by Cari Quinn
By the time Mia emerged in her sports bra and a pair of tiny bike shorts that made her ass look like a pair of puffed-up marshmallows suspended on two sexy sticks, I was considering a number of sexual harassment suits.
She compensated for the over attention I’d received by proceeding to give me absolutely none for the next two hours. It was like our previous afternoon at the bar, except in this case I got to watch her hot as fuck body do an assortment of moves that shouldn’t be performed outside a bedroom. Even watching her run churned me up.
While she jabbed and kicked and spun like a damn ice skater without the blades, I studied her form. She worked out with a male trainer and a female one sporting excessively curly blonde hair with the obvious camaraderie that came from fighting together for a long time. She seemed like such a lone wolf that I was surprised she had a network at the gym similar to mine. I even saw her laugh. Not often, but now and then.
Her endurance intrigued me, and I wondered what would truly wear her out. Even while she was guzzling water and mopping her sweaty brow, she never seemed genuinely tired. She showed the same seamless, unflappable grace at the end of her session as she did at the beginning. I’d never seen a fighter quite like her before.
And Mia was definitely a fighter. The usual discordant gym noises surrounded me and the typical scents filled my nose, but she took all my focus. She had some deficiencies, specifically the way she blocked kicks with her feet rather than her shins and her tendency to forget to properly guard her core, but overall, I was damn impressed. She worked on several disciplines during her session, from Brazilian Jiu Jitsu to Muay Thai to Karate and appeared skilled at them all. She possessed all the single-mindedness and determination I lacked lately.
If I’d thought she would’ve gone for it, I would’ve suggested she get with Timmins at The Cage. He had the kind of experience she needed to improve. He probably wouldn’t take on a woman fighter though. He was hopelessly old-school. Still, she had the kind of native ability that could go far, all the way up to the pros if she wanted to.
I hoped like hell she didn’t.
Her blonde sparring partner wandered to my side as soon as Mia went to get changed. She’d been working out for over two solid hours and had sweated through her sports bra. I imagined her in the shower. Shampooing her ropey dark hair, flexing her lean physique under the spray, caressing those tight curves with that lucky ass bar of soap—
“So you gonna do it, Foxy?”
I blinked at the blonde. The version of “doing it” on my mind wasn’t the one she was referring to.
“Are you going to fight Spyder?”
I couldn’t keep from chuckling. “Spyder? That’s Mia’s fighting name?” Some set we were. Her a spider, me a fox. One swipe of my paw and I’d crush her.
Metaphorical? Maybe. Perhaps it was ironic, since Mia seemed more capable of drawing first blood from me than vice versa.
The blonde stared me down with a flat expression that fit what I’d seen her do on the mat. She was one hell of a grappler, better than some of the guys I trained with daily. “Considering yours is Fox, I wouldn’t get too judgmental. Now I asked you a question.”
Knowing I was pissing her off—and enjoying that fact—I gave her an easy smile. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m in her corner, that’s what it is to me. She’s worth your time. You saw that yourself. And that’s two days after she got in a catfight with some shady bitches who’d love nothing more than to get her out of the octagon. They know she’s serious, and they hate her for it.”
“How serious?”
“Enough to do some damage before she gets out of the game.” A fat curl dropped between her eyes and she huffed it away. “You could help her do that faster, if you wanted to.”
I leaned forward on the folding chair I’d been stationed on for the last couple of hours and crushed the water bottle in my fist. Screw the tree huggers. “Is she really getting out? Soon?”
“Well, now, I guess that’s up to you. So what’s it gonna be, Foxy?”
Chapter Eleven
Mia
After my shower, I strode into the gym, struggling with my half zipped bag as I walked. My head was down, so I nearly walked into Kizzy—and Fox.
It was just past noon, and I was due at work at one. Tonight I’d be working the tail end of the lunch shift right through to dinner and beyond. With my extensive training schedule, I usually only worked two ten-hour shifts a week along with a six hour and a four hour. The longer days on my feet wore me out, but I appreciated the tips.
