Fight For Her (MMA Fighter Romance Book 1)

by Vanessa Vale

  I could get laid anytime I wanted. Hell, I could’ve walked through that bar and gotten some action without even trying hard. Gone back to their place for a quick fuck. Hell, I could have pulled them into the janitor’s closet. That had been fine when I was younger, when I didn’t care about knowing their names. I’d just wanted the meaningless release. Now, I wanted…something more. The chance for something real. Not fake tits. Not fake-and-bake skin. Not empty brains. Not groupies.

  I wanted honest and that was definitely Emory. Every honest thought had flicked across her face.

  As the buzzer went off on my timer, I realized I wanted Emory and I’d have to try damn hard to get her. Hanging the jump rope on a wall peg with all the others, I grabbed my towel from the long bench and wiped the sweat from my head and neck as I caught my breath. She wasn’t someone I could just have. It wasn’t going to happen that way. She was going to take work. Careful handling. The need to know more about her had gotten me to ask her to watch the rugby game tomorrow. Even knowing her for less than fifteen minutes, I knew she wouldn’t go out with a guy that picked her up in a bar, even if I was a friend of Paul’s.

  So I'd left it up to her and hoped that I'd intrigued her enough to want to stop by. I’d left it light. Easy. I’d see if she showed up, and if not, I’d have to figure out how to win her over a different way. I could connect with her through Paul’s fiancée, Christy. Coffee or a morning run or… shit.

  Would a woman like Emory be interested in a guy like me? Sure, I was successful in my career, was financially secure, but she didn’t know any of that. Who gave a shit about that crap when it came down to a connection? I had no idea what she did for a living and unless she was an escort or was a drug dealer, I didn't really care. But I knew it had to be something good, something honest like her.

  As for me, the ghosts of the past lingered, taunted me, reared their ugly heads when I least expected it. Like now, when beautiful Emory appeared out of nowhere. She was a sucker punch I never saw coming. Would she give me a shot? She’d be stupid to do so. She just knew me as the guy who’d said stupid things and almost made her cry. Shit. I was in trouble here. I tossed the towel in the hamper and stripped off my sweaty T-shirt on the way to the showers. This was one fight I had no intention of losing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  EMORY

  “Spill, girlfriend.” Faith Abrams swiveled around in her office chair and wheeled over to where I sat filling out papers. She pumped some vanilla scented hand sanitizer from a little bottle on my desk. It was better than the industrial stuff that came out of the dispensers on the wall all around the clinic.

  I spent three hours on Saturday mornings volunteering at an inner city health center that catered to women and children. Visits ranged from pregnancy to ear infections and everything in between. In July, I’d been looking for something to fill my extra time after Chris left for Plebe Summer at the Naval Academy, and this had certainly done it. The place was in desperate need of help, overrun with patients wanting the free or low-cost services, and being a nurse practitioner, I could write prescriptions like a doctor while not requiring one to be on staff at all times. It helped keep costs down and the budget was thin.

  We were in the central office where nurses and doctors worked on charts, filled out paperwork, updated online records. Two hallways of exam rooms were on either side. I'd finished the cases that had been scheduled in advance, but others were wrapping up drop-ins and I was on standby for prescriptions if needed.

  “The party was fun. Christy was beautiful. The dress I told you about looked great.” I glanced up at her briefly before back at the script I was writing. I ripped it off the pad, placed it on top of the chart it went with.

  “Any cute guys?” she asked.

  I hid my flushed cheeks by turning to the next chart in the pile. I’d spent the night thinking about Gray, reliving my ridiculous behavior over and over. I’d tossed and turned, even swore at myself in my empty bedroom, angry I wasn’t flashier and sexier. Hell, I would have settled for not being a bumbling fool. I’d assumed Gray to be a jerk or worse, actually dangerous, but spending only a few minutes with him had me thinking otherwise. Besides being a dumbass—one of Chris' terms I still clung to—I was also judgmental. Bob/Bill had looked clean cut and nice while I'd labeled Gray a bad boy. I hadn't ruled that out yet, but at least he was nice. Definitely a gentleman.

