This Round for Love

by Malia Mallory

  “But if bold doesn’t work, we have some other ideas.”

  Mark nodded. “Okay, idea two. You’re driving down the road and you see a dog with its head stuck out of the bottom of a fence.”

  “Yeah, and it’s a really cute dog.”

  “You had to stop. Who wouldn’t stop to rescue a dog?”

  “Yeah, if your boss doesn’t like cute dogs, he’s an asshole.”

  “A total asshole. Can we say that?”

  “I dunno. We’ll find out. We’ll get a nastygram from the FCC if we can’t.”

  “Uh oh. Boss doesn’t like those. Okay, so idea three. You see a school bus pulling away from the curb. A crying child gives chase, but the bus doesn’t stop. You give the little tyke a ride to school so he won’t be late.”

  “That’s irony for you right there.”

  “But it’s got to be a kid you know—like a neighbor.” My fingers itched to reach out for Ford’s hand, but I held back. I didn’t want to air my personal business on the radio.

  “Idea four. This is especially good if you’ve ever mentioned any problems you’ve had with your apartment or if your landlord is a terrible person.”

  “Yeah, you might want to set this up in advance. Start talking about problems with your apartment. Drop some hints about leaks and plugged pipes into casual conversation. It’ll make it more believable down the road.”

  “Okay, you’re showering and you have one of those stupid sliding glass doors instead of a shower curtain like a normal person.”

  “So number four is, the shower door got stuck. It got off the track and was jammed. You couldn’t open it. So you’re standing there—”

  “Water turning cold.”

  “Water turning cold, shivering, yelling. What do you do? Not like you took a phone in there.”

  “Eventually you get the window opened a crack—don’t forget it was painted shut so you had to like work on it a while.”

  “You yell at passing neighbors.”

  “Finally someone goes and gets the building superintendent.” My eyes ping-ponged back and forth between the quick exchanges.

  “This one would be good for when you’re extra late because this sounds like it could take a while.”

  “That it does. If you have suggestions on how to deal with being late, add your ideas to our Facebook page. You could win a shirt.”

  “And not just any shirt, either. A shirt for the upcoming Sand Brawl.”

  Mike swiveled in his chair. “Speaking of which, in the studio this morning, we have MMA superstar Ford Cooper. He’s promised not to punch my lights out, isn’t that right, Ford?”

  “I have no plans to punch your lights out,” Ford said dryly. “I’m going to save it for Correa.”

  “Yikes, I need to watch my step ‘cause that doesn’t sound too definite.”

  “Ford is here to tell us about the Sand Brawl at BIW Resorts, and he has brought one gorgeous lady with him this morning.”

  “Yeah, too bad this is radio because you all are missing something. Darcy Winthrop is here. Internationally famous tennis player. She’s in charge of planning this whole thing. Darcy, how’d that happen?”

  I leaned in toward the microphone. “When I left tennis, I went to work for BIW in Events. I’m happy to be here in beautiful Miami, and we have an exciting lineup of fights planned.”

  “No kidding. I saw the list. Ford, like you said, you’re up against Correa. Have you fought him before?”

  “I sure have. Correa is a tough competitor—a crowd favorite, but I’m ready. I’m more than ready.”

  “Oh folks, if you could only see the steely-eyed determination. I think this is in the don’t miss category. I know I’ll be there. Are the tickets available?”

  I licked my lips. “Yes, tickets are on sale at all the usual outlets, including the BIW box office. I also brought a few with me for you to give out to some lucky listeners. I also have a pair for each of you.”

  “That’s awesome. I know I’ll be there. So keep listening and keep your dial tuned here. We’ll have details on how to win the tickets and more coming up after the break.”

  Mike pushed back from his desk as commercials started to play. “Okay, we’re good. We’ll continue to do live plugs this morning in conjunction with the tickets today and tomorrow.”

  I reached out my hand to each man in turn for a handshake. “Thank you very much. It was great to be here today. You’re both very funny.”