What I didn’t appreciate? Seeing my friend’s guilty expression and knowing she’d been telling my business to the dude I wanted to fight.
We had nothing between us, Fox and me. No friendship, no hot looks, definitely no hotter sex. I intended to keep it that way.
“Kiz?” I grabbed the liter bottle of water I’d left behind and grimaced. My hands had taken a beating today. “My office, please?”
Fox said nothing, just watched us with his fingers loosely linked between his knees and his head cocked. His silence didn’t fool me. I could only imagine what he’d have to say about what he’d witnessed.
I didn’t care about his opinion on my combat skills, outside of him thinking I was a worthy opponent. Let him believe what he wanted. If he continued to underestimate me, I’d win with less effort.
Kizzy joined me near the sports drink machine, the place where we always had our little confabs. I glanced back just long enough to see Fox smirk, then focused on the freckled, heart-shaped face in front of me. The top of Kizzy’s voluminous hair only reached my chin, but she’d kicked a lot of asses from that lower vantage point. Now I was going to do some damage to hers.
“What did you say to him?” I demanded.
Kizzy sighed. “I suggested he father your babies and build you a Barbie castle to live in with his bare hands. That’s okay, right?”
I didn’t want to smile, so I didn’t. “Spill.”
“I just asked if he was going to fight you.” She winced. “And I may have accidentally called you Spyder.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? He’ll never let me live that down.” Now he knew I fought under the name of an common house pest. My cred was growing by the minute.
She pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes skyward. “If you fight him, he’ll hear it announced. Are you two hanging out now or something? I thought this was a one off thing, that he just wanted to see how you move.”
“I’d say that’s accurate.” I sneaked another glance at Fox. Who was staring unabashedly at my ass.
“Are you fucking him?” She slapped my arm so hard that the sound bounced off the walls. “Are you crazy?”
“I don’t fuck random men.” Sucking them, on the other hand… “Especially fighters.”
Her shoulders slouched as she sighed in obvious relief. “He probably has a small dick. All the muscles in use elsewhere.”
“Actually, I think he’s above average.” And now would be a fine time to just stop talking. Really.
Kizzy propped her fists on her hips and glared. “I knew it! You blew him, didn’t you? Did he pay you? That slimy bastard—”
“Shh,” I hissed. “Keep your voice down. I did not blow him.” But I would’ve, if he’d let me.
This was what I got for talking too much to a friend. Going to confession was not my specialty, but now and then, even outcasts slipped up and overshared. The last time Kizzy had spent the night she brought over a bottle of whiskey, and I’d accidentally broken my unspoken rule about not drinking with company. We’d finished off the bottle and heretofore unspilled secrets had flown from my mouth. Not the big ones. Not anything I couldn’t afford to tell.
But the occasional BJs for money? Yeah. That.
Kizzy frowned so deeply she could’ve popped a blood vessel in her light green eyes. “Then how do you know the size of his freaking tool, Mia?”
“I bumped into it.” With all five of my fingers
and my palm. Close enough.
“Right. Sure. Uh-huh.”
“Trust me, Kiz, he’s a decent size. Besides, am I gonna be fighting his prick?” I smothered a snort. “Can we please move on now?”
Despite our height difference, she inched up on her tiptoes and gripped my shoulders. In Kizzy’s mind, she was six feet taller than everyone else. “He’s the type of guy who’ll screw you up and leave you begging for more. I don’t want to see you hurt.” She gave me a little grin. “Internally anyway.”
“We live in a fucked up world, you get that right? What we do for money, it’s not normal. Around here, it’s not even legal.”
“Who says what’s normal? I say, follow your bliss.” She blinked up at me. “He asked me if you were getting out.”
My stomach knotted. I didn’t want to be affected that he cared about my safety. And I definitely didn’t want to start making assumptions that he gave a damn. It didn’t matter if he did.
