confused expression. “If you want something, sometimes you just need to give in and indulge.” His gaze had been blazing as he looked me straight in the eye when he said it. I wondered if we were talking about more than just the beer.

  Needing distraction from the several conflicting thoughts running rampant through my head, I thought maybe bringing the conversation round to his true profession would help me understand him a little better.

  “So, how come you haven’t shown me any of your fancy MMA moves yet then, huh?” I asked, taking a sip from the bottle.

  “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted smoothly. “I was going to wait until you were ready. And until you, well, knew who I was.” He shrugged and looked away abashed.

  This could be interesting.

  The thought of rolling around on the floor with Nate had me practically bouncing with excitement. “Show me something now.”

  “Now?”

  I nodded. “Yup.”

  Shaking his head, Nate stood and looked around the room. Then, with purposeful strides and steely determination, he dragged the coffee table out of the way and pushed the opposite couch back against the wall. When he turned back and pushed back the couch I was sitting on, I squealed in surprise. His eyes shot up to meet mine, and he winked with a beaming smile. It was such a playful gesture that I could not help but return it. I loved this side of him.

  “Come here,” he commanded when the furniture was out of the way and we had plenty of space to move about.

  Placing my bottle to the side of the couch, I grabbed his outstretched hand, using him as an anchor to pull me to standing. I felt awkward, yet energised, waiting for his next instructions. It felt different somehow being with him like this, in his home. It was more intimate, more personal. We didn’t have the hustle and bustle of the gym to distract us, or the unease of being watched on my part. Despite trying hard at the gym to concentrate on me and what
I was doing, the little insecure voice in my head that sometimes reared its ugly head, would occasionally tap me on the shoulder and tell me that people were watching and laughing. Here, in his apartment, everything was just him and me. He wasn’t the master trainer or MMA star. He wasn’t even the highly successful business man. He was Nate.

  “Are you sure you want to do this now?” he asked, watching me carefully.

  I bounced on the balls of my feet like I’d seen boxers do and grinned. “Bring it on, hot shot.”

  Shaking his head, he knelt in front of me and tapped my shoe. “You won’t need these. We’ll do this bare-foot.” I tilted my head down and my breath caught at the sight of Nate in that position, smiling up at me. He looked so young and carefree… and gorgeous.

  “Lift.” Using his shoulder for balance… and a chance for a cheeky grope, I steadied myself while Nate took hold of my foot and pulled off my converse and sock. My gaze was fixed firmly on every movement he made as he shifted to my left foot and then stroked his hand along my calf and upwards as he slowly returned to standing. Even under thick denim, the sensation of his touch ignited my skin, sending shock waves through my body. I wanted him to move those hands everywhere. He was so strong, so graceful. Everything he did seemed effortless.

  You can’t be thinking this way, Liv.

  I felt a sudden sting on my arm and jerked back.

  “Ouch! What the fuck was that for?” I rubbed at the sudden burning on my upper arm.

  “Lesson number one. Never let your guard down,” he smirked.

  “You bastard. That fucking hurt. You could have warned me.”

  Nate crossed his muscular arms over his chest grinning. “Do you think an attacker is going to warn you when they come at you with a knife.”