by Amity Cross
“That’s what you’re pissed about?” I asked as I dropped to the mat, my arms swinging. “I thought you were going to rip strips off me for going to see you know who.”
“That’s a whole other argument,” she retorted.
I shrugged. “Post something on Facebook. A picture of me training with the actual sponsor’s shit. That oughta shut them up.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Sponsor’s shit?”
“Calm your farm, Cunningham,” I said with a chuckle. “These things blow over in like a day. It’s a tiny little piss in the ocean compared to other fighters in the comp.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
Stepping closer to her, I asked, “What’s there to get?”
“Everything you do is scrutinized, Dean. Everything. Do you know how many times I’ve had to clean up after you?”
I hesitated, watching her expression. What had happened to her between Ren’s wedding and now? She was the one who broke up with Hamish, not the other way around, and she’d seemed fine after…until Monica appeared. What did she have to be all angst-ridden about?
Besides, she’d never gotten on my case about shit before. I was known as one of the bad boys of the AUFC. Linc and I had our light and dark thing going on, and the fans fucking loved it, so we hammed it up all the time. Nothing about that was a mess Josie needed to clean up.
“Clean up after me?” I asked, pointing at my chest. “What’s there to clean?”
“Would you like me to rattle off some bullet points? I’ve got plenty of them.” She held up her hand and began ticking off some of my many indiscretions on each finger. “That time you screwed a ring girl right after a fight and almost got caught on camera. The time you drank Powerade instead of Gatorade on camera. The time you said the thousands of dollars of gym equipment the sponsors sent over was shit, and it was caught in the background of someone else’s post-fight interview. Do you want me to continue? Because that’s the tip of the iceberg. There’s a whole load of it under the surface.”
“The word camera is making a feature,” I drawled.
“That’s the whole point!” she practically shrieked. “It’s your image, Dean. It has to look good or sponsors will sever contracts, you won’t get any more fights, and the AUFC will drop you from the roster. That’s the bottom line of being a dumb asshole in the public eye. Shit, kids look up to you! You!”
She had a point, but I didn’t like to be told.
“So what do you want me to do about it, Jo?” I asked, beginning to lose my grip on my control. “Do you want me to tell you why I went there? Do you want me to say I’m sorry and I won’t do it again? Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I shouldn’t have to! Not after all this time!” She waved her heels in my face, and I leaned back in case I got smacked in the eye. “When are you going to grow up?”
I stared at her and waited for the moment when she calmed down, but it didn’t look like it was going to happen.
“Is this about Hamish?” I asked. “Some reaction to breaking up with him on Saturday?”
“Oh my GOD!” she exclaimed. “I want to punch you in the nuts, Dean Hayes. Hard.”
“Right,” I replied, her anger sliding off my back just like it always did. We’d be cool tomorrow when she’d calmed down and the sponsors were all happy as clams again. Then we’d probably do this dance again in a couple of weeks.
“Being seen at a retail gym like Fitness First is crossing brands,” she declared, sounding fed up with our circus of an argument. “Do it again, and I’ll string up your balls with barbed wire. While you’re still attached to them.”
Ouch.
Pivoting on her heel, she padded across the mats. When she reached the door, she dumped her heels, slid her feet into them, and snatched her bag from the bench. Then she left with a bang as the door slammed closed, the electric lock beeping as it engaged.
Somehow, I felt like there was something she wasn’t saying, but I was too dumb to know what it was.
“What was that all about?” Linc asked, slapping his hand on my shoulder.
“Fucked if I know,” I replied, shaking him off.
“We all know who works at Fitness First,” he shot back, sinking his imaginary fist of truth into my stomach.
“You saw that?”
“Google Alert, mate. I can show you how to set one up. You rely too much on her.”
“Isn’t it her job to handle this stuff?” I asked, sitting on the bench by the windows.
“Cleaning up your personal mess isn’t part of her job description,” he replied, sitting beside me. “And she does it far too often.”
