Fight For Her (MMA Fighter Romance Book 1) Page 8

  The Muay Thai class was just finishing as Thor came over, rubbing his face with a gym towel draped around his neck. He had tape over his knuckles and hands from hitting the heavy bag and was working his way through his water bottle.

  It was six and the gym was hopping, the after-work crowd getting in their workouts. Classes ran back to back for three hours. Next up, beginner Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. The instructor was on the mat in his formal white gi, showing a new student how to tie his belt. I wore a T-shirt with the gym logo, Muay Thai shorts and my feet were bare. No shoes were allowed on the mats and I’d had to get in the ring and work hand to hand for a while.

  “How did your free afternoon with Laura go?” I asked him, grabbing my cell from behind the front desk. I’d sent Emory a text earlier instead of calling, knowing she worked all day and I didn’t want to interrupt her.

  Taking out my aggressions in the ring instead of with a wooden mallet.

  It wasn’t anything interesting, but I wanted to send her something. I wanted to have her smile, even if I couldn’t see it. Yeah, I might have acted like a thirteen-year-old girl with a first crush but I wanted her to know I was thinking about her. I couldn't stop thinking about the way she blushed, the scent of her, the sight of her muscles, all lean and strong from rowing. And having her underneath me on the mat, hell, the feel of her lush body was imprinted on my brain. I couldn't forget if I tried.

  For some reason, letting her know I was stuck on her was important. She was important. I had no idea why, I’d only held her hand, for Christ’s sake, but maybe that was reason in itself. Besides the MMA championships, she was one of the only things in my life I had to work for.

  No, that wasn’t right. I’d had to fight my way out of my dad’s house, fists up, deflecting his physical blows until I was around sixteen and grew bigger than him, then built up my defenses against his verbal assaults until graduation when I shipped out for Basic Training. But that had been surviving, and that was the difference. If my middle school gym teacher, Mr. Jahn, hadn’t picked up on what was happening and shifted my anger from lunchroom brawls to the ring, I’d probably be in lockup right now.

  Being a soldier had been easy. Running a business was easy. Working hard for something, putting blood and sweat into it, made it important. Made it special, and Emory was special. She wasn’t throwing herself at me. The opposite, in fact. If I hadn’t invited her to the rugby game, I wouldn’t even be a fucking blip on her radar.

  Sure, she was a challenge and I never backed down from challenge. But this wasn’t a fight, conquer and win situation. And that was the kicker. I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I actually texted a girl. Fuck, a woman. Emory was all woman.

  She wanted me. I saw it in her eyes when I had her beneath me in the ring. I saw it again when I walked her to her door after our not-date yesterday. I knew the signs and I’d desperately wanted to act on them. But I’d only have conquered her body and that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to get to know her and I wanted her to give herself to me, even a little bit at a time. Then completely. I didn’t want to take.

  She’d written me back and I wasn't going to deny I liked the little rush that gave me.

  I hope you didn’t break anyone’s legs like the crab.

  I couldn’t help the shit eating grin on my face. She hadn’t sent anything else, not that I expected it. I could only imagine the stuff she dealt with, the horrors she saw with her job in the ER. I'd taken some people to get stitched up a time or two, been there on occasion as a patient myself, but nothing worse than stupid shit. Getting the crap kicked out of you in the ring was nothing in comparison to the harsh reality of the streets. As long as she was safe in the ER when she dealt with the bad stuff, I was fine. I only wanted to show Emory my controlled side, but if someone fucked with her, she’d see the real me, the hard, dark parts that were there beneath the surface.

  Thor dropped down beside me, squirted water into his mouth, swallowed, then wiped the sweat from his face with his towel. A guy his size would sweat another half hour before he cooled down enough to grab a shower, so we sat at one of the long metal benches beneath the big calendar of monthly classes and events.

