Leveled

by TC Matson

  By: TC Matson

  Dedication

  To anyone who thirsts for the spotlight:

  Back the fuck off. I own it.

  —Levi

  Copyright © 2017 TC Matson

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permissions of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at authortcmatson@gmail.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, whether living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  Cover Design by: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Editing by: Amanda Brown

  If you haven’t read the entire series STOP NOW!

  Parts of this novella contain Levi & Paige’s POV on situations that happened in No Holds and No Hesitations.

  Click HERE to check out the rest of the Fighter Series.

  Chapter 1

  Two and a half years ago…

  I step into the house and find Levi lying on the couch with his leg thrown over the back, his arm hanging off the side and his phone to his ear. He moves his head, pinning me with a glance of adoration, and grins before switching his view back to the ceiling.

  “I’m not traveling. He’ll have to come to me,” he tells the person on the other end.

  I drop my purse on the kitchen island and head for something to drink.

  “Fuck no. I’ve rooted my ass here and I plan to stay that way. No amount of money will change my mind,” he says and then barks an annoyed laugh. “You just talked your ass in a circle. I don’t have to travel, but you want me to go to him?”

  He’s definitely rooted his ass right here. Shortly after winning the championship fight against Ryker, he moved in. He couldn’t stand the thought of me living alone since Blain was moving in with Lacy. Oh, and “we’ll have all the mind-blowing sex we want.” I couldn’t think of much of an argument after that. It wasn’t very gradual either. One afternoon he showed up with his things, which all fit in the back of his BMW SUV, and about an hour later a furniture company showed up and delivered a king-size bed and a large dresser.

  Well, then…

  The next day he went out scouting for a place to work out while I pulled double shifts. Two days later, after enduring the frustration of none of the gyms having everything he needs in one spot, he bought a small building. Within days, he supplied it with everything he needs—heavy bags, bench press, elliptical, humongous ropes, and everything in between.

  He hasn’t sold his house in Tennessee either. He said we’d use it as a vacation home to go skiing in the winter, to watch the leaves change in the fall, and whenever else we want to just get away.

  So far, it’s been good, like really good. We both screwed up, but we put the past behind us. No damn good reason to keep looking back. Not when you’ve got open road in front of you. I figured once he moved in we’d bump heads a lot. I mean, we all know how Levi can be—his way, his way, his way. But truthfully, we don’t argue like we did when we didn’t live together. It’s the complete opposite of what I thought we’d be. The majority of our days are filled with fun banter. We spend more time smiling than scowling, laughing than fussing.

  And watching him do household chores has proven more of a turn-on than his naked body in the shower. You should see him push mowing—often times shirtless, his skin wet with sweat, sexy big arms doing other manly things than punching shit… Domesticated has never looked hotter. I reward him for being such an alluring man often. No way I can keep my hands to myself with that view.

  Not long after moving in, he convinced me to quit Tonic after Jim showed his ass. I have never felt so disrespected by and scared for the same man in my life. One evening I stopped in to tell Jim I would need off in two weekends. He reacted by being a rude ass. Problem was, Levi was with me and did not appreciate the way Jim talked to me. He showed his temper and gave Jim a hell of a scare. I quit right there on the spot.

  Levi stands and stretches as he ends the call and tosses his phone behind him onto the couch. His royal blues, heavy with frustration, shift to me. “You up for a trip to Cali?”

  I cock my head to the side and draw my brows together. “For what?” He doesn’t have a fight for another few months.

  “I’ve got another fighter to train and Cory wants me to meet him,” he says impassively.

  “But you’re in the pros now. Won’t this take away from you?”

  He grins, showing off his panty-melting dimple and drags the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “I love you being my cheerleader. My training will always be first. Next to you, of course. But this Nick character isn’t fresh. He’s been on the scene for a year or so.”

  “Then that means he has a coach. Right? Why does he need you?”

  He spreads his large tattooed arms to his side. “Who doesn’t need me?”

  I roll my eyes and purse my lips.

  He chuckles and then sobers up. “His coach bailed after knocking up some random chick. Apparently the coach’s wife was surprised and didn’t approve of his extracurricular activities. She divorced him and took everything the dumbass had.”

  “Ouch.” I scrunch my face and then massage the skin between my thumb and forefinger.

  He hasn’t coached since Katie and that was a colossal failure, almost ruining his career and us.

  He runs his hands down my arms. “I’m not going to be traveling, Sunshine. My foot is down. If Nick needs me, he’ll have to come to me.”

  “So why do we need to go to California?” I ask, feeling a bit confused.

  “Initial meet. See how we pair.” He shrugs.

  “Have you ever heard of him?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No. From what Cory said, he’s been in the MMAT climbing the ranks for just a little over a year.”

  “When do we leave? I need to let the restaurant know.”

  He exhales. “Just quit there, Paige. I’ve got you. Us.”

  I blink up to him. “I’m not ready to give up that piece of me yet. I really enjoy it and Holly. It breaks up my monotony.”

