by JJ Knight
My mouth goes dry. He means the other girl. The one whose abrupt disappearance made him start losing fights.
“I can’t believe she would take it either,” I say. I don’t know why I’m defending her, but I can’t imagine anyone letting Colt go.
Colt goes so still that I think I’ve said the wrong thing. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to upset him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should just shut my mouth.”
Colt turns away from the window to look at me again. “No, you should always tell me what you feel.” He picks up his bottle of orange juice and stares at the liquid sloshing inside. “Doesn’t matter if she took the money or not. She left.”
I roll up the half-eaten bagel in the paper wrapper. I can’t stomach any more. Maybe Colt still loves that girl. Maybe he always will.
Colt sits back in his chair. “I know what we should do,” he says. “Feel like a workout?”
“Sure.” Hitting a punching bag sounds perfect.
He calls for the Mercedes. When it arrives, the driver hands Colt the keys and takes off on the Harley.
I’ve never been in the front seat of this car, or ridden with Colt when he drives. He seems too large for the space behind the wheel. I inhale. The car always smells new and clean, like leather and fresh fabric. Like money. That other girl, if she got paid to leave, must have thought she didn’t have a future with Colt. It’s not like he’s poor.
Unless rejecting the money meant you got threatened by Colt’s father. Maybe the bribe was only the first stage of the intimidation. I didn’t stick around to find out.
Colt shifts the seat back and maneuvers out onto the boulevard.
“Where are we headed?” I ask.
“Someplace too far to ride on a bike.”
I settle back against the seat. Interesting. Colt obviously wants to surprise me, so I just watch out the windows to sense his direction.
We drive away from the center of LA. When we hit Highway 101, I know where we’re going. “Santa Barbara?” I ask, my voice catching. Are we going to confront his father?
He nods. “You got it.”
“To see your dad?” I can barely get the words out.
“No, no. Hell, no.” Colt reaches across the seat to squeeze my hand. “I want you to see my gym.”
“Long way to go to punch a few bags.”
He breaks into his first genuine smile of the morning. “Or something.” His hand lets go of mine and slides up my thigh.
My body instantly reacts. I remember that first time he touched me in the fighting cage at Buster’s. My anticipation inches up another notch. Colt might have another moment like that in mind.
The drive is relaxed and easy. This part of California inspires anyone who travels through it. We chatter about the view, and the places where Colt grew up. I find out more about his mother, a society lady whose fling with Colt’s father caused a huge scandal at the time.
“Do you ever see your half sisters?” I ask.
“Only when they need money,” he says.
“Do you help them?”
“Always. It’s bad enough my dad was such a douche to them.”
I reach out to run my hand along the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m glad you’re the good guy.”
The highway veers to the west in Ventura, and my nerves jangle a little. For all the years I’ve lived in LA, I’ve never really ventured beyond the city. The trees are different here, and the highway is lined with flowering plants. Like people care what the roadsides look like.
“I assume you’ve been to the ocean, living so close,” Colt says.
“Once or twice.” Zero and I have made rare trips to the beach.
“Well, you’re about to be back.”
He points out his side window just as the trees thin out and the landscape flattens to reveal the sea.
“I don’t ever let it get old,” Colt says. “No matter how many times I drive along the ocean’s edge, I never take the view for granted.”
The water is a deep blue-green, and the sky is almost white. It’s cold out, so the narrow strips of beach are empty, even so close to Seaside Park.
We wind along the highway, around hills and cliff sides. The wind occasionally buffets the car as we come around a curve. I sit forward in my seat so I can see better, my hands braced on the dash like a little kid. This amuses Colt. He seems pleased to be bringing me here.
Eventually the road leads away from the ocean and into Santa Barbara. We exit and turn down a long street that looks like it belongs in a fantasy world. Huge planters filled with flowers splash color everywhere. The shops look like fancy houses with stucco walls and tiled roofs. Even the buildings drip with vines and leaves.
We pass a Brazilian jujitsu academy nestled next to a high-end clothing store. “Is your gym open to the public?” I ask.
“No, it’s inside the family compound.”
My chest tightens again. “Does your dad live there?”
“Yes, but he’s in New York right now.”
“Do you live there?” I know so little about his life outside the few places we’ve been together.
“One wing of the main house is considered mine, but no, I don’t live there. I have a condo on the opposite side of town.” He flashes another of his wicked smiles. “You want to go there first?”
My heart speeds up. I have never been to any place of his. “I’m happy to go anywhere.”
“Let’s drop by the gym.” He pulls up to a stoplight. “I think you’ll like it.”
We wind through more narrow streets until we come to a high stucco wall topped with brick. Colt pulls up to an enormous set of iron gates, which open for him automatically.
Nothing prepares me for what is inside. I know that professional boxers at the level of Colt’s father make a lot of money in their prime. The multi-million-dollar payouts, the sponsorships and commercials. I seem to remember The Cure hawking cologne at some point. But this is on a scale I could not have imagined.
A circle drive with a fountain in its center leads to a mansion. It is the same light stucco as the walls, with curved orange tiles on the roof. It’s majestic but relaxed, like a hacienda. Colt parks in front of the massive front doors. “It’s easier to cut through the house,” he says.
