by Cari Quinn
“We make a deal.” His voice had hollowed out. He didn’t sound like the Fox I knew.
What made me think I had any sort of handle on him? Why did it feel like I did?
I rolled on my side and wrapped my arms tight around my stomach. My belly twisted so precipitously I prayed I wouldn’t be sick. “Terms?”
“The fight will be four weeks from tomorrow.”
I nodded. That was what I’d been hoping for. “Agreed. We’ll start setting it up.”
“You spend one night with me beforehand.”
That didn’t sound so bad. A couple of days ago, it would have, but this had been one hell of a week. “Fine.”
“The whole night. From dusk to daylight. My place. My rules.”
Swallowing hard, I nodded. My voice had deserted me again.
He gazed at the side of my face, nearly singeing my skin with the force of his stare. “What I say goes completely. If I want to fuck you and sleep with you in my arms, it happens.”
I shivered from the implied threat in his words. If he’d said he was going to beat me black and blue, I’d have faced him with my fists up. But this?
I’d never slept in a bed with a man. I had a problem sleeping places I wasn’t used to in the first place. And he wanted me to curl up and…spoon? Or spork or whatever the hell it was called?
Not that I had a lot of choice. I’d begun to believe he would never say yes, even if I’d offered to do a naked line dance on his kitchen counter before giving him an upside down blowjob. This was almost a reasonable compromise.
“Okay.”
“Not saying that’s what I want to do. It could be anything. Absolutely anything, Mia.”
“Are you trying to warn me you like freaky sex or something? Like tie-ups or…anal?”
He didn’t laugh. I’d extinguished the light in his eyes completely.
“Anything goes. Either you say yes or you say no. No pussying out later.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He let out a long, anguished breath and tipped his head back. “I’m not hitting you in the face. Do you understand me? Nothing above the neck. No kicks either. It’ll be a straight wrestling takedown. No more, no less.”
Well, that would be a mighty fine show for the spectators. We’d shake hands and he’d force me to the mat. Then maybe we’d make out a little. Christ.
We’d just see about that.
“Fine,” I gritted out, hating that now I was a liar along with everything else. Because it wasn’t fine. He was going to fight me for real. I wanted that level of respect from him. That he knew I wouldn’t “pussy out” as he’d called it. That he understood I could damn well take it.
No one could break me. Not even him.
He stood and stalked over to my backpack. I was about to ask him what the hell he was doing when he took out my phone. His fingers raced over the keys before he tossed it onto the bed. “I gave you Coach Timmins’ number. Use it. If you’re getting in the ring with me, I expect a certain level of performance.”
Like a dope, I rose to the bait. “Why? So you can check my form when you swan dive me to the canvas?”
He picked up his jeans and pulled them on. “Other than the night we agreed to, it’s probably not a good idea we see each other anymore.”
Even lying down, I reeled as if I’d been sucker punched. If I hadn’t already had my arms around my midsection, they would’ve clamped there to try to stem the wave of nausea.
And I’d thought he couldn’t take me down. How wrong I’d been.
Get up. Get on your feet. One shoulder up, then the rest will follow.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. What could I say? That he was right?
It hadn’t been a good idea the day he’d walked into Vinnie’s. Or the nights he’d waited for me. It hadn’t been a good idea that I’d set my sights on fighting him when he was obviously the only man who could bruise me internally without laying a finger on my skin.
My thighs were still wet from what we’d done together. And he was breaking up with me when we’d never even been a couple.
I’d never experienced what that was like. Probably never would. My mistake was forgetting my reality for a few moments. He was right to do this. We had nothing in common, except everything.
He tugged on his hoodie and bent to pick up the pieces of his T-shirt. I’d torn them off his body less than an hour ago. Without sparing them a glance, he dumped them in the trash.
Carmine wouldn’t like that he’d ruined his work shirt already. I’d have to add the cost of replacing it to the running tab I owed Fox. The number was already way too high.
Fox crossed the room to the door and bent his head, not looking at me. Funny, because I couldn’t look away. If this were my last glimpse of him like this, I’d take it without shame.
He’d made me into a junkie. The needle had just left me and I was already on the verge of begging for another fix. What would I be like tomorrow?
“Kick her ass,” he rasped.
For a full minute, I had no idea what or who he meant. Fighting had been one of my few reasons for living a few days ago. Now it was a footnote. An acknowledgement even I’d forgotten to read.
I rolled on my back after he’d gone. The rain drummed against the window. The relentless patter blocked out the static in my head and heart.
Then my eyes drifted to the bedpost, and the jacket still hanging there.
Chapter Eighteen
Tray
I had Friday off. One day of work, and I was already a free man until Sunday. Mia wasn’t working then. I’d talked to Carmine and told him we had a situation and should work together as little as possible.
Since Carmine thought I was some kind of frigging god in shiny shorts, he’d done as I asked and shifted things around. He’d also given me two new work shirts for free.
Good luck forgetting how I’d lost the first one.
A week ago, I’d had no clue who Mia was. Now she was the axis of my world. If staying away from her would keep her healthy, I’d do it.