  “The date went great. We got snowballs from that stand over on Falls Road and just sat there,” he told me, propping his head back against the wall. “Held hands and watched the cars go by. For an hour. Then our date continued when we went to Target for shampoo and a new toilet bowl brush. Without the kids. No toy aisle. Plus, there was air conditioning.” He took another swig of water. “I know you’re going to think we’re crazy, but it was heaven being in a store without a kid holding onto your leg or hiding in the clothing displays.”

  I shook my head in male disgust. This big giant of a man, the friend I’d known for years, put toilet bowl brush and date in the same sentence.

  “When we got home, the kids were out cold. The babysitter’s a miracle worker. So the date continued.” He wore the grin of a well-satisfied male.

  Emory had been right. Thor did what Laura needed and she gave him—from the shit-eating smile on his face—amazing sex. Emory had no clue about dating, but could clearly see relationship dynamics for others. I never, ever wanted to be the guy who was thrilled picking out a toilet bowl brush, but I’d never tell that to Thor. I wasn’t that stupid. I leaned forward so my elbows rested on my knees, watched the activity in the gym. Two guys jumped rope in the corner. The beginner Jiu Jitsu class was stretching out. Several guys worked the bags with punches and kicks. The guys I'd been training were on the treadmill.

  “How’s Emory?” Thor asked, wiping his face.

  “Good. We went to Pierce’s and got crabs.” We’d spent two hours eating and talking, and I’d enjoyed watching her get messy. She’d forgotten how nervous she was and lost her skittishness as she deftly pulled apart the steamed crabs so I could see her, and I really liked what I saw. She might not like oysters, but the crabs were a hit.

  “She seems…different,” he added.

  I thought about that. There was no comparison between her and the women who threw themselves at me, or I'd taken to bed in the past. I’d always just been looking for an easy lay, a reprieve from my life. I didn't date. I didn't have long term relationships. Hell, Emory had been the first woman in my apartment besides the cleaning ladies.

  She hadn't pushed her way in either. I'd brought her. I hadn't even thought about it, considered what I was doing. I'd just let her in and it had been…easy. With Emory, I wanted more. I wanted her, fuck, I wanted her more than any woman. Ever. I wanted to learn her body, to watch her eyes as I explored her curves, to see what made her hot, to see what made her eyes go dark with passion. To have her beneath me again, and not on the hard surface of the ring with a bunch of guys wondering about the woman who'd piqued my interest. I wanted her in a soft bed…and naked. To know what she looked like when she came all over my cock. I shifted on the bench. “She didn’t know who I was.”

  He was wiping his face with the end of his towel, but lowered it to look at me with wide eyes. “No shit?”

  “I told her, but she didn’t seem all that impressed. She wanted to see inside the gym and seemed impressed for what I accomplished, definitely, but not overly interested that I was famous for it.”

  “Her friend knew who you were,” he replied.

  I grinned then. “Yeah, and she thought I was gay because of it.”

  Thor laughed then and the guys jumping rope turned their heads to look at us.

  “Are you going to tell her about the shit with your dad?” he asked, the smile dropping as he rubbed the towel over his face again. He shifted his gaze to the two guys just starting a round of sparring in the ring, knowing it was easier to talk this way.

  I dropped my head, looked at the concrete floor between my bare feet. “Fuck if I know, but I’m sure she learned a fair amount with a computer search by now.” The shit with my dad was out there on the Internet, but not the full story. Enough though to drive her away. “I held h
er hand. That’s it.”

  This had Thor glancing at me. “No shit?” he repeated.

  “No shit,” I replied on a sigh. “I want to do this right. I…I like her. It’s not a matter of me telling her about my past because a quick search on her phone will tell her enough, but if she makes it to my bed—no, when she makes it to my bed, there will be nothing between us.”

  “I thought you had a no-sleepover rule.”

  Sex was sex and that was it. There was no cuddling after, no sleeping over. That’s why I never had a woman to my apartment. No strings. Another reason taking Emory there yesterday had been a big deal. But when I'd come out of the shower and she was there, pretty as a picture waiting for me, it felt right. It felt…more.

