In Your Corner
Page 6
My brow wrinkles with a frown. “How about option three? Amanda stays in her pajamas, climbs back into bed, and goes to sleep. I haven’t fully recovered. Maybe in a few more weeks.”
“Makayla says the doctor gave you the all clear.”
And that’s one less person on my Christmas list. The backpack was definitely a setup. “Makayla talks too much.”
“She loves you,” Jake says quietly. “She’s worried about you. She says she’s never seen you like this. She thinks you’ve given up.”
With a groan, I puff my pillows and slide under my fluffy down comforter. “I haven’t given up. I’m taking a break from life. I’m catching up on all the sleep I lost while I fruitlessly banged my head against the partnership wall at Farnsworth & Tillman. I’m healing my battered body and soul. Eventually, I’ll find a job at another big firm and redeem myself in my parents’ eyes. But not right now.”
Jake crosses the room in two long strides and whips the comforter off the bed. “Yes now. You need to face the world or life’s gonna get tired of waiting for you.”
In my fury, I think nothing about snatching the cover out of the hands of a glaring six-foot-two tattooed fighter with a bee in his bonnet. I rearrange the blankets over myself and sink into the pillows. “You can see yourself out. I’m taking option three. I’m exhausted from all this talking.”
His eyes narrow. “There is no option three. Right now, you’re going to take a shower and eat. Tomorrow, you’re going to look for a job—”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
Torn between being extremely irritated and highly amused, I fold my arms and revert back to the taunting voice of my childhood. “You and what army?”
“Shower,” he barks like a drill sergeant.
“Go to hell,” I respond like a clueless new recruit.
Wrong thing to say. Down goes the comforter. Up goes Amanda. I screech as he secures me over his strong shoulder, my ass in the air, my legs pinned tight against his broad chest.
“Beast. Let me go.” My fists thud uselessly against his tight ass.
Jake rumbles a laugh. “Oh, I will.”
He dumps me unceremoniously in the shower, and before I can escape, he turns on the freezing cold water. With a wicked grin, he bolts and closes the door behind him, laughing when I yell obscenities at his departing back. “You are going to be so damn sorry.”
Half an hour later, showered and dressed for the first time in I don’t know how long, my “girly stuff,” aka makeup and hair, done, I descend the stairs. Jake is tapping a wall with a small hammer and muttering to himself about plaster.
“Ahem.”
He spins around and I pose for him in the only clean pair of jeans I own, a sparkly tank top, and kitten heels.
A grin splits his face. “Wow. You do clean up well.”
“Now it’s your turn.” I give him an evil smile before I drench him with the pitcher of freezing water I had been holding behind my back.
His shocked expression is worth the risk. His subtly raised eyebrow and menacing growl are not. Laughing, I race through the house, but my heels slide on the hardwood floor and Jake catches me around the waist before I can make it to the patio doors.
“You know better than that.” His fingers dig under my ribs, tickling me until I can barely breathe. My heart squeezes in my chest. This is how it used to be between us. Fun. Playful. Hot.
“Let me go.” I mock a growl. “You know I hate being tickled.”
His arms tighten around me and his lips brush over the sensitive skin of my neck sending a shiver down my spine. I try to wriggle away from his sodden clothes. I wiggle and wriggle.
“Amanda…stop.” His words are barely more than a pained whisper, but I freeze instantly and for the longest moment he holds me against him. His face buried in my hair. His heaving chest pressed against my back. His erection nestled into the crack of my ass.
Oh God.
“Sorry.” Pulse racing, I wrench myself away and half turn toward the stairs. “I’ll get you a towel.”
Before my brain has even processed that he has moved, I’m in his arms, my breasts pressed tight against his rock-solid body.
“I have a towel,” he rasps, deep and low. “And she’s not running away.”
So hot. So hard. So utterly masculine. One slide of my body against his and my nipples tighten into hard peaks. My blood turns molten, burning its way through my veins. No one has ever aroused me the way Jake does, and even after all this time, it is clear nothing has changed.