  Ford tapped Mark on the shoulder. “I’m keeping those ideas in mind if I ever have to go with a day job.”

  Mike laughed. “Good luck with the fight.”

  The whole thing hadn’t taken more than a few minutes, but I was confident that anyone listening would be thinking about the event. And ticket giveaways? That always got people interested. I hoped the people who didn’t win would go out and buy some.

  Ford took my elbow and steered me out of the building.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Ford

  I looked at Darcy, and I wanted her. I always wanted her. Every time I glanced at her, I thought about kissing her neck, cupping her breasts, and grinding myself against her. I just did.

  She was beautiful and sexy. She was smart. She was her.

  And that was a problem.

  I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be thinking about sinking myself into her when I needed to be thinking about pounding Correa.

  Darcy glanced up and smiled. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but I knew they wouldn’t after I’d had my say.

  Darcy tilted her head. “So, where should I be during the fight?”

  She’d handed me my opening. “Darcy…”

  My tone wiped the smile right off her face. “What?”

  “I can’t split my attention.”

  Darcy placed her hand over mine. “I want to be there for you.”

  “What I need from you is space.”

  She recoiled as if I’d slapped her and moved her hands to her lap.

  “I have to focus. I need to put everything I am into this fight to win.”

  I saw the sheen of tears in Darcy’s eyes. “It doesn’t have to be only one thing or the other.”

  I took a deep breath before I spoke. “It does right now. I’m sorry. You know I’m crazy about you, and that’s exactly why I’m asking you to do this.”

  “Fighting isn’t all you are, Ford.”

  “It’s who I’ve been for a long time. I don’t know how to be anything but a fighter.”

  “There’s more to being a fighter than getting in the ring.”

  “I know that. That’s the whole point. All the time. All the training. The sweat. It’s nothing if my head isn’t there.”

  Chapter 10

  Darcy

  My phone rang, and I answered without looking to see who it was. “Darcy Winthrop.”

  “Ooh, so professional.” A feminine giggle came over the line.

  I had never been so glad to hear someone’s voice. “Jo? How’s everything?” I hadn’t spoken to my best friend since I’d left New York, and that was weird. I really hoped it wasn’t a sign we were growing apart.

  “Zane and I are tossing around dates, and I wanted to check with you. I can’t get married without my best friend there as maid of honor.”

  Tears sprang into my eyes. Jo was in love. Zane was awesome and they were great together, but today my bruised heart was pushing my tattered emotions to the surface.

  “Darcy?”

  “Yeah,” I sniffed.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” Concern filled Jo’s voice.

  “Men. Dumb, stupid men.” I didn’t know where to begin or how to explain.

  “Oh. Did Brock call you?”

  “No, why?” Brock. It seemed like ages since he’d crossed my mind. The tiny cracks he’d made in my heart had been obliterated by the chasm created by Ford.

  “I ran into him last week. He was wondering where you were.”

  I laughed. “None of his damn business. But no
, I haven’t heard from him, and I don’t want to.”

  “Well, that’s great. What’s up then?”

  “How do you make it work with Zane?” I asked. How did couples end up on the same page? I always seemed to choose guys with goals that were incompatible with mine.

  “What do you mean?” Jo asked.

  “Doesn’t he distract you from your focus?”

  “Oh yeah, in the best possible way.” Jo laughed.

  “That’s not what I meant. You have to work out, practice, train, and travel. You can’t have all kinds of crap in the background splitting your attention.”

  “Zane comes first. That’s a given, but it hasn’t been that big a problem. In fact, knowing he’s out there rooting for me gives me this nice warm feeling. I’m not alone in my head. He’s in there too. It’s actually great.”

  “What about Zane?”

  “He’s never mentioned anything, but he’s mostly retired, you know.”

  “Yeah.” Maybe that made a difference. Zane’s goals were more easily aligned with Jo’s.

  “So what’s this about?”

  “There’s a guy.” That was an understatement. Ford wasn’t a guy. He was a force of nature–that big, sexy bonehead–and I didn’t want to be without him.

