I couldn’t imagine what he was up to, his fight wasn’t for two days and it was a Thursday night. As far as I knew nothing special was going on around town or on campus. I spent the rest of my morning thinking about it when he finally called.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said.
“Hi, what’s going on?”
“Well, I was thinking when I met your mom last night that I really liked that, and it was kind of like what a “normal” couple might do. She made me think about things like picking a girl up at the door, meeting her parents and kissing goodnight on the front porch. We haven’t exactly been the most normal couple since we got together.”
“True,” I said. “So are you trying to tell me that you’re in love with my mother?” I quipped. I couldn’t resist.
“Ew! No!”
“Ew?” I asked, still messing with him.
“No, not ew about her. Your mother is a nice looking lady…just, damn it, Emmi!” He was all flustered. That rarely ever happened and I found it hilarious. But I also felt a tad bad.
“I’ll stop.” I laughed. “What were you trying to tell me?”
“I was trying to ask you out on a date.”
“A date?”
“Yeah, I want to pick you up at your door, take you to a nice restaurant, walk you to the door when I take you home and kiss you on the porch.”
“That sounds great.” I literally felt warm and tingly inside. “What time should I be ready?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“And where are we going, so I know how to dress?”
“Wear something low cut and tight,” he said with a laugh.
“Just when I thought there was hope for you after all,” I said.
“I’m kidding; just wear whatever you would wear to a nice restaurant.”
“Okay, will I see you before seven?” I asked.
“Nope, I’ll see you then,” he told me. Then right before the call disconnected, I heard, “I love you.”
That evening as I got ready for our “date” I wondered where he was getting ready at. Wherever he had gone it worked for him. At exactly seven p.m. he rang the doorbell. I felt both silly and overwhelmed with gratitude toward him for doing this as I answered it. He was wearing a black shirt that looked so soft I wanted to touch it. If I knew Braxton, that was probably the point. He was clean-shaven and he had on a faded pair of blue jeans that fit him…just right. He was also holding a big bouquet of mixed flowers.
He was turning into the full package.
“Hi,” I said, already out of breath.
“Hi,” he said with the grin I loved so much. “You look amazing.”
I was wearing a short light blue dress. It ended just above my knee and although the cut of it was simple, it was feminine and it made me feel sexy. Even more so when his eyes darted up and down my body.
“Thank you, so do you,” I told him.
“These are for you,” he said, holding the flowers out toward me.
“They’re gorgeous,” I told him. Then, playing the part I said, “Would you like to come in while I put them in some water?”
“Sure, thanks,” he said. He followed me inside and then stood like a gentleman at the door and waited for me to find a vase to put the flowers in.
When I finished he politely asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I am.”
He held out his arm and led me out to the truck. Then, he opened the door for me and holding me by the waist helped me up. I kept my eyes glued right to his sexy ass as he walked around the front of the truck to the other side. Damn I was lucky.
As we drove to the restaurant he said, “So how long has it been since you’ve been on a real date?”
“Wow, um…a couple of years…”
“Seriously? That guy must be a bigger sleaze than I thought.”
I didn’t respond. He was right but I didn’t want to talk about Trent. To Braxton’s credit he changed the subject. He was talking about his fight, which I didn’t want to talk about either, but it was preferable to Trent. Anything was.
When he finished talking about the things Sam had him do to get ready for his upcoming fight I asked, “So, where are we going for dinner?”
“Seraphina’s, is that okay?”
“I don’t know it, but I’m sure it’ll be great.”
“It’s an Italian steakhouse. By far one of the best I’ve been to.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
As we drove I stole glances at him, trying to size him up as I might on a first date. He was gorgeous, that was a given but he was also confident and self-assured. He made me feel safe. I looked at his hands resting on the steering wheel. He had scars on his knuckles from fighting; I shuddered when I thought about it. But otherwise, he had a nice, thick, masculine hand. I imagined how it felt when he touched my bare skin. If it had been a first date with someone that I hadn’t had sex with already I wouldn’t have been thinking about such things. That made me giggle.
He looked at me. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just having a carnal thought, but then I remembered that this was a first date and the best I should be hoping for is a good night kiss.”
“That’s open for negotiation,” he said with a lustful look.
“By the way,” I told him, “I forgot to tell you how good you smell.”
“Thanks. I may have laid it in on a bit thick. I got ready at the gym and that place smells so bad I was afraid some of the stench might land back on me after I got out of the shower.”
I laughed. “Well, whatever you did, it worked. You smell great.”
“Thanks and so do you.”
When he parked at Seraphina's I opened my door to get out not noticing him coming around to my side. When he got there he grabbed the door, held it and reached up with one hand to help me down.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m not used to this whole date thing.”
"Well get used to it. We’ll make it a regular thing. You deserve to be treated special.”
