Fighting the Fall

by Jennifer Snow

  Behind her, she heard the girl say, “I’m not surprised they gave the part to her . . .”

  Who? Who had they given the part to? She resisted the urge to turn around and ask her. Barely.

  “Well if they think they can get more funding that way, of course they would cast her. She’s a recognizable name, even if she is totally wrong for the part.”

  Her mouth went dry. As far as she could tell, she’d been the only recognizable name at the audition, and the one most would assume was wrong for the part. Her stomach turned as her phone vibrated in her hand first before Ian’s familiar ring tone started. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer. She was fairly certain it was good news, but was it? Not if she’d been given the part in the hope of attracting more funding.

  “You’ll have to turn that off now, miss,” one of the flight attendants told her, passing her seat.

  “Okay, just one second.” Answering the call, she said, “Hi. I’m on the plane, so I only have half a second.”

  “You got the part!” Ian said enthusiastically.

  She wished he’d called before she’d heard the other conversation. Now self-doubt destroyed the excitement she should be feeling. Once again, she couldn’t be sure she’d gotten a role based on her acting abilities and not some other reason. “That’s great.”

  “Parker, do not tell me you’re reconsidering this,” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what’s wrong? I thought you’d be more excited.”

  “I am . . . I . . . uh . . . I am,” she said forcing fake excitement into her voice.

  “Great. Filming starts in seven weeks, so work your ass off at that gym . . .”

  She nodded as the flight attendant signaled for her to hang up. “I will. I have to go, talk soon. Thanks, Ian.” Turning off the phone, she slid it into her carry-on and sat back in the seat as the plane started to taxi down the runway. She’d worked hard for this part. She deserved it, she told herself, but a nagging voice wouldn’t allow her to enjoy the moment.

  Once again, she couldn’t be sure she’d gotten a role based on her acting abilities.

  * * *

  “You’re back,” Tyson said as Parker walked into the gym the next day.

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She hated that his tone revealed nothing.

  His mouth twisted slightly, but it wasn’t the full smile she’d seen the week before, a smile that had given her a glimpse into a completely different man. One she wanted to see more often. “Dane took his group for a run. He should be back soon. You can start warming up . . . or try to catch up with them.” He turned to walk away, but Parker reached out her hand to stop him.

  His gaze flew to the point of contact and so did hers. For an instant, she couldn’t remember why she’d stopped him. “Um . . . I . . . thank you.” She let go of his arm. “For letting me train here.” She still wasn’t completely sure why he’d had the change of heart, other than the money was appealing, but she wasn’t about to ask questions. Now, more than ever, she needed the help.

  He nodded before walking away.

  She sighed. What a guarded, self-controlled man. He was, admittedly, one of the few men she’d ever met who hadn’t repeatedly hit on her. Sure, he’d made the comment about her being a distraction and a cock-tease the day they’d met, but obviously he hadn’t meant his dick. He seemed to go out of his way to avoid her.

  “Hey, you’re back.” Dane’s voice behind her made her turn.

  She smiled. “I got the part,” she said, feeling more excited than she had the day before. She realized it didn’t matter why they’d cast her—what mattered was that she was ready to prove to them they’d made the right decision.

  Dane hugged her, picking her up off of the ground. “That’s great. We should celebrate.”

  She hesitated. Was he asking her out? He hadn’t exactly hit on her the week before while training her, but she’d sensed an attraction there, as though it would only take a little encouragement from her to get him to ask her out. And the last thing she wanted was to get involved with her coach. This one, at least. But catching a glimpse of Tyson watching them from the corner of her eye, listening to their exchange, she nodded. “Okay, sure.”

  “Great. We were all planning to go to ShadowDancers night club this evening to watch the PPV fights out of Japan. One of our former guys is fighting in one of the preliminary bouts.”

  We? Now she was interested. “Sounds like fun. Um . . . who’s going, exactly?”

