Win by Submission

by Melynda Price

  “I’m fine, Tom. Thanks for your concern. I was just looking for something in the closet. A person could get lost in there if she wasn't careful.”

  “Good thing you had someone to stand point.”

  Cole couldn’t decide if that sarcasm was for his benefit or hers, but either way, it was not appreciated. He stepped back and turned to face Katie’s patient, not even attempting to disguise his irritation.

  “Oh, cut it out, Tommy,” she scolded, walking up to the guy and playfully cuffing him on the shoulder. “If I needed a guard dog, I’d buy a German shepherd.”

  Cole sized up the man who smiled down at her, looking a bit sheepish. He stood maybe six-one, was about Cole’s weight, but with more bulk than real muscle. As the guy’s gaze cut to him, it took about all of two seconds for his overprotective scowl to morph into surprise. “Holy shit! You’re Cole Easton!”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t return the guy’s smile. Not that he seemed to notice.

  “Oh, man, I’m a big fan—big fan! Katie Bug, why didn’t you tell me you knew Cole Easton?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a little thing called HIPAA.”

  He rolled his eyes as if the idea of confidentiality were preposterous. Ignoring Katie’s playful elbow to his ribs, Tom limped forward and stretched out his hand. Obviously, this guy wasn’t romantically involved with her or he wouldn’t be beaming at him with a starstruck, ear-to-ear grin right now. But they were obviously friends, which meant Cole needed to stuff his inner Neanderthal and mind his manners.

  “I’ve seen all your fights. And whoa, that last one . . . You were amazing!”

  Defiantly not the words Cole would have used to describe that last fight.

  “Man, I hope they kick that fucker De’Grasse out of the league for what he did.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not going to happen.”

  “Aww, seriously? That sucks. So what are you doin’ here?”

  “Same thing as you, I suspect.”

  “No shit? Our little Katie Bug is going to PT Cole Easton?”

  “It’s not that big of a deal, Tom. I’ve rehabbed athletes before. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but this is Cole freaking Easton! The Beast of the East. He’s not just an athlete, he’s the athlete of MMA.”

  Damn, he was used to people making a big deal out of him, but this was getting downright embarrassing. Too bad his physical therapist wasn’t half as enamored with him as her client.

  “Man, you gotta let me buy you a beer. How long you gonna be in town?”

  Perhaps a bit delayed, Cole smiled, putting on his media face, the one his sponsors paid him very well to wear. “I guess that depends on how fast Katie Bug here can fix me up.” He winked at her. “I gotta tell you, that’s an interesting nickname.”

  “Katie Bug? Aww hell . . . we’ve called her that since kindergarten, right, kiddo?” Tom slung his beefy arm around her neck and pulled her into a sideways brotherly hug. He half-expected the guy to rub his knuckles on top of her head.

  “Let go of me, you big oaf.”

  She tried to shove him away and Tom laughed. Cole couldn’t help chuckling as Katie’s face squished into an embarrassed grimace. It was obvious they were old friends, which helped him warm to the guy. “So, you’re an MMA fan. Do you fight?”

  Tom released his hold on Katie—whose hands immediately began fixing her messed-up ponytail—and shrugged. “I wrestled in high school and dabbled in MMA for the last few years, but nothing competitive. There aren’t any good gyms around here that cater to the art, or are interested in turning out a well-rounded fighter.”

  “I tell you what, you get that knee fixed up, and I’ll ditch these gimp sticks, and we’ll throw around in the ring a little bit and you can show me what you got before I head back.”

  “Seriously? Oh, man, that’d be awesome!”

  “So you know what that means?” Katie said, giving Tom a motherly scowl. “It means you gotta listen to me and quit stressing that knee.”

  Tom blushed like a kid whose mom just called him out in front of the cool kid.

  Cole chuckled, “Don’t worry about it, man. She does the same thing to me.”

  Katie gasped, propping her fists on her hips and looking wholly offended were it not for that grin she was fighting back.

