Fight for You

by Charisse Spiers

  She rolls her eyes. I can see her because her reflection is visible, standing under the security light, against the passenger side of my truck. She knows me too well. I always put my bag in the passenger seat before walking around. I'm a creature of habit I suppose, less unanticipated mishaps that way. "Someone's got to keep you on your toes. You fight better when you have something you're fighting for…otherwise, you lay them out and it’s boring."

  She pushes off the truck as I close in on her and my old, blue, Chevy Silverado. I can afford newer and more extravagant vehicles, but this is the first truck I ever owned, bought and paid for with cash. I can't seem to get rid of it. "Okay, seriously Haddox, it's time that you actually come and see what I get to do. Then, and only then, will you respect the reason I moved all the way from Paris, Tennessee to the heart of New York. You're not putting me off anymore. I come to every fight to support you unless it's across the continental US. Every. Single. One."

  I walk up to her five-foot-two petite frame and wrap my arms around her. Her auburn hair is straightened and pinned back. Her gray eyes sparkle under the lighting. "You know I'm just fucking with you, girl. You're my favorite squeeze, but you'll never drag me to a fashion show. I very much like women and intend for it to stay that way."

  I kiss her forehead as I always do and she lets out a deep breath. Here it comes. The talk. I don't know why I continue to walk into this death trap every damn time I see her. Women are complicated creatures, but when you find one that can put up with your shit without asking a lot of personal questions and becoming emotionally attached to you, you grab onto her and make her your best friend. Where there is one woman, there are hot friends.

  "First off, not all of them are that way. Don't be a stereotypical asshole. Secondly, who ever said any of the male fashion designers would even be into you? You're not really their type; a little too rough around the edges if you know what I mean," she says with a smirk. "Besides, there are tons of totally hot models at your disposal." She continues in a singsong voice. "You know… tall, skinny, legs for days that scream, I can hold onto you while you pound into me backstage in stilettos; those kinds of models. Isn't that your type?"

  She's toying with me to get what she wants and she's damn good at it. My mind is raging with thoughts and baiting my dick. I met Alyvia a year ago. She moved here after graduating with a Bachelor’s degree in fashion marketing from a local university in Tennessee and getting in one of the top fashion design schools in the country. Her parents wanted her to take some self-defense classes with her being in a big city, and coming from the shitty childhood I did led me to be a self-defense and fighting instructor in my spare time.

  Each time I think of the way we met, I laugh. I tried to make a move on her and she shut me down. I'd have to admit it was unexpected and not a reaction I'm used to, but then figured out she's waiting for a knight in shining armor to sweep her off her feet, and at twenty-three she's still waiting. I have a feeling she'll be waiting a while, especially if she thinks she is going to get it from Reese, a heavyweight fighter and my only other friend. I can tell she's into him, but the guy is just as fucked up as me.

  After she cooled my ego a few degrees, we hit it off and have been best friends since. I still like to give her hell from time to time, though. "What if what I want is you? Your ass is practically hanging out of that dress. Once a woman's had the Haddox hard-on they keep trying to come back for more," I say, winking at her.

  "Cut the shit, Hayes. Your sexcapades and seductive voodoo doesn't work on me. Leave it for some other poor girl that never had the chance when you set her in your sights. Are you going to take me or not? There's beer.... and someone I want you to meet." Who the hell am I kidding? Would I really turn down free beer and women? Hell no.

  "Fine, get in the truck," I say, opening the door for her to get in. "The after party better be worth me sitting through a fucking fashion show. You know I don't like girly shit." She grins and gets in the truck, waiting for me to shut the door.

  I round the truck and climb in the driver's seat. I look over at her. "Seatbelt," I command. "And I want to know where you were. You weren't in your usual seats. You know that place isn't the kind of place for a hot girl dressed like that to roam free. There is a reason I reserve the same seats each fight. I need to know where you are."