If she believed my statement last night indicated that I’d given up my campaign to be in her life, she was insane. Kizzy—crazy name, crazier hair and all—had a point. My presence had thrown Mia off her stride. In our business, that could get you seriously hurt.
Or seriously dead.
Even knowing that, I hadn’t been willing to walk away without an end date to my sentence. I vehemently did not want to fight her. Just considering it made me want to break things and throw up—in that order. But that fight was the only carrot I had. If I didn’t dangle it in her face, what guarantee did I have that she wouldn’t split town with her sister without the money she claimed to need? She could always come up with another plan.
If she did leave, I might never see her again. I hadn’t even known her last name before I’d picked up her phone under the guise of giving her Timmins’ number. I’d gotten lucky that she’d gone with a standard email addy.
Before last night, I’d given her no indication that I’d even consider stepping into an octagon if she waited on the other side. I’d had no choice but to offer her what she wanted in return for what I needed. Her safe and alive.
And mine, even if I’d bartered for those twelve hours with the one thing I’d refused to do.
Tonight I’d do a search on Mia Anderson, much as my guilty conscience protested the idea. But if she wouldn’t give me anything to go on regarding her past, what choice did I have? At least maybe I’d find out more about her fight record from one of the underground blogs.
It might be a waste of time. The contents of most people’s lives never ended up in a web crawler. I had to find out for myself. I had to try something.
First I had to put in my time at the gym.
Despite having a fight next Friday myself, I wished I could skip my daily session. I’d trained for an hour last night while I was waiting for Mia to finish work, and I didn’t feel like going back today. Truth be told, I was sick of
the workout grind. This whole thing with Mia had proved to me that I had to get out. No more dicking around. I would fight Giovanni Costas next week and her three weeks after that, then I was walking away.
And that breakup would be a permanent one.
I had two more fights to get through first. Mia’s would be as exactly I said. Straight tactical takedown, end of story. She would try to mix it up with me, but I would shut her down as painlessly as possible. Now that I’d found a woman I could actually feel something for, she actually thought I’d harm a goddamn hair on her head?
Hell no.
Costas was a different beast entirely. I’d fucked around on my training for this bout, but I needed to get myself in gear. He was the new kid on the block, untrained, likely as green as grass. Rumor had it he had no problem skirting the rules, precious few that there were. Hunger and dirty tactics could make up for inexperience. They had for me early on, anyway.
So I couldn’t slack now. I wasn’t about to tarnish my near perfect record this close to the end because I was too cocky to get my hand off my balls.
I pushed myself through three hours at the gym. My day started with the machines, then I sparred with Timmins and a new guy, Emerson. Slater, my regular training partner and corner mate—and best friend—was on vacation, so I’d been doing the round-robin routine in his absence. Emerson seemed decent enough, and I’d probably spar with him again.
Assuming Timmins didn’t run him off with his big mouth. Coach liked to bitch about his entire gym being overrun with yuppies. He had a Tray, a Slater and now an Emerson. Where were the Johns, Toms and Bobs nowadays?
My quip about getting plenty of dicks instead had been ignored.
After listening to my coach go off for no reason for ten minutes, I did suicide runs and a long solo routine with the heavy bag. My final destination was the pool, where I swam laps and tried to ignore the brunette swimmer at my side. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to notice I wasn’t interested.
Her incessant attention led me to cut my swim short. How had I ever been fascinated by fake boobs? Now I much preferred real breasts that fit perfectly in my palms. Ones with small pink nipples that got hard just from me looking at them.
I hadn’t spent nearly enough time on them yet, but I would. Those twelve hours I’d stolen of Mia’s life would fucking rock her world. Then I’d work on stealing more.
On the way out of the gym, I stopped by the PT office and grabbed a couple of brochures. I hadn’t really looked into physical therapy as a possible career, but the time had come. After only one shift, I knew I couldn’t work at Vinnie’s for the rest of my life. Hell, I couldn’t say I’d even stay in the city.
If I had a reason to leave.
I made one more stop before I headed out. Timmins looked up at my knock and waved me inside his tomb-sized office. He’d been around a million years and was one of the few guys who got his own closet.
“What’s the word, Knox?”
I dropped into the chair across him and tried to keep my knees from bumping into his desk. Failed. As usual. “I need a favor.”
Timmins rubbed his sandpapery jaw. The rasp made me hunch my shoulders. He wouldn’t like this request.
“Lay it on me.”
“I’m booking another fight after the Costas bout.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, not blinking.
I swallowed and resisted the urge to protect my balls. “It’s with a woman.”
Now he blinked. Many times, as if he were trying to rid his parched eyeballs of an unexpected irritant. Also known as me. “Boy, are you nucking futs?”
I had to smile at his attempt not to swear. Those attempts usually didn’t last long, but I appreciated the effort. I didn’t even bother. To me, a man’s right to use the word fuck as noun, verb, and adjective was as unalienable as the right to pledge allegiance to the flag.
“Probably.” Feeling daring, I spread my legs and got another bruise on my shin for the trouble. “It gets worse.”
“Doesn’t it always?”
“The woman I’m going to fight…I want her to meet you.”
“For what?”
