“Sounds real great. Real important. What’s it called?”
She hesitated and took a sip of her beer before answering. “It’s called Femmepowered.”
He blinked once and bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Femmepowered? Seriously? That’s so lame.”
Rose scowled. “Whatever, Lucky Charms.”
“Hey, I didn’t choose that name.” What a stupid fucking fight name.
“I didn’t choose ‘Femmepowered’ either. I was out-voted.” She took another sip, eyes darting around, looking anywhere but at Nick.
“So what else have you been up to?” He surreptitiously checked her left hand for a ring. “Got a boyfriend?”
Rose let out an audible sigh of impatience but still didn’t meet his gaze. “What’s with the questions, Nick?”
He shrugged. “I’m at a disadvantage here. I know next to nothing about you or what you’ve done in the last four years.”
Finally, she looked at him, her brow arched. “And? You assume I know all about you because you’re a hotshot fighter and you’re so famous? You think I’ve been keeping tabs on you? You flatter yourself.”
He bit his lip and cocked his head at her, at once annoyed and amused. Why was she so goddamn…unfriendly? Had she always been like this? Because he remembered her to be a lot nicer, save for that time she lost her shit on him in the hotel corridor.
“Sometimes I did imagine that,” he said in a low voice. “I imagined you watching my fights or looking through my fanpage, reading stuff about me online.”
Rose’s brows shot up in surprise. Nick was surprised himself. He wasn’t sure it was cool that he let her know that. He probably shouldn’t have. She was going to think he was some kind of pussy who never got over a one-night stand. In his defense, he didn’t mean for their encounter to be just that. He thought they’d exchange numbers, maybe touch base when they found themselves in the same city and, yes, hook up again.
“I did watch your fights. I’ve watched all of them,” she said in a softer voice, repaying his admission with one of her own.
His lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. Well, then…
“Chris is a huge MMA fan. We watch together,” she quickly added.
“Right,” he replied, letting her know with his tone just how much he believed that it was just her brother that was a huge fan. Damn, she was so pretty. Prettier than she had been when he first saw her in that pool bar in Vegas, trying to order a cocktail. He tamped down the urge to haul her to him and kiss her, to see if she would taste and feel the same. Weird. Maybe she’d always been at the back of his mind. He’d thought about her once in a while over the years. Vaguely. Casually. But clearly, whatever attraction he’d felt for her before had just been lying dormant, waiting to be resuscitated. And why shouldn’t they take another crack at it? She was cute, and he was single and up for the challenge she would likely pose.
“Have dinner with me,” he said impulsively.
“No.”
Shot down before he even began. Nick’s cocky smile didn’t waver. It was her loss, really. “Why not?” he found himself asking anyway.
Rose shrugged. “Just no, okay? I don’t hook up. I’m done with that.”
“It’s just dinner, Rosie.”
“Are you saying you won’t try to get me out of my clothes?”
“‘Course I will,” he said with a huff, inwardly pleased that she’d thrown his long-ago words back at him, pleased that she even remembered. This girl was playing him like a fiddle and he was enjoying it.
She snorted. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
“Always.”
“Then I’ll be honest with you. You’re not my type.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “And you figured that out, what, on the strength of one night together four years ago? C’mon, give me a fighting chance here.”
She shook her head. “This isn’t a ploy, Nick. I’m not some challenge you can amuse yourself with between training camps. I’m very busy and I’m honestly not interested.”
Nick’s brows furrowed in response. Was this girl a mind reader or something?
“Plus, you’re dating that swimsuit model…” Her voice dropped to a mumble and she kept eyes on her beer mug, which she held in a tight, bloodless grip.
Nick bit back a grin. Not interested, my ass. “You mean Adriana? I met her at some party in L.A. She didn’t speak a word of English and had no one to talk to. I spend a lot of time in Brazil and I’ve picked up a little Portuguese so…” He trailed off with a shrug. “It was very casual, but my manager milked it for all it was worth.”
