Don’t You Dare: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance

by Claire St. Rose

  “I guess this is goodbye for now,” Alice said as she turned to Micah. His coach and manager argued to the side about outfits for the first evening. “Should I wish you good luck?”

  She smiled gingerly, yet her brows remained furrowed in sadness. She had expected that she wouldn’t be allowed to go much further with him outside the airport, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to handle this forced separation. All she wanted was to watch him take the stage. She knew he wanted that too.

  He took her body into his, wrapping the lengths of his wingspan around her small frame. She inhaled his scent and kissed the exposed skin of his chest. They shared one kiss, each lingering to the end of it as if making a promise. He released her without warning, as he spun on his heels and headed straight forward as Lucy ran through interview questions and Chris talked shop.

  Alice was left alone with the bags, waiting for someone to come walk her through this new type of life.

  Once she arrived at the hotel, she sank into the wide, king-size bed. She ran herself a bubble bath in the whirlpool tub, and a television in the bathroom allowed her to catch the tail end of the news. As the announcer flipped their attention to sports, she cringed as she caught sight of herself trailing behind Micah at the Chicago airport. The reporter talked about the disruption he had caused ahead of his fight—at one point calling it a circus. Whomever did the scouting at the security line had sold a pretty far out story.

  She flipped through the sports channels, hoping to see live coverage of the match’s pre-show festivities. There was always the ceremonial weigh-in, the head to head matchups, and the individual and joint press conferences. Neither would be on until later that evening, ahead of the actual match according to the announcer.

  A knock came on her door while she was still in her tub. She leapt up, grabbing a plush robe and towel to wrap around her body and hair as she rushed to the door. Looking through the tiny peephole, she could make out several people. Each were dressed in the hotel’s official blue shirts and white bottoms.

  She opened the door a crack as the gang leader, a meek and mild woman stepped forward. “Ms. Anderson? Mr. Anderson has requested that we were to come give you a massage, a manicure, and pedicure in room. Would you like to do that now or should we come back at a better time?”

  Stunned, Alice welcomed them in, as her day of pampering began. It was totally unexpected and thrilling. Never had Alice been treated to something as luxurious as this. She let them do their magic, as staff member after staff member entered and exited her room with a flurry of new gadgets and treatments she had never even heard of.

  But it was the box that really made Alice stop in her tracks. A man, not dressed in the hotel’s uniform, arrived just about two hours before she was to leave for the match. He placed the white, oblong box on her hotel’s bed and opened the contents with his white, pristine gloved hands. Carefully, he pulled out a gold, glittering dress, a pair of sling back heels, and a dazzling chocolate gold necklace with matching earrings.

  Once the clothing was laid out, he handed her a note jotted down in Micah’s messy handwriting: For the woman I love who has always sparkled in the crowd.

  The concierge took her into the bathroom’s dressing area and assisted Alice, as she tried on the gown. A hairstylist and makeup artist followed soon after, all at Micah’s request. As she walked out of the room, the rest of the staff stopped to gasp at the gown and Alice in her full glory.

  Her car came soon after the staff had left her. As she confidently walked the hallways of the hotel, she watched as heads turned in awe—all eyes planted on the girl in the golden dress. She had never received such attention in her life. It felt almost as if she was back at home as a small child trying on her mother’s party dresses. This is just pretend, her subconscious reminded herself. Tomorrow this all goes away.

  The black limo pulled up to the glittering stadium just in time. She could hear the familiar roar of the crowds as the first fight was being introduced from her entrance in the VIP area. As she was escorted into the stadium, she passed the locker rooms where she knew Micah waited impatiently. She could imagine him pacing back and forth as he and his team of coaches attempted to both calm him down and psyche him up at the same time. There was nothing more that she wanted than to be there with him, resting her head on his shoulder and stroking the small of his naked back as she whispered that she loved him no matter what happened that night.

  But tonight, her place was with the other VIP family members of the fighters. As she took her seat nearest to the black metal of the octagon ring, she took note of the other women she was placed by. All were dressed as equally fine as her. They looked on passively as if this was just another day. They chatted amongst themselves or with the few celebrities scattered behind them.

  Alice, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel the sickening butterflies in her chest—the same she experienced the first time she watched Micah fight at Tiger Sports Arena back home. The program she was given was nervously ripped to fine shreds of confetti by her within minutes. She just wanted this to be over.

  As the final bell rang on the preceding match, she began to scan the room once more, hoping to snag a glimpse at her fighter as he waited in the wings. But her view was quickly blocked by the thrones of cameras and reporters who suddenly perched themselves directly in front of her. The masses seemed to scream at her, thrusting microphones in her face.

  “What happened at the airport today, Miss Cross?”

  “Alice Cross, are you the girl from the quarterfinals?”

  “How long have you been seeing Micah? Do you think your relationship is gonna ruin his fight?”