A shudder runs through me, but when I try to step away from the tormenting rub of his body against mine, he tightens his arm around my waist and threads his fingers through my hair, gently easing my head back until I am forced to look up into eyes as dark and stormy as the ocean.
“Fuck.” He growls the word, holding me so tight I can barely breathe.
My body trembles at the unexpected firmness of his touch. Jake in the bedroom was always gentle and fun. We traded pleasures equally, teased each other mercilessly, but never once did he push past my boundaries. We were partners in every sense of the word. But this Jake, dominant Jake—forceful, aggressive, and unpredictable—sends my desire to a whole new level.
“Jake.” His name emerges from my lips in a squeak of whisper as I press my hands against his chest. No longer am I the woman who just wants a good time and winds up in Hell, in its infinite variety of forms. For the first time, I want something more, and I won’t get that with the man I hurt. I couldn’t give myself to him before, why would anything be different now?
Shoving him back until he loosens his grip, I wiggle free. “I’ll get you that towel.”
“Amanda…”
Without looking back, I bolt up the stairs. I can’t be the fun, crazy girl he remembers. That girl would probably be having sex right now on the living room floor. She would be adding another page to Farnsworth’s blue file. She would know he was only teasing and in the morning, she would be alone.
***
“’Manda!”
Rampage throws his arms around me and gives me an enormous bear hug at the entrance to Redemption. “’Manda, ’manda, ’manda,” he chants, lifting me so high my feet leave the ground. “You’re okay!”
“It’s Amanda,” I say dryly. “And I’m okay thanks to you and the other guys.”
“Everybodddeeeee. ’Manda’s here!”
Damn.
“Actually, I was hoping to fly under the radar tonight and just…”
A stampede of fighters swarms me, cutting me off from any possible escape. I am squeezed, hugged, kissed on the cheek, and petted like a kitten while Jake watches from the corner, bemused. But when someone cops a feel of my ass, he dives into the fray and pulls me out.
One big happy family. Another pang of longing and regret washes over me. When I gave up Jake, I gave up these guys too.
Still, it’s good to see nothing has changed in the two years I’ve been away. Well, except for the fact that the club is no longer illegal. A shiny new license takes up space by the door. The chalkboards covering the walls in the spacious main foyer now list upcoming sanctioned fights in addition to all the new training classes. Rules are posted on the bulletin board, and a huge Team Redemption MMA logo flashes on a screen in the corner.
Jake tours me through the renovated facility, a whopping 24,000 feet of the best MMA gear money can buy. The strength and cardio area now boasts three long rows of shiny new cardio equipment and a sea of weight machines, benches, and free weights. The walls have been painted bright shades of blue, red, and green, and wall-length mirrors brighten the space. We turn a corner and a blue sea of mat space stretches out before me. Grapple dummies line the walls like an army of soldiers, and across from them hang a small corps of punching bags. Three practice rings dominate the corners, and the gym is heaving
with sweaty bodies.
“Wow. Makayla said Max—”
He cuts me off. “Don’t forget you have to use ring names in the gym.”
Rolling my eyes, I continue, but with ring names. “Doc said Torment had invested heavily in renovations, but I never imagined anything like this.”
“I was blown away too.” Jake nods back toward the entrance. “On that side, he has a CrossFit training room, fitness studios, snack bar, speed and agility facility, video room, equipment shop, lounge, and Doc’s first aid room. There’s also a whole wing that’s still undeveloped. And there isn’t a class he isn’t offering: wrestling, boxing, Muay Thai, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, grappling, general fitness. You name it. He’s got it.”
“It looks more like a secret Special Forces base than just a place to train.”
Jake laughs and throws an arm around my shoulders. “Come see the main attraction.”