My heart hammers again. What if he’s wrong, and his father is around? I can’t imagine having to confront that man again after jumping out of his limo.
I sit there too long, fretting. Colt comes around the car and opens the door. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “Most of the staff is off Sundays. The only person who might be around is my mother.”
“Your mother?!” A whole new panic sizzles through me. “Can I change my mind and see your condo instead?”
He extends a hand to help me out. “You take on people named Mad Mary in a cage. You can handle my mother.”
I reach self-consciously for my hair. I’m not good at braiding it myself, so I just left it down. I’m wearing an old pair of jeans and a hoodie. At least I put on the red Toms instead of my ratty sneakers.
Colt wiggles his fingers. Finally I take his hand and step out of the Mercedes. I should feel like a princess coming out of a carriage, but instead I’m quite sure I look like one of the ugly stepsisters. An impostor heading for the ball.
Colt waves a little fob on his keychain at the front door, and it pops open. We enter a grand foyer with dual stairs winding up to a second-floor landing. Everything is spotless and magazine perfect. “I got my first concussion right here,” Colt says. He taps his foot on a big square tile at the base of one of the staircases. He points at the ornate iron handrail. “This used to be a wood banister. I started sliding down it when I was about six.”
“Until you fell?”
He nods. “I caught air at the bottom and landed headfirst on the floor.”
“Crazy kid.”
He continues across the room. “Back this way.”
He leads me through a bright kitchen with appliances th
at would rival the restaurants I’ve worked in. Then out a back door.
The main path leads to a pool with a small hut beside it. To the right are three smaller buildings that look like miniature versions of the main house. Colt leads me to the left, toward a larger structure.
“We’re coming in the back side of the gym,” Colt says. “Around front is a separate entrance for trainers and staff to enter.”
“Does anyone else train here besides you?” I ask.
“Brittany used to, although she isn’t here much anymore now that she’s the queen of lipstick,” Colt says. “And I have two sparring partners who are working their way up to UFC.”
He waves his fob at this door and pushes it open. The gym is dark inside. There are almost no windows.
Colt flips on the lights. They come on in stages. I suck in a breath.
It’s amazing.
A pro fighting cage is in the center of the room, a pristine white hexagon with black stairs. A line of punching and kick bags in every size and weight hang along one wall. Another wall holds a gorgeous assortment of kettlebells. I recognize the ones from Buster’s and rush over to them. “My babies!”
Colt chuckles. “I asked them not to take those. I can send them back.”
I kneel down in front of them. It’s probably foolish to have such an attachment to them, but I do. “I’ve missed them.”
“They reminded me of you.” Colt drops to his knees beside me.
I run my hand along the colorful round weights. Yellow ten-pounders. Orange twenties.
I look up at Colt. “I’m so glad I went to Parker’s fight.”
Colt wraps his arms around me. “I am too.” He pulls me in close. “What made you go? You know the fighter?”
“No, Lani did. She dragged me there.” I remember suddenly how odd she acted after the match, and how she disappeared when Colt showed up. “You know, I think she knew you were coming.”
Colt loosens his grip. “I don’t know her.”
“She kept looking around. We were supposed to go see Parker after, but we didn’t.” I feel a strange buzz inside me, like I should have recognized these connections before.
“He definitely made a show of looking for you after the fight. I assumed you two were an item.”
I turn to look at Colt’s face, worried I will see that anger there again. “I only met him that day. Lani insisted. He was so…interested in me. It felt strange.”
Colt stands up, bringing me with him. “You think it was some sort of setup?”
I try to shake off my unease. “Maybe she knew you would notice. She sort of saw what I was going through, after they took all the equipment.” I don’t want to say any more.
“If she knew where I was, though, wouldn’t she have just told you?” Colt asked.
He’s right. I’ll have to ask Lani about this. “I think she’s a friend. She’s been there since my first day.”
He nods. “Well, it worked. We found each other.” He holds me tight against his chest. “So, you want to see my cage?” His voice rumbles through my body, and the heat rushes through me again.
I look up at him. His hazel eyes are very brown in this light, with only a trace of green. “Maybe,” I say. “If you’re willing to go a round with me.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You sure about that?”
I kick off my shoes. “You too chicken to fight a girl?”
He knocks his boots away, still holding on to me. “It would be a first.”
I whirl out of his grasp, pulling my hoodie over my head and tossing it on the floor. “You’re not going to be able to kick very well in those tight jeans,” I say.
“You’re right.” He unbuckles his belt. “You have the same problem.”
I look down. “I do.”
He unzips his pants and steps out of them.
I giggle. “By the bulge in those boxers, you may have another weak spot.”
He growls and charges at me. “You’re my weak spot.”
I land an elbow in his belly, just hard enough to make my point. “Take it to the cage, Gunner.”
He steps away and shrugs out of his jacket. “Ladies first.”
I push my jeans down. Colt strips off his sweater. He’s down to his boxers, and I’m in just a T-shirt and panties. I head for the stairs to the cage.
Colt follows me up. When I open the door, his hand slides between my thighs, moving up until he cups me hard between the legs. “No rules?” he asks.