  “Walker, Tyson, Bobby, and me, for sure . . . and maybe a few others, maybe some girlfriends.” He shrugged, as though only him being there should matter.

  Unfortunately, it was one of the other attendees that made the evening out more appealing. “Okay, I’m in.”

  * * *

  “Can I get a club soda, please?” Tyson ordered later that evening. The Las Vegas nightclub was packed with fight fans there to watch that evening’s fight card and the place was standing room only. Their group was in the far corner, and he watched in amusement from the bar as his buddies flirted with several women from out of town who admittedly knew nothing about MMA. The perfect kind. They were easy to impress and they had no idea if the crap that came out of his mouth was true or not. Even from that distance, he could see the tall brunette eye-fucking him, ignoring Billy’s attempts to hit on her, but he turned away. For once, he wasn’t in the mood to steal her away from his buddy and he refused to read too much into that.

  “You don’t drink?”

  The sound of Parker’s voice behind him made his pulse quicken, especially since his thoughts had been hovering on her seconds before. He knew Dane had invited her and she’d said yes, but he hadn’t really expected her to show up. Had hoped she wouldn’t show up was probably the better word. Being around her threw him off. He couldn’t figure out why, and he certainly didn’t want to try to. She occupied enough of his mind already.

  Slowly he turned, and immediately wished he had pretended not to hear her.

  Damn. Despite every effort to keep his gaze on her face, his eyes drifted to the tempting body he’d evaluated with disdain the week before. She may not have the body of a fighter, but fuck, what a body. The mind-blowing cleavage and sexy curvy hips only further accentuated how tiny her waist was. And beneath the hem of her form-fitting white skirt, her tanned legs extended forever. She wasn’t tall, but her legs made up at least half of her height. Her blonde hair was curled that evening and free of the ponytail she wore at the gym, and he fought with the unwanted urge to tangle his fingers in its softness.

  He wanted his head examined, that’s what he wanted.

  “You’re here.”

  She frowned. “Every time you say things like that, I never know if you’re happy about it or if my presence pisses you off.”

  Neither did he. “Can’t it be somewhere in between?”

  She placed a hand on her hip, her bright pink nail polish a stark contrast to the white, stretchy fabric. “I’d rather if I evoked a strong feeling one way or the other. It beats indifference.”

  Oh, she evoked a strong feeling, all right. A stronger than safe urge to find a dark, secluded spot in the bar and put her up against the wall . . . “Think of it more as unexpected frustration.”

  She seemed to weigh his words then smiled. “I can live with that.”

  His eyes shifted to her mouth and her perfect set of white teeth. He wondered if every part of her was that perfect or if she hid a flaw somewhere. He hated that he wanted to get a closer look to try to find one.

  She glanced at his nonalcoholic drink. “So. You don’t drink before an upcoming fight or not at all?”

  “I drink sometimes, but rarely. I like to control what I’m putting in my body and I like to remain in control,” he said, leaning against the bar. He hadn’t always been that way, but the older he got, the more he understood the consequences of losing one’s inhibitions. He preferred to know exactly what he was doing and the mistake
s he was about to make.

  She climbed up onto the bar stool next to him and her skirt rose higher on her thighs as she sat. Her gaze was now level with his and she stared at his mouth as she asked, “Always?”

  The taunting in her eyes and the smell of her expensive, soft perfume were a combination that fogged his mind. “What are you doing, Ms. Hamilton?” he asked, inching closer, resting one arm on the back of her chair, the other against the bar.

  “Just trying to figure out if I’ve pegged you correctly, that’s all.” Her voice remained cool, confident, but the slight waver of her bottom lip told him his closeness had affected her.

  But damn, his attempt to intimidate her had had an effect on him as well. He wanted to run his tongue along that lip and find out if she tasted even half as delicious as she smelled. The front of his jeans immediately felt tighter and against his better judgment, he rose to the bait. “What way is that?”