Casting my gaze outside, I studied the flat horizon of the ocean beyond. Endless, just like my stupid perpetual boner for Monica Miller.
“We’ve been up here for what…” Lincoln thought for a moment before saying, “Two and a half years? And you’re telling me, in that entire time, you haven’t noticed how hard Josie works?”
“Are you really asking me that?” I shot back.
Of course, I noticed Josie. I saw her here every day. I saw her at the press conferences and weigh-ins. I saw her at the charity events and meet and greets. I saw her at the training camps we helped the AUFC with for sick and less fortunate kids. I saw her.
“I’m really asking you because I don’t think you’re really seeing everything, Dean.”
“Where’s Violet?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“She left somewhere between you telling Josie she was worried about junk and the bit about the cleaning.”
I snorted and ran my hand over my face. “So between my finest moment and glory, huh?”
“Dude, sometimes, you’re the smartest prick I know, but then for three hundred and sixty-four days of the year you let your brain rot.”
“Don’t you have a fight to prepare for?” I asked sullenly.
Lincoln laughed and shook his head. “Nope. That’s you. We can’t do the switch out anymore, you tattooed stud. I’ll be at the weigh-in on Friday, so no funny business.”
“You’re such a loving brother,” I drawled.
Even if I was a dumb bastard like everyone seemed to claim, at least I had my better half. My identical twin was my constant in this crazy life, and even though he was all loved up, it didn’t mean a single thing had changed. The thing about Linc was he was usually right like a goddamned Buddha.
As he left me to sulk in peace, I couldn’t shake the feeling he was probably right about Josie, too. Smartass.
Maybe I wasn’t seeing everything.
5
Josie
Staring at the backstage scrum at the latest AUFC weigh-in, I sighed.
Fiddling with my lanyard that granted me behind-the-scenes access, I ran the edge of the laminated card underneath my thumbnail, trying to deal with the fact I had to put on a smiling face when I was still angry.
“Hey, Jo.”
I scowled at the sight of Dean behind me, pushing away the stupid feeling of jealousy and annoyance that had done nothing but grow since the wedding last weekend.
“You’ve been avoiding the gym,” he said when I didn’t answer.
“Yep,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Was I that much of a douche?” he asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.
I snorted. “When did you start growing a brain?”
He smirked and leaned closer. “Linc loaned me some of his sense. Am I putting it to good use?”
“Sometimes, I wish you thought before you did shit, Dean.”
“I needed to go there,” he replied, looking sheepish. “I needed to put some things to rest.”
I began to soften toward him and wondered if he’d actually put Monica behind him. If he had…
“And did you?” I asked.
He shrugged, bursting my tiny bubble of hope.
“No more crossing brands for the time being,” he said with a smirk.
“Shoosh,” I scolded him as ev
ent staff gave everyone a five-minute warning. “It’s about to start.”
He frowned and moved off to stand beside Coach Miller, who’d returned the day before from Melbourne. Lincoln offered me a reassuring smile, and I knew they’d been talking about Monday’s argument at great length. As far as I knew, no one—including Dean—had an inkling that I had a crush on the twin who was currently waiting to weigh in. At least it was one thing working to my advantage.
Glancing out into the arena, I took in the small crowd of fans that had turned out for tonight’s proceedings. Dean wasn’t the only fighter up tonight. There were multiple bouts being announced for lightweight, featherweight, and heavyweight with those fights also happening right here tomorrow night. The hard-core fans always turned up to these things to cheer on their favorite fighters, and afterward, they usually hung around for the chance of getting autographs and selfies. Needless to say, Dean Hayes lapped up the attention like it was going out of fashion.
Spotting Violet and Lincoln just outside in the VIP area, I shimmied my way through the wall of security and joined them to watch the show.