We were adversaries. He was my ticket to a payout. Nothing more, nothing less.
I flipped my wet braid over my shoulder, well aware it was already fraying. Story of my life. “What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him anything. We both know that depends on him. If financially you feel you can afford to go.”
“I will go,” I said softly.
She tugged hard on the cord of her hoodie. “Why do you have to fight him? Why can’t it be someone else?”
“It has to be him, Kiz.” I’d answered this question a million times already. I didn’t want to answer it again. Squeezing her arm, I stepped away. “Talk to you later.”
As I strolled back to Fox, he watched me with cool, assessing eyes. They were tranquil like the Caribbean, but his emotions boiled beneath the surface. We were alike that way, though I hated that I could see similarities between us when I needed to see differences.
I needed to hate him—or better yet, feel nothing at all. And so far, I just…couldn’t.
“Heading back?” He unfolded his long frame from his puny folding chair. “I’ll walk you.”
See, stuff like this couldn’t keep happening. We were not dating. He wasn’t my buddy.
“No, thanks.” I kept my voice as chilly as I could while eyeing the obvious erection in his sweats. Hello there, massive boner. Nice to see you again so soon.
Did he really have to make things so difficult for me? Not that I’d ever been particularly smitten with penises before, but I rather liked his.
Judging from its readiness to greet me, the sentiment was mutual.
“C’mon, don’t be like that. We’re heading the same place after all.” He sauntered down the hall. He obviously expected me to scamper behind him like one of his little ring card girls, giggling and simpering for attention. Like hell.
Gritting my teeth, I followed and strode out the door he held open. Then I kept walking. The snow-laden air slapped me in the face, freezing the drops of water still clinging to my skin, but I didn’t slow down. He could chase after me.
Without comment, he fell into step beside me. We’d gone almost a block in tense silence when he spoke. “Where’s your jacket?”
Not his jacket, but mine. Panic seized me as I glanced up at him and squinted from the watery halo of sunshine behind his head. As stupid as it was, I loved that coat already. “Fuck, I forgot it.” I turned back.
He grabbed my arm. “I’ve got it. Wait here.” He didn’t give me a chance to argue.
His long steps ate up the pavement as he rushed toward the gym. He must’ve realized this neighborhood was not the place to be leaving leather goods around. Even ones that were a little battle-worn.
Five minutes later, he jogged back to me, jacket in hand and a wry grin on his annoyingly attractive face. Wanting to put even the slightest dent in it seemed like a crime against nature.
“Slowing up in your old age?” I cocked a brow so he couldn’t see how touched I was that he’d gone back to get his coat for me. And that he was letting me hang on to his property in the first place. I’d been nothing but obnoxious to him, going so far as demanding he sign up for me to kick his ass, and he still kept coming back for more.
If his profession hadn’t already led me to believe he was a masochist, his interest—or whatever the hell it was—in me would’ve proved it.
“It took a minute for me to cut through my solid wall of admirers. The women in there ogle me like a piece of sirloin.”
He gave me an affronted look that made me melt in spite of my steely resolve. Steely resolve didn’t have much hope of withstanding Tray Knox and his sea-blue eyes, that was for damn sure.
“I have a personality, you know,” he went on. “Just staring at my dick all the time hurts my wittle feelings.”
I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. He’d been extending his arm to me, coat gripped firmly in his fingers, but the sound made his arm fall to his side. “What?” I asked defensively.
He pulled the bag off my shoulder, then helped me into the coat. I was so surprised by the gentlemanly gesture that I didn’t try to hold him off.
“I thought I heard you laugh inside the gym, but I was never sure. You do know how.”
“Of course I know how. I laughed last night too, remember?” My nerves buzzed from his nearness, from sheer awareness of his big frame looming behind me. Then he put his cheek close to mine and my thoughts scrambled like overcooked eggs.
“You have no scent but clean,” he murmured into my hair. “You never smell like fancy soaps or perfumes. Just soap and skin. Do you have any idea how sexy that is?”