“Good for you,” Rose said, sounding bored and making a move to go. “Have a good night. See you around, maybe.”
“Oh, you definitely will,” he smirked.
She paused and gave him a look full of suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your organization gives sexual harassment seminars to businesses?”
“Anti-sexual harassment seminars, yes. So?”
He held his arms out. “Well, I happen to have a business. Not only that, my gym will also be offering free Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu classes for the girls you help. Your dad’s arranged it all.”
Rose pursed her lips at him before scanning the room to look for her father, as if to confirm what she just heard. And there was Pat, not too far from them, watching. He raised his beer bottle at them in a toast.
Nick didn’t see the look Rose gave her dad, but he saw Pat’s self-congratulatory smile falter and morph into one of sheepish apology. Good to know he wasn’t the only six-foot something hulk of a man this tiny wisp of a girl managed to cower.
Rose felt her blood simmer. Betrayed by her own father. Great. She’d had it with domineering macho alpha-jocks for one night. She turned her scowling face to Nick.
“I don’t appreciate the both of you making decisions that involve me and my work without consulting me. I was right here. You could’ve talked to me first.”
God, he was as infuriating and presumptuous as he had been four years ago. Although Rose would be lying if she said she wasn’t flattered that he remembered details about how they met. Like the book. My God, she didn’t even know he’d noticed it back then. Maybe their encounter hadn’t been as forgettable to him as she’d assumed.
Nick looked like he was trying to suppress a laugh, which only made Rose angrier.
“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?” he said. “And I don’t understand what the problem is. Your dad said he’s hooked Femmepowered up with lots of businesses. We’ll pay for your services, same as the rest. Unless you’re saying you’re all booked and don’t have time to squeeze us in. He also mentioned that you used to offer free self-defense training but had to stop because you could no longer subsidize it. We’re just trying to help. Doing our bit for the cause.”
He looked so pleased with himself that Rose was tempted to tell him to shove it. But she wasn’t that proud. They could really, really use the money. Outside of grants and donations, the seminars provided them with the majority of their income, and they got the bulk of their clients from Rose’s dad and his connections. Pat had steered many businesses their way over the years. This wasn’t the first. And, oh wow, free Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu classes by the best trainers in a fancy new gym. It was a better deal than the karate sessions in that beat-up old dojo they could no longer afford. The opportunity was too good to pass up.
Rose frowned. She hated that Nick was right. And she hated the way he said ‘Femmepowered’, although, in her opinion, it really was a stupid name.
“Fine.” Rose took a business card out of her purse and slid it across the table.
“If you’re serious about this, then have your people call me first thing tomorrow. We’ll finalize it then.”
“Fantastic.” Nick pocketed the card after a quick glance. “Now, enough shop talk. When are we having dinner?”
Rose gave him her coldest stare. “You’re doing something very nice for
us. I thank you for it. But I hope you don’t think it entitles you to make inappropriate demands of me.”
A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “What the hell do you take me for, Rose?”
She flinched at the look he gave her. “I…sorry,” she said, voice contrite. Maybe she overreacted a little to what essentially was just some harmless flirting on his part.
“I plan on seducing you, not extorting sexual favors from you,” he said in a low voice. “Where’s the fun in that?” He was grinning at her now, playful and sexy.
Holy shit.
Her brain picked that moment to dredge up flashbacks of how eager she’d been in his arms, of Nick looking down at her with half-lidded eyes and parted lips while she knelt in front of him and…Rose felt a tingle shoot down her legs, making her toes curl. She needed to get away from him before she lost it completely and flung herself across the table into his arms.
Those arms! Those were not the same arms she’d once shamelessly clung to. Nick had changed a lot in four years. His body was bigger and more solid-looking. Rose knew he also hid a second tattoo underneath his shirt. She’d seen it on TV. He was more rugged now, more manly, with about a week’s growth of beard darkening his jaw. He wore his hair a little longer. Unruly locks curled around his ears and on his forehead, not quite long enough to hide his eyes. His smile was the same as it had been before, heart-stopping.