Up on stage, the announcer tapped the microphone in his hand and began the event, introducing himself and the fights they were calling for this week. “Welcome to AUFC Fight Night 35! To get things started, we’d like to welcome our octagon girls, Kylie and Fiona, and the AUFC director, Charlie Freeman!”
I rolled my eyes as the skimpily clad girls filed past me, closely followed by the head honcho of the entire Australian arm of the league. Kylie and Fiona, or whatever their names were, wore tiny pleated skirts that rode up around their flaps and crop tops emblazoned with the AUFC logo that barely covered their tiny boobs. It was a male-dominated sport, and that’s what the majority of men liked, but it never ceased to make me want to puke. The fact that Fiona was one of Dean’s almost on camera conquests didn’t help, and I instantly wondered if there had been any funny business backstage. There was certainly unrestricted access.
The announcer shook hands with Charlie Freeman and took center stage again. “First up, let’s announce the fighters up for the featherweight division.”
We stood by and watched the fighters weigh in for the lower weight classes, waiting for the middleweight, which was where Dean was placed. Violet stood beside me, really getting into the spirit of things, hanging on every word the announcer was saying. That girl had come a long way since the first day I met her, and her devotion to her man and his sport was something else. She was Ash Fuller’s little sister and had been his personal cheer squad for years, so it was only natural she was there for Lincoln in the same way. Dean had come into her equation by default, as did all things where his twin was concerned. The two men were inseparable. I’d hate to see the day when they’d inevitably have to fight one another.
“Now the middleweight fight,” the announcer bellowed. “I’m sure you already know these guys. They’re heavy hitters in the cage, and you love ‘em for their roughish good looks. The bad boys of the comp are here in AUFC Middleweight 35! Dean Hayes versus Gabe O’Connell!”
The crowd cheered, and there were a few catcalls, but I was glued to the side of the stage, waiting for Dean to appear.
The announcer flipped the card in his hand and said, “First up to the scale is Dean Hayes.”
Violet grabbed Lincoln’s arm and jumped up and down as Dean walked out onto the stage, followed by Coach Miller. Shucking his shirt and trainers, Dean stepped up onto the scales, staring right down the barrel of the camera, ignoring the whole scene around him. He was one of the most focused and professional fighters I’d seen on the circuit despite his shenanigans off it, and he was well known for his no fuss approach with his fists.
“Eighty-one point three kilograms,” the announcer bellowed. “Dean Hayes!”
Good. That was a good weigh-in for middleweight.
He stepped off the scales, and Coach scooped up his shirt and shoes before they moved off to the opposite side of the stage.
“And his opponent, please welcome Gabe O’Connell!”
Here we go, I thought to myself as everyone turned to wait for Gabe’s appearance.
The man himself pushed the curtains aside and strode past us, his stature pretty darn impressive. At six foot tall, he was a wall of sculpted muscle, complete with tattoos all over his body. They crawled all over his arms and torso, over his hands and up his neck in grayscale patterns I couldn’t make out as he passed in a flash, his stormy gray eyes firmly locked on the stage.
Chiseled jaw, check. Shaved head, check. Aura of arrogance, check. Bevy of women swooning at his feet, check.
If the gossip about him was anything to go by, he was the ultimate bad boy who put Dean’s antics to shame. Being a total magnet for troubled tattooed men, I found myself giving him the once-over. Hell, I was single now. A girl was free to look at the rival as long as she didn’t touch.
Gabe had been around for a while now, fighting his way up the ranks, and it was the first time he’d been up against one of the Twins. Considering he was one win away from being able to challenge for the title, it was being billed as one of the fights of the year by some commentators. And guess who currently held the middleweight belt? Lincoln Hayes. I didn’t know about it being the fight of the year but it was sure going to be spectacular.
I glanced at Vee as he climbed the stairs and did a flawless cartwheel-flip-tumble thing for the cameras, landing smoothly on his feet. It was a hit with the assembled fans, and they whistled and jeered. Making a show of peeling off his shirt, Gabe winked suggestively at the octagon girls before his gaze met mine. He paused for a second, obviously liking what he saw, then made a kissy face at me.