  They were like vultures swarming about her, waiting for a moment of weakness to spring on her. She spun her body wildly to the side, attempting to avoid them, but she was trapped in her leather seat. She instinctively shouted, “No comment!” as if she had practiced it a million times. From her side, she could hear the other VIP women laugh. Alice was obviously new and her inability to handle something so routine to them was pathetically humorous.

  Suddenly, the group of reporters kneeling before her parted, as she was trampled by security guard. He made room for Lucy, who grabbed the empty seat next to Alice. She looked bemused but irritated, as she looked at Alice up and down, the camera lights still flashing blinding lights in her eyes.

  “Where in the world did you get that dress?” Lucy certainly didn’t want to take Alice shopping.

  Alice stammered, “Micah… Micah sent it to me in my hotel room.”

  Lucy planted a fake, sickening smile upon her face and turned towards her. She leaned in and whispered into Alice’s ear, “You need to go. You need to go, NOW.”

  Alice was taken aback. She couldn’t understand what was going on. This wasn’t her doing. She just came to the event, wore the dress, and took the seat. Everything that followed was not hers to blame.

  Lucy continued, “We told you to lay low. We told you to hang out. This spectacle you created is just going to take away from Micah. We need you to slip out of here and head back to the hotel. Can you do that?”

  Alice was conflicted. As the ring was being cleared for Micah’s match, she could finally spot her boyfriend waiting in the wings to be announced. She sat up straighter, hoping he would see her, hoping that he could do something for her, but he had his head down and his earphones in. She was just an afterthought in this moment.

  Alice looked back at Lucy, smiled, and then nodded. Loudly, so that the remaining press could hear, she exclaimed, “Lucy, can you show me to the restroom?” Lucy grabbed onto her arm and led her to the VIP area where she left her without saying another word. Then, Lucy straightened the black suit dress she wore and returned back into the stadium. Through the quickly shutting doors, Alice could make out Micah’s name being announced via the booming loudspeakers.

  “Miss Cross?” An older man dressed in a black and white suit tapped her on her shoulder. “I was instructed to call the car for you.
It’s waiting outside. Would you like me to escort you there?”

  Alice sucked in air, as she turned her back on the stadium’s door and the sound of the crowd chanting Micah’s name. “No. I can find it.”

  Chapter 30: Return Tickets

  The stadium slowly slipped out of Alice’s sight, as her driver made the turn back on the interstate. The flashing neon lights and the noise of the venue drifted away as rain began to slowly fall on the car’s tinted windows.

  Alice sat back in the leather seats unsure what her reaction to being nearly kicked out of her boyfriend’s semifinal fight should be. On one hand, she felt robbed of the opportunity, but on the other, she could not help but feel some kind of guilt for not being there. She could not have anticipated that her showing up in a gorgeous gown and some stellar jewelry was going to create a media circus. Really, if she showed up in anything, Alice figured, she would still be attracting those goons. Had Lucy really made a big deal of it? And what would the press say when they notice that Alice did not return to watch the match after slipping out the back VIP area?

  More importantly, what would Micah say? He wanted her to be there. He put in the effort to have her dress the part of his woman, to make her feel wanted and loved. Yet, here she was in the back of the car, completely unaware of what was going on in the ring. Her mind raced, as she struggled to think of the scenarios that were about to play out when he returned to the hotel to find her there.

  Alice was rolling down the divider of the limo to ask her driver if he knew how to get the sports radio stations so she could follow along with the match when she heard her phone buzz inside her handbag. Scanning the number in her memory, her heart leapt a bit as she fumbled to press the receive button.

  Her voice was anxiously shaky. “Hello, this is Alice…”

  “Ms. Cross? Detective Crighton. We need you to come to the police station immediately. There have been some developments.” The way he elongated the word developments somehow made Alice even more hopeful that this was the call she had spent months praying for now.

  “Um, well, I'm actually in Chicago right now. I was planning on being here till at least Tuesday.” That is, if Micah actually wins his match tonight and makes it to the final round. “But I can fly back if necessary.”

  Alice waited as the detective pondered what her course of action should be. He typically didn’t care if he inconvenienced anyone, but this case was hot and nearly solved. The only thing he needed was for his one witness to make the final call. His voice was firm and sterile, as he said, “Yes, I think that’s best. I’m here until two o’clock in the morning and from noon through ten o’clock tomorrow night. I'll expect you unless I hear from you.”

  She heard the man hang up, as she was left to try to decide what to do next. She could return to her hotel and wait for Micah’s approval to leave, or she could just forge ahead and cut her losses. If she left tonight, she could at least avoid Micah’s potential anger over her not being at the match.

  Alice looked down at her phone and, with resolve, started composing a text. She would need to keep it short, sweet, but urgent. He probably wouldn’t understand either way, but she had to try: I am so sorry for leaving the match. Got a call from police. New developments with case. Wants me to go back to Steubenville tonight. Call me ASAP. Headed to airport NOW.

