“So you’re trying to convince me by tapping into my sixty-year-old self?”
“Something like that,” I smiled sweetly.
“OK, if you think this is a step toward making you and me ok again, consider it done.”
“Good.”
“Good. Now I guess I better get myself to the arena.”
“I guess you better.”
We hugged again and King kissed me, clearly thankful that I lifted his guilt and gave him a reason to go to—and win—this fight. He left a few minutes after that conversation and I started to get ready myself, terribly nervous about how this night would play out.
I wasn’t worried about whether King wins the fight or not. I was worried about two things: he could get hurt, and I’ll have to face Layla and their stupid press machine. Both of those possibilities are terrifying to me.
Two hours later, I was looking fierce and perfectly prepared to face whatever tonight brought on. The hairdresser just left my suite, after making my long hair fall in big waves down my back and yes, I had a drink or two to calm my nerves. I slathered on a final layer of lip-gloss and put the few necessary items into my clutch purse while waiting for the cars to pull up downstairs.
Rather than a text from the head driver to let me know the cars are waiting, the butler called asking if he should send Will to our room.
“Hi, Will. What are you doing here?” I asked when he walked into the suite.
“Knox wanted a door-to-door drop off tonight,” he said through a smile.
The security team in Vegas is from the same company that we always use, so they all knew our history and details of the situation with Giorgio. I’m sure his smile is because our file notes that King can be a little over protective.
“I apologize for escaping last night,” I said with a modest smirk.
“Don’t worry about it. Knox yelled at me for it, but it was deserved. It won’t happen again.”
“Great,” I said sarcastically.
We headed downstairs, meeting up with my friends in the lobby—we were all trickling out of our rooms at roughly the same time. I could feel myself getting nervous, but I kept taking big breaths and did my best to stay calm, and not get overwhelmed.
When we pulled up to the front entrance, I was happy to learn that King’s team made things easy for us…one of Rick’s helpers got our tickets from will call and met us at the door. Will walked us in and showed us where we were sitting, and where the security guys would be positioned. Claudia, Kevin and I were in the front row near King’s area of the octagon; the rest of our friends were a few rows back.
We sat down and ordered drinks from the waitress just in time to see Layla enter the arena with all kinds of fan-fare—the press she hired were still having a field day with this story—at least, she paid them to act like she was important.
She strategically took a seat directly in the middle of the two areas that King and Giorgio would enter; not surprisingly, there were already cameras set up to capture the whole event—not the fight, but the drama she was planning. I rolled my eyes and told Claudia I’d be back, that I was going to see King.
I checked in with security at the opening of the dark, long tunnel and walked through the hallway, then found King’s warm-up room and knocked on the door. Rick answered and gave us a few minutes alone to chat.
King looked good—strong, confident, and still with a clear mind so all of his focus stayed on the fight. I heard the door click closed behind Rick before King inched closer to me, his eyes boring into mine. He put his hands on either side of my head and talked in a slow, deep voice.
“The second this is over, we are going to celebrate. It’ll all be over once I walk out of that octagon,” he said.
I stepped forward and kissed him slowly. He told me that he already felt such a sense of relief that Giorgio will be out of our life and this week will soon be a thing of the past. And he promised to make this up to me. After a few minutes alone, Rick came back to the room and told me they had to prep him, so I said my goodbyes and one last bit of encouragement.
“Absolutely, we’ll celebrate after this. Now go get yourself ready to kick some ass,” I said smiling.
He kissed me deeply and passionately before I backed away and slowly let go of his hand. I didn’t let my real feelings show until I’d left his room.
I’m terrified. I know King’s an amazing fighter, but Giorgio’s no chump either. And Giorgio wants this win more. King’s looking at it as a task he has to finish before celebrating; Giorgio’s looking at this as a life-changing event.
I wanted to go back into King’s room and beg him not to fight, but I just couldn’t do that to him at the eleventh hour. So I kept walking.
