Rose stepped back as she gave Chris a shaky smile. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He wasn’t alone. He had a cameraman and a couple of production people behind him. “What’s all this for?”
“We’re doing a segment on Nick for tonight’s news. Are you okay?”
Rose nodded and sidestepped her brother to push open the glass door. “I’m just in a hurry. I gotta get back to work.”
“Okay, drive safe. You sure you’re not sick or something? You look flushed.”
“Yep. I’m fine,” she said with a smile. She threw him a distracted wave over her shoulder as she headed straight for her car. She was fine. She was not sick. Unless being in a constant state of arousal was a recognized disease now. In which case, she’d just taken a turn for the worse.
CHAPTER 11
Nick watched as she scampered away as fast as she could manage in her ridiculously high heels. He watched her speak to Chris, feeling an irrational tinge of jealousy at how easy and open she was with him. He shook his head. Man, he was losing it. He’d been in a rotten mood since he got to the gym that morning. He had to hear about how the guys had gone out for drinks with Rose at Bar None. Rose this, Rose that. They wouldn’t shut up about her. He suspected they did it on purpose to mess with him, because by now they’d all heard about how Rose was stonewalling him. To them, it was all so fucking hilarious.
He couldn’t get a single date with this woman, and his calls and messages to her all the way from Thailand went unreturned and unanswered. She refused to give him an inch but she had no qualms making friends with his brothers, his teammates, and his trainers. He didn’t like it when girls played mind games with him. But a part of him suspected that Rose wasn’t playing a game, that she meant it every time she told him she wasn’t interested.
But he also wasn’t blind or oblivious. He was aware of how her body reacted to him, was aware of the way she looked at him and watched him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. The attraction was not one-sided. So why the heck was she denying them both?
He watched from the glass walls as Rose’s small hybrid car pulled out of the parking lot. When it disappeared around the corner, Nick finally turned and headed to the lounge where Joe’s pissed-off rants were coming from. His coaches and sparring partners were all huddled around a laptop looking furious.
Joe spotted Nick as soon as he entered and motioned for him to take a seat on the couch. “Watch this,” he said, playing the video clip from the beginning.
Big Ugly’s aptly named face appeared on screen, and he unleashed an angry tirade in that incomprehensible cockney accent of his. But Nick got the message loud and clear.
“His one chance of beating me is by knocking me out. But I can withstand his kicks and punches. He ain’t ever had to fight someone as strong as me. The better wrestler and grappler will win this one. Ain’t no such thing as a lucky headlock or a lucky choke. I will put him on his back and I will submit him. I will fucking end his lucky streak. I will retire him like I did his coach.”
Nick’s eyes darted to Joe’s to get a read on the older man’s mood. He was a damn good coach and he liked his new role. But that heartbreaking loss two years ago to Big Ugly, the last fight of Joe’s professional career, was still a sore subject.
“That guy is out for blood. So quit dicking around and take your training seriously.”
Nick raised a brow at his longtime mentor and friend. He’d never given anyone a reason to doubt his commitment before. If anything, Nick was ruthlessly single-minded about his career. He didn’t give in to the distractions that plagued many fighters and caused their career’s demise. Everything Nick did, even out of the octagon, was calculated, from the parties and events he went to, the products he endorsed, the charities he supported, and—to some extent—even the women he dated. Everything he’d done in the last four years, he did for his image, his brand. The name Lucky Charms had never been more ironic. Luck played no part in all that he’d built.
“Big Ugly is in the best shape he’s ever been. He could really hurt you,” Joe said. “And he fights dirty.”
Nick felt a surge of anger so strong he wanted to crush the laptop with his bare hands, and Big Ugly’s face along with it. He was a dirty fighter, always trying to sneak eye pokes and illegal kicks and elbows. When Joe fought Big Ugly for the heavyweight title, he got caught in a rear naked choke late into the fourth round and, after a valiant struggle, Joe was forced to tap out. Instead of letting go, Big Ugly held on tighter. The referee had to pry his arms off. It had been painful to watch, and Nick was looking forward to avenging his coach and cementing his name as one of the greatest in the sport while he was at it.
