by Ellie Danes
“I left you some breakfast. I'll be back in a few hours.” He placed his lips on my shoulder, then stood and grabbed his bag from the floor. I watched the muscles in his legs as he moved around the room. He looked back at me and blew me a kiss, then he was gone. I snuggled back into the covers, enjoying the warmth that his body had left behind.
* * * * *
I smelled him before I felt him. He smelled of soap and aftershave.
“You gonna sleep all day?” he asked.
“That depends. You gonna let me?” I pulled the pillow over my head.
“Maybe I'll let you stay in bed all day, but I doubt you’ll be getting much sleep.”
I pulled the pillow up, peeking out from under it.
“You are really cute when you’re hiding from me,” he said with a smile.
“I'm not hiding from you, it's still early.”
“It's after ten—that's not early,” he insisted.
“It is for me.”
He laughed as he reached for my foot and pulled me to the end of the bed.
“Get up, lazy bones.” He kissed me softly then released me.
“Why?” I flopped back on the bed.
“I have someone I want you to meet, and we need to get going. I also have an afternoon sparring session, and I'll need to come back here and get loosened up beforehand.”
“Who do you want me to meet?”
“Don't worry about it. You'll see.” He smiled, then walked out of the room.
I reached for my bag and pulled out a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt. When I walked out, he looked me over and handed me an English muffin with bacon and egg on it.
“You need to eat something. You might need your strength later.” He winked.
I gave him a pretend suspicious glare. “I feel like I should be concerned about where you’re taking me now.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Now, eat.”
He fixed me a cup of coffee to go while I chewed on my breakfast. After I was done, he led me out to the Jeep and helped me up into the seat.
“Ready?” he asked.
“I guess I am.”
We drove for about twenty minutes and pulled into the driveway of a nice house that sat on a few acres. A tall man walked out onto the porch, and I suddenly knew where we were. The man looked like an older version of Ryder. He stepped off the porch and made his way over to us.
“Dad, this is Zoey,” Ryder said as his dad reached and pulled him into a hug. When he pulled back, he reached for me and hugged me as well. “Zoey, this is my dad, Chuck Rollins.”
“It's nice to meet the lady who made my son stupid,” he said with a smile.
“Really, Dad?” Ryder chuckled then hit his dad in the shoulder.
“Don't abuse an old man. You see how he treats me?” His dad looked at me, trying to frown. He couldn’t hold the frown, though, and he broke into a huge smile.
“What brings you out here today?” Chuck asked as we made our way up the walkway. He slapped Ryder on the back and opened the door leading into the house.
I stepped inside, hearing them talking but not really listening. I smiled as I took in the dark wood and the rustic feel of the house. Pictures on the wall showed a young Ryder in a football uniform. In another one he held a baseball bat, and in a third one he sat on a pony. I smiled to myself as I looked at his childhood.
“That pony was a bastard,” Ryder said in my ear. The deep timbre caused goose bumps to run down my neck.
“Maybe you were the bastard.” I quipped back at him.
Chuck laughed, and I smiled over at him.
“I like her,” Chuck said. “I can see why she made you stupid.”
“She didn't make me stupid, Pops.”
“She didn't?” He cocked his head to the side and leaned in the doorway. His eyebrow lifted in question.
“Okay, maybe she made me a little stupid.” Ryder sighed and turn away from me. “Damn, Pops, you trying to make me look like a teenage boy who can't handle his emotions?”
Chuck smiled and walked toward him. “You never want a woman you care about questioning how you really feel. Women have a lot of choices, and you are damn lucky if this beautiful one chose you.” He smiled and reached out for my hand taking me into the kitchen.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, ignoring Ryder.
“Water would be great,” I replied, then looked out over the yard at the odd setup. Large wooden beams held sandbags which swung lightly from ropes in the breeze. Other mechanisms had large, torso-sized pads attached—the kind of things football players would run into during practices.
“What’s all that?”
“That's how I keep that kid in there on his toes,” he replied.
“Is that a gauntlet?” I asked.
“It sure is. You want me to tell you a secret?” he asked. When I nodded, he continued, “All these athletes train in a boring building with four walls keeping them safe and secure. But when you’re in the ring or on a field, there is nothing controlled about that situation. If you want real life fighting, then you need real life training. Ryder can be quick on his feet by running on a treadmill, but he can't be quick enough to move away from a punch on a treadmill. When I swing those bags at him, it changes the way he moves. He can bend in ways other fighters can't. It's what makes him better than every other fighter.”
“Wow.” I looked out again.
“You wanna give it a try?” I heard Ryder as he walked into the room.
“Uh, no.” I laughed and moved toward Chuck, taking the glass of water he was offering.
Ryder had changed his clothes and was rolling his shoulders. He looked at his dad and asked, “You think we can do an impromptu run today?”
“Sure,” Chuck replied, then turned to me. “You wanna help?”
I nodded.
“It's a good thing Tristan doesn't know we train like this,” Ryder said. “He might have a coronary.”
“Tristan?” I asked.