I forced myself to remove any worry lines from my forehead before I left the hallway; it wouldn’t do for anyone in Giorgio’s crew to see me worried. By the time I got to the end of the hallway, I had a forced smile on my face and put the some swagger in my step.
Back at my seat, the champagne we ordered was waiting on ice, and practically calling out my name. I picked up a glass and did my best to not guzzle the bubbles—I wanted to calm my nerves, but certainly don’t want to get drunk.
But I couldn’t resist—the champagne was relaxing and I felt so tense that I allowed Kevin to keep refilling my glass. Layla was looking my way constantly and I had a feeling she had something up her sleeve. So I kept drinking more to keep my mind off Layla and, hopefully, calm my nerves. By the time I was on my third glass, Miko came to talk to me.
“How are you doing?” he asked, pointing to the glass.
“Hanging in there,” I said, smiling timidly.
“Don’t worry about this. King got his nickname for a reason, remember?” he said smiling.
“You can tell I’m stressed?”
“Well, you’re on your third glass and you’ve only been back in your seat for twenty minutes, so yeah.”
“Ha, you know me well. Thanks for checking up on me.”
“If you need anything, I’m just two rows back.” He kissed me on my cheek and went back to his seat.
Since I left Miko’s room in King’s arms this morning, I hoped he understands where things stand. At the same time, I am happy that we’ve become friends this week. I’m feeling pretty comfortable with him again.
Shortly after Miko left our row, the lights went dark and a spotlight appeared in the center of the octagon. The announcer started listing the fights that were taking place tonight; King’s is second on the roster. Whew, I had some more time to try to relax.
But relaxation was not in the cards…just having the lights go down made my nerves run amuck. And they haven’t calmed down even with the knowledge that it isn’t happening quite yet.
Watching King fight when he was a stranger was awesome—he is so sexy when his flexed muscles are glistening under the lights, and he is so skilled at dominating his opponents in the octagon.
But now that I love him, I don’t want to take any chances that he could get hurt. And I know Giorgio’s very much in prime form now, too.
I ordered another drink—this time a lemon drop martini. There will be no more celebratory bubbles for me until this is all over. But when the waitress came to drop off our order, I was surprised she had another a bottle of champagne in hand—and it was King’s favorite. I guessed this is his way of trying to keep my mind off of the fight.
...but I was wrong.
The waitress handed me a note; the champagne was from Layla.
King & I enjoyed many bottles of this—I hope you do, too. I’m picking King. XOXO
I sat there staring at the note for a second too long; the cameraman near Layla started taking pictures of my astonished face. Claudia realized something was awry and took the note out of my hand.
“Oh Ava, she’s just fucking with you. Ignore her,” Claudia suggested.
“Ignore her? You know this champagne’s not cheap, Claudia. Why would she spend hundreds of dollars just to fuck with me? S
he could’ve just sent a martini. This was a message,” I said pointing at the bottle’s label.
I saw confusion pass over Claudia’s face; it was subtle, but just enough to confirm that I wasn’t imagining the importance of this message.
“If she’s such a one-night stand, how does she know King’s favorite champagne? And why bother to let me know in advance that she’s going to choose him?”
Claudia rolled her eyes, saying “It’s all part of the game for her. Who knows? Maybe that shitty MMA journalist snapping pictures of your reaction right now is the whole point. Pretend you don’t care. As a matter of fact, get up and open the bottle as if you’re pouring after King has already won; exaggerate your happiness.”
I didn’t follow her suggestion—I’m not playing along with these petty games.
“Will you please return this bottle to the sender? And tell her I’m not interested in playing her reindeer games anymore,” I asked the waitress while tossing the note into the ice bucket.
She smiled and picked up the champagne bucket, and then carried it to Layla’s seat and set the bucket down. The waitress pulled the note out of the ice, tapped it on the side of the bucket to let the water run off, and handed it to Layla; I watched smugly as Layla’s face turned into a scowl, as she accepted the sopping wet note.
