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

by Claire St. Rose

  She said I didn’t hurt her the first time, but I know she lied to make me feel better. The second time we did it, though, she cried out my name over and over and I felt like a king. Now I understand why the poets called it “the little death.” It feels like leaving your body and going to heaven. The other girls I was with before her were nothing like this. We’ve been in my room all day, and it’s like we can’t stop. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve buried myself in her. It’s a hunger I can never satisfy.

  We knew when we got together that it was just for the summer. She’s going away to College Station and I’m going on the road with my cousin. Maybe we should’ve stopped with that kiss on graduation night, but we’d both wanted it for so long. It was always going to happen, but it was never going to last. She’s meant for a life I’ll never be a part of, and I knew that even when I took her hand and pulled her toward me.

  Right now I don’t want to think about Ali’s future, the football games and parties she’ll be going to without me, the people she’ll meet that I won’t even know. There’s a guy out there for Ali who will give her everything she deserves, and the thought makes me want to smash the entire world because I can’t be him. I can’t try to hold her back, because if I do she will lose everything. She would give it all up for me, too, and that scares me more than thinking about her with someone else.

  In this moment, we belong to each other completely. Tomorrow she’s going, and the next time we talk it will all be different. I promised I would call her, wherever I am, in one month. The thought of spending a single day without hearing her voice is torture, but I know that soon enough I’ll face something even worse than missing her. I will lose her, and that leaves a foul taste in my mouth like dirty pennies.

  I don’t want to think about the first time I call her and she doesn’t sound excited to hear from me. I don’t want to consider how quickly she’ll get over me, or how soon it will be before she stops saying my name like a promise. I can’t stop making love to her right now, not just because I’ve wanted to for years but because it’s the only way to keep me from doing what I can never do.

  I want to beg like a child for her to come with me. I want to tell her to hop on my bike and disappear with me, but I can’t be that selfish. So I swallow the words I can’t ever say to her: Ali, te quiero. Ali, te amare por siempre. The words beat and whisper in my heart instead. I feel them as the sweat of my body mixes with the sweat on hers and our lips claim each other.

  Ali, I love you. Ali, I will always love you.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Ali Owens sighed as her phone chirped again. Without even looking at it, she knew it was another text from Bobby. That's what I get for not calling him back the first time he texted, she thought, glancing down at the screen. Her ex was well-known for his persistence.

  Call me.

  Their last dinner together a few weeks ago had been a disaster. She'd managed to avoid spending any time with him since his unforgivable behavior at Bistro Mia, but it hadn't stopped him from texting like clockwork every day. Call me. I miss you. Come back to me. The florist's delivery driver had practically worn a path to her back door. I'm sorry, said every card. Please forgive me.

  She knew he meant it, that was the thing. He was sorry. He did love her. He would do anything to win her back.

  She just wasn't sure she wanted to be won.

  It wasn't just about Alejandro. At least, she didn't want it to be just about Alejandro. Her first love, the first man she'd ever given herself to, had re-appeared after ten years and plucked her heart from her chest as easily as a child plucking a dandelion. She hadn't stood a chance when she bumped into him looking gorgeous and dangerous and hungry for her. When he said the words she'd waited ten years to hear, she knew she'd never stopped loving him.

  There were damned good reasons to end things with Bobby, anyway. He hated her job. She hated his mother. He wanted her on his arm for his political campaign. She wanted a quiet life with privacy. Marrying Bobby meant selling the ranch she'd inherited from her grandmother, the place where she'd practically grown up. Bobby's life of politics meant galas and campaign events and nights away from home. She didn't want their children raised by someone else. Her grandmother had essentially raised her, though her parents would never admit to that, and Bobby and his brother had a nanny growing up. Ali vowed that her kids would have something different. Something much, much better.

  But if she was very honest with herself, she didn't think Alejandro could provide that, either.

  Alejandro Rojas was the VP of the Padre Knights, an outlaw MC. He'd come back to Arroyo Flats with his club brothers for a brief assignment. Ali wasn't clear on all the details, but she knew it had something to do with smuggling illegals from around the world across the Mexican border to the US. If Bobby was to be believed, the Padre Knights MC was also involved in drug smuggling and selling stolen weapons.

  What Bobby and the law didn't see was the way the club took care of their own, making sure the parents who raised them and the communities they'd come from had what they needed. Just last weekend one of the guys had shown up with Alejandro to repair her downstairs faucet, which had plagued her for months. They'd spent half the time they'd been in town over on the South Side fixing fences and painting houses and Lord knew what else.

  The good outweighed the bad, she argued with herself whenever she got to worrying about Alejandro's criminal actions. You couldn't argue with an old lady getting a ramp put over her front steps because she could no longer take the stairs. Or the rec center getting a big donation so the pee-wee football team could buy new helmets. Though Arroyo Flats had plenty of wealthy residents, that wealth did not flow downhill. Those at the bottom--the ones who cleaned the houses and fixed the cars and tended the gardens of their wealthier neighbors--scraped to get by. So in the grand scheme of things, did it really matter if a few illegal aliens took a shortcut into the country if it meant some hardworking people in Arroyo Flats were taken care of by the club?