  I’d gotten confirmation about his character when I’d said my goodbyes to Paul and Christy. Paul had given me quick reassurance that the man was a really good guy, which only made me feel even worse. Gray was the first guy in eons…no ever, to make me lust. Yes, it was pure lust because as I'd thought of him in my dark bedroom, I'd envisioned unbuttoning his shirt, no, ripping those buttons right off, to feel his soft skin and the hard muscles beneath. I longed to know what his long fingers could do, whether the stubble on his jaw would be rough against my inner thighs. He’d reduced me to a puddle of hormones and I'd put my vibrator to good use using him as mental fantasy.

  When the alarm went off at five, I’d been ready to burn off the anger and frustration at myself out on the water. After rowing for two hours, I went home to shower, then on to the clinic. Now, at noon and just before closing, I was wiped.

  “I'm waiting,” Faith added.

  I glanced up and rolled my eyes at her, leaned my forearms on the desk. “There was an auditor from Social Security.”

  Her pink scrub-clad shoulders slumped and she pouted. “That’s no fun.”

  “You’re telling me,” I grumbled, remembering how Bob/Bill had belittled my job. “He thought a nurse practitioner was a candy striper.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Girlfriend, you worked hard for that title. I bet that auditor doesn’t have a master’s degree or do what you do. He's a jackass.” She humphed in indignation.

  As for Gray, I wasn’t saying a word. I was embarrassed enough just thinking about it and couldn’t fathom mentioning how stupid I’d been to anyone else. If I told her how I’d acted, she’d probably smack me. I just wanted to go back to bed and toss the covers over my head. For the next week.

  “Hey, Em.” Another nurse, Samantha, filled the open doorway, clipboard in hand.

  I looked up. Smiled. “What’s up?” She was in her early thirties, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue scrubs.

  “The kid in room three. Okay for his vaccine?”

  The clinic was her full time job and knew the ins and outs of the place better than most, but she still had to get approval for any kind of injection or drug.

  I nodded. “Sure. Bring a lollipop in with you.”

  The woman pulled one from the jar on the counter, switched papers around. “Carrie in room two. Next appointment?”

  I thought of the woman who was three-months pregnant. “One month. Give her a pack of the pre-natal vitamin samples. She hasn’t taken any before.”

  “One more.” The woman sighed as she rotated her charts in her arm. “Then we can all head home. Alice Watkins. Wants a refill on her pain meds.”

  I thought about the woman, her case. Broken rib, short-term pain meds. Glancing at Faith for her take, she shook her head. She had ten years on me and was even more cynical than I was. While I'd become jaded by an asshole ex-husband, hers came from growing up in the worst sections of town. Inner city Baltimore was rough. What she'd seen on the streets was what I treated in the ER. While I could understand the cases that came through the door, I was just a white woman who'd lived in the suburbs while married to a rich lawyer. Faith knew the streets, knew the people.

  “No,” I said to Samantha. “She can’t have any more. Second time she’s gotten it refilled. If she’s still having pain, she can take ibuprofen but if that doesn't cut it, she needs to be seen again.”

  I wasn't conservative about doling out pain meds. Some patients needed them. Some were being abused and came in for falling down the stairs or walking into a door, which was doubtful. Their pain wasn't. I'd learned long ago t
hat a woman needed to want help—the clinic offered options to get out of abusive relationships—before anyone could truly give it to her. In the meantime, I could at least make them comfortable. But I wasn't an enabler either. Alice Watkins' injury was such that she didn't need Oxy or Vicodin any longer. I wasn't going to help her become addicted.

  “Got it. Thanks.” Samantha left to wrap up those loose-end patients.

  “That’s it? Just an auditor?” Faith asked, returning to our conversation. “I need to live through your dating life.”

  I swiveled my chair around to face her. “What dating life?”

  She gave me a pointed look over the edge of her reading glasses. She let them drop to dangle from the thin chain around her neck. “Exactly.”

  I sputtered, tugging my stethoscope from around my neck and placing it on the desk. “You have four kids and a man that loves you dearly. Why are you so interested in other men?”

  “Not for me, sweetheart, for you.” She pointed her finger at me like Uncle Sam, then grinned.