Layla’s eyes flicked to me, then she smiled as if she got one over on me. I rolled my eyes and picked up my martini that, thankfully, the waitress brought as well.
“To King and yet another win under his belt. We’ll all celebrate after he’s done embarrassing Giorgio and his little twit of a girlfriend,” I said loudly.
I doubted Layla could hear us, but if anyone was around trying to get some dip, I wanted to be very clear: King will win, he is mine, and she is a floozy. I took a sip and giggled, seeing a cameraman aim his video camera my way. I didn’t want to give them anything to use, but Claudia played it up, laughing and flipping her hair back like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Then I got a message from King.
Everything OK out there?
Yeah, Layla’s trying to get under my skin, but Claudia and I are fighting back. Don’t worry about us, babe. Just focus on kicking ass!
OK, I’ll see you soon
I sent him a kiss emoticon then listened as the announcer introduced the first fight. It started to drive me nuts that Layla was smiling happily while she was staring at her phone—I wanted to smack that smile off her face.
Just as I was thinking that, her eyes transferred to my face and my eyes followed her as she giddily stood up, whispering something to her friend, and walked to King’s hallway. She checked in with security that quickly let her through. What. The. Fuck?
And when I jumped up to follow her, security told me visitors to King’s room weren’t allowed until after the fight. It wasn’t a surprise to me that her paparazzi filmed the whole thing, but it did surprise me that no matter what I told security, they wouldn’t let me in. What the fuck is going on?
I slowly walked back to my seat, trying to make sense of why Layla was allowed to see King, but I couldn’t. Was this his doing or her’s? I couldn’t believe that King would want to see her, or keep me away, but wouldn’t the fighter have control over who enters his room?
I took a deep breath, and kept my cool. This is all bullshit and there’s a perfectly good explanation for it, I told myself. It was easy to believe what I told myself; she’s been trying to get on my nerves, this is just a little ploy. And King’s room wasn’t the only one down that hall, I think. At least, I hoped.
The first fight lasted halfway through the fifth round before the referee stopped it. I noticed that it took until the end of the third round for Layla to return to her seat. When she sat, she looked me straight in the eyes and smiled wickedly, and then she wiped the side of her lips like she was cleaning up her lipstick line. OK, so now I’m one hundred percent sure she’s just fucking with me.
A few minutes after the first fight was over, the music changed and I caught Giorgio entering the arena from his hallway. Their brand-building team was catching everything on video and pictures—he even stopped to pose and say hello to people I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know. I have to admit that he looked good, and very prepared to fight. When the music changed again, I turned to watch King enter—and he looked amazing.
Not only is he incredibly buff, probably more than I’ve ever seen him, but he had the Khal Drogo stare plastered on his face and looked so incredibly intimidating. I couldn’t help smiling to myself, and felt the butterflies flare up in my stomach. I love that look on him.
He only broke the expression of hatred and intimidation when he passed by me and turned his glorious face to give me a small smile and a wink, then faced Giorgio again. He climbed into the octagon and walked to the middle to just stand and stare at Giorgio, who took the hint and joined King in the middle. The announcer walked into the center as well and picked up the microphone, then introduced each of them before rattling off the rules and starting the fight.
The very second the starting bell chimed through the arena, King cocked his arm back and landed a punch on Giorgio’s face—Giorgio was rattled. Good start.
They danced around the octagon for a bit, and grappled here and there. I think King got frustrated; just before the end of round one, he kicked Giorgio’s legs out from under him, gravity pulling Giorgio to the ground, then King leaned over him and said something. Whatever it was, it enraged Giorgio. He jumped up and attacked King, but the bell rang out and ended the first round so the referee broke them apart.
They both moved to their respective stools and I watched Rick talk to King as he took a break. King’s eyes rarely left Giorgio. It’s kind of hot to see him like this, like the time I first laid eyes on him over a year ago. Serious and focused.