  She scoffs. "Who died and made you the fraternization fight king? Last time I checked I was grown and perfectly capable of protecting myself."

  "Alyvia, don't fuck with me. Where were you?" You can call me an ass if you want to, but I've seen with my own two eyes how much a woman can protect herself around a man twice her size. I may not let in many people, but when I do it's for life. I protect those important to me, at any cost.

  She throws her head back against the headrest, frustrated. "Fine, you're such a control freak, you know that?"

  "So I've been told...moving on." I will not move this vehicle until I get what I want. It's not childish; it's just what I need.

  "I was in the back with Reese except when you fought. Happy now?" She looks at her cell phone, still frustrated. "Can we please go? I'm going to be late. I can't get kicked out of school, Haddox." I start the engine and back out of the parking spot.

  Looking back and forth between her and the parking lot, I throw my arm across the truck and press on the tendons that reside at the back of her neck. "Chill, Alyvia. You know I'm just looking out for you. I don't give a damn who you're fucking as long as they respect your body and your free will. Got me?"

  She instantly relaxes. "Yeah, I know. You can just be a little intense at times. You're like a big brother on protective steroids. I may never know why you are the way you are, but I know something caused it." She turns to look out the window, not anticipating a response. She knows I don't talk about my past. It's better for everyone that I don't. I don't need to add any triggers.

  I change the subject as I head in the direction of the venue. "So...who's the lucky person that gets to meet me?"

  She lets out a drawn out laugh. Job done. "How you land so many women in your bed I will never know. You're kind of an egotistical ass, like all the time."

  I smirk, but continue looking at the road ahead. "Because I know what women want individually. What she wants is for someone to take the time to learn her body, master it, and control it, leaving her with no responsibility except to enjoy the pleasure that is the effect of submitting to her partner."

  I glance at her briefly, taking notice of the pink circles appearing on her cheeks. I've always loved her discomfort around the subject of sex. It's totally opposite from a guy like me; a guy that thrives through sex, and not just ordinary one-flavored sex. I like all flavors blended together. The only way to really discover who you are and what you like is to be open to try new things. "Oh, come on. You can't tell me you're still shy fucking a guy like Reese. You forget that we've been friends for a while. I know the shit he's into, it's why we're such good friends," I say and wink at her.

  The shade on her cheeks change from pink to red. She clears her throat and crosses her legs in the passenger seat of my truck. I can't help but to laugh. She always gets herself into this situation. "Changing the subject now. Some of us still carry an increment of modesty around, unlike someone I know."

  I shrug my shoulders. The venue is coming into view. I turn in and immediately begin looking for parking. Good luck. The place is packed. Maybe we should have just called a cab. "I have a roommate," she says breaking through my thoughts. I glance at her, confused. She hasn't told me she was even looking for a roommate. "I really could use the help on rent and living alone gets lonely. My parents work hard to pay my bills while I'm in school, and city living is so much more expensive than I imagined. I feel guilty. Students and interns don't make enough to pay the bills."

  "Why didn't you say something, Alyvia? I could have helped you out on rent. Hell, you know you could always come live with me until you get out of school. You're there constantly anyway. I pay the bills and
I'm hardly there. It would actually save me money." I continue to circle the parking lot, still not finding any open spaces.

  She flips her auburn hair over her shoulder and looks at me with her nose wrinkled. "And have to live in a constant sex-a-thon when you're home? No thank you. I've heard the sounds coming from your bedroom on the few nights I was too drunk to make my way to my own place and I'll forever be scarred. There is no way I could ever be roommates with you."

  "Have you ever seen a woman leave my care not thoroughly fucked and satisfied? Sounds can be deceiving. Reese may be playing a little game of Vanilla now, but the chocolate is coming. You might as well take a few notes from a man that you trust who enjoys the likes of controlled, rough, and dominating sex. Otherwise, your little mind is going to be blown out of the water. Once you leave mediocre and dip into our world, you'll never go back." Her mouth is gaping.