This was so wrong. She couldn’t get hung up about him all over again, not when it took such a long time to get over him the first time around. If she really was over him, that is. Her therapist told her it was completely normal to fixate on the man responsible for her first taste of sexual pleasure. Completely normal, she’d said, that one look at his face and body, even through a TV screen, could make all those feelings come rushing back. She’d been conditioned. She was like Pavlov’s dog. But her therapist could never give her an adequate answer as to why she had never been able to duplicate those feelings for anyone else. God help her, she didn’t want to be like any of those women who wasted away longing for and lusting after men who were bad for them. Rose was smarter than that. She was better than that! Nick Rossi was like crack. He would bring her nothing but trouble.
“Good night, Nick.” She got up and turned, not bothering to wait for a reply, not bothering to say goodbye to her dad or brother either. She made her way to the front door with slightly trembling legs, half-hoping he wasn’t watching, the other half hoping he was and that he’d call out to her and stop her from leaving.
CHAPTER 9
This had to be the most hopeless bunch of attendees Rose had ever come across in the three years that they’d been facilitating these sexual harassment prevention workshops. She was used to mild-mannered middle managers and even the occasional sexist ones, relics from a previous, less enlightened generation. Most came in skeptical but willing to keep an open mind. Some didn’t particularly care about fostering a women-friendly work environment and just wanted to cover their behinds from potential lawsuits.
These fighters and their entourage were a different breed altogether. Rose was practically choking from the testosterone in the air. The conference room was packed with the members of the Grayson-Rossi Training Camp, and the various coaches, trainers, and sparring partners that worked in the Rossi Combat Sports Gym, all dressed in their sporty best or in T-shirts and caps printed with skulls or weird tribal designs and illegible writing.
Rose had seen all the Grayson-Rossi fighters on TV. She’d watched most of their fights and was familiar with their stats. They were an intimidating group with their muscles and collective black belts in various disciplines. But only one person in the room unnerved her.
Nick was alone in the front row, dressed pretty much the same way he had been when they met at Bar None. Worn jeans, black tee that fit snugly on his biceps and across his shoulders. He sat on a chair that was much too small for his frame, long legs outstretched. He never took his eyes off her. She tried not to look but when she did, there he was watching her lazily with a small half-smile playing on his lips. Sometimes he’d lick his lips, as was his habit, and throw Rose off her script.
On the row behind him sat Angelo and Paolo, a third Rossi brother and the manager of the gym. Paolo had called Rose a few days ago to arrange the seminar, and they’d spoken quite a lot since then. Nick was the oldest, followed by Paolo, then Angelo. She was surprised to find that she liked Nick’s brothers, even Angelo with his occasionally glib tongue.
Aided by her trusty PowerPoint presentation, Rose went through the motions of the session, occasionally being interrupted by laughter and silly comments from the guys.
“I got a question,” one of the fighters, a cocky but good-natured bantamweight said. Vince Fajardo, 7 wins 1 loss. He gave Rose a boyish smile, one she knew so well, having grown up with five brothers. A smile that said he was up to no good. “I know you’re, like, a feminist and everything, but are you a lesbian?”
That wasn’t the first inappropriate question she’d fielded that day, and it was unlikely that it was going to be the last. She took a deep, calming breath. “Vince, feminist doesn’t mean lesbian.”
“So you’re saying I got a chance with you?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“So you are a lesbian.”
Having been subjected to this line of questioning more times than she could recall, Rose came equipped with a canned lecture. But before she could begin, Angelo’s voice cut above the laughter.
“Shut the fuck up, asshole. Like you’re her type.”
Vince had a retort ready, but Joe Grayson cut him off with a warning look. Rose remembered him from Nick’s story four years ago. He’d retired from professional fighting, and he and Nick founded the training camp together with Joe as the head coach. Rose had him to thank for quieting the guys down when they got too rowdy.