I can feel my heartbeat pulsing through my body. “No rules.”
He lets go, and I step onto the platform. It’s a beautiful ring, perfect mesh with wide holes for visibility and heavy pads on the support bars.
Colt steps up behind me. “I think I’m wearing more clothes than you.” He reaches for the bottom of my T-shirt.
I whip around and whack him in the thigh with a hearty side kick. “You’ll have to take it off me.”
“Challenge accepted,” he says. His smile nearly knocks me off balance.
We circle each other a moment. “You’re just a machine gunner,” I say. “Your ground game sucks.”
He laughs. “You don’t weigh enough to hold down a half-dead grasshopper.”
I’m so anxious to get to him, it’s hard to focus. But I want him to bring me down. And I want to go down fighting.
I charge, and he doesn’t avoid me, but lets me come. We’re not wearing gloves, so this isn’t a punching game, but I land a jab to his rock-hard stomach anyway.
He reaches for my waist and neatly flips me up and over his shoulder. But he doesn’t expect my ability to get out of tough spots. When I knee him in the lower back, his surprise means he loosens his grip just enough that I can slither down and back to the floor.
“Nice,” he says. He’s concentrating now. I can see it in the set of his jaw.
“I’ve been practicing while you were gone.”
“I see that.”
He takes a proper fighter stance, right leg back. I can see his kick coming from a mile away, and when it comes, I duck under and shove hard with my shoulders under his thigh. He catches himself before falling back, but it gives me time to sprint away.
“Also nice,” he says.
“Who are they letting in title fights these days?” I ask. “Back when I was —” I don’t get to finish because Colt has rushed me and I’m over his shoulder again. Instead of standing, though, this time he drops to his knees. Before I can even realize what’s happening, he’s on me and my shirt is up to my neck.
I squirm and kick and rain punches to his jaw, but I’m like a bee buzzing around a rock. He pins my legs with his knee, and the T-shirt is tossed against the mesh.
“Still too many clothes,” he says.
My bra fastens in the back. When he rolls me over to reach for it, I land a solid elbow to his chin and break free.
Within an instant, I’m standing again. He stays on the ground, watching me. “I like this,” he says. “I like it a lot.”
“Come and get me,” I say. “Come on, big bad MMA fighter boy.”
He lunges like a panther, going from sitting to across the cage in a blur. But I know he’s coming and leap for another spot. He flies into the mesh. “The bigger they are, the slower they move,” I say.
Colt gives a mighty growl and lunges for me again. This time, he catches me, and by the time I can find any wriggle room, my bra has hit the cage floor.
“Two can play that game,” I say.
He has his arms around my waist, but I heave my head down and reach between my knees for his boxers. I grasp the bottoms and yank.
I feel his erection spring against my thighs.
Colt drops to his knees, crushing me against the floor of the cage. His mouth is on the back of my neck, biting me in hard little nips. Every emotion turns, and now I have to have him. I need him now.
He feels it too, as he doesn’t even play nice with my panties, but rips them off with a snap. His hands come beneath me, molding my breasts
.
His knee goes between mine and spreads them wide. Before I can even guess his next move, he’s thrust inside me, and I’ve screamed.
I’ve never rushed so hard, or felt so desperate for anything. I brace myself on my elbows and work with him, crashing backward against his body. We’ve never done anything so forceful, so hard. I’m crazed, blasting with energy and reckless abandon.
He turns me over, lifting my leg so I straddle him face to face. He stands up, still inside me, kicking the boxers off his ankles. He backs up against the mesh wall of the cage. “Hold on,” he says.
I scramble to reach for one of the high braces, grasping it through the wide holes in the mesh. Colt pulls out of me, spreading my thighs wide, and kneels down. My legs go on his shoulders, and I hold on to the cage brace for balance. He buries his face between my legs, and his tongue spears me.
The room beyond the cage is a blur of color and shapes. Colt moves me up and down with his strong arms, his mouth tight against me. I’m hopeless now, lost, unable to think about anything but the pleasure radiating through my body. My muscles tighten, and I start to orgasm, weightless, flying, clinging to the cage like a butterfly on a wall.
My voice echoes in the room, crying Colt’s name. The need to weep overwhelms me. As I come down, Colt lets my legs slowly drop. He stands up again, his mouth inching up my body as he goes. When I’m secure around his waist again, he tugs my hands away from the mesh. We fall together toward the floor of the cage. By the time we’ve landed, he’s inside me again, moving with long, luxurious strokes.
The platform gives a little as Colt works over me. He cradles my head in his hands. I wrap my legs around his back. I’ve never known anything like this, never knew it even existed. I’m completely lost in him.
He feathers kisses along my ear as he slows his rhythm down. I can catch my breath now, my chest settling down from the frantic gulps for air I needed against the mesh. His shoulders bulge with his movements, and I’m mesmerized by the shifting muscles. The tattoo ringing his bicep marks each stroke. I never want this to end.
My fingers slip through his blonde hair. He hasn’t shaved all weekend, and his cheeks are rough with stubble. It’s Sunday and tomorrow will be another long week without him. I can barely stand to think about it.