Although his gesture is casual at best, I like his arm around my shoulders. His warmth seeps into me, and for a moment, I pretend the last two years never happened and I gave Jake everything he wanted. I gave him me.
We drop our shoes at the door and cross the mats into the center of the warehouse. Where once there was a roughly constructed, elevated ring surrounded by folding chairs and wooden bleachers, there are now two high-tech, solid fight rings with mats and flags emblazoned with the new Team Redemption logo. An octagon-shaped cage sits on a platform a few feet off the floor.
A shiver runs down my spine. Something about that cage makes my toes curl. In a good way.
“Cage fighting too?”
“He can’t run a serious MMA gym without a cage.”
“Do you…cage fight now?”
Jake’s eyes flash. “Yeah. Been practicing for a couple weeks. Always thought I was a ring man, but one taste of the cage and I was hooked. Homicide Hank has been taking me through some basic strategies. The cage can be used as a tool or as a weapon, so it requires a different set of techniques.”
Catching the slightest hitch in his breath, I look up and frown. “Is that why you’re stressed? Because you’re cage fighting tonight?”
His eyes widen as if I just caught him out. “Everyone’s gonna watch me in the cage and decide on my new ring name tonight. My old ring name, ‘Giant Killer,’ was taken by someone else when I was away, and because I’ve got a few fights under my belt now, the guys decided I need a new name. I’m just worried they’re gonna stick me with something humiliating, like Fuzzy.”
“I like the name Fuzzy. It’s cute.”
Jake gives me a look of mock disgust. “The guys gave it to him ’cause he’s such a hard-ass in class and they thought he needed to be taken down a peg. But seriously, in a fight between guys named Torment or Homicide or Blade Saw or even Hammer Fist and a guy named Fuzzy, who do you think will win?”
“The guy who’s so fierce his teammates gave him a cute name to keep his ferocity at bay?”
“Wrong.”
His anxiety is almost palpable, and I try to reassure him as best I can. “I’m sure you won’t have to worry. Once they see the vicious termination machine you are, they’ll be afraid to give you anything but the most fearsome of names.”
Jake laughs and brushes my hair behind my shoulder. “I forgot about your dry sense of humor. But really, I am a vicious termination machine.”
Someone shouts his name and he excuses himself to say hello. I spot Sandy, the once ex of both Jake and Max, climbing into a practice ring and wander over to investigate. Sandy’s platinum hair is piled on her head in a messy haystack and her curvy body is poured into a tight pink sports bra and pink bike shorts. She glares and then whispers to her opponent, Shayla, aka Shilla the Killa, a lean, muscular woman with a short, dark ponytail. They both turn to look at me and giggle. Suddenly I am in middle school all over again.
As they take their places at the corners of the ring, Jake comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. “You running away from me again?”
Mortified at the reminder of our break up, I turn to apologize only to catch his lopsided grin.
“I’m still wet.” He points to his hair and a relieved breath whooshes out of me.
The ref blows a whistle, and Shayla throws a right hook at Sandy’s face. I pray she knocks out a few of Sandy’s perfect, white teeth. Aside from scooping up Jake on the rebound after our break-up, a jealous Sandy tweeted a picture of Makayla’s ass when she found out Makayla and Max had hooked up. As Makayla’s best friend, I am duty-bound to hate her vicariously. And I do.
“You ever see Shilla fight?” Jake casually shoves a spectator out of my way, glaring the innocent six-foot leviathan into submission when he dares open his mouth to protest. “She’s got real talent. I’m pretty sure she has a good shot at the state championship.”
He twists a strand of my hair around his finger, but I don’t have time for him. I’ve never watched female MMA fighters before. And although Sandy was a ring girl when I last saw her, she is now holding her own against Shayla.
A crowd gathers as they circle the ring. Although physically not as strong as most of the male fighters I’ve seen, they are no less violent, no less skilled, and no less fierce. They kick and punch and spin and tackle. Sandy is clearly on the back foot. Blood drips from her nose but she doesn’t back down.