“My new agent,” Ryder said. “I’ll introduce you soon.”
Ryder and Chuck laughed as they walked out the door. He was bouncing on his toes, moving his body around. I watched as his muscles stretched and bunched under his shirt. When he walked over to the course, his father moved and explained what I was to do.
I got into place and waited.
When Ryder came barreling toward me, I shoved the large pad out into his way. He ducked and moved to avoid the pad, then hit it as he came back to a standing position. He winked at me before he was hit in the back of the head by a long, padded bar.
“Ow, fuck!” he shouted as he rubbed his head. He cussed when it hit him again.
Chuck laughed. “You’re gonna get hit again if you keep flirting with that lady while you’re training.”
I laughed at his interaction with his father.
Ryder rubbed the side of his head, then turned and moved back through the maze. It was amazing how intricate it was and how his father ran the entire thing from almost one position.
“This is incredible,” I said as I walked over to Chuck.
“I used to be an engineer, and after his mom died I needed something to keep me occupied when he wasn't here. I built it for football, but it actually works better for the fighting.”
“You would think that a run through for fun wouldn't leave me with a bruised ego,” Ryder said as he walked over to us.
“There is no fun workout. If you’re having fun, then you aren't working out properly,” Chuck said.
“I beg to differ, Pops. Some workouts are all about the fun.”
He laughed when I punched him in the arm.
“He’s an asshole—will you marry me?” Chuck offered his arm, and I took it and followed him back in the house.
Chapter Twenty
Tristan
A week before the fight, I made plans to have dinner with Ryder. I had Amy make the reservations at an upscale restaurant near his house. He told me he was bringing s
omeone and I made the assumption that someone would be his dad. I was wrong.
“Tristan,” Ryder said as he reached for my hand. “I would like you to meet my girlfriend, Zoey.” She looked up at me with big green eyes, and I could see why he’d been attracted to her. She was beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way.
“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Thorne,” she said as she took my hand.
“Tristan. Please, call me Tristan. This is Amy.” I turned to pull Amy closer.
“Hi, Zoey. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Amy smiled warmly and shook Zoey’s hand and then Ryder’s.
We chatted about the upcoming fight briefly before the hostess cleared her throat to get our attention. “Your table is ready, Mr. Thorne.”
I turned and placed my hand on Amy’s lower back, guiding her as she followed behind Ryder and Zoey.
Once we were settled, I ordered two bottles of wine, one red and one white.
“So, how are things going?” I asked Ryder, who looked over at Zoey before answering.
“The training is coming together. I had a little bit of a rough patch, but we are right where we want to be.”
“We should hear finals on Pay-per-view next week for the fight in New York, and depending on how you do in the one coming up, it could be a title fight,” I said as I poured white wine around the table.
Ryder covered his cup with his hand and reached for the glass of water.
“So, tell me about Zoey,” Amy said to Ryder as she lifted her glass to her lips.
Zoey started to speak, but Amy stopped her politely. “No, no. I like to hear what the man has to say first. It can be rather telling.” Amy winked at Zoey. “I’ll ask you to fill in the parts he totally screws up. Because there will be some.”
Zoey laughed and looked to Ryder. “Go ahead, babe. Tell the woman about me.”
“There isn't much to tell. She’s kind of boring,” Ryder teased.
Zoey elbowed him lightly in the side.
I watched the way they interacted and knew that he was already a goner. Depending on how he handled having a woman in his life and what kind of woman Zoey was, it could be really bad or really good for his career. I wasn't sure which it was going to be, yet.
“Zoey is a fashion designer in New York and is looking to start her own clothing line someday. While I don't really understand exactly what all that entails, I do know that she is amazing at what she does and when she gets some backing, she’s gonna be a star.” He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it, then looked back over at me.
“You didn’t do half bad,” Zoey said with a smile.
“How do you feel about his career choices, Zoey?” I asked her.
“Tristan,” Amy whispered as if she were trying to redirect my line of questioning. Which she was, but Zoey smiled and answered anyway.
“If it makes him happy, then I will support his decisions. I don't get the whole ‘wanting to give someone the option to punch you in the face’ thing, but hey, his choice.” She laughed, which caused Amy and Ryder to join her.
“You know what would be perfect?” Amy clapped her hands together, commanding everyone’s attention. “What if we got Zoey to design a clothing line for fighters with Ryder’s name somehow incorporated? It gives Ryder a boost in the community, and it gives Zoey a chance to show her stuff.”
I thought about it for a minute and had to admit, it was a good idea for more reasons than marketing strategy. We could get the project funded, and I could keep a closer eye on Zoey. I wanted to make sure she wasn't trying to dick around with my client.
“I don't know.” Zoey seemed to tense up. “I design more of an everyday women’s line. Not really a sporting line for men.”
“It's something we can work toward—we don't have to sign any contracts tonight or figure out the details,” I assured her.
She smiled at me then settled into her chair. I watched as Ryder’s hand found her thigh and gave it a soft squeeze.
“So, tell me how you guys met?” Amy asked.