  I held up my hands, leaned back in the creaky office chair. “Oh, I’ve had a man. I’m good.” I’d settle for no guy than to have Jack back in my life. But then my thoughts veered to Gray. I sighed.

  She pursed her lips and clucked at me. “From what you've told me, Jack was an asshole. I never met the guy, mind you, but I know that’s a fact.”

  I thought about my ex-husband. He really was an asshole. “Yeah, but I got Chris out of it. Jack can’t take that away from me.” Especially now that our son was eighteen. Sure, he’d grumbled about getting custody and moving him to California to live with him when we'd first gotten divorced four years ago, but he wouldn’t have gone through with it. He just hadn't wanted to pay me child support. Besides, he and Paralegal Sue couldn’t be bothered by a teenager since they both acted like them.

  “Damn straight. Heard from him?” I knew she meant Chris, not Jack, since her tone softened. Her youngest two were still in high school, but her daughter was in her last year at the University of Maryland and her oldest was in the army stationed in Germany. She knew how hard it was to have a child leave the nest.

  I sighed. “Last week. I told him to settle in and not worry about me. It’s a big adjustment for him and the first year is extra tough. He did say he's on the soccer team and that Advanced Calculus is, I quote, 'going to kick my ass.'”

  She laughed and gave my arm a squeeze. “Girlfriend, you raised a fine boy.”

  I did, and I was totally biased, but now what? What was next for me?

  ***

  An hour later, I was climbing the front steps of my row house when my neighbor, Simon, popped his head out his door. “How was it?”

  Simon was a few years younger than me, an architect and gay. We’d hit it off since the day he moved in three years ago. He was from Tennessee and his accent was thick like syrup. He was tall and lanky, with blond hair cut in a very crisp, very conservative style; short on the sides and longer on the top. He wore chunky glasses and stylish clothes. Although I’d picked my own dress for the party last night, he’d forced me back into my closet and into the heeled sandals instead of the ballet flats I’d originally chosen. He was bossy, opinionated and had a sense for fashion I never would. He’d also been a great guy role model for Chris when his father had pretty much abandoned him, and had a surprising knack for getting through to a cranky teenager in ways a mother never could. I still had no idea some of the things those two had talked about, but it didn't matter. As Faith said, Chris had turned out just fine.

  “It was good.” I dropped my shoulder bag beside the door, then leaned against it as I took off my work clogs. Lifting the metal lid on the vintage milk box, I dropped them inside. They remained there until I went to work next, not wanting to take any of the funk I walked through at the clinic or hospital into my house. The sun was intense and I was sweaty and ready for another shower. Even though I’d had one after my workout this morning, I always took one after being at work or the clinic. “Christy rocked her dress.”

  We stood ten feet apart, each on the short set of steps up to our front doors. The entire block was one long row of houses connected, all red brick with white stone steps. Built at the turn of the century, they were ridiculously narrow, but with the basement, were four floors. My parents had bought it back in the late sixties and I'd grown up in it. When I married Jack, I'd moved with him to the suburbs, but returned after the divorce. I even slept in the bedroom I had when I was a kid, but my mom and I had ripped off the old eighties teenage wallpaper and painted it a pale gray the first week back. A year later, they retired and moved to Florida and Chris and I had stayed.

  “Of course she did,” Simon replied. He was casual in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeve button-down shirt. “How did the shoes work out?”

  He had to gloat. I had to roll my eyes.

  “I hooked an auditor named Bob or Bill.”

  “Which was it?” Looking downright gleeful, he added, “Was he any good?”

  I tilted my head down and gave him the stern look I used on Chris when he was a pain-in-the-ass teenager. “Any good? I didn’t catch his name and there was no way I’d sleep with that guy. He was…dry and was a little obsessed with oysters.”

  “Oysters?” Simon cringed. “Yeah, no good. You’re too normal and you hate oysters. You need someone who’s different. Who catches you by surprise. Someone you wouldn’t expect.”