“Earth to Amanda.” Jake waves his hand in front of my face, breaking my concentration.
“Shhh. I’m watching the fight.” I swat his hand away and focus on the ring. Shayla pulls off some impressive moves, rolling with Sandy trapped between her thighs and then locking Sandy’s head between her legs and pinning her to the ground in an impressive submission.
Damn, that Shayla can fight. Probably better than some of the guys I’ve seen at the club. I can’t imagine anyone throwing her against a Dumpster. She would have had Bob and his bouncer groaning on the pavement in thirty seconds flat.
“I have to go and get ready for the cage,” Jake murmurs in my ear.
“Sure.” I give him an absent wave.
“Amanda.” His sharp rebuke yanks me out of the fight, and I look up at his furrowed brow.
“I want you to be there.”
“I’ll be there, Jake.”
“Don’t be late.”
“It’s only fifty feet away. I’m sure I’ll make it in time.”
Still, he doesn’t move. Instead he shuffles his feet and sighs. Finally, I turn and give him my full attention. “Anything else?”
“The ring name.” His voice drops to a low whisper. “It’s important. If I ever did get free of the company and go pro, I would need a good ring name. Something tough. Something that will make people afraid. You can hold your own in an argument, and you’re damn good at convincing people to do what they don’t want to do. Maybe you could convince the guys. I just…”
The little hint of vulnerability warms me, as does his faith in my legal skills. “I’ll do my best, Jake. I promise.”
Chapter 5
RAGE IN THE CAGE
“Cage fight.”
The words whisper through the gym and people drift toward the octagon like kids to an ice cream truck. Although it isn’t a sanctioned match, a cage fight, even when the fighters are just sparring, is always good entertainment, and a nameless fighter in the cage, apparently even more so.
After a quick glance around the gym, I spot the experienced fighters huddled near the weight equipment, no doubt discussing possible ring names for Jake.
Showtime.
Stiffening my spine, I saunter over to the huddle and they break for a moment and let me join the circle. The gang is all here: Homicide Hank, Blade Saw, Obsidian, Hammer Fist, Rampage, Torment, Drake, aka Doctor Death at Redemption, and Fuzzy. Only Makayla is missing and she had better stay missing. If she dares show her face, I’ll let her know exactly what I think of the backpack setup.
I glance quickly over my shoulder. Jake is stretching on the mats while his opponent, Master Mayhem, a bald bulldog of a fighter, is joking with a few ring girls. Jake has changed into a pair of fight shorts, navy blue with teal Chinese characters down the sides, and what looks to be bike shorts underneath. The color combination reminds me of Farnsworth & Tillman, and I shudder.
“Don’t like that name?” Blade Saw lifts an eyebrow.
“What name?”
“The Wolf.”
My nose wrinkles. “Not really him. If you want to name him after an animal, I would go with the cat family. I mean, look at his hair; it looks like a mane.”
“I fucking hate animal names,” Hammer Fist grumbles. “The lists are full of grizzlies, wolves, bears, lions, and tigers.”
“Cougar?” I give a little shrug.
“That would be you.” Rampage gives me a grin.
My hands find my hips. “I am not that old. I just turned twenty-seven. I have a good twenty years before I become a cougar. And by then, that totally sexist and offensive term will no longer be in use.”
“And here I thought you were thirty-five.” Rampage shakes his head as if in disbelief.
“Thirty-five? Do I look thirty-five?” My voice rises in pitch and then drops when I hear snickers around me. My eyes narrow, and I give Rampage my best monotone. “Ha ha. Very funny. You’re a funny guy, Rampage. My sides are splitting. I can barely contain myself.”
“She sounds forty-five now.” A suicidal Drake steps into the fray.
“One day, I’m going to learn how to fight,” I mutter. “And I won’t forget this conversation. You’ll be a sorry bunch of guys when I’m done with you.”