Don’t You Dare: A Bad Boy MMA Fighter Romance

by Claire St. Rose

  “Wait! What? That guy? The guy in the black biker shorts and red gloves? He was the one who pushed you?” She was as stunned as Alice.

  “Yeah. It was that man for sure. He went back into the locker room after he brought me back to the medic’s office, but I thought he was an official or a trainer or something.” The two continued to stand as the announcer entered the ring with the men.

  “In the red and white shorts, champion MMA fighter for the 190 weight class at Tiger Sports Arena, Anders Thompson.” A deafening sound rang up as the bettors raised their tickets in the air like flags in the wind. “And in black, a new fighter from Chapel Hill’s All In Gym, Micah Anderson!”

  Micah took his lap around the blue mat, unfazed by the lack of support or the occasional boo tossed his way. But as he turned the corner, he stopped, spotting Alice and her green halter from the mixture of shouting men and women. His eyes, burning and powerful, sparked on hers. He placed his mouth guard in and raised his arms to stretch, his entire wingspan on display for the arena to see. But despite the show and the spectacle of the two men gearing up for a fight, his focused continued to remain directly on Alice.

  Chapter 3: The Fight Night

  At the bell, Anders and Micah dove right in without any hesitation, neither backing down from the onset of the starting handshakes. Anders, clearly the more experienced one of the two, almost tauntingly danced around the edges of the cage while Micah remained calm and steady in a hunched position.

  And then the scene changed dramatically. Without a beat, Anders pushed into Micah, handing him body shot after body shot while locking his head with his arms. The crowd’s roar was almost deafening with the sound of Micah hitting the mat and the sight of him rubbing up against the black metal wires.

  It was vicious and cruel—yet Alice couldn’t take her eyes off of the man on the ground. In her mind, she was screaming at him to get up and finish the match. She could see his eyes bulging a bit, his face turning red from the pressure. The referee stopped Anders from hitting him to check on his condition, but Micah gave a thumbs up and Anders continued.

  Just as suddenly as Micah was thrown down, he used his own body to flip the larger Anders. And now, he was on top delivering jabs to Anders’ body and face in a rhythmic, almost musical progression. His face was serious, and his eyes were steel to his purpose. He maintained his position, digging every jab into the man harder than the one before. His wrapped knuckles looking raw with each quick hit.

  With equal precision, Anders managed to grab a hold of Micah and fling him forward, both men landing deftly on their feet. Both returned to their dance. Anders continued to play up the crowd with quick jumps around the ring with Micah tailing like an alligator stalking his fanciful prey.

  More punches flew, almost as fast as Alice’s heart beat in her chest. Her nails dug into the side of the chair, as she held her breath. A clock on the judges table ticked down seconds, but every click of the clock wasn’t soon enough for her, especially as Micah again was slammed to the side of the cage with Anders’ punches.

  The buzzer rang, startling Caroline in her seat. Like the rest of the crowd, Alice stood to her feet, watching Micah as he took a long drink of water and spit into the a metal bucket. His coach, an older, beefy man was behind him, whispering urgently. With only one minute between rounds, there was little time for the fighters to plan an attack, let alone catch their breath.

  Everyone besides Alice was abuzz about the first round. Men with their betting tickets seemed to hold them closer to their jackets, unsure about what they saw. Clearly, Anders was the winner, but he appeared stilted by the unknown fighter. Jace was positively angry with the situation, as he screamed, “WHAT THE HELL ANDERS!” over and over again. Pete, on the other hand, laughed absurdly, as if he could have predicted it.

  In the ring, Micah was counting down seconds. He did this every time he hit a break period. His routine was to count it backwards, taking quick breaths between. It was supposed to cleanse him of the first round jitters and bring back the oxygen to his head. Yet, with Dean giving commands like a drill sergeant, he could barely remember what number he was on last, let alone keep up with his commentary.

  Making it more challenging was that woman standing and staring at him. This woman in her green halter with pin-straight hair touching the curves of her bare shoulders had him looking straight back. Her steamy green eyes had followed him throughout the first round, almost as if he could feel her physically there with him, fighting by his side.

  A woman in a tight pair of spandex shorts and a white cut-off tank passed him by. She held the round two sign, and he suddenly snapped back into time and space. Even Dean had left him seconds ago. It was back to being him, Anders, and Alice’s eyes fighting for the prize once again.

  He glanced to his left, taking in one more moment with her before the buzzer sounded. She had broken her gaze and instead focused it on a stubbly red-haired man next to her— obviously a date or a boyfriend. Seeing her with him was almost reassuring. There was apparently no one to impress there.

  Micah and Anders knocked knuckles, and the buzzer sounded. Each took their position, circling and sparring. Neither landed a first hit or their second. Micah took a chance combination that rarely worked. He delivered a quick right jab and then outstretched his leg to the man’s chest landing the kick squarely.

  It surprised Anders, and he fell back to his end of the cage, tripping over his feet and falling to the ground. Micah pounced, placing his body onto Anders to trap him squarely to the ground, his arm pinned around Anders’ neck.