  "When I said I was changing the subject that didn't mean to go from R rating to X!" Her voice cracks and she attempts to gather herself. "Back to the previous conversation we were in before you veered off into the dark forest from the perfectly worn trail we were on. Oh, and I'm staff so you can park in the employee parking lot. I have to work for part of my grade."

  She points to the small parking lot in the direction of the back of the building and I follow. "As I was saying, I have a new roommate and I really like her. We have a class together and she wanted out of her parents’ house. Her aunt is a well-known photographer in the fashion industry and she could help me in so many ways. Please, Haddox, don't fuck her. You know what kind of an effect you have on people. I'm begging you not to touch this one. I need her in my life. In this business it's all in whom you know. Plus, I really like her."

  I pull into a spot furthest from the building. It's dark, because we're away from the security lights, but I can tell by her tone she's serious now. "Okay, Alyvia. I don't even know her. Hell, she may not even be my type, but you're my friend. With that title comes a mutual respect for one another. If you don't want me to touch her, I won't."

  Killing the engine, I remove my keys and open the door. I look over at her. "You good?"

  "Yeah, okay. Good. I'm being silly, but I can't afford to lose this opportunity. I may never have it again, and I am not going back to Paris, Tennessee. I love New York. Come on and I'll show you to our seats before I have to go backstage to help with the models." She wiggles down from the seat of the truck and begins adjusting her tight, short dress to cover her ass, although, just barely. I don't even know if I would classify that as a dress. It's more like a female version of a loincloth.

  I get out of my truck and shut the door, locking it behind me. I roll up the sleeves on my button-down shirt until my forearms are bare, revealing my tattoos. I have several, but the two most important to me reside here. One forearm says Breanna and the other says freedom. Sometimes when the guilt from that night is eating me alive, I hold them out in front of me and read them as, Breanna freedom, to remind myself that she's free because of what I did.

  I haven't seen nor heard from Breanna in nine years. I did hire a private investigator once about five years ago, just to make sure she was okay. It was right after I landed a fighting contract and got my first check. She was living in a small coastal town in North Carolina. I had made a deal with myself that I would contact her only if she was living a rough life or in trouble, but when he brought me back the information I requested, I knew I had made the right decision.

  She had married a lawyer just out of law school and he was a partner at a fairly large law firm. He came from old money; a family of attorneys. They had a small child and a newborn at the time. My PI said she genuinely seemed happy, so I left her alone. Breanna and I have too much bad history to be able to function normally together. We sought after the things we desperately wanted in each other. When you form that kind of bond with someone, it's unhealthy. Breanna has and will only ever be a friend to me, but she was in love with me. Distance from each other is best for us both.

  As I round the truck I take in her full outfit. "Alyvia, is that really the only item of clothing you had to wear? You're drawing the wrong kind of attention wearing that."

  She scans down her tiny gold dress and looks back at me. "This is designer! It cost more than I've spent on one piece of clothing in my entire life, plus Reese didn't complain earlier."

  I hold up my hand. "Noted. You can stop there. Discussions are fine, visualizations I can live without." We move forward, her heels tapping against the pavement. I cannot believe I let her talk me into attending a damn fashion show. I must have left my balls back in the ring, because she has been trying to get me to come with her since she started attending. Usually my response is not no, but hell no.

  She shows her ID to the security detail at the door and he lets us both in. We walk into a large open room with high ceilings of iron beams used to support a large lighting system. People are filing in the room, making their way to the seating surrounding a long runway. The name spotlighted on the back wall at the runway entrance is Calyse Custom Designs. I know nothing about fashion, but the name sounds vaguely familiar.

  I follow Alyvia through the crowd of people until I see a hand waving through the air, close to the stage. Alyvia smiles and picks up pace in the direction of the hand. I never take notice of who it is on the other side until we get to the reserved row of seating and she stands. I stop at the end of the row, looking at the hot as hell girl a few feet in front of me.