“I don’t see why we gotta go through all this bull. There aren’t even any bitches in the team or in the gym,” another fighter said, rolling up the thick booklet that Rose had provided and slapping it against his meaty thigh. Jake Swanson, lightweight 4-2.
“Jake, you can’t call women ‘bitches’. That’s on your booklet. No slurs and no sexually explicit profanity in a workplace setting. And maybe that’s something you ought to look into as well,” Rose said, addressing Paolo, “a more equal-opportunity hiring process for the gym.”
“Yeah, P, we should have girls we can work on our grappling with at the gym,” offered one of the sparring partners.
Joe kicked the guy’s chair, and he mumbled a quick apology.
“We can hire cute women, right?” Paolo asked. “I mean, we’re running a gym here. We can’t have fat-assed receptionists greeting our clients.”
Rose gritted her teeth. How was she to endure two more sessions of this without losing her temper? “I understand how some professions and industries might have specific physical requirements, but ‘fit’ is not the same as ‘cute’. I hope you’re all aware how damaging it is to evaluate a woman based solely on physical appearance.”
A hand in the back shot up. It was from a fighter with an impressive mohawk and sleeve tattoos. Darnell Rashad, heavyweight, 19-4. So far he’d been quiet and very attentive. Rose smiled, appreciating his politeness and happy to be engaging the group. “Yes, Darnell? Do you have anything to add?”
“It’s true, you shouldn’t judge girls by how hot they are or whatever,” he said with a solemn nod, “I once hooked up with a butterface, but her nastiness in bed was through the roof.”
The room erupted in howls and despite Rose’s best efforts, the men got drawn into a lively debate on whether it was better to have a “plain” girl that was good in bed or a “super hot” girl that was bad in bed.
“It’s nice to have an arm piece but if she can’t keep shit interesting, I’m kicking her ass to the curb,” Angelo said. “I’d rather go with a Plain Jane.”
“What?” Paolo demanded, aghast. “That could be the mother of
your children. Do you want ugly little Rossi kids running around?”
“Hey, nobody said anything about being ugly! There’s a huge difference between plain and plain ugly.”
She listened to more sexist comments in silent outrage and debated between putting her foot down and taking control or waiting for this digression to die a natural death. When she caught Nick’s eye, her mask of stern reserve slipped just for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for her mounting distress and frustration to show.
He sat up straight and turned around to cast the other guys a look that Rose didn’t see. The conversation dwindled in an instant.
“Shall we continue?” she asked when all eyes were turned to her. She turned to the projector screen behind her, under the heading ‘Workplace Harassment’, she read, “Persistent request for dates and other unwanted sexual advances.”
Someone, she wasn’t sure who, made a side comment about how with enough tequila, there was no such thing as an unwanted sexual advance, which had everyone laughing. That was pretty benign as far as rape jokes went, but she felt the fragile hold she had on her temper break. She had zero tolerance for that kind of talk.
“One in four women will experience some form of sexual violence in their lifetime,” Rose said. “So when you make jokes like that, there’s a huge chance you’re saying it in front of a survivor.”
The men quieted down, looking chastened.
“You all have sisters, mothers, wives, girlfriends, or daughters, right? One in four women, guys. That’s a lot. Be more aware of the words that come out of your mouths. I’m sure you all have an idea of what kind of work we do here and the women we work with. I’d hate to imagine how they’d feel if they heard things like that, even if it was meant as a joke. Reminding someone of their trauma seems like a steep price to pay just to get a few laughs.”
She scanned the room. Everyone was looking down at their hands or laps or out the window, except Nick, who was still staring at her. For once, he didn’t look like he was actively trying to seduce her. His gaze was hot and as intense as ever, but it was a different sort that Rose couldn’t place.
Submission Moves: An MMA Romance Page 6