  She then gave instructions to the driver as she called the card left in her bag for the concierge to deliver Micah a message. In case Micah missed her text messages, she wanted to be sure that he knew where she had gone when he returned to the hotel to find it empty. Everything else, her bags, her clothing, her belongings, could wait for another time. All that mattered to Alice was getting back home as soon as possible.

  The last flight out to Steubenville was at nine thirty that night. As she waited for the airline’s booking agent to book her tickets, she watched the large screen television from her spot in line.

  A familiar face caught her attention. He was covered in blood, mouthpiece dangling from his lips, and his eyes both bruised black and blue. Alice stepped towards the television struggling to figure out what had happened. The closed captioning was behind, as she struggled to put the typed words to the images the screen was showing.

  Finally, she read, “After three bloody and gruesome rounds, Micah Anderson was named victor via a majority decision. He will be back in the octagon in just two days’ time back here in Chicago. This time, he will have to take down former champion, Kelly O’Day. And if this match showed fans anything, it was that Micah Anderson is one to watch.”

  “Ma’am? Miss Cross?” Alice spun back around towards the desk, as the ticket agent handed her a printed ticket and pointed towards the security gate. She had only about thirty minutes to make it across the airport to board. It gave her little time to think about Micah, his victory, or the fact she was leaving him behind as she returned home.

  As she waited in line at security checkpoints, she continued to check her phone, hoping for something, anything to come through from Micah. The agony over not knowing if he knew where she was or that she even cared made her heart lurch in her chest. She longed to call him, but she knew that he would be distracted with the press conferences, the victory parties, and the media storm.

  Alice boarded the plane quickly. She avoided the eyes of her fellow passengers, as she sat in coach still decked out in her glittery gold gown and huge pieces of jewelry. It was not like she had time to change into a travel appropriate outfit. This would just have to do for now.

  Luckily, the flight was short, but sweet—a mere two hours from takeoff to landing. She quickly dialed Jeffrey’s number hoping he would be around to pick her up, but she knew that he most likely was with another client or perhaps taking the week off with his primary customer out of town. No answer—a cab it was.

  Weary and tired, Alice only had a short amount of time to catch the detective at the station as she quickly helped her driver navigate himself through Steubenville to her apartment. Expecting to run into Caroline, she slowly opened the wooden door and tiptoed into the space. The lights were off and no sound could be heard. No traces of Caroline in a few days—in fact. Alice tried not to pay any attention to her absence and instead raced to her room to grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to throw on.

  She quickly turned off the lights, hiding all evidence that she had been there, and again raced down the stairs to meet her driver. As she stepped back in the cab, barking orders at the driver, her phone rang, and she quickly grabbed it. The voice on the other line was covered up by shouts and joyful screams. The sound of champagne bottles popping and music blasting filled up the speaker.

  “Micah!” She shouted back, hoping he could hear her. She wanted nothing more than to hear his voice. “Micah! Are you there? Please be there?”

  “Alice? I can’t-- I can’t-- hear you. Are you --kay? Wh-- --- on?” His voice sounded off and distant, yet she could feel him wanting her as much as she wanted him—both with distance and people between them.

  She begged for him to get to a quieter spot, knowing that it was pretty much useless. She hung up and texted him a simple “I love you” and left it at that. She hoped he would call her back when all the celebrations were done. Right now, Alice had to focus on what was waiting for her at the police station.

  The same, irritable woman that was at the receptionist’s desk last time pointed her way back to the detective’s offices once again. When she spotted Crighton, he was leaning over another agent’s desk, pointing at images on a computer screen. As she approached him, she attempted to make out the name of the file he clutched in his hand but was unsuccessful.

  Without much of a greeting, he guided her back into the interview room and tossed a couple of images at her. She squinted to make out the shapes, but the tattoos came to her as she focused on the color and the design. There were seven pictures in all—most were very similar to what she had drawn earlier in the week. But a couple of them were far from familiar. She sorted those to the si
de.

  Left with three options, she let her mind wander, attempting to regain some kind of recognition. But the day’s events, the flights, the thrill of the stadium kept her mind racing towards other things. Time passed as she sat staring at the spirals etched on the men’s arms. Detective Crighton grew noticeably more agitated with her as he paced, checked his phone, and pretended to make notes on his miniature pad.

  Alice let herself grow tired, let the weight of everything fall upon her. It was the only trick she thought she could do. She rested her head in her hand and quickly closed her eyes. Like a flash, she was back there in the alley, in the rain. The man on top of her. Her ring being snatched. She forced her mind to pause the image, to rewind a bit and look harder. And there it was, in the dark. The correct hint of the tattoo that flared out at the spiral.

  She forced herself awake and alert. Detective Crighton was too bored to even notice her mental absence. She coughed and then pushed the winning image forward. “It’s this one. I'm sure of it.”

  He looked at her incredulously and then nodded as he stood and walked to the two way window. He held up the image to the glass and then returned to his chair. Taking out a pack of cigarettes, he began to bang the box in his hands. “That was the one.”