  “I’ll let you two get started. She can torture you for a while.”

  Tom laughed. Katie huffed. Cole winked at her as he turned to leave, pleased to see a rush of color brighten her cheeks.

  So this is the best restaurant in town?” Cole surveyed the bar lining the front right side of the pub, his gaze catching and briefly meeting the eyes of a man sitting at the corner. The guy quickly broke contact and elbowed a man sitting beside him. He leaned over and said something to his buddy. At first, it didn’t strike Cole as odd. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to recognize him when he was out in public. What did catch his notice though was the guy’s friend, whose head snapped around like he’d been fish-hooked and boldly stared—at Katie.

  She didn’t see him. His sexy little PT was leading the way to a table that had just emptied, which was taking a hell of a lot longer than it should have, because every few steps someone she knew stopped her to say hi and ask her how her father was doing. Growing up in Reno, Cole had zero experience living in a small town, which he suspected was much like living under a microscope. Everyone seemed to know everyone here, and he had no doubt that guy watching her from the bar knew exactly who she was, too—and he wasn’t happy to see Cole with her.

  He locked gazes with the guy over the top of Katie’s head. She was leaning down, her attention focused on the woman she was talking to. Holding his stare, it felt more like a CFA weigh-in, and Cole gave the guy no quarter, donning the same malicious glare he used to strike fear into the hearts of countless opponents.

  It took longer for the guy to look away than he’d expected, and all the while Cole’s instincts were clamoring. His pulse quickened to the rush of adrenaline hitting his veins, his muscles growing tight, senses heightening as his body grew restless, hungry for a long-overdue fight. He craved it like the very air he breathed. Cole thought the lack of action must be getting to him, because he would have sworn this guy at the bar wanted to throw down. He saw no recognition in the man’s eyes that he knew who Cole was, or the ass whupping he was courting if he kept looking at Katie like that.

  It wasn’t uncommon for some liquored-up prick who recognized him from TV to act like a big shot in front of his buddies and pick a fight. Somewhere in their alcohol-sodden minds, those assholes thought if they could best a professional fighter, it would prove their badass status with their friends or something. But this was not the case with the man at the corner of the bar. This was personal.

  Cole was about two seconds from heading over there with a whole lot of what the fuck is your problem? when the guy suddenly broke his stare and turned his attention back to his beer. The woman talking to Katie said, “Give your father our best, dear. Tell him we’re praying for him.”

  “I will. Thank you, Charlotte.” Katie shot him an apologetic smile, and they proceeded forward. People were packed into the quaint little bar, and it took some maneuvering to reach their table. Cole decided not to mention the guy at the bar. There was no reason to risk upsetting her. He pulled out a chair for Katie to sit, positioning her with her back to the bar. He took the seat that gave him the clearest view of the guy throwing off all the hostility.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking her seat and scooting her chair closer to the table.

  “No problem. Is it always this busy in here?” The tables lining the right side of the long, narrow building were completely full, as was the bar. There was no way this place wasn’t exceeding the fire code limit.

  “Uh-huh. That’s because it’s the best and the oldest place around. See that ceiling?” She pointed up. “That’s the original tin. This building is a historic icon.” She leaned across the table and gave him a conspir
atorial grin that kicked his pulse up a notch. “Some even say it’s haunted. People come from all around to eat here.”

  Cole couldn’t resist partaking in her infectious smile. Leaning across the table to meet her halfway, his mouth a few tempting inches from hers, he whispered back, “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  Her smile grew bigger, amusement dancing in her emerald eyes that sparkled like jewels. “Really? That’s interesting. You know it’s an interesting fact that 45 percent of the population believes in ghosts. You believe in miracles, don’t you?”

  Unmindful that he probably shouldn’t be touching her in public—or in any other place for that matter—Cole reached up and brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. Lord, her skin was soft . . . “I must. I’m believing in you.”

  At his confession, her lips parted with a surprised gasp. But damn, if it wasn’t the God’s-honest truth. This beautiful woman sitting across from him was the only thing standing between him and ruin. If she couldn’t get him back into fighting condition . . .