  “Let’s see.” She paused as though she had to think about it, but he suspected she knew exactly what she thought of him. They’d both had plenty of time over the last week to evaluate and judge each other, formulate their own opinions. For whatever reason, he was interested in hearing hers. He leaned closer as she continued. “You are closed off and guarded. You act as though you’re not paying attention, but you see everything . . . You act like a tough guy around your fighters, pushing them to their breaking point, but you offer just enough encouragement that they work harder so as not to disappoint you.” She paused for a breath, folding one leg over the other and the fabric rose even further. Any higher and her entire thigh would be exposed. He moved slightly to block that view from any other set of male eyes. “How am I doing with my assessment so far?” she asked.

  Pretty damn good. “Continue.”

  “Outside of the gym you like to have fun, but you’re private about it. You prefer a party of two rather than a big crowd.” She touched his chest and her hand felt like a hot iron against his skin beneath the thin fabric of his black Punisher Athletics T-shirt. “My only question is, how do I get an invite to such a party?”

  His pulse throbbed in his neck and pretty soon it wouldn’t be safe to try to walk across the bar. Why was it so much easier to protect himself against repeated shots to the head than it was to recover from her blatant flirtation?

  Her index finger traced the neckline of his shirt, the soft, barely there touch sending shock waves along his spine as she waited for an answer.

  Swallowing hard, he gripped her wrist tightly in his hand before saying, “Don’t kid yourself, Ms. Hamilton. You may think you know me . . . may even think you can handle me . . . but I also know you, and I’m not fool enough to take that on.” He picked up his drink and drained the contents. “If you’re looking for a party, Dane’s your guy.”

  Without waiting for a reply that could easily sway his decision to walk away, Tyson headed toward the door. Several beautiful one-night-stand options caught his eye as he passed and he swore under his breath as his dick begged him to take any one of them home, but his unwanted house guest prevented any chance of that. “Fucking Connor. That cock-blocking son of a bitch,” he mumbled under his breath as he escaped outside.

  * * *

  Parker watched Tyson leave the bar, her heart echoing loudly in her ears. His back as he walked away from her was a familiar view—one she was starting to hate. She knew she’d had him for the briefest of seconds. The look in his eyes and his grip on her wrist had created a flurry of excitement in the pit of her stomach, caused a shiver of desire to run through her, and her common sense to abandon her. And she knew he felt it all too.

  But, once again, he’d put on ice the heated tension simmering between them.

  It frustrated her that she couldn’t figure him out. Sure she’d just talked a big game about having him pegged, but in truth, she knew nothing about him. And she wished she knew what was holding him back from acting on the attraction he couldn’t hide very well. The feel of his heart pounding beneath her hand and the bulge in the front of his jeans were quite obvious.

  Accepting her drink from the bartender, she made her way toward the group.

  Dane smiled when he saw her and let out a low whistle of appreciation.

  At least someone appreciated her efforts that evening, she thought wryly.

  “Hi, everyone,” she said, noticing a young woman next to Walker she’d seen around the gym a few times. “I’m Parker Hamilton,” she said, extending a hand toward the tall, pretty brunette.

  “Grace Andrews. It’s so great to meet you,” she said sincerely. “I’ve seen you at the gym a few times, but you looked like you were in the zone so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  Parker laughed. “In the zone? More like trying not to pass out and asking myself what I’ve gotten myself into.”

  Grace smiled. “I hear you’re learning to fight for a part in a movie, that’s exciting.”

  Parker nodded, unsure how much to reveal. The official announcement that she had gotten the role hadn’t been made yet, and she wasn’t sure how much press and publicity this movie would actually get, so she said simply, “It’s a wonderful indie film.”

  “My best friend and Walker’s sister, Kylie, is a casting director in Hollywood. She was so jealous when I told her you were coming out with us tonight. She’s a big fan.”

  “Well, tell her I said thank you and that she can cast me in a movie anytime,” Parker said, only half joking, her irritation over Tyson’s easy dismissal disappearing in the warm welcome she experienced with the rest of the group.