  “MICAH!” He thought he could hear her voice shouting to him from across the crowd. “GET HIM MICAH!” He wanted desperately to look up, to meet her eyes, to jump out of the ring and grab ahold of her. But instead, he remained square to the task. He was going to win, at least this round, and her voice was going to be what got him there.

  The man under him struggled, twisting his body under his weight. He attempted to pin him further, but it was too much and quickly was Anders up, using the sides of the cage to climb forward. However, it was too late. The second round buzzer separated the men.

  Alice was cheering wildly in her seat. Something in her had fired up at the sight of Micah pummeling the man to the ground. It was primative and dirty, and she found herself soaking up every minute. Suddenly, she wasn’t ashamed of what she was watching. Instead, she found herself holding on so she wouldn’t jump forward into the ring to join the men. She wanted to be there, to be sweating and physical. She wanted to tear down someone with one shot like Micah’s kick to the chest.

  Even Caroline had changed her position. Defying a visibly upset Jace, she began clapping and hollering with Alice at the man in the tight black shorts. The two women caught Micah’s attention again, but the rush of blood and adrenaline blurred his vision and focus. He wanted more. He was going to get it.

  The third round started just as the first two. This time, neither men had anything to lose. It was an even playing field, and both Anders and Micah knew what they had to do. It was a chess game with Micah following the advice of Dean by focusing on punches and kicks. Old school combinations were typically boring and standard, but it seemed to stun Anders out of his place long enough for him to take advantage of the man.

  Anders, on the other hand, was focused on pinning Micah. He could tell that the weight difference was the one thing he had over the fighter. He looked for small opportunities to fall down upon him or to pin him against the wires. But Micah was quick, smart, and intuitive. He remained planted in the center, willing to take on crap shots from Anders.

  Jab, punch, kick. Jab, punch, kick. Anders flew backwards again, smashing into the wires so hard that the entire cage shook. Micah flipped him using his shoulder, crushing him down. Two, three, four punches to his face before Anders struggled out of his grasp yet again.

  Anders, this time, saw blood, moving Micah to the ground, twisting his body awkwardly. Micah attempted to use his legs to push him
self off, but he found himself more under the weight of the man as if he was a human finger trap. Neither man relented, each tossing sloppy, tired blows at one another from this half-tackled position.

  The buzzer sounded for the last time as the crowd sucked the air from the steamy arena. Everyone seemed to be in a disagreement on what had just happened. Even Jace and Pete debated madly while Caroline and Alice held hands waiting for the decision from the judging table.

  Micah stood against the bars, his arms outstretched, struggling to find a breath in the rapid pace of his pumping heart. His body had taken a true beating, blood pooled from the corner of his mouth despite the guard, and his large torso showed the red welts from Anders’ hands.

  His coach got in his face, “What a fight! Micah, man! I knew you had it in you, but that was huge. Massive. Fuck it if you lose. What you did out there…” His rough, thickly-accented voice lost itself as the referee reentered the ring with a decision. Micah pushed his coach out of his way and walked center towards the announcer, the prize presenter, and the match organizers.

  The announcer grabbed both men’s wrists and waited till the crowd died down to make his announcement. “By a split decision, tonight’s Tiger Sports Arena MMA winner is…” The enthusiastic man lifted Anders arm high above his own. Cheers, chants, and hoots went up throughout the crowd, as chairs were quickly emptied.

  Micah hung his head, shaking in disbelief. He took the obligatory picture with the organizers and then exited the open side of the ring. He sped off towards the locker room, ignoring the occasional passer-bys who eagerly attempted to talk or pat him on the back. Losing was not what Micah did often, and when he lost, he wanted no part of it, especially from fake posers.

  Alice watched Micah leave the ring in a hurry, his coach trailing behind him comically as he shouted about the injustice and unfair judging. Seeing him defeated was as brutal as watching him fight. She found herself wanting to throw her arms around his neck, to bring his head to her chest, to wipe away the sweat and blood with her own body.

  “Hey Jace, where do the fighters go afterwards?” Alice was curious. She needed more.

  “Usually, out to the parking lot to get on their team buses or to drive home. Sometimes they stop and sign autographs. I know Anders always does.” That was all she needed to hear, as she grabbed Caroline’s hand and led her quickly to the door.

  “We’ll be back! Wait for us!” Caroline screamed at Jace, unsure of what was happening. Alice ran through the open doors where people streamed out. They searched for the side exits where the locker rooms would be. Alice spotted him. He was still shirtless, his shoulders hunched down, as he walked quickly to the back of the parking lot where a bus idled.

  “MICAH!” She couldn’t remember the last time she actually screamed someone’s name for attention. But it didn’t work. The man boarded the small, white bus, taking a seat in the back. Alice walked back to where Caroline waited.

  “Was that him?” Caroline asked.

  Alice nodded.

  “So, we’re getting his autograph right? Why don’t you just walk to the bus?” asked Caroline.

  “I’m not walking to the bus like a groupie, Caroline.” It was too late. Even in stilettos, Caroline was quick and light on her feet. By the time Alice could finish her sentence, she was already twenty paces ahead of her. From her purse, Caroline pulled out her ticket stub and a pen and continued to march forward.