  “Good evening. Oh, hey, Katie.”

  The waitress seemed to appear out of nowhere and set two waters down in front of them. Cole dropped his hand, and they settled back in their seats as the waitress handed them each a menu before rattling off the specials and then quickly moving on, promising to be back shortly.

  As Cole opened the menu and began to read through the choices, the fine hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle with unease. Casting a quick glance over Katie’s shoulder, he locked eyes with the man who seemed to be having a hell of a time keeping his eyes to himself. Cole glanced at Katie, checking to see if she’d noticed the stranger watching her, but she appeared none the wiser. Her face was hidden behind the menu as she chatted away, making recommendations for some of her favorites. She seemed completely at ease, causing him wonder if she wasn’t used to being stared at. With a face and a body like that, one would probably grow accustomed to the attention. It made sense she’d learned to tune it out. Which begged the more interesting question: Why the hell did it bother him so much, then?

  Cole promptly pushed that conundrum aside, because he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t going to like the answer he came up with. Cole read through the menu. When he flipped it over to the back page, he gave Katie an arched-brow look over his laminated list of meal options and asked, “So . . . what exactly is Redneck Juice?”

  She busted out laughing—a throaty belly laugh that made something in his chest tighten, his pulse quicken. Her uninhibited amusement rang out like a siren’s call, drawing the attention of more than one set of eyes from the bar. If she noticed the men staring at her, she gave no indication. But Cole sure as hell noticed, and the spark of possessiveness lighting up his veins was a wholly unwelcome experience.

  “It’s a Bloody Mary mix,” she explained. “The Sportsman Bar is famous for it. You should try it.”

  “No thanks. I’m kind of a beer guy.”

  “You don’t like tomato juice?”

  “No, I like it just fine. I don’t drink hard liquor.” Not in public, anyway. Been there, done that, and he had the mug shot to prove it. After spending a night in the drunk tank, he vowed he’d never drink to the point of losing control again. Perhaps if he’d learned that valuable lesson a few months earlier, he wouldn’t have been arrested for assault and battery.

  She nodded, seeming to approve of his self-imposed limits. If she only knew what it’d taken to get him to this point, she wouldn’t be looking so proud of him, that was for damn sure.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  The waitress swept over, pen and paper in hand. She looked a bit frazzled, not that he blamed her. Wanting to keep it simple, he ordered the house special and a dark beer on tap. Katie ordered the same but with a lemon iced tea. The waitress hurried away. Cole watched her approach the bar where he checked the status on the guy in the corner. He wasn’t there. Cole tipped his head to the side, trying to see around the woman.

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she.”

  Oh hell . . . Katie thought he was checking out their waitress. His gaze shot to her, but her expression was completely guarded. “Is she?” he asked blithely. “I didn’t notice.” And he really hadn’t. Katie had him so cranked up, he couldn’t even tell her what their waitress looked like if she asked.

  She rolled her eyes like she didn’t believe him, but before he could press her on it, she jumped subjects. “Listen, I want to thank you for today.”

  “What for?”

  “What you did for Tom. You can’t imagine how hard this rehab has been on him.”

  Cole arched his brow as if to say, Oh really?

  She promptly realized her error because in the next breath, she rushed to say, “Wow, I’m sorry. That was pretty insensitive. I guess you do, don’t you?”

  He knew, all right. He knew all too well the physical and emotional torture that went hand in hand with rehab. It was a lot of pain for little gain, and it took steely determination not to let that shit break you. How many times in the last six months had he been tempted to give up? Too fucking many to count, that was how many.

  “What happened to his leg?”

  Katie smiled and something in his chest tightened. Damn, it should be a crime for a woman to be so beautiful.

  “What, now you’re trying to get me to violate patient confidentiality. I tell you . . .” she tsked, shaking her head as if he should be ashamed of himself.