  Who needed Tyson anyway? she thought, sipping her wine. But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t erase their exchange moments before from her mind. He thought she couldn’t handle him . . . but she suspected the real reason he exercised such control around her was he wasn’t sure he could handle her.

  “Where did Tyson go anyway?” Walker asked, as though reading her mind, glancing around the bar.

  She sighed. “I scared him away,” she said with a small laugh.

  Walker grinned. “He must have finally met his match. He’s not one to be scared off easily.”

  “What’s his deal anyway? I know his dad was a champion boxer and fighting is his entire life, but he’s so wound up all the time.” She’d like to help him relax . . .

  “That’s what makes him so great,” Dane said, climbing into the booth next to her. “He doesn’t allow any room for failure, never opens himself up to the possibility of getting hurt inside the octagon. He’s intense because he has to be.”

  Walker nodded. “Tyson’s training camp is like a family. When a fighter is preparing for a fight, everyone bands around that fighter to offer support, encouragement, help with training . . . whatever the fighter needs. But Tyson’s different. He doesn’t need anything from anyone. It all comes from within himself and he needs to always maintain a certain level of control to stay on top.”

  Wow, sounded like these guys knew their coach well. She nodded. “I guess I understand that . . .” Except the not needing anyone part. Tyson needed something, even if he didn’t know what that something was yet.

  Grace patted her hand. “I wouldn’t sweat it. I’ve known Tyson for years and he’s always been this way—grumpy but loveable,” she said with grin.

  She’d seen the grumpy part. When was the loveable side due to make an appearance?

  * * *

  The moment Tyson walked into his dark, silent apartment, something felt off. The hair lifted on his arms and his shoulders tightened. Keeping his back close to the wall, he reached for the baseball bat he kept near the door, but it wasn’t there.

  Shit.

  Flicking on the light, his feet froze and the muscles in his stomach and legs tightened, as though his fight-or-flight instincts were at odds. His coffee table and end tables lay on their sides, the glass top broken on one. His brass pole lamp lay resting against a wall, the shade torn, and several pictures in frames were smashed on the floor. He moved faurther insi
de and immediately felt the tip of a knife at his back.

  Unarmed and caught completely off guard, he raised his hands to show they were empty, fighting the urge to grab the knife and turn this attack around. He had no idea how many others there were in his apartment or where Connor was. “What do you want?” he asked slowly.

  The guy grabbed his shoulder and led him toward the bathroom, where another guy—big and bald, with a prison tattoo under his left eye, had Connor’s head in a bathtub full of water. His brother splashed his hands against the water and his legs jimmied on the floor.

  “Hey! Let him up,” Tyson growled.

  Tattoo face snarled and the guy at his back released him, but kept the knife pointed close to his body. He angled himself between the two men to keep an eye on both. Luckily the one with the knife was shorter, smaller, not as intimidating. But still, he still held the knife.

  “Your brother owes us money,” the guy with the knife said.

  Tyson’s eyes narrowed as he studied the men. They weren’t the same ones who’d come by the gym to pick up money the week before, and his gut clenched. “I thought we paid you,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Tattoo face pulled Connor’s head out of the water. “You lied to your own brother?”

  Connor shook his head, blinking the water out of his eyes, sputtering and trying to catch his breath as he said, “I owed money to more than one person.” He looked desperately, pleadingly at Tyson.

  Fuck! “How much does he owe you?”

  The man with the knife moved forward. “Five grand.” He traced the knife along Tyson’s stomach and Tyson tightened his muscles. “You know, it might be kind of fun to beat the crap out of the world champ anyway . . .”

  His fighter instinct kicked in and his hands rose, but the edge of the knife pushing against his skin reminded him it wouldn’t be a fair fight.

  “Leave Tyson out of this. I’ll get the money . . .” Connor said.

  “Shut up, Connor. You have no money,” the guy at the bathtub said, hitting Connor’s head against the edge of the tub. A deep gash appeared immediately and blood dripped onto the floor.