Only one thing kept me from being fully happy—Layla was staring at King with as much desire in her eyes as I have in mine. I really hope, when this fight is over, that King embarrasses her and set things straight.
The bell starting the second round rang and both men jumped into the center of the ring like this was a fight to the death. Both looked rejuvenated, as if the short break recharged them. And then the worst thing imaginable happened; somehow, Giorgio got King into a chokehold, and he was squeezing tight.
King was trying to move away, but Giorgio’s hold was too tight to shake. The choke lasted too long; King’s face started to turn red. I stood from my seat, not sure what to do, but I had to do something. Claudia stood and held my arm—we both were terrified.
King continued to struggle and it seemed to last forever, with the crowd cheering loudly in support of one fighter or the other. King’s eyes found mine and I saw something in them I never have before—fear. Without meaning to, I screamed “no”; I could hear my voice, but wasn’t sure how to stop it.
As soon as the word left my mouth, King got enough power in him to break out of Giorgio’s hold. He took in a couple of gulps of air, and then turned to face Giorgio slowly and dramatically. Oh no—King looks even more pissed now.
I heard a grumble in his throat, like a bear’s, then King charged toward Giorgio and landed a powerful punch right on Giorgio’s jaw—in the sweet spot.
He once told me about the place on a man’s face that I should aim for, if I ever had to hit someone. He said that if I hit it hard enough in the exact spot, I could knock a guy out. And the guy will fall to the ground with a thud, just like Giorgio did. The crowd in the arena cheered loudly.
The referee did his count, and announced King the winner, pulling his arm into the air above his head. King’s adrenaline was still flowing strong—I could tell by how tense he stood and how he was still scowling. But his eyes were on mine the whole time. While the referee was holding his arm in the air, while Rick and the referee were congratulating him, as Giorgio’s trainer ran to the still-unconscious Giorgio to put smelling salts under his nose...King’s stare did not leave me.
Eventually he took
in a deep breath, smiled slightly, and nodded to me once before he turned his attention to someone asking him questions. I’ve always wondered what King thinks when he stares at me like that. I know that I think nothing; I just feel his love run through me.
Claudia gave me a hug, and I looked around at all of the people in the arena cheering and clapping. I was motionless and silent. Tears were slowly falling from my eyes as the waves of relief took over any angst I was feeling.
I stood there watching King answer questions and shake Giorgio’s hand. They actually talked and no longer looked like enemies. Layla looked upset—I guess the charade is over and she’s back to playing herself. And King…the glorious man that he is, he looked absolutely perfect.
As soon as he climbed out of the ring, the MMA site reporter ran up to him and started to bombard him with questions about the feud with Giorgio. He answered in one-word responses mostly, until the reporter asked when King was going to get Layla’s answer as to who she wants.
“Never. I don’t care what she wants; I don’t want her. Ava’s my girl,” he said pointing at me. “And nothing’s going to change that.”
I ran to him and fell into his arms, even though he was drenched in sweat—both his and Giorgio’s. It just felt so good to touch him again, knowing it was over and he wasn’t hurt. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tight; I felt him sigh into my hair.
“Princess, that’s it, I promise you. The drama’s over and I’ll never do this again,” he said, with his mouth still buried in my hair.
“Thank you. I don’t know if I could take that again,” I said, only half joking. I pulled away enough so that I could look into his eyes.
“You were amazing out there, babe. Congratulations. Now go get your stuff so we can get out of here.”
We smiled at each other and he kissed me once more before walking down his hallway with Rick in tow. I went to meet my friends who were all gushing about how amazing the fight was. We talked about the highlights and the chokehold scare, then Claudia asked if I saw Layla.
“The look of horror and then hatred on her face was awesome. What King said to that reporter about you must’ve blown her away. I guess she hoped he would play along because it embarrassed the crap out of her. It was so good; I hope someone got that on film,” she laughed.
Guys Like You Page 18