The Cocky Cage Fighter Six Book Box Set

by Lane Hart

  “What police report are you talking about?” I ask. The man may have been annoying, but he definitely didn’t look like a criminal.

  “This one,” she says, offering the document to me. “The guy who single-handedly tackled the gunman at that bar, Chemistry, last week.”

  I look over the officer’s summary describing how the man broke the gunman’s wrist, disarming him before rendering him unconscious with a knee to the face, saving countless lives.

  “You think this guy is the one I met at the Y? Really? I mean, what are the odds of that?” I ask her.

  “Well, if he’s an athlete that would explain his quick jump into action, right?” she argues.

  “I guess. But there’s probably a dozen or more men named Nathan Lewis just in the tri-city area.”

  “I’ve already checked. There’s actually thirty-three, but only five fit his age range according to the date of birth they listed. If his birthday is July ninth, he’s your man.”

  “Don’t you mean, your man?” I ask, handing the report back to her.

  So what if by some odd coincidence I made the hero in my new work in progress a big, strawberry blonde Irishman and I’m already trying to figure out how to incorporate him into a save-the-day hero? It doesn’t mean I’ve thought about him as mine. No, definitely not. He’s just a fictional character who I thought would be unique as a redhead instead of the stereotypical tall, dark and handsome prince charming.

  Instead of answering me, I realize Candice is simply staring blankly at me.

  “What?” I give in and ask.

  "You've got to talk him into an interview! Everyone wants to know more about this Nathan Lewis who saved dozens of lives."

  "No way," I scoff with a shake of my head. She can't be serious. "Let a sports writer do it."

  "But you've actually made contact with him. You've got an in."

  I snort, remembering how rude I was to him and, okay, feeling a smidge embarrassed. But how was I supposed to know that he had used those barbaric skills to actually protect people? And why do I feel so guilty about being such a bitch to him? "Yeah, we're real close buddies all right," I inform Candice.

  "You've got to do this, Alyssa. No one has gotten a single word out of him about what happened that night. He’s an anonymous hero, and we can make sure he gets the recognition he deserves for saving the lives of all those people. This interview will sell papers and ads like crazy and could even go national! We need this article before some other paper or magazine swoops in and finds him first!" she pleads desperately with me.

  Our small paper, The Cary Journal, is like the kid sister of the Raleigh News and Observer. We get shit stories and fluff pieces that they don't want and distribute them in our suburban community. Like most print media, times are hard. Everyone goes to the Internet for news the minute it happens, not the next day when it lands in their driveway. I miss those days. There's something about reading the paper over coffee and smelling the classic ink scent that's soothing to me. You just don't get that feeling from printing out an article from a website.

  "Please, please, let someone else do it,” I beg her. “I'm sure Tim or Janet would love to interview the town’s hero."

  "Ugh," she huffs. "Their writing sucks," she whispers. "If it wouldn't look like favoritism because we're relatives, I would have taken you off obits and put you on news months ago."

  After Austin died, I was desperate to get out of the house and do...something. I also needed the income. I decided to put his survivor checks into a college savings account for Grayson. To me, it just felt like blood money, and I don't want any part of it. I never wanted him to enlist in the first freaking place, but at the time he didn't really have a choice.

  Thankfully, my sister-in-law put in a good word and brought me on at the paper. Mostly I'm stuck writing obituaries, which is depressing as hell, but sometimes I get to do articles about community events. That's usually only around holidays when everyone else is too busy. I’ve always loved to write and still prefer my fictional characters to real life. There, the heroes never disappoint to sweep the heroine off her feet, and they always live happily ever after.

  Maybe the naïve girl in me is just trying to make up for the fact that my own life is nothing like that of a true love story, the kind that last a lifetime and only end when the couple dies together because they’re two soulmates who can’t live without each other. Obviously I’ve read one too many sappy Nicholas Sparks’ stories.

  “If you get this interview, with a photo, then I would have all the reason I need to bump you to my main reporter, and Tim or Janet will go back to obits,” Candice says, snapping me back to reality, one where I’m a widowed, single mother and have bills to pay.