I thought I blushed, but luckily it was dark out and he couldn’t really see my face. He gave me his arm again and led me into the restaurant. The tables didn’t have regular chairs, but instead they had high backed, overstuffed couches that stretched along the wall on one side and big, comfy matching chairs on the other side. Braxton had made a reservation for us, so the hostess took us straight to our table. As we followed her, Braxton put his hand on the small of my back, and his light touch awakened all my nerve endings. It was like my mind and my body had accepted that it was a first date and reacted like it was his first touch.
We were led to a cozy booth in the back, away from the bar, which seemed to be in the midst of happy hour. The music and noise barely penetrated through the barrier of the big, comfy couches. The lighting was dim but there was a candle burning on the table and it added another touch of romanticism. We sat across from each other. I thought since we had waited so long to have our actual first date, we didn’t have that weird, first-date awkwardness between us.
Just after I had that thought, we both tried to talk at once. We both smiled and then in unison we said, “You go first.”
"You first," I told him.
"I'm really glad we’re doing this. Last night, having dinner with your mom, and tonight, dinner with just the two of us. It makes me feel like we’re a real couple.”
He had a little tremor in his voice as he spoke. He was nervous reverting back to the days before he was a campus stud.
“I’m glad we’re doing it too.”
“You know something,” he said. “When I was in high school, you would have been the kind of girl who intimidated the hell out of me.”
I snorted. “I doubt that. I was such a dork in high school. I would probably have been as intimidated as hell by you.”
“Okay, we’ll agree that we were both dorks. I’ll bet you were a hot dork though,” he guessed winking.
Before I could respond the w
aitress showed up, saving me from having to come up with an answer. She brought our drinks and took our food orders.
When she left I said, “So, you’ve told me a lot about your dad, what about your mom? I don’t really know anything about her except that she passed away.”
A frown covered his face immediately and I felt bad right away. “You know what, I’m sorry, never mind.”
“No, it’s really okay,” he said. “I just don’t get a chance to talk about her much anymore. It makes Callie too sad and I’m not talking to my dad about anything. I don’t have to. My mom was beautiful. Not just on the outside, she had this light inside her that shined out all over everyone and everything she touched. She was a hostess in a restaurant like this one. She was so good with people. She made everyone feel like her friend. She was the best mother a kid could have asked for.”
I felt bad as I saw a tear escape and run down the side of his face. I changed the subject and through dinner and then afterwards we talked about everything. We talked about my mom and dad and his sister, our first jobs, our likes and dislikes. We laughed and joked, debated politics and religion and scoffed at each other’s taste in music, but agreed on our taste in books. Then we talked about what each of us wanted for the future. He talked about his computer business and me my photography one. Neither of us mentioned the elephant in the room, his MMA fighting, or the fact that I still hadn’t really responded to his expressions of love.
All the while we talked my attraction for Braxton grew. I watched him as he spoke, fascinated by the simple movement of his lips. I couldn't seem to stop smiling.
I finally told him, "Braxton, I'm really glad you asked me to go out on a real date with you. I would have never had the nerve to ask you on a real date.” I was only half-kidding. “This means so much to me and I'm having a great time." Braxton beamed back at the stupid grin that was stuck on my face.
When the waitress came over with dessert menus we both politely declined. My chicken alfredo was delicious and I had eaten every bite. I was stuffed so full that I could barely move. We were both surprised to hear that the bar was about to close, neither of us had realized how late it had gotten; we had so much fun just passing the time talking.
While Braxton drove me home, I realized how tired I was. I tried to stifle a yawn behind my hand, but Braxton noticed.
"Tired, huh?"
"Yes. The long week is catching up with me," I said with a grin in his direction. He knew exactly what had been keeping me up at night.
"Me too," Braxton agreed, looking at me and flashing a grin before focusing again on the road.
When we got to our apartment building, Braxton parked the truck.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he insisted.
I snickered, but he did just that. I didn’t say anything until we reached the door.
I unlocked it and said, “Would you like to come in?”
"I'd love to, except I know you’re tired, maybe next weekend?” He grinned, still in his role.
Yes, definitely next time. “I'd better give you my phone number so there can be a next time," I joked. We both cracked up.
He went in for the first date kiss, kissing me soft and sweet on the lips. Shivers spread across my skin.
“I love you,” he said. That wasn’t quite going with the theme, but I let it go.
That night he went to his bed and I went to mine. It had been a fun night. It was nice to dream about how things might have started differently. However, I never wanted to take back how we ended up together.
CHAPTER SIX
BRAXTON
The audience at the round of four was extra loud. I noticed that with each new round, each time I climbed a little bit closer to that championship, they seemed to get a little more excited. Maybe a little more blood thirsty. As I stood in back behind the curtains waiting for them to call my name I could hear them talking about my last fight and how there hadn’t been enough action.
“No blood,” one guy was saying, “Nobody comes to a fight like this to see a couple guys dance around each other until one finally lands a lucky punch.”
“Yeah, but you should have been here for the one before that,” his friend told him. “He looked like Rocky Balboa that night when he got done. He’s got the Doberman in him he just needs an opponent to unleash it on.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be proud or insulted by that conversation. I decided the best thing to do would be to ignore it. I didn’t want to come out looking for blood like an angry bulldog, just to turn on a couple of old guys with beer bellies who had probably never been in a real fight.