  My jaw steels and my eyes haze over. Fuck me. I start to salivate as I take her in from head to toe, slowly, enjoying the view before me. She has long, thick, black hair, weaved with streaks of caramel. Her whiskey brown eyes are staring into my baby blue ones, screaming that they are made for me to watch as I pound into her relentlessly. Her plump lips were made to suck and appear baby pink against her bronze skin. She has a beauty mark on the left side of her face between her nose and upper lip. It’s flat like a freckle, but adds a sex appeal to her already beautiful body. I wonder if she has an accent to go with that skin tone. Something tells me I want to find out, but not by listening to an introduction.

  My cock begins to harden as I take in the rest of her body. It's tiny, but curvy, and her voluptuous cleavage is peeking out of the fuck-me red dress she's wearing, making me hungry, but not for food. "You must be Haddox," she says, as my name rolls off her tongue: the perfect voice to go with the perfectly fuckable body. No accent aside from a typical New Yorker, but I’d be willing to bet she’s got a South American bloodline somewhere in her family. My eyes never move from her lips as she speaks. Every woman has a flaw, but hers is going to be a little more difficult to point out.

  Yes I am, and it's the name you'll be screaming later, sweetheart.

  "The one and only," I say back as I look deep into her eyes. "And you are?"

  She skims her bottom lip with her top front teeth and then responds. "Piper Morgan, Alyvia's roommate. I guess we'll be seat buddies while Alyvia works backstage. I hope that's okay."

  Of course the hottie before me is the one woman I promised not to touch. There is one thing about me that will never change. I will always find a loophole if I want something bad enough. The beautiful body standing a mere three feet away is demanding to submit to me, begging for me to dominate her entirely. I never choose my submissive, my submissive chooses me, and this one, in time, will be mine. I do things differently, and for good reason. Not all things in life are as they seem at first. Terms of choice can be just as deceiving as a person’s looks. Everything has a double meaning or even a metaphor.

  I never allow myself to bed a woman more than once. It's not because I'm trying to add notches in my belt of the number of women in my bed, but it's for several good reasons, and no, I don’t think I’m God’s gift to women, but I do know what I’m doing when navigating around a woman’s body. Primarily, I don't need women trying to get close to me. Don't ask me why this one is coming across differently, but for her I may make an exception, as soon
as I figure out what to do about Alyvia. This one is radiating a want that’s calling for me to at least check out at a closer radius. For now, I'll keep my promise and leave her alone.

  "I guess we will," I say in a monologue tone.

  "Um, guys, is this going to be okay," Alyvia asks, breaking us from the little heated stare off we've wandered into. "I'll try to come back as soon as possible. I just thought it may make it less awkward for Haddox if he met someone."

  People are starting to find seats that have been circulating. Alyvia is glancing between the curtain and us, as if she's second-guessing her decision. She's clearly uncomfortable in the position next to me, so I wrap my arm around her shoulder and lightly kiss her temple. "I don't think I've ever been in an awkward situation. You should know better. Go on, we'll be fine."

  She slips from my grasp and walks in the direction of the stage. I ease my way into the row, stepping toward the empty seat next to her. Her cheeks are flushed, just the color I want them to be. Maybe this night won't be shit after all.

  I feel like I can't breathe and I don't have the slightest idea why. I'm never like this in front of a guy, at least not since Cole, and frankly it's a little embarrassing. Damn, but he's so sexy. Why in the hell is a man as yummy as him created? It has to be for the sole purpose to make an independent woman fall on her ass.

  He reaches up and places his arm on the back of my chair as he rests the side of his foot over the opposite thigh in a relaxed state. I can't concentrate on the runway. I don’t have to work tonight because it's not my rotation, but we always get quizzed about the show in class on the following Monday. Nothing has ever distracted me from the fashion world before. It is a part of my blood. Since I was a little girl all I've dreamed about is becoming the next Vera Wang or Chanel and this is not helping.