“Did he just…” Violet asked, her mouth dropping open.
“Yep,” I replied, not knowing how to take it. “That just happened.”
We glanced at one another and burst out into fits of giggles. What a self-absorbed douche.
Gabe turned and stepped onto the scales, flexing his muscles.
“Eighty point seven,” the announcer bellowed. “Gabe O’Connell!”
Gabe stepped off the scales and strode over to meet Dean, and the two faced off—stock standard eyeballed each other in an attempt to intimidate prior to the fight. There was a bit of theatrical muscle flexing from Gabe, but Dean just stood there and glared until they were pushed apart.
“This is going to be a bloody circus,” Lincoln said beside me. “We’ve been watching his past fights, and the guy likes to put on a show.”
“Arrogance,” I replied. “Surely that can be used against him?”
“Maybe, but they’re two arrogant tossers together.”
I snorted, covering my mouth with my hand. He had a point.
As the weigh-in came to a close, Vee and Lincoln cleared out, the crowd began to disperse, and I went out back to wait for Coach and Dean. Talking shop with some of the other PR reps, I kept one eye on the door. When the twin appeared, he waved to me to wait and went over to the wall of waiting fans.
There was a great deal of good things about Dean when I thought about it. He was good to the punters, taking his time to say hello, he was focused in his training and fights, and he took the AUFC’s charity work seriously, raising hundreds of thousands of dollars on his own. All of that was easy to overlook when he could be such a self-absorbed asshole who only thought about his cock. I suppose all those good things were why it was so easy to get him out of trouble when he landed headfirst in it. I just wished I didn’t have to bail him out in the first place.
Hanging back as he signed autographs and took selfies, I played with my phone, scrolling through emails for something to do while he was being fawned over.
“Hey, Blondie.”
Glancing up, I found Gabe O’Connell himself standing before me, a cocky grin pulling at his lips. He did have damn fine lips despite the arrogant asshole they were attached to.
“I have a name,” I declared coldly.
“She has bite,” he said, his
gaze raking over my body. “I like it.”
“Can I do something for you, Mr. O’Connell? I am here in an official capacity just so you know.”
He smiled and reached out for my lanyard. “Oh, I know,” he said, wrapping his finger around the red strap. Glancing at the card with my credentials, his smile widened further. “Josie Cunningham.”
Yanking the card from his tattooed hand, I scowled. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
Laughing at my outburst, he declared, “How about you come and work PR for me? Leave those wankers the Hayes Twins behind and come to where the action and money is. I can beat your salary plus fifty percent.”
“No, thank you,” I said, surprised at his forthrightness. Five meters away from a wall of fans and cameras, no less.
“Fine, I’ll double whatever those limp dicks pay you.”
My eyebrows rose, and I shook my head. “You really have gall, you know that?”
He leaned in, his hand brushing over my waist, and murmured, “Directness has its advantages.”
“And I’m directly professional.”
He let his hand fall away, his gaze never leaving mine. “I know what I want, Josie, and I want the best on my team. You’re the best. Helps that you’re fucking stunning.” He lowered his gaze to my breasts, not even trying to hide the fact he was probably picturing me naked and wrapped around his cock.
Hell yeah, I loved fooling around with a bad boy but not when they expected me to be the one bowing down to them. Too bad for Gabe O’Connell, I was a harder mountain than that to climb.
“No, no, and no,” I said, putting distance between us. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m happy where I am.”
“That’s a damn shame,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “A real damn shame.”
As he walked away, totally ignoring the shouts from fans desperate for a autograph, I knew it wasn’t the last I’d be hearing from Gabe O’Connell. Guys like him had a track record of multiple attempts and they’d become more colorful as they went along. The circus was well and truly in town.