For years, Nick dominated the middleweight division, successfully defending his title from legitimate contenders—and he made it look effortless. He could’ve stayed a middleweight. In fact, many people in the sport still thought that was what he should’ve done. But Nick wanted more. He wanted to push himself to the very limits of his skill, endurance, and heart. A part of him also wanted those critics who blamed his success to a series of lucky breaks to finally be silenced.
When the previous light heavyweight champion was stripped of his belt and kicked out of the league for testing positive on performance enhancing drugs, the title was left up for grabs. Nick immediately decided to go after it, despite the advice of his camp and management. Why would he want to risk his pristine record, they’d asked. That was when Nick decided to strike out on his own. He’d always wanted to. That had always been the plan. But this disagreement about his career path had been the last push that he needed.
The move up one weight class had been a rude awakening. His opponents were bigger and stronger than he was used to. Nick managed to hold on to his undefeated streak, but many of the fights had been close. He got the first win by decision of his career and several others followed. Still, he fought his way to a title shot. If successful, he would be the first fighter in the league’s history to hold two concurrent championships.
Colin “Big Ugly” Randall had the same idea. After securing the heavyweight championship belt, he moved down to the light heavyweight division. This faster and leaner Big Ugly dropped his opponents like flies. He was heavily favored to win against Nick.
Since both Lucky Charms—what a stupid fucking name—and Big Ugly made the move to light heavyweight, fans of MMA waited with bated breath until the two reigning champions would finally meet in the octagon. In three weeks, they were about to get their wish.
The build-up to the fight had been ridiculous. If Nick was the prince charming of MMA, with his good looks and squeaky clean reputation, Big Ugly was a fitting anti-hero. The British-born fighter was large and brutish with a cruel face and a body covered with tattoos. His career had been more inconsistent, with stunning losses and even more stunning comebacks. But he was considered one of the best pound-for-pound fighters and the best grappler the sport had ever seen.
“No one stays undefeated forever,” Nick said in an even voice.
The other guys looked at him in disbelief. Those were not the words they were expecting from their champion. This fight was crucial, possibly the most important one of Nick’s career. This was his first title fight with his new camp, so it wasn’t just his reputation on the line.
“You shouldn’t entertain such defeatist thoughts, Nick,” Joe said with a worried frown. “We’re working our asses off right alongside you because we believe in your chances.”
“But it’s true, I’m gonna lose eventually.” He looked at Joe and the other men who had sweated and bled just as much as he had in the last five weeks and would continue to do so in the three remaining weeks of training camp. “But not to him. Not to Big Ugly.”
It took a lot to thrive in this brutal sport. There was absolutely no room for self-doubt. You either believed you’re better than the man you were going into the cage with or you might as well throw in the towel. Nick had been telling himself he was the best from the get go, even back when he
didn’t have anything to show for it. He kept telling himself he was the best until he believed it, until he started acting like it, and until other people believed it, too.
“Come fight night, I will step inside that octagon and Big Ugly’s gonna be just another victim.” He flashed them a smile of pure smugness. “I got this.”
Joe nodded, satisfied, then fixed Nick with a stern look. “No more distractions,” he said meaningfully.
Nick didn’t even pretend not to know what or who he meant. One corner of his lips turned up in a sheepish smile. “I got this,” he repeated, this time a touch uncertain. The truth was, he’d never been more off-balanced about a girl before—and in the middle of fuckin’ training camp at that! No two ways about it, Rose was bound to be his undoing. Now why in hell didn’t that thought fill him with dread?
CHAPTER 12
“What’s wrong with you?” Paolo said, nodding to a girl who’d been trying to catch Nick’s eye as she shimmied on the dance floor with her girlfriends. “She’s so hot for you. That’s a sure thing right there.”