  Ali didn't think so.

  But she also knew it wasn't all black and white. A Robin Hood approach was very romantic, but the fact was Alejandro broke the law for a living. That meant the constant threat of prison or death. Alejandro was still healing from a gunshot wound he'd taken a couple weeks back when a hand-off had gone wrong. Every time he took his shirt off, the angry red line on his arm reminded her that she could lose him in a heartbeat.

  She couldn't raise children like that, either. She couldn't worry every time he was out of her sight that she'd never see him again, or that the next time she saw him he'd be dying in a hospital bed. She didn't want her children to grow up without a father, or worse, visiting their father in prison every week, saying "I love you, Daddy!" through the Plexiglass.

  Ali had listened to her head her whole life because she'd been afraid of following her heart. But all that went out the window every time Alejandro wrapped his arms around her and looked into her eyes. She'd been bewitched since their first kiss ten years ago, and even now, his lips on hers released butterflies in her stomach and made her weak in the knees. Making love to Alejandro was like being reawakened to the beauty of the universe, every touch and taste and sound brand new and miraculous. He'd left her three hours ago and her skin still ached with the memory of him.

  That was what came of following one's heart. She'd traded one set of problems for another. She'd given up a future of security with Bobby for a game of Russian Roulette with Alejandro.

  She took a deep breath, picked up her phone, and called Bobby.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Ali had been delighted when her phone rang in the middle of dialing Bobby. Cristina's impromptu lunch invitation couldn't have come at a better time. She was in the mood for some female company, and spending time out with her closest friend was next to impossible given their respective schedules. Now, sitting across from Cristina, she sensed an agenda behind the invitation and braced herself for the worst.

  "So
let's have a little conversation about my cousin," Cristina began. She took a dainty sip of her iced tea and looked Ali straight in the eyes.

  Ali groaned and looked away. "Please, Cristina, I don't think I can do this today."

  "Oh?" Cristina said sharply. "Do you have more important things to discuss with me than your future?"

  She hated how quickly Cristina could cut a conversation to the bone. Over the years she'd teased her friend about what she dubbed "giving me my medicine," but she had to admit that Cristina was always right.

  Ali often felt that ladylike, responsible Cristina was the daughter her parents wished they'd had. Cristina had studied hard all through high school, taking the most challenging classes and earning scholarship money by competing in beauty pageants. With her scholarships and summer job savings, she attended Texas A&M with Ali. Cristina settled down almost immediately with a man whom Ali's mother called "a very good catch," elevating herself from her humble beginnings to a doctor's wife, Junior Leaguer, and mother of two beautiful children. She was a living testament to the power of discipline, a poor girl from the wrong side of town who'd worked and married her way to a better life.

  Cristina and Ali couldn't have been more opposite, but somehow their friendship worked. Ali’s serious, studious, dark-haired friend had always taken her side in a pinch but wasn't afraid to tell her when she was screwing up. And right now, the look in Cristina’s eyes told Ali exactly how badly she was screwing up.

  "You've been seeing him how often?" she prompted.

  "A few times a week."

  She pursed her lips. "Does Bobby know?"

  Ali sighed. "I think so, but we're not talking about it. I don't want him to think that's the reason he and I split up."

  Cristina raised her perfectly arched eyebrows over her glass.

  "What? Alejandro has nothing to do with Bobby and me," Ali insisted.

  "Correction," Cristina said. "He may not be the reason you and Bobby split up. But he is very much the reason you and Bobby haven't worked things out yet."

  Ali's face burned. "It's not worth fixing," she insisted. "Of course I still love him, but Bobby is never going to give up politics, not with his Daddy riding him so hard. I can't live that life. And not only that..." She sighed as she thought of Alejandro's touch, the way his slightest kiss burned in her veins the way Bobby's never had. "It's not the same with Bobby as it is with Alejandro."

  "Alaine." Cristina's voice was patient but firm. "You are thinking with this," she gestured toward her lap, "instead of with this." She pointed a manicured finger to her temple. "Do you even know what it is you want?"

  "Yes," Ali insisted. "I do know. I want to finish getting the program up and running. I want to keep the ranch. I want to be happy. I want kids. I want..." she trailed off and looked Cristina straight in the eyes. "I want to feel loved."

  Cristina was unmoved by Ali's declaration. "Good. Now you're being honest, at least."

  Ali groaned. "Must you dissect everything I say?"

  "Take your medicine," Cristina retorted. "If I buy you a drink, will you listen to me?"

  "Maybe."

  "She'll have a Bee Tea," she said crisply to the waiter when he appeared. Turning back to Ali, she began. "So you want to be loved. And you think Bobby doesn't love you?"

  Ali shook her head. "No. I know he loves me. But I want to feel loved. Bobby doesn't make me feel loved. He makes me feel like..." She struggled to articulate it. "He makes me feel like a business partner."