Sam came up behind me and gave me a slap on the back. “You ready, kid?”
“I’m ready,” I told him and I really felt like I was. Things were right in my world and my head was completely in the ring.
I heard them call my name and Sam said, “This is it,” as he propelled me forward and through the curtain. I heard them clapping and chanting my name, but the only thing in the audience I was truly interested in was sitting in the second row with a camera around her neck. Emmi was there to cheer me on even though I knew she hated all of this. She was a great support system.
Sam and I climbed into the octagon and then they called out my opponent. His name was Jake Sandoval but he went by Crusher. I hadn’t had a chance to see him fight, but Sam had, and he said that Crusher was putting it mildly. As usual, Sam used his smooth words to encourage me.
Crusher sprang through the door of the octagon and after preening for the crowd he gave me a look across the octagon. It wasn’t a friendly look, nor was it an unfriendly one, it was more like curiosity. I probably had that look myself. For a few seconds before every bout you looked at the other guy wondering about him. Then the bell rang and within a few seconds after that you were locked into merciless combat and trying to knock each other unconscious. It really was a barbaric sport.
The girls in the audience seemed to be screaming louder for Sandoval than they were for me. That rarely ever happened. I didn’t know if it was his full head of dark hair or those smoldering brown eyes. Maybe it was the thick, muscular neck with the veins so fat and pulsating that a vampire could feast for days on it. Something about him was driving them crazy.
He turned and preened toward the press box. Sarah was there again tonight and a guy named Lewis from the Chronicle and Jones from the Sun. There were others there too, probably from other university papers. Crusher seemed intent on making friends with them all, as if that would keep me from kicking his pretty ass.
Sam tapped me on the shoulder and I turned and held out my hands while he slipped tape around them. Then at last the referee called us to the center of the ring and I was face to face with the man who would either be cheering or crying in a matter of minutes.
We advanced to meet each other and as the bell sounded Sam clattered out of the cage. We shook hands and both of us immediately slipped into our fighting personalities.
Instantly, Crusher was in and out and in again, landing punches all over me. He landed a left to my cheek and a right to my ribs and when I threw back a jab he did a fancy duck and dance just in time for me to connect with the heavy air. He was fucking fast, both in his retreats and his counters. The crowd in the stands was seeing a dazzling show. They were screaming, mostly his name and I could already feel my lungs begging for air, and sweat dripping down into my eyes from my hair.
I had to keep in mind that his blows were too quick. Sam told me all the time that if they were too quick and too neat that they’re not dangerous. I reminded myself to let him rush on while he wasted all his energy in the first round. When I finally landed a punch, it was going to be dangerous, that I could guarantee. I fought guys like him before. He was trying to crush me with his speed and I needed to counter by being patient, and then overwhelming him with my strength.
Patience was difficult for me because this guy was in and out, over here and over there, punching and then kicking, and leaping across the octagon like
Spiderman from one side of the cage to the other. I caught a glimpse of Sam’s face. He was trying to tell me something but I didn’t understand the signal. It looked like he wanted me to let him hit me…in the head. I had got into a rhythm with the guy at last, and although most of my punches still weren’t connecting with the swift-footed son of a bitch, I wasn’t getting pummeled either.
Sam was rubbing his knuckles. That was what he was trying to tell me. He wanted me to let him hit me in the head, right in the back of my skull where it was as hard as a rock. That would hurt his knuckles more than it did me and maybe slow him down a bit. With a grimace and a quick duck and a rise, I connected my head with his fist. It hurt like a bitch but I glanced at Sandoval and I knew it hurt him more.
As the clock ticked, I had only gotten in a few kicks and one or two soft punches. The first round was definitely his. Toward the end, when only seconds remained I used my defense as an offense. I let him come at me like a whirlwind, throwing punches right and left as I blocked and ducked and covered up, but never threw one back. I was avoiding sure punishment if he connected and at the same time I was letting him wear himself down. Occasionally a punch would connect, letting me know where his nickname came from. But for the most part, until the bell rang, I had avoided them.
The true pain was coming from the audience, most of who knew nothing about fighting strategies and thought that by not throwing punches I was just being a big pussy. They were verbal about it and as I tipped my head back for Sam to pour my energy drink in I caught Emmi’s eyes. She was giving me what I’m sure she thought was an encouraging look. From where I sat, it looked more like constipation. Maybe I wasn’t seeing things correctly from being so drained.
I glanced over at my quick opponent in his corner. He was sitting on his stool with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms resting on his chest, which was heaving as he deeply gulped down air. He had his eyes closed and I was sure that he was soaking in what the crowd was saying. They mostly wanted him to knock me out, pin me or break something vital. They wanted him to “end the pussy” in the second round. They were screaming about how much faster he was than me, telling him to knock me on my ass. I blocked it all out as best I could. I knew I was doing the right thing. I looked at Sam and he winked at me, he knew it too.
Committed (The MMA Romance Series - Book #5) Page 4