  “Me, normal?” I asked, faking insult as I picked up my bag. I knew what he meant. I was plain old Emory. I worked, I worked out. I volunteered. And up until a few months ago, I was a high school parent. I was…dull. Divorced and dull. I needed some excitement and Bob/Bill wasn’t going to cut it. But Gray just might. Just thinking about him was giving me a hot flash. I could only imagine what would happen to me if he actually touched me. Or kissed me. Or got me beneath him.

  Did I want to continue just to be normal? I wanted to feel like I had last night when I was talking with Gray. Again and again. That was not normal. He'd invited me to his rugby game. He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t meant it. So what was stopping me? My embarrassment from last night? Fear? Nerves?

  Simon gave a little wave and started to go back inside. I called to him. “Yeah?” he asked, sticking his head out the door.

  I fiddled with the strap on my bag as I considered. Screw it. Screw normal. I was going to go see Gray. “Will you go with me to Rifkin Park tomorrow to watch a rugby game?”

  I’d definitely confused him. He stepped back out onto his stoop. A car drove by, music blaring from the open windows. “Explain.” He gave the circular hand gesture to keep going.

  I ran my toe over the worn stone tread hot beneath my feet from the sun. “There was this other guy last night. I made a complete fool of myself.” I shook my head at my own stupidity. “Not going to say what I did. You can probably imagine.”

  He looked at me for a moment, his expression serious. He must have seen something different in me because he didn’t poke fun as he normally would. Thankfully, because that wasn't what I needed right now.

  “Yeah, okay. I won’t ask.”

  “He asked me to come watch him play rugby tomorrow at eleven. I want to go, but I’m nervous to go by myself. He makes me nervous.”

  “This is so seventh grade.” A big grin split Simon’s face. “A guy that makes you nervous? I’m in. I’ll totally be your wingman.”

  He winked and went inside. As I was about to do the same, I heard crying. Little kid crying. Turning around, I saw a boy of about eight or nine walking his bike down the sidewalk. He was sniffling and wiping his face with the back of his hand. He wore shorts and T-shirt, sneakers. I could see his knees were bloodied and he’d scraped an elbow.

  I dropped my bag and as he continued down the sidewalk, about to pass my steps, I went down to him. “Looks like you’ve had a serious fall. Were you trying to be Evil Knievel?”

  He stopped and looked up at me, all sweaty and tear stained. I stood bes
ide him and did a quick visual assessment. Nothing looked broken, it didn’t look like he hit his head. Just a typical bike spill.

  His face scrunched up in confusion. “Who’s that?”

  “He was a man from when I was a kid who would jump across rows of cars on his motorcycle. I think he even jumped across the Grand Canyon once.”

  He had black hair that curled, but was damp with sweat. His eyes were dark and had a Mediterranean look about him. Italian perhaps. His eyes widened, clearly impressed, then he frowned. “Nah, I just got my wheel caught in a storm drain.”

  I nodded, understanding. Those old grates were the perfect width to catch bike tires if you rode over them the wrong way. It was easy to do.

  “You don’t live nearby, do you?” I asked.

  He tilted his head. “A few streets over. Why?”

  “Well, I think I’d have seen you before if you did. I’m Emory.”

  “Marco. Marco Casale.”

  “Hi, Marco. How about a few Band-Aids for the road? I know it always made my son feel better.”

  “You have a son? Can he play?”

  I smiled indulgently at him. Sounded like he was a little lonely. “Well, he’s not a kid anymore. He’s away at college. But I bet he’d like to meet you when he comes home. So, Band-Aids?”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell you what. Lean your bike against the side of the steps and have a seat. I’ll go get them and come back out.”

  By the time I’d gotten the Band-Aids and a glass of water, he was sitting with his knees tucked up, but his tears had dried up.

  “I thought you might be thirsty.” I handed him the water.

  “Thanks.” He took the plastic cup and drank half the water, handed it back.

  “Do you want to put the Band-Aids on yourself or do you want me to do it?” I knew boys pretty well. They had their own little egos and pride just like the bigger versions. I had to be careful not to mother him too much. Or at least let him think he wasn’t being mothered. “Just so you know, I’m a nurse and work at the emergency room, so I see cuts like these all the time. I probably won’t throw up.”