  “That’s what I want from her.” I ran a hand over my head, my short hairs rasping against my palm. The front desk attendant waved to get my attention, held the phone up in the air and pointed at it. I stood, looked down at my friend. “Which means I’m fucked.”

  I went into my office that had a wall of glass that faced out onto the mats, and dropped into my desk chair to take the call. I hadn’t even gotten a taste of Emory and I knew whatever could be between us was doomed. I shouldn’t have texted her, kept things going, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to let her go.

  “Green,” I barked.

  “Hello, Sonny.”

  That voice. That nickname. Not Grayson or Gray. Sonny. Fuck. My hand gripped the phone so hard it probably cracked the plastic. A call from dear old dad only meant one thing. I was still totally fucked.

  “Heard you got a girlfriend.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMORY

  I nudged the car door shut with my hip as I lugged two grocery bags and my purse from my parking spot, which, fortunately, I found on my block. It was all very tight parallel parking. It was almost eight and the air was muggy, still and thick like soup. All I could think about was a shower, a simple dinner, then a book. It had been a long day in the ER punctuated by a stabbing, a family in a car accident and a guy with one too many personalities. I had two more days to go this week so I was glad, when the ambulance went by with the siren blaring, it was someone else’s turn to patch them up.

  The little boy from the other day and an older man were sitting on my steps. He appeared to be in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and wore a full suit that hid the slight paunch of his stomach. In the heat, he somehow looked crisp and cool while I felt rumpled and wilted in my scrubs. My hair was long down my back in a sloppy tail, I had no makeup and I was sweating. The scent of strong antibacterial soap clung to me. Not the best way to greet guests.

  When they saw me approach, they stood. “Take one of the bags from the lady, Marco,” the man directed.

  “Hi, Miss Emory!” Marco trilled, grabbing a cloth grocery bag from me with his little hands and wriggled it up and onto his shoulder so it didn’t drag on the ground. In shorts and another T-shirt, this one white, I could see only one Band-Aid on his knee and none on his elbow. We walked side by side up to the steps.

  “This is my grandfather,” he said with a wave of his hand as way of introduction.

  The man offered an easy smile. “Please, let me take your other bag. You must have had a long day and do not need to carry such heavy things.” His voice was deep and had a slight accent.

  I let the man take it from me as he was so intent. He didn’t seem like one to argue with.

  “Thank you. Just set them on the steps.” They complied and turned back to me.

  “We came by earlier and your neighbor—” he pointed to Simon’s front door, “—said what time you would return, so we waited for you. I hope that is all right.”

  Since Simon shared my schedule with this man, they must have talked enough for him to feel comfortable. He wouldn’t have told just anybody my routine. Although, I was pretty predictable.

  “I am Angelo Casale, Marco’s grandfather. I wanted to thank you for helping him the other day.”

  The boy stared up at me as if I walked on water, and I smiled. “It was no trouble at all. You’re not having fun unless you’ve got a few scrapes.”

  “The helmet was a smart and generous gift,” he added. “I understand it was your son’s when he was smaller.”

  I looked from boy to grandfather. Mr. Casale was taller than I and his posture straight. He seemed very polite with me, yet looking in his dark gaze, I saw shrewdness, as if while we were talking, he was assessing me.

  “Yes. My son, Chris, is away at college and is much too big to wear it anymore. I thought Marco might get enjoyment out of it.”

  “It is a safe thing to do. You are very wise.”

  I sighed. “Wise? I’m not sure about that, but I’ve raised a boy, so I know what can happen. We’ve gone through our fair share of bumps and scrapes.”

  “No doubt at your work as well,” Mr. Casale added, looking down at the light blue scrubs I wore.

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “We won’t keep you as you must be tired, but I would like to offer you a meal from our restaurant as a thank-you.”

  I quickly made the connection. “Oh, your family runs Casale’s over on St. Paul.”