  He’s not happy but smiles anyway. “I’ll book the flight for Thursday. The meeting is Friday.”

  My eyes bulge. “Wow. What a heads up.”

  “You found out when I did.”

  “Technically, I don’t need to go. I mean, I’ll just be an arm weight, right?”

  He smirks, possessiveness glazing over his gaze. “Technically,” he mocks me, using a high-pitched voice that sounds absolutely nothing like me, “you’ll be the sexiest arm weight there. I want you beside me.” He drops a kiss on my cheek and then arches his brow. “Besides, I want to hear you moan in California. You’re coming…all pun intended.”

  And just like that, Levi talks me into it.

  Chapter 2

  The gym smells too clean and girly…flowery, like the fucking cleaning crew had a dance off with Febreze after their tropical wipe down competition on the machines and equipment.

  The scent makes my head hurt.

  Gyms like this are fake. They’re not supposed to smell like women pamper themselves here. They’re meant to smell like men and woman have sweated their asses off and shed blood with determination covered by the scent of cleaning supplies. Bleach. Not potent flower fucking petals. I don’t need to feel like I’m rolling around in freshly cleaned girly sheets.
>
  Paige’s soft snicker warms my ears and I peer down at her. “You’re hating it right now, aren’t you?”

  “It’s going to collapse my airway,” I jest.

  She rolls her eyes and mischief plays on her lips. “I need to find out what scent this is. I think it smells so good I want to use it at home.”

  I smirk, arching a brow. “Careful what you wish for. I may find a bunch of men to make the living room the new gym.”

  “You wouldn’t?” she gasps with a small giggle.

  I puff a chuckle. “Your girly candles are enough. No need to add more odors to the mix.”

  The front of the gym is packed. Men and women using different equipment—running on treadmills, at the bench press, leg press—all watching me walk through like I’m their sexy as hell king. What? I can’t help I’m just that sexy. They should take me as an example. I’m the epitome of hard work.

  Toward the back, a glass partition slices the area in two and it’s a much different scene on the other side—one I’m most comfortable with. Mirrors and pads line the walls while rubber and foam mats edge the floor. Grappling dummies rest against an open cabinet with protective padding. Three heavy bags hang from the metal rafters and there stands the one man I’m looking for.

  He’s knocking the leather, his hair a sweaty mess and his scarred face sporting heavy stubble. Dark eyes land on me. He stops punching and squares me up, puffing his chest out.

  Great. Shithead thinks he’s something else.

  I tip my head. “You Murphy?”

  “Yeah,” he gruffs.

  “I’m going to sit over there,” Paige points to the wooden bench along the back wall.

  Amused and cold eyes shift to her. “You must be Paige? Yeah. Cory said you’d be our babysitter.”

  Anger bursts through my vision, the force tensing my body. “Who the fuck—”

  She pivots on her heels toward him. “More like your babysitter, especially when your mouth gets you in trouble. I’m the only one who can stop him from ripping your limbs off one by one,” she says, pointing to me and sounding sweetly level-headed.

  I smirk. Yeah. That’s my girl.

  “Pretty fucked up way to start this off. You need me. I don’t need you for shit,” I bite.

  He smirks, his top lip sporting an ugly scar, and nods. “We’ll see.”

  I’m three seconds from pummeling this asshole. “I didn’t fly out here to have some punk be a disrespectful dickhead. Either we stand on the line together, or we don’t stand at all.”

  He breathes a deep chuckle, rolling his head forward and shaking it. “Look. My coach got caught up in some shady shit. Ever had it made and then the next minute it’s all gone? Everything a deception? You’ll understand if I don’t trust easily.”

  “Your coach’s problem isn’t mine. You specifically asked for me. Here I am and you’re fucking it up by your chip on your shoulder.”

  He narrows his eyes and the image of me laying his ass out flashes behind my eyes. “Yeah. I asked for you. One of the best fighters this association’s got. Heard you can coach. I’m ready to climb the charts and quit sitting neutral.”

  “Am the best fighter the association’s got,” I correct him with smugness. “You want me to help? Get your head out of your ass. Cocky is one thing, being lucky is another.”

  His brows furrow. “Lucky?” he asks with skepticism.

  “You talk to my girl like that again, and you’ll see how quickly your luck runs out.”

  We share a hostile stare—one I’m not backing down from. This punk doesn’t scare me. He’s nowhere near my size and definitely doesn’t have any of my years of training. He wants to sword fight, I assure you my dick’s bigger.

  Breaking first, he looks away. “So how does this work?”

  I smirk victoriously and tip my head to the boxer’s ring behind us. “Let’s see what you’re working with.”

  Paige’s perfect ass is on the bench watching us…well, me. My girl loves to watch me in action. Works her up for me to work out later…

  Nick’s sparring with something bigger to prove. He’s focused, desperate to land a punch. I haven’t let him and I don’t plan on it. You don’t act like you’re better than me, and then disrespect my girlfriend, and then get to punch me. Not at all. Not for one second.