  “Your ‘dumb, stupid men’ comment implied that,” Jo remarked dryly.

  “He’s a fighter. He’s great, but he blows hot and cold. First, he doesn’t want any involvement. Then he changes his mind. Then he changes it back, saying I’m a big distraction and I’m wrecking his focus.”

  “He sounds scared.”

  “Yeah, he’s scared of losing his fight.”

  “No, I mean he sounds scared of you.”

  “What?” If Ford was scared of anything, I hadn’t seen it.

  “You’re the whole package, Darcy—beautiful and intelligent, successful and confident. That’s a lot for a guy to take on. Don’t change. You shouldn’t need to change who you are, but it’s intimidating.”

  “I’m not intimidating,” I protested.

  “You are, but in a good way. You can take care of yourself, and you don’t hide it. It takes a confident guy to roll with that.”

  “He thinks I take his concentration off the fight.”

  “Of course you do, but that’s on him. Love is the best possible distraction. I’m sorry he can’t see that.”

  “I’m sorry, too. But I want to hear about your plans.”

  “Are you sure? It’s all really tentative. Maybe October?” Jo sounded reluctant to let the topic of Ford go.

  “We have another Sand Brawl in September, but October will be good.”

  “Okay, maybe we can have lunch when you get back to New York?”

  “That sounds great. We have the final approvals tomorrow and the event this weekend. There will probably be some wrap up, but I should be back in New York next week.”

  “Perfect. I leave for the next tournament a few days that. I really want to see you.”

  “I really want to see you, too.” Jo was just what I needed—a friendly voice and a sympathetic shoulder.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Darcy

  Greta stood beside me as we watched the fans stream into the arena. People from every walk of life gathered for what they hoped would be a thrilling show of athleticism and heart. I certainly hoped it would be.

  Greta touched my arm. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re basically sold out. All the fighters are here and ready to go. It’s a success.”

  “Partly. Ask me how I feel after.” I was still worried. I was worried the television feed might cut out. I was worried a guest might trip. Hell, what I was really worried about was Ford. More than anything, I wanted him to be okay. I was afraid he was going to find that vindication wouldn’t be enough for him.

  Greta bit her lip. “You did a good job. I’m sorry I wasn’t more cooperative. Carl was…not making things easy.”

  “I know. I told Dan Burke what a good job you’ve done though. I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you.” I looked around, happy to see the bright, new carpets and freshly painted walls.

  “He did,” Greta responded.

  “He did?” I spotted Jay Murphy entering the venue with a gorgeous blonde on his arm. He turned my way and waved. I raised my hand in response.

  “Yeah. He offered me a promotion.”

  I couldn’t resist giving Greta a spontaneous hug. “That’s great. You deserve it.”

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Ford

  I was prepared, coiled, and ready to spring. Energy raced through my veins. This was the hard time for me—right before the fight. It was too easy to burn with anticipation and turn a hyped-up body into a bundle of nerves.

  The crowd was wild. I heard them. Stomping. Chanting. I couldn’t make out the announcer’s voice, but he was working them up and good.

  Darcy crossed my mind. I knew I’d hurt her feelings, and I tried to put it aside. My life was in compartments, and I didn’t know how to mix them. I couldn’t worry about it now. I needed my focus for Correa.

  Jed bumped me between my shoulder blades, and I knew it was time. Time to get in the cage. Time to show my stuff.

  Reporters baited me for sound bites, but I wasn’t buying into the crap. I know it made for good television, but it was a distraction I didn’t want.

  I walked past cameras. Someone shoved a microphone in my face, but I ignored it. My eyes were trained on the cage.

  I was wrapped up in my head—my thoughts bouncing around. My reach was longer. I would use that to my advantage. Correa was going to want to get me on the ground and use his weight against me. I needed to tire him out. He usually started fading by the third round. His punches would have less behind them. He’d be slow. That would be my shot unless something presented itself earlier.