I hated that I shivered, and not from the cold that led him to zip up my jacket like I was ten. He was seducing me so slowly and casually that I couldn’t kick him back. He wasn’t really doing anything. Just being friendly. Just being pleasant.
“I have to get to work.”
He let me take back my bag, and silently, we walked up the sidewalk. Except his silence unnerved me. He was probably trying to find an all new way to worm into my psyche.
By being nice to me, for fuck’s sake. I could take anything else. Had taken it, repeatedly.
I didn’t need anyone. Didn’t want anyone. Especially Tray or Fox or whatever he was calling himself today.
At the door to Vinnie’s, I turned, ready to give him another brushoff. I didn’t like being a bitch—contrary to popular opinion, I had a kinder, gentler side—but sometimes it was necessary. I wasn’t going to lead anyone on. Especially the guy I was going to fight.
“Look, Fox—”
He grabbed the door and held it open, lifting a brow in his signature move. “Going in, Spyder?”
The snarl left my throat before I knew it was coming. “You are so going to get a knee in the nuts if you call me that anywhere outside the octagon.”
“Promises, promises.” He grinned and waved me on. His workout bag didn’t budge from its location slung over his massive arm. He wasn’t bulky enough to be unattractive, but no one could say he wasn’t built like a damn semi-truck. “After you.”
“Thanks.” I walked inside and turned to pull the door shut behind me. In his face, if need be.
But he was already striding through, his gaze detouring from me to the bar. “Think Carmine’s here now?”
“What do you need with Carmine?”
He gestured behind him. “The sign in the window? You need another bartender, right? And he’s the boss, isn’t he?”
Oh hell no.
Words failed me, vanishing down my throat into my hollow stomach like someone had applied suction with a giant bendy straw. “We don’t need you.” Disturbing visions of Fox’s forearms flexing as he mixed drinks flew through my mind. “We’re good.”
But he’d already strode to the bar and leaned over it, showing off cascades of rippling muscles through his tight shirt. “Hey, Shelly.” He flashed the blonde bartender a wide smile, reminding me of the day I’d met him.
Only two days ago. How could it only be Wednesday?
How much more could he screw with my head?
Carmine emerged from the back room and grunted at Fox to follow him. Fox shot me a grin over his shoulder, the teasing glint in his eyes promising that I would soon have a new coworker.
I didn’t doubt it.
Sighing, I stashed my stuff and got to work. We weren’t supposed to leave anything but our purses out front, but I wasn’t about to go in the back room to be confronted by Smiling Jack again. Might as well enjoy a few minutes of freedom from his presence.
I had a feeling I wouldn’t be getting much of it from now on.
Sure enough, Fox strolled out a short while later, hands in his pockets and an interested smile on his face as he listened to Carmine blather on about the costs of running a bar in Brooklyn. Fox clucked in all the appropriate places then gave Carmine a hearty clap on the back when my boss—our boss—said he’d see him bright and early on Thursday, since we were expecting a shipment.
“Sure thing. I appreciate the opportunity. See you tomorrow.” Fox shot me another of those taunting grins before the door shut behind him.
“Guess he got the job,” Shelly said with a wistful sigh.
“Surprise,” I said under my breath, attacking the glass I was polishing with new fervor.
“You think he’s single?”
“How the hell should I know?”
She didn’t pay me any mind. She was used to my random bursts of inexplicable anger. Most people who spent any time in my orbit got used to that facet of my personality quick.
At least I saved my urges to punch people for the cage. Mostly.
By the end of my shift, my mood had evened out. My feet hurt, yes, and that morning’s sparring session had resulted in more than a few sore muscles. Mix in my bruises and wounds from the other day and I was hobbling around like a senior citizen. But I wasn’t feeling freaked out or overwhelmed by Fox anymore—he hadn’t shown up all night, thank God—so I slotted the day in the win column.
Until I walked outside and found him leaning against a lamppost, waiting for me.