  Nick’s quick. He’s good, but only decent. He’s not Levi quality. Yeah. I come with a label. I’m not a pro for nothing. I didn’t fight my way through the ranks rocking heads half-assed. Nope. I rose to the top with incredible purpose, determined to be better than them all. And I am. That’s why I’m undefeated at the pinnacle and the rest of the losers are all beneath me.

  I step in and rock him with a hard right that snaps his head to the side. It also lights a fire in his eyes and he tries to reciprocate the same brain rattle into me.

  Not going to happen.

  Problem is he’s got a habit of glancing where he’s going to strike accompanied by a slight twitch of his hips proving which direction he’s taking. If I see it coming, I’m moving. Simple as shit.

  “Quit looking where you’re going and surprise me,” I say.

  He blasts off in a chaos of punches.

  He strikes with a left jab—I block it.

  He throws a right hook—I move.

  He kicks—I feign.

  Frustration crawls across his face.

  With my fingers, I point to my eyes. “You’re still advertising where you’re going. Look at me. Lock your eyes on my face and trust yourself.”

  Finally, he does and I let him land his left hook. Most people learn faster when offered a reward. Good job, Johnnie.

  Twenty minutes go by and his hits are getting better. He’s landed a few. He’s even gotten so confident, dumbass tries wrapping me up. I don’t go down. I hate the ground and will buck like a bull to stay away from it. My discipline isn’t wrestling. My passion is blow for blow because there’s nothing like the adrenaline you get when you trade the punches.

  He strikes with a combo—left jab, right hook—followed by a solid kick to my thigh. It shuffles me back. He doesn’t allow me to regain my footing when he advances forward, continuing his assault. I’m ducking and weaving, grinning like a bastard because he’s finally making me work.

  But now it’s his turn.

  I side step and then lead in. Lefts. Rights. Combos. Although he’s moving, he’s predictable and I’m landing more than I should. I back up allowing him to gain his bearings. No need to batter him. I have nothing to prove.

  He circles me, his hands up, and then the fucker grins. “Whatcha think, coach?”

  “I haven’t agreed to it.” I toss a soft jab and he moves.

  “I’ve got four words that will guarantee you’ll coach me.” He kicks and I move out of its way, stepping back in with a right hook that meets his cheek.

  His head snaps, malice dripping from his eyes when he slides them back to me.

  “Yeah?” I ask. “And what would they be?”

  “Ryker’s on my roster.”

  His words. They snap my spine straight and I drop my hands. “Where the fuck is the dotted line?”

  I’m stupefied with excitement and a boost of adrenaline when Nick takes advantage and sucker punches the fuck out of me. Caught the fuck off guard, it causes me to stumble backward several steps before I recoup.

  He chuckles, dropping his arms to his side. “I knew that’d get you.”

  “Yeah. Well, if you don’t straighten up, Ryker will slaughter you in the ring.” I puke Ryker’s compliment. “He’ll feed on every one of your weaknesses, and trust me, you’ve got enough of them. You’ll be destroyed.” I puke that one too. “When’s the bout?”

  “Three months.”

  “That’s a lot of work in a short amount of time. You want me, you come to me. I’ve got a small gym equipped with everything you’ll need. There’s a hotel down the street or if you need something more permanent, find a house to rent. No matter if he’s on your schedul
e or not, I’m not traveling,” I say.

  He nods. “What’s the training schedule?”

  “Four to five hours a day, six days a week, until just before your fights. Then it’ll be soft training. No worries about tearing muscles and wearing yourself down before kicking ass.”

  “When do I start?” he asks, tossing his gloves to the side.

  “When can you fly in?”

  “Next week. It’ll give me time to shift around a few things,” he tells me.

  “The day after you land, you’ll be at my gym. I’m strict. I won’t put up with bullshit,” I warn. “Your last coach failed you miserably. How you’re still in the MMAT is a miracle. You need to show them you’re here to stay.”

  “Precisely why I want you. We’re on the same page.”

  “And because I’m the best,” I grin wickedly, “I’ll have your contract written up by the time you get there. For now, get your shit together.”

  His chuckle is laced with fascination. “Rumors are you hate him, but you truly hate the Striker that bad?”

  Let’s see. Rewind the tail of the tape.

  For years that fucker has talked so much shit. He thinks he’s better than me, acts like he’s better, and had the audacity to prey on the vulnerable and lay his lips on Paige. Then tried using that shit to garble my thoughts during our championship fight…

  “Hate is an understatement. I abhor that motherfucker with a passion.” I nod my head. “I’ll see you next week.”

  Chapter 3

  “I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say feeling worried about the deal with Nick. He only took it because of Ryker. And those two collide. It never turns out well. Not. At. All.

  Levi drops the menu and regards me with an undisturbed glance. “I know Ryker’s fighting style better than anyone. Hopefully Nick absorbs all the training quickly and kicks that dickhead’s ass. That way I can smile knowing it’s twice I’ve handed him defeat.”