  “Would that mean more money?” I can’t help but ask her as I chomp on my gum in thought.

  “Of course. Six thousand more a year.”

  Holy hell. I really could use the pay raise; and, of course, I owe Candice for this job in the first place. But do I actually owe her enough for an interview with a barbarian? Even if he’s a good-looking, muscular redheaded one? Well, I could consider it a research assignment to further develop my new main character…

  "Fine," I concede with a roll of my eyes.

  "Yay!" she throws her arms up in celebration. "And, you know, if it comes up that any of his fighter friends are single, feel free to give them my card."

  "Not gonna happen," I tell her with a laugh on the way out of her office.

  “Oh, and, Alyssa,” she says before I can escape. “You may need to play this one close to your chest at first. I mean, this Nathan Lewis obviously doesn’t want to be in the limelight. So you’ll just have to do whatever it takes to wear him down and convince him otherwise.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, smiling to myself when I hear her indignant huff at being addressed with that title.

  Chapter Four

  Nate

  "Derrek, you’ve got to get to your feet faster," I tell the sixteen year old as he spars with another kid. "As soon as the whistle blows, shoot out from…holy shit.”

  From the corner of my eye, I’m distracted by a flood of golden sunlight as the front door of the gym opens, right before a gorgeous woman steps inside. The beauty tosses her long, dark hair over her shoulder as she glances around the place as if in search of someone.

  No way.

  Is that really the feisty kitten I met at the Y yesterday?

  Without another word, my feet leave the two boys and head in her direction before I realize I’m moving. The woman may as well be a dick magnet based on the speed at which she pulls me across the room to her, my cock leading the way.

  When those piercing, turquoise eyes land on me and instantly narrow, it feels like a fist is being rammed into my stomach. She really doesn’t like me.

  Great.

  Did she come all the way down here to bitch some more? Not that it matters. I'd listen to her yell at me all day long if it meant I get to keep looking at that smoking hot body. Today, she's in a purple and cream floral dress that hugs her perfect curves with heels high enough to break more ankles than fighting in the cage ever will.

  She quickly looks away when I approach, pretending she doesn't recognize me from just yesterday afternoon. Which is fucking fine with me. Now I have a chance to memorize the swell of her ass, along with those mile-high legs, filling up the Spank Bank of Nate for later.

  Last night she was the star of not one but two X-rated shows, the best hand fucks of my life. Or maybe it just felt so good because it was the first time in way too long that my cock decided to sit up and take notice of, well, anyone.

  "Good afternoon, ma'am. Let me guess, you're here to sign up for a class?" I tease while resting my hip against the counter in front of her.

  "No," she says right away, still avoiding eye contact. "I'm, ah…actually, I'm here to…talk to you."

  "Talk to me?" I repeat. "You mean to yell at me again about what a terrible role model I am? I think you made you
r point yesterday."

  "Oh, right. I'm, um, sorry about that," she says with a shake of her head. “That’s why I came by, you know, to apologize.”

  “Well, Miss….”

  “Alyssa, Alyssa Grant,” she says, now offering me her palm to shake after she refused mine yesterday. Unlike her, I accept, taking her small, feminine palm into my own. Her eyes finally rise to mine when I give her hand a squeeze. And even after I reluctantly release my grip on her palm, she just stands there and stares up at me, this time without an ounce of contempt.

  Her gaze is…unnerving. No one’s looked at me, like really looked at me so intensely, as if cataloging every detail of my face, in years. Her aquamarine eyes start at the top of my closely cut strawberry blond hair, which I keep short so that it looks more golden and less red, before sliding down to my green-as-grass eyes true to my mother’s Irish heritage. Those beautiful eyes of hers take in every single unfortunate freckle scattered across my ivory cheeks and nose until they lower to my bottom lip that’s three times as plump as the top. It’s hard not to fidget under her close examination, but I somehow hold still until she eventually glances away.