  Caroline walked to the back of the bus and knocked on the exit door impatiently. Her hands were placed on her hips with clear attitude. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She was determined, and not even Alice could stop her at this point. When Micah refused to answer or acknowledge her, she knocked directly on his window.

  Alice could see his darkened figure storm out of the bus, obviously disturbed by the unrelenting woman.

  “Can I help you?” He was gruff and unenthusiastic.

  “Way to treat a fan…” Caroline was spitting mad, obviously turned off by a man who wasn’t giving her the kind of attention she was used to.

  Alice jumped to Caroline’s side, hoping she wouldn’t have to restrain her or put a sock in her mouth. “We just want your autograph, but obviously you cannot be bothered. Figures.”

  His attention diverted from Caroline to Alice who stood directly behind her friend. He eyed her suspiciously. It was the girl from the ring, the one he could have sworn called out his name.

  “Didn’t I beat you up already?” he asked, quickly attempting to change tactics.

  “Yeah, you did, so you owe me and my friend here at least an autograph.”

  “I don’t do autographs—or bullshit.”

  It was silent for a long second, as the three were unsure of where to go with this. But then, he let out a low, deep bellied laugh, the kind that rippled waves.

  “Alice, right?” He grinned, as she nodded stoically. “I’ll make you a deal. I’m not going to sign your tickets tonight. I’ll sign it when I win.”

  “So, I’ll be waiting forever?”

  Again, he laughed. The humor seemed to lighten him. The heavy weight of losing the fight fell off his shoulders, as he stood a bit taller. His eyes danced at the sight of the unruly woman practically challenging him. “No. I plan on winning my next round. I’ll be back at this arena next weekend. I’m fighting in the second match. If you come and I win, I’ll sign your ticket.”

  “Fine. Then, I guess I will see you next weekend.”

  “Fine by me,” he said flatly, turning to get back on the bus, not looking back at the women. But before he could find his seat, Alice jumped to reach the bus windows. He rolled his down and looked at her curiously.

  “Micah, you better win.” She meant every word.

  Chapter 4: Distractions of the Worst Kind

  “Really guys, I’m exhausted,” Alice protested. “Can you just drop me off at home?” Jace and Pete desperately begged for Alice to give in and extend the night another hour or two. Their mentions of the dive bar down the road was the least of Alice’s wants. But what Caroline wants, Caroline gets, and she wanted more of Jace.

  Sitting on the red, vinyl barstools of some seedy hole-in-the-wall, Alice realized that this was going to be an even longer night than she previously thought. Her “date” was failing miserably at small talk, as Pete insisted on practically reliving each match blow for blow, forgetting that Alice herself was there next to him the whole time.

  Yet, each time he mentioned a detail about Micah or the way that the man had held his own despite everything, Alice’s heartrate spiked just a bit. Her mind wandered to the man in the ring. How she felt was unnatural and unprovoked. She wanted nothing to do with a man who spent his time beating the crap out of others for money. She especially had no interest in pursuing someone so headstrong. But, she wondered, Why then did I challenge him? Why did I promise to be there to watch his next match, to see him defeated once again?

  And instead of thinking through everything that had been said and done in the comfort of her own home, she was forced to endure hours of bland Pete. Jace and Caroline practically had abandoned the two, as they ground their bodies together on the empty dance floor for the entire bar to watch. There was no doubt—from the way that Caroline wrapped her arms weakly over his leather jacket—that Jace coming back to their apartment that night.

  She knew she had only a short time before Pete attempted to make his own moves. Alice wasn’t prepared for this pressure. It was the exact reason why she avoided dating at almost all costs. Her last boyfriend of almost a year was just as gun shy as she was. They had spent the duration of their relationship in a perpetual state of “will he” or “will she” without any conclusion. And she almost loved him for it.

  Now there was Pete. He was buying her drinks and shots. She was happy to take them, downing each glass as if the clear, fiery liquid would magically give her the right reason why Pete should not follow her back to her room that night. By the time Caroline and Jace were done with their sho
w on the floor, Alice was properly drunk, and Pete was growing more and more confident that his score was going to be easier than he predicted.

  The four of them walked up the three flights of stairs to the girls’ apartment. Alice lingered in the back, hoping Pete would pick up her reluctance. Instead, he barreled forward, almost taking down a tipsy Caroline in the process.

  “Careful there, cowboy,” Caroline said with a teasing smile. “Don’t be so eager.” She winked at him, as Jace took her keys and unlocked the white door.

  The couple wordlessly retreated to Caroline’s room. The light flickered on and then off as giggles and moans suddenly rose. Alice, instead, remained firmly planted in her living room, staring at Pete, as he gestured towards her bedroom.

  “Oh, Pete,” she said, fumbling her words, “I… uh… listen, I’m... really, really sorry.” She stumbled forward, the drink hitting her balance. Pete caught her arm and led her to the couch. His body sat next to hers, leaning so close that she could clearly smell his peppermint gum breath. Again, she tried to refuse, “Pete… I’m… I—I just can’t do this.”