  He smiled at her playfulness, realizing it’d been a long damn time since he’d cracked a genuine grin, and too damn often since meeting her. “Come on, you rebel. You know you want to tell me,” he goaded.

  She thought about it for a moment. “I’m trusting you to keep it a secret. And I’m only telling you because I know Tom so well and I know without a doubt he wouldn’t mind.”

  Cole lifted his pinched fingers to his mouth, dragged them across his lips, and turned his wrist—a silent vow they were sealed.

  “Okay.”

  As she began to tell him what happened to Tom, she leaned forward so as not to be overheard, giving him a gorgeous view of the most perfect, creamy breasts he’d ever seen. The ripe mounds of flesh were barely contained by the demi cut of her pink lace-trimmed bra. That familiar stirring in his groin warned him to drag that stare back up to her eyes before he embarrassed himself in public.

  “. . . snowmobile rolled, pinning his leg under the machine. He was the last in line, so it was a while before his group realized he wasn’t behind them anymore. It took over an hour for EMS to rescue him, and he spent a week in the trauma center at Regions having multiple surgeries to rebuild his shattered leg. Tom’s been coming to me twice a week for the last two months. He’s healing, but of course not as fast as he wants to, or thinks he should be. I think seeing you today, knowing what happened to you, gave him hope. You encouraged him more than you realize. Just giving him the goal of sparring with you seems to have renewed his drive to keep pushing forward. I just can’t thank you enough for helping him.”

  That look of gratitude on her beautiful face was all the thanks he needed. In all honesty, he hadn’t really done anything. He sparred with lots of trainees in the youth center. It wasn’t a big deal, but listening to Katie, you’d think he was a hero or something, which made him more than a little uncomfortable, because he wasn’t a damn hero. He was a crippled MMA fighter who was scared as hell he was going to lose his career.

  Cole cleared his throat uncomfortably and mumbled, “Well, I’m glad you think it helped.” And he was. Hell, he knew better than anyone the endurance, the fortitude, the frustration, and the pain one had to go through to get back on his feet after a devastating injury.

  The smile she beamed at him could have lit the restaurant. “I know it did. So tell me . . . does it ever get old?”

  “Does what ever get old?”

  “The fans, having people recognize you wherever you go?”

  “I enjoy the fans, for the most part. If it weren’t f
or them, I wouldn’t have a job. Then I’d actually have to work for a living.” He gave her a teasing wink and she laughed.

  “Oh, something tells me you work plenty hard.”

  “Is it work when you love what you do?”

  “As long as you’re getting paid for it, it is. I love what I do, too. I guess we’re just lucky that way.”

  She shot him a grin over her glass as she lifted it to her parted lips and took a sip of her ice water. Good God, he’d never wanted to be an inanimate object more than he did at this moment. Thinking of all the places he’d love to feel those luscious lips of hers was absolutely counterproductive to his hope of getting through this dinner without having the imprint of his zipper imbedded into his cock.

  Tearing his gaze from hers, Cole did another sweep of the bar.

  “What are you staring at?” Katie turned to look behind her. “You’re all glary and it’s making me nervous,” she teased, but as she searched the crowd, her gaze strayed to the group of men standing near the bathroom. Her smile immediately fell, and that becoming pink blush she’d worn so often today blanched.

  Cole followed her gaze and promptly found the guy he’d been looking for exiting the bathroom, weaving his way through the crowd. Dammit, he knew he hadn’t been imagining that shit. “Katie . . . ?” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. The moment his fingers closed around hers, she whipped her head back around to face him and slinked down in her chair. He didn’t have the heart to tell her the guy already knew she was there. He’d been watching them since they’d walked in. Her fingers slipped between his, curling tight until her blunt little nails bit into the back of his hand.

  “Hey, Katie,” he rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand to get her attention. Her palm was clammy against his, her wide, verdant eyes staring unfocused. He could see her pulse hammering in the little divot at the base of her throat. His arms ached to pull her into them, to shelter her from the terror that so clearly had overtaken her.