  Licking my lips that have gone dry and clearing my throat, I finally end the silence. “I appreciate you stopping by to apologize, Mrs. Grant. So, is that all?”

  “Ah, no. Not exactly. I was wondering, I mean, if you’re interested, would you, um, want to go out to…dinner with me…sometime?”

  “Dinner?” I exclaim in surprise.

  A chorus of masculine chuckles from the other side of the front counter causes both my and Alyssa’s heads to turn in their direction.

  Shit. I’d forgotten that we weren’t alone.

  “That’s hilarious,” Jude remarks at the same time Linc says, “Nate doesn’t date. Hey, that rhymes!”

  “Ever?” Alyssa asks them instead of me, the man standing in front of her.

  “Nope,” Linc responds, and Jude forms a zero with his fist before he adds, “I’ve been working here for over a year, and he’s had zero dates during that time.”

  They all continue having a conversation about me like I’m not even standing there.

  “Why doesn’t he date?” she asks my friends, and I get a whiff of cinnamon from her breath.

  “No clue. I guess we could ask him,” Linc tells her before the three of them turn their attention back to me.

  “Oh, so now I have permission to speak for myself?” I ask, leaning my back against the counter and crossing my arms over my chest. There’s no fucking way I’m gonna answer that minefield of a question, though.

  “So, is that a yes or a no?” Alyssa asks.

  The word yes is oddly enough right on the tip of my tongue, or it was, until fate picked that moment for a boy in an orange Clemson baseball cap to waltz right through the gym’s front doors. Luke Campbell is a heartbreaking reminder of the permanent fucking knife in my gut.

  “No, thanks,” I tell the beautiful woman absently, and about-face to start walking toward my office just to avoid having the usual awkward greeting with Luke when he stops to talk to Jude and Linc.

  “What? No? Why not?” the persistent woman calls out behind me, her heels click-clacking on the floor as she tries to catch up to me. “Is it because I have a son?”

  I keep moving until I thankfully clear the threshold of the office door. Not only do I teach a few classes; but now that I have a business degree, I’ve been helping the guys out by managing Havoc’s finances. Going around the desk, I take a seat on the other side to answer her while also putting distance between us. Her delicious cinnamon scent makes me want to throw her down on the desktop and taste her. Yet another reason why I shouldn’t go on a date with her. I don’t know how much longer I can control these urges she’s invoking. She’s right. She has a son, and I’m not the best role model.

  “You did say something about me being a shitty influence, so dinner just doesn’t seem like a good idea,” I reply to her question, leaning back casually in my chair with my hands behind my head. It’s a great excuse, even if it’s not the complete truth. Honestly, her insult hurt, but the truth hurts worse. I’m too fucked up in the head to try and date someone, especially a single mother. There are just too many skeletons lurking in my closet. And if she knew the truth about them, she would take her son and run the other way. So what’s the point of starting a relationship with someone, even if she is a bombshell, if it’ll eventually blow up in my face, leaving me even more heartbroken?

  “I told you I was sorry about what I said,” Alyssa tells me.

  “Yeah, you did, and I appreciate that,” I answer with a nod.

  “But your answer is still no?” she asks, her forehead creased in confusion. Her arms cross over the V-neck top of her dress, drawing my eyes down to her luscious tits. Usually I can easily resist the temptation of the opposite sex, but it seems I have one helluva weakness for sassy single mothers. One with a glorious fucking rack. Once a tit man, always a tit man it would seem. It’s pretty much the reason I occasionally, maybe once a year when I’m way down in the dumps, like to drown my sorrows with liquor in strip clubs.

  Beautiful tits aside, fuck if I know what to make of this woman’s tenacity today after the intense contempt she held for me yesterday. At the Y she was no doubt glaring daggers at me, and now she shows up here asking me out? It’s one helluva contradiction that I can’t quite wrap my head around. My dick that’s swollen to capacity in my shorts is clearly less suspicious.