  Cristina smiled and shook her head. "I got news for you, mami. A husband is a business partner."

  "But not all the time. I mean, don't tell me you and Sam don't have passion. I've seen the way he looks at you. Obviously you make love, since you just had another child. And I hate you, by the way. No way will I ever look that good seven weeks after popping out a baby."

  "It is hard work. Every bit of it," declared Cristina, her dark eyes flashing. "I look this good because I work out for an hour as soon as I get up, every single day, and I haven't had dessert in three years. I make love with my husband so often because I know it's a cornerstone of our marriage. If I sense he's taking me for granted, even a little bit, I make it a point to remind him what he's got. I don't wait around for him to make the first move."

  Ali thought guiltily of the effort she'd made to see Alejandro. If I'd put that much energy into seducing Bobby, would he have responded?

  "We write our own stories, Ali. If you want to make it work with Bobby, you will. And if you can honestly tell me that Alejandro can meet all of your needs, I'm all ears. But I don't think you know what you want. And until you do, you're never going to get what you need. You're just going to chase yourself in circles and wind up alone."

  Ali took a sip of the cocktail the waiter slid past her elbow and slumped in her chair. "I don't think I can let him go," she murmured, hoping she didn't look as miserable as she felt.

  "Get your shit together," Cristina said, shocking Ali with her uncharacteristic profanity as she took a bite of her salad. "I booked the Café Mariposa for your shower and I am not giving up my Matron of Honor title. Someday you and I are going to decorate the governor's mansion, so don't you dare let me down."

  Ali knew she was joking--at least about the governor's mansion--but the reminder of the four hundred wedding guests who still didn't know that she and Bobby had broken up felt like a kick to the gut. The last phone call to her mother had culminated in Ali arguing for forty-five minutes about which champagne to use for the toast. I'm not getting married, Ali had insisted, but her mother Claire had shot that down instantly. Of course you are, she'd snapped. Gosset makes a gorgeous rosé. Imagine how all that pink will look with the lighting!

  On her drive home from lunch an hour and a half later, Ali contemplated her conversation with Cristina. As far as everyone knew--that is, the guests and her father--the wedding was still on. Her mother and Cecile, after showing up announced at the ranch for their version of an intervention, had merely circumvented her and continued planning the event without her.

  When Alejandro asked her why her engagement ring had reappeared on her dresser, she'd explained rather awkwardly that Bobby had returned it to her and told her to take some time and think about the engagement. The pain she'd seen flash across Alejandro's face before he walked out had haunted her ever since, but he hadn't mentioned it again. At least not yet.

  After all, they were still taking things day by day. They'd made a mutual decision not to leave the bubble of her ranch and keep their relationship private. Though they'd initially talked about trying something long-distance, after he found out he'd be in Arroyo Flats a bit longer they decided that they should just take things one day at a time.

  But try as she did, Ali knew her heart was too vulnerable when it came to Alejandro, and judging from the way he looked at her sometimes with a passion that almost frightened her, she knew Alejandro was in the same place. Neither would bend, and Ali was afraid that one day very soon, one of them would break.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  That's the third time this week I've seen that car, Ali thought as the black Camaro crawled slowly past her driveway. Living on a sleepy, dead-end road, she knew not only the cars her neighbors drove but also the vehicles of their regular visitors. The Camaro was new on her street.

  She grabbed her mail and hurried back to her pickup. When the car stopped on the side of the road just past the edge of her south fence, she locked the doors, pulled back out of her driveway, and headed toward her neighbor's farm instead of out to the main road. As she passed the car, the driver stared at her until she could no longer see him through the window.

  It was definitely the same car. There was no mistaking the unique custom design on the hood: an airbrushed devil, painted in a shocking lime green, dancing wickedly over the front of the car. She recalled having seen a similar figure in an old art deco advertisement for absinthe. An odd choice for a car like that.

  In her rear-view mirror she watch
ed as the driver and a second man climbed out of the car, crossed the road, and walked back toward her ranch. Shit. What do they want? Ali opened her glove compartment, thankful she hadn't removed the gun as she had planned, and made a U-turn on the road.

  With shaking hands, she parked the truck with the engine running, her eyes on the driveway as she pulled out the gun. Her heart hammered in her chest. As many times as she'd fired weapons at the range, and as adept as she'd been as a teenager at knocking a bird out of the sky with a shotgun, she'd never had to use her handgun for self-defense. It felt inadequate in her hand; though she knew she could take a man down with it. Even two men.

  Please, God, just let them go away, she prayed. I don't want to have to shoot anyone today. I just want to be left alone. Her fingers began to perspire and she quickly wiped them on her shorts before curling her shaky hand back around the weapon. Please let anyone come along. Alejandro or maybe Mr. Miller from up the road. Even Bobby. She could feel the prickles on the back of her neck as her fight-or-flight reaction warned her to go ahead and run like hell.