They were celebrating Angelo’s 24th birthday in a hip new club that was admittedly full of gorgeous women. Many were throwing interested glances at their group. Most of the guys had already taken their pick and were tearing it up on the dance floor while Nick hung back on the L-shaped couch in the club’s VIP section. His brothers and his teammate Rafael, who were taking a break from dancing or trying to pick up women—or who knew what else they’d been up to—sat with him. Normally, this was the kind of thing he’d be into on a Friday night even in the middle of training camp.
He loved women, plain and simple. He loved how they looked and how they smelled. He loved flirting with them and watching them light up from his attentions. He loved it when they fawned over him and babied him. Mostly, he got off on rocking a woman’s world so good and knowing that no other man would come close to being good enough. Maybe it was an ego thing. Either way, Nick treated women like queens, whether it was his own mother, a waitress paid to wait on him, someone he was chatting up in a bar, or someone he was dating—especially someone he was dating. He liked laying on the charm thick, but he wasn’t exactly some playboy womanizer who refused to be tied down to one woman. He would’ve been perfectly fine if any of his relationships progressed into something serious. As such, through no one’s fault, none of them did. He always broke it off as gently as he could. He couldn’t stand not being on good terms with anyone he was once involved with. It made him feel like a prized jerk. Plus, if his mother ever heard that any of her sons didn’t treat a girl right, she’d have their balls on a plate.
The girl Paolo had been referring to broke off from her group on the dance floor and came straight at them. “Hey, you wanna dance?” she said, sounding a little out of breath. She was tall, willowy, and very blonde. Her short white dress hugged her lithe body and her long hair fell down in loose waves. She had a sexy and innocent vibe going that Nick usually found appealing.
He gave her an apologetic smile. He was too busy to dance or to flirt. He was too busy waiting for someone he wasn’t even sure was going to show up. It was getting kind of late, but in case she did show up, Nick didn’t want to be seen dancing with another woman. Rose had enough reservations about him. He didn’t want to give her any more.
“You don’t wanna dance with me, beautiful. I’m just gonna step on your feet. But my friend here is an excellent dancer.” He nodded to Rafael, who was seated beside him.
Whatever sting that rejection must’ve brought her disappeared when she got a good look at the handsome Brazilian. Rafael gamely stood up and said something to her in that smooth accent which made her giggle. Then he took her hand and led her back to the dance floor.
“She wasn’t really my type,” Nick explained with a shrug to his brothers, who were gaping at him.
“Not your type? But everything with a pussy’s your type.”
“Drop it, P,” Angelo said, sparing Nick the trouble of replying. “He’s really into Rose.” He paused, waiting for Nick to confirm or to refute. “I mean, you’re always looking at her,” he added when Nick still didn’t say anything. “And I don’t mean just her womanly parts.”
“All her parts are womanly parts,” Paolo said with a suggestive grin. “That ass—”
“Watch it,” Nick warned, turning serious.
His brothers laughed.
“We’re just messing with you, Nicky. Rose is cool. I like her. She’s such a ball buster though,” Paolo said with a regretful shake of his head.
“That she is,” Nick agreed, although more fondly. Now where the heck was she?
****
“Hey, you wanna dance?”
Rose paid a split-second glance at the tall guy with dreadlocks who spoke to her then went back to scanning the dance floor. “No, thanks. I’m just looking for someone.”
“So was I. I think I just found her.”
Rose turned to give him an incredulous look. Did that cheesy line actually work on some girls? “Sorry, I’m not interested,” she said.
“C’mon. A drink then, if you don’t wanna dance.”
“She’s with me,” said a cold voice just as Rose was about to reply. She turned and saw Nick standing close. His body language was unmistakably meant to stake his claim on her and to warn the other man away.
“Sorry, dude,” dreadlocks said, stepping back politely with hands raised, a gesture of deference to the unmistakable alpha. “I didn’t know she was taken.”