  I barely acknowledged the crowd as I made my way toward the cage. I raised a fist in the air while keeping my head down. It wasn’t a new habit, so no one would be surprised. I loved the fans. I did. But I couldn’t split my attention.

  Correa was a showboater. I saw him preening and dancing out of the corner of my eye. He was jumping and jabbing his fist into the air. Whatever works for you, bud. I didn’t begrudge him. Some guys got a big boost from the crowd, but me, I couldn’t break my focus.

  Then we were inside and everything outside was a blur.

  The referee spoke, but I didn’t hear his words. It was the same jazz every time. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Everyone should know already, but he had to say it anyway.

  I stared at Correa. He looked good, but I pushed that out of my mind. I’d expected him to be in shape no matter what anyone said.

  He stared back, trying to intimidate me. I smiled, mildly amused. He thought his freaking hard-eyed glare would have any effect on me? Nope. Maybe it worked on other guys, but I was a rock. I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t afraid of his punches. I wasn’t afraid of what was to come.

  Correa had a reputation, but I didn’t give two shits. I’d fought him before when we were both clawing our way up. I’d kicked his ass then, and I’d kick it now. He had more to fear. Expectations were low for me. I had nowhere to go but up. But when he lost, and he was going to lose, it’d be a real tear down for him.

  I refocused as we both headed for the wall. It was on.

  Correa rushed toward me. I sidestepped, turned, and slugged him with a hard right. His momentum carried him past me, but he still got in a body shot. He rushed again, but I was prepared. I brought up my knee and he took a blow to the jaw.

  Correa was determined to get me on the ground. He kicked my leg, knocking me off balance. We tumbled down in a tangle of arms and legs. He rained blows on my head until I got my forearms between us. He tried to roll me, but I used what leverage I could muster to scramble out from underneath him and bounce to my feet.

  I couldn’t let him do that. I couldn’t let him get in too close.

  He jumped toward me, clearly pissed off. If he thought this
thing would be over quick, he was in for a huge disappointment.

  I punched as he came in, connecting hard with his shoulder. As his body turned, I followed with a left—a punishing blow that turned his head.

  Correa stepped back, and I leapt in with a knee to his chest. He pushed me off and we exchanged hits, moving around the space. I misstepped and he got me against the cage, but I made him pay for it with a barrage of punches to his body.

  Correa went for my legs and we grappled, still standing. I didn’t want to go down. Ground and pound was his preference, and I wasn’t going to give it to him.

  We traded blows. Correa went for a high kick, and I grabbed his leg. He pulled out of my grasp, scrambling away before I could capitalize on the move.

  Correa stepped back in and I was in motion. I connected with his forehead, and a tiny cut opened in his skin just as the bell sounded. A small trickle of blood ran down his face.

  Correa spit out his mouth guard, snarling and baring his teeth. He wiped his hand over the cut and brought his hand to his mouth, licking the blood from his fingers. He punched the air and screamed.

  Shit. Correa was in a frenzy. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. I hoped he’d calm down on the break, but maybe his focus would be shot to hell for the next round. The cut was small. I didn’t expect them to do anything but wipe him off.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Darcy

  I watched from a distance. I knew Ford didn’t want to see me, but I wanted to see him.

  My heart lurched with every blow he took, but he gave as good as he got—better even.

  When Correa knocked Ford to the ground, I jumped to my feet. I breathed a sigh of relief when Ford scrambled up. Round and round they went, trading punches and kicks.

  The crowd roared with every contact.

  The first round ended and I saw blood. Correa jumped up, but I couldn’t see what he was doing. I turned my gaze to the big screen in time to see him licking blood from his hand.

  That wasn’t something you saw at a tennis match.

  I turned my gaze away. The crowd was simultaneously enthralled and repulsed by his behavior.

  I closed my eyes—wishing, hoping for Ford. He’d worked so hard. He wanted this so much. He seemed to need it on some deep level. It wasn’t about the belt or the money or the fame. It was something more—something that validated him as a human being.