  My eyes search Alyssa’s face, trying to figure her out. That’s when I realize that her fallen expression is one of hurt from my rejection, and I instantly feel bad for making her self-conscious.

  Screw it, what’s the harm in going out with her on just one date? Maybe I can even convince her that she’s wrong about our “barbaric sport.” That’s when the perfect kickass idea comes to me.

  “On second thought, yes, I’ll go out with you, but with one condition," I tell her.

  "You will?" Alyssa asks with wide, hopeful eyes. Jeez, why is this woman so determined to date me, of all people, when she could easily have any man she wants? Okay, so I can admit that my ego and dick are grateful for her interest.

  "I will, on one condition," I repeat.

  "Okay."

  "You have to let your son take twice-a-week classes here with us for a month, free of charge."

  Her mouth falls open before she responds. "Are you nuts? No way! He's a little boy! I'm not gonna –"

  "Then it was good seeing you again, ma'am. Close the door on the way out," I dismiss her, turning my attention to my laptop.

  She scoffs. And from the corner of my eye, I see her hands back on her hips. "Wait. There's gotta be something else..."

  "Nope, that’s it, and you declined."

  "Can you promise me he won't get hurt?" she asks. When I look up at her face again, her front teeth are giving her bottom lip hell; and I want to kiss it better.

  "I don’t have a crystal ball. But I can tell you that we put as many safety measures as possible in place to make sure no one gets hurt. In the junior league, under fifteen, there's no head, elbow or knee strikes allowed. They always wear gloves and helmets when striking, which doesn’t happen often, and they can call it quits anytime they want." That’s why I prefer working with the youth classes – no blood is ever shed.

  Alyssa stands there and stares at me, the wheels in her pretty little head churning. "Fine, if Grayson wants to do it, then we can give it a try. But if he doesn't, or if he wants to quit after the first class..."

  "He can quit at any time," I agree.

  "So you'll do it? You’ll go out with me, I mean?" she asks.

  "Pick me up here at seven tomorrow night,” I tell her, hoping I don’t regret this decision. She’s a gorgeous woman, and I’m afraid that once I get a taste of her I may not be able to stop going back for more. Since I first saw her yesterday, I can’t get her out of my mind; and I don’t want to. Alyssa’s better off without me, but I’m a sel
fish bastard who can’t resist the one woman who’s somehow bringing me back to life.

  …

  Alyssa

  A date? Really? Did I seriously just ask him out?

  I walk out of the slightly odd but endearing ginger’s office wondering if I can really go through with this, the date and the classes for Grayson. It wasn’t like I had a choice on the second part after the man made the demand like he's hot shit.

  Honestly, I didn’t really have a plan when I drove over here. But then the idea hit me. I didn’t expect him to say no to a date with me, which I admit was somewhat of a crush to my self-esteem since it’s the first time I’ve ever propositioned a man before. I have zero experience dating since there’s only ever been Austin.

  "Guess I'll see you tomorrow night," I tell the dark-haired and blond guys behind the counter when I walk past them with a grin.

  "Seriously?”

  “You’re kidding!”

  Why do they both seem so surprised that he agreed to go out with me? Am I that out of his league?

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys,” I say to them.

  “No, this is great,” the blond says with a wide grin. “It’s nice to see Nate interested in somethin’ besides this place.”

  “Yeah,” the dark-haired one says while cracking his knuckles. “But if you break his heart, we’ll break your arms.”

  “Whoa, Jude,” the blond says, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Too harsh.”

  “Sorry, I’m not used to threatening women,” the one I assume is named Jude says. “How do we threaten women?” he asks the blond guy.

  “Shit, I dunno,” the man answers, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck in thought. “Shoes? Women like shoes, right? We can threaten to break those.”

  “Right,” Jude says before turning back to me. “If you break his heart, we’ll break your shoes. There. Are you properly cowed?”

  “Yes, definitely,” I tell him, trying not to laugh. “And it looks like my son is about to become a student here. Can you try not to let anyone break, well, him?” I ask.