“No, actually,” Rose said, looking pointedly at Nick. “I’m not taken. But I’m still not interested,” she added to dreadlocks. “You need to check your entitlement and learn to respect when a woman tells you no.”
He backed away, but not before shooting Nick a sympathetic look.
“Wow, you really know how to win people over to your feminist cause,” Nick said with a low, teasing laugh. He stepped back to scan her from head to foot. “You look real pretty tonight. I mean you always do, but…” His smile was pure male appreciation as he took her all in.
As angry as she was with him, Rose was glad she made the extra effort with her appearance. She’d chosen a fitted grey dress, black fishnet stockings, and tall brown boots. She wore a little more make-up than usual, giving her eyes a thick cat-eye flick. “I don’t need your validation,” she snapped. She could lie to him all she wanted, but she couldn’t lie to herself. She knew exactly who she got all gussied up for, and it mortified her to no end. “And I don’t appreciate it when people speak for me when I can very well speak for myself.”
Nick regarded her with an innocent, quelling look that angered her even more.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it didn’t look like you wanted him hitting on you. I was giving you an out.”
“By asserting your ownership over me in front of another man to get him to leave me alone? Was your masculinity challenged when you saw him poaching?” she scoffed at him. “Please don’t use me as a pawn in your male rituals of dominance.”
Nick swore softly and inhaled, slow and deep, as if trying to conjure up the patience to deal with her. “I was just trying to help.”
“What you were doing was perpetuating this construct that a man’s word is more valid than a woman’s. That a man should respect another man’s claim to a woman, as if she’s his property, instead of respecting what she has to say for herself.”
Nick wisely chose not to say anything more, and for a long while they just looked at each other, two pairs of dark eyes flashing and two tempers simmering.
He spoke first. “I’m gonna go sit over there,” he said, pointing to an unoccupied couch in a relatively quiet area of the club, the farthest away from the crowded dance floor. “I hope you join me. I want you to join me. I wanna have a drink with you and have a normal conversation with you where you don’t dress me down or spout random shit from your feminist manifesto. But maybe I better wait for you to come to me so you’ll quit acting like I’m forcing myself on you
and I’ll quit feeling like an ass for it.” He took a step back. “I won’t wait the whole night.”
Rose watched him go, taking her anger with him and leaving her with a hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she overreacted a little. Alright, she overreacted, period. God, what was wrong with her? Couldn’t she shut off her feminist brain on an odd Friday night long enough to flirt with a man who was clearly interested in her?
She frowned and gave her head a sad shake. The truth was she couldn’t. She wasn’t good at compartmentalizing. No one who saw what she did day in and day out would be. Running a women’s crisis center was not exactly a fun job. It was gratifying in its own way, and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She loved knowing they made a difference, made life a little easier for women who had been through so much. But not every case file that came across her desk had a happy ending. Not every woman who walked into their small office got the help she deserved, no matter how hard they all tried. It wasn’t the kind of job that she could just clock in and out off. It was part of who she was, the part that saw threats when there weren’t any and took offense when none was meant. If there was one thing her job had taught her, it was that every man, even the nicest, most harmless looking ones, had the potential to hurt a woman. All of them. The moment you let a man close, you were vulnerable.
Nick was sitting on the couch, waiting, just as he said he would. He had his back to Rose and she watched with irrational jealousy as a group of women approached him, all carefree and full of laughing, flirty mischief. A tiny part of her wished she could be that kind of girl for him, because honestly, he was probably one of the good ones. But Rose was practical and a realist, and she and Nick were quite simply a bad fit for each other. So be it. She never allowed herself to believe otherwise anyway.
One of the women bent over while Nick whispered something in her ear. She waited to see what he would do next. Would he rebuff her, or would he decide Rose was more trouble than she was worth and move on? Just then a guy stepped in front of Rose, blocking her view.
Submission Moves: An MMA Romance Page 8