  I’d never been to the small Italian restaurant, but had heard great things. Friends had tried to get a table weeks out, yet they were always booked. That it was Marco’s family’s place made it something I would have to try, even without a thank-you meal.

  “Yes. You will come have a meal and some wine, on the house.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Casale, but I can’t go like this, and I’d need to clean up and—”

  He held up his hand to stop me. “Not tonight then, I understand. Tomorrow?”

  He was certainly insistent. “I work again tomorrow and Wednesday.”

  Marco remained quiet as we spoke, watching us both earnestly.

  “Then we will bring the meal to you,” Mr. Casale said with a nod. “If you have no objection, we will have dinner packaged and brought here tomorrow night. Then you will have no need to cook after another long day, nor go out when you wish to relax at home.” He picked up one of the bags of groceries and started up the steps. “Marco.” He pointed to the other bag and the child grabbed it and followed. I had no choice but to follow as well.

  I doubted he would take no for an answer so I agreed to his offer with a thank-you.

  The crunching of glass had Mr. Casale stopping, lifting his foot. “What is this?”

  Looking up at the front of my house, I saw that my outdoor lights were broken and the glass scattered on the steps and concrete. I had a small light by the door that was connected to a timer, turning on and off with dusk and dawn, but I also had a motion sensor light off to one side. Simon had installed it after he moved in so that it lit up the side of both of our houses.

  “What on earth?” I said to no one in particular. Shit, what a mess! I wanted to swear out loud, but I was used to tempering those words around kids. “The lights are all broken.”

  Mr. Casale frowned and Marco watched both of us, unsure.

  I sighed, then remembered myself. “Here, sorry.”

  I unlocked the front door, taking the grocery bags from both of them, sticking them inside.

  “Has this happened before?” Mr. Casale asked, glancing down the street one way, then the other, his look shrewd. While a car drove by, nothing seemed unusual. I didn't see any glass on Simon's stoop, nor the house on the other side.

  “No,” I grumbled, tossing up my hands. “Just leave it. I’ll sweep it up so no one cuts themselves, but will get new bulbs after work tomorrow.”

  Mr. Casale shook his head. “I will have this taken care of for you.” When I was about to object, he cut me off by holding up his hand. “I will have my son, Frank, take care of replacing the lights for you while you are working. He will be here at seven thirty tomorrow night to make sure the work is acceptable and bring your meal. All right?”

  Tilting my head, I eyed the man, tryi
ng to read him, which seemed impossible. I didn’t want to play poker with him. “I have a feeling you’re going to get your way, aren’t you?”

  I glanced down at Marco for confirmation and he just grinned, a dimple creasing his cheek. “He always gets his way,” he whispered, but Mr. Casale heard and chuckled.

  “Yes, I will have my way with this. You took care of Marco, so now we take care of you.”

  ***

  By the time I’d showered, eaten and swept up the glass, it was nine. Throwing on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top in deference to the heat, I finally had time to check my phone. I stood at my kitchen counter and saw that I had another text from Gray. My heart rate sped up and I felt giddy at the sight of his name. I was smiling in my quiet kitchen. It was a new feeling for me, this excitement about a guy, and I liked it. It was thrilling, and definitely flattering. Gray was hot, a different league entirely than any other man I’d met, and he was interested in me. Me!

  Why, I had no idea, but I was going to see what happened, even though that concept was completely unfamiliar to me. I didn’t just see what happened about anything. I was a mother and a planner and…no. No! that was the old Emory. Now, I just went with it. With fumbling fingers, I eagerly pulled the message up.

  Gray: Thor said I shouldn’t have given you crabs on the first date.

  Eyes widening at his words, I covered my smile with my fingers. God, why did he always have to say just the right thing? I’d been unsure of what the next steps were with him, but he’d made it easy for me to respond. He wasn’t playing games, he was just going with it, too. I typed quickly, my thumbs flying over the screen, biting my lip as I went.

  Me: How was Thor's date with his wife?

  He responded within seconds.

  Gray: You were right. Let's just say Thor's a happy man today.