“Her gym’s decent, but I think you could help her. She’s really good,” I added when he continued to stare at me like I’d grown a third eye. “She knows the full range of martial arts from Muay Thai to Karate. She boxes. Wrestles. She even knows how to fence.” Good enough to nearly cut my heart out, but we didn’t need to discuss that right now.
“Let me get this straight. You’re going to fight a woman.”
“Yes.” Under extreme duress, but yes.
“A woman you want me to train to beat you.”
I nodded. “Essentially. How soon can you fit her in?”
He shook his head like I was patently insane. Since I was, I didn’t take offense. Then he muttered, “have her call me,” and waved me out of his office.
I couldn’t stop the grin as I walked out. That had gone way better than expected. Now I’d just have to hope like hell curiosity prompted her to call.
On the way home, I stopped at a leather shop. The sheepskin-lined gloves were an impulse purchase. Now I just had to figure out a way to get them to Mia without talking to her. Or kissing her.
Or pressing my mouth between her legs, something I couldn’t wait to do.
Maybe I’d better stop at the post office tomorrow. Shipping them was safer all the way around.
Once I was home again, I took a nap before firing up my laptop to do some research on sports medicine and physical therapy. Starting with online courses seemed like my best bet, so I contacted Cornell and had my transcript sent to two potential schools where I could get my basic requirements out of the way. Then I ordered a pizza and fed half the pepperonis to my pup while I watched a couple of action movies on the DVR.
The entire time I kept one eye on the clock. Each minute that passed felt like another lost year of my life.
She would be fine. Fighting was her routine just as it was mine. After a while, it didn’t require thought. You went through the motions and your body took over.
I’d briefly considered going to the match before deciding she didn’t need to see me pacing and fretting like a jittery grandma. And honestly? I didn’t think I could hack it. The first time Cross touched my girl I’d be over the ropes and hauling her out of the cage. Probably by the hair.
Yeah, I had it bad. I was slowly coming to terms with it.
What I couldn’t come to terms with was the possibility of losing her before I’d even had a chance to really step into the ring.
The phone rang at a quarter to eleven, and I grabbed it with tense fingers. Most unsanctioned fights were over by this time, unless they got a late start. I didn’t know if female fights were different. Didn’t want to know. I wanted her out of that life and behind a desk somewhere. Or a counter. Anywhere but where she was now.
Slater’s name on my Caller ID had me stifling a groan. I loved the dude, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear about who he’d banged last and who he wanted to bang next. My headspace had changed so drastically in a week that I wasn’t sure he’d recognize my voice.
“How were the waves?” I asked instead of what I really wanted to say. Let me worry in peace.
Christ, if I wasn’t careful I’d need to knit a pair of booties for my balls.
“Eh, kinda shitty. It rained almost the entire fuckin’ time. In Malibu, man. What’s up with that?”
I grunted in support and checked my watch.
“But I met someone. She’s…” Slater trailed off without using any of his usual descriptive language, namely tits, ass, or pussy. “Unreal.”
“Gonna try the long distance thing?”
He laughed in his usual throaty Slater way. He always sounded like he’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes embalmed with beer. “Nah, she came back with me. She’s taking a shower right now.”
“Define ‘came back with you.’”
“She’s sort of moving in with me.”
>
“Oh. Good luck then.” From this angle, I had trouble seeing the numbers on the TV. I’d developed a routine. Look at the TV, look at my phone, look at my watch. I’d have to be a rebel and break the order.
“Yeah. We’ll see how it goes. We’re just getting to know each other.”
A week ago, that probably would’ve sounded more illogical to me than it did right now. Tonight it only rated another grunt and check of my watch.
Eleven on the dot. As soon as I got Slater off the phone, I was calling. Fuck it.
“What about you?”
Ah, what the hell. Might as well tell someone my sordid secret. “I met someone too.”
“No shit? It’s been one hell of a week, huh?” Slater laughed. “You didn’t move her in, did ya?”
“No. I’m going to fight her.”
That statement garnered the silence I was expecting. Who needed flowers and chocolates when you had a cage and gloves?
“You for real?”
“Yeah.”
Blowing out a breath, I told him an abridged version of the story. Leaving out the aborted sidewalk handjob, alley sex, bathtub fingering and post-fencing fuck, of course.
Since we were guys, telling the whole thing would’ve normally taken about a minute. I didn’t have time to embellish as I might have, so the shortened episode ate up approximately thirty seconds interrupted by Slater’s thrice-muttered “dude.”
We hung up after agreeing to meet for lunch tomorrow at KY Burger. It was really called Kool Yum Burger, but that was the dumbest name ever.
It seemed appropriate since I was the dumbest guy ever. Why else would I be calling a woman who hated me to ask about the safety of the woman I’d walked away from?
Using a number I’d sneak-memorized from Mia’s phone the night before and had to try five times to get right, no less.
Kizzy took so long to answer I was about to hang up and try a sixth time. Fuck voicemail. I’d ring right through the side of that bowling bag purse of hers if that’s what it took to get her to answer me.
I wasn’t waiting until morning. I’d show up at Mia’s door first.