“She was really good at craps,” Ryder said with a laugh.
“I was. Don't say it like that, they'll think it's a lie.” Zoey lightly smacked his forearm.
“She was rolling the dice and winning, so I got in on the action and won, too. I bought her a drink, and that was that,” Ryder added.
“That's so sweet,” Amy gushed.
“So, you met her in Vegas?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ryder said with a grin. “Believe it or not, she was there for the fight and completely missed mine.”
“I had stepped out for five minutes,” Zoey explained.
The waiter came to the table and interrupted our banter to take our orders. After we gave them, we chatted until our dinner arrived and then for another hour as we enjoyed the wine and a very nice chocolate dessert.
I was glad to see Ryder taking his training seriously. He had eaten all clean foods, no dessert, and had passed on any alcohol. I could tell by his actions that he wanted to keep his people employed and he knew if he deviated from our agreement, then I would bring in other staff to make sure his training went according to plan. I made a lot of promises about what I delivered on my end, but my athletes made the same promises back to me. They were expected to perform at the highest level they could achieve and make sure nothing stood in the way of the goals we had set together for their career.
I guessed that was why having him show up with a woman kind of unnerved me. I wasn't even aware she existed and I had to question why she was in his life. He hadn't told me that he was with anyone, then again, maybe he didn't feel like he had to. As much as I protected my guys from everyone else, sometimes protecting them from themselves was even harder. I didn't want him to be taken advantage of.
While I knew that he would be fine and handle his own love life, I didn't like the idea of my guys being taken advantage of by women who were out to get their money.
After dinner, Amy and I climbed into the car, and she immediately informed me of her thoughts on my behavior at dinner.
“You can't be rude like that.”
I jerked my head toward her. “Excuse me? I wasn't rude.”
“Yeah, you kinda were. You shouldn't have asked some of the questions that you asked. Not everyone is a gold digger, Tristan,” she said calmly.
“I promised to protect my players and sometimes that means protecting them from people that don't have their best interests at heart,” I said.
“There was nothing about Zoey that screamed I'm riding this train for the money. Please.” She looked disappointed in me. “You do realize that your boy isn't famous like Drake, right? It's not like he has a ton of money that she can take. Hopefully, all of this time and effort will pay off, but until she gives you a reason to be a jerk, don't.”
“I didn't mean to come across that way,” I said. And I really hadn’t. I could be a bit harsh at times; it came with the territory.
“Well, you did, and don't do it again,” she said.
“I'll apologize the next time I see her.”
“I don't think you should. Just let it go, and be polite from now on.”
I felt like a giant asshole. I was just trying to get a feel for what kind of person Zoey was—I didn't mean to be that obvious.
Amy chuckled.
“What? Why are looking at me like that?” I asked her.
“You know, you are awfully cute when you’re stressed,” she teased.
“I don't want to give Ryder any reason to try and break his contract with us.”
“He won't. He was just as oblivious to your rudeness as you were, apparently.” I felt her hand on my thigh and the light squeeze she gave me. “It's gonna be fine, I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryder
The next week flew by, and not having to worry about Zoey made everything better—calmer. I wasn't the hot mess I had been and wasn't nearly as stressed or cocky as my fight neared. We’d had two meetings with the press, which had consi
sted mostly of shit-talking each other online. But they’d been worthless from a strategy perspective, and accomplished nothing other than me making Jackson look like a big whiney baby.
Make no mistake, it had been fun messing with him, but his attitude showed that he was out for blood. After that, I wanted more than anything to shut him the hell up, and I was about to get my chance.
I walked into the MGM Grand Arena and took a long, deep breath. Weigh-ins—the last thing before our fight tomorrow. Everything in my life was lining up, and I was ready for the ride. I made my way to my waiting room and sat down. Weigh-ins were in half an hour, and I needed to get my head straight. I asked for some time to myself, pushed my earbuds into place, cranked up the music, and sat down thinking about what this fight could do to my career.
If I lost, it would be a long road to get the momentum back. If I won, I would be in a good position for contention for a title. Winning a title was my ultimate goal.
I chewed the inside of my mouth as I bobbed my head to the music that was playing in my ears. It was a weigh-in, but truth be told, it would be the first eye to eye meeting with Jackson. I had studied his fights for hours over the last few weeks, and I had several plans on how to take him down. I was a better grappler, but he threw harder punches. I was going to have my work cut out for me with this one, I knew that. It wouldn't be a one and done fight, but I was prepared for it.
A few minutes before it was time to head over to weigh-ins, Tristan strode into the room and looked me over.
“You ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” I said as I stood and rolled my shoulders, rocking my head back and forth. I stripped out of my joggers and headed toward the door. Curtis, my dad, and Tristan walked with me down the long corridor.
When I entered the room, flashbulbs went off all around me, and people started cheering. Jackson was already there, waiting for us to arrive. He stepped on the scale and they announced his weight. When he stepped back and moved aside, I stepped forward. I took a deep breath as they recorded my weight. It was really starting to sink in.
