Night Shift: A Gay Lovers Romance (The Neon Glass Club Book 2)

by Alex Roberts

  Jamie and Stanley bobbed in and out of one another’s reach with feathery and yet lightning quick movements. They sent out test jabs and low kicks, never coming into contact. A sudden feint from Stanley produced a switch of footing from Jamie, and then my man feigned a hook, and it was Stanley who skittered away.

  Jamie skipped forward once — twice — and Stanley jumped back. It was Stanley’s turn to pop forward, and he sent a heel in the direction of Jamie’s side. Jamie stutter stepped away as fast as a rabbit, and Stanley’s heel met with air. He was back in place, making Stanley retreat once again. He swung for the other man’s jaw, but Stanley lifted a thickly muscled arm and absorbed the blow. Jamie went with a series of uppercuts and jabs that were fast as fuck, and the crowd roared. Stanley ducked left and then ducked right, evading one punch and then a second, but Jamie’s third caught him on the jaw, and the other fighter stumbled just enough.

  Amy wrapped around my arm and pumped a fist. “Yes. First contact.”

  Jamie pursued like a hound, his forward momentum sending Stanley to the ground. I clenched my fists, every muscle in my torso coiling with him for the strike. The other fighter sprawled on his back, and Jamie was on top, pounding away, but Stanley was just as fast. He was on his feet and rocketing backward. Jamie pursued once again, and the two men bounced off the cage. Jamie, out for blood, went for a knee to the midsection, but Stanley shifted and lowered his center of gravity, and the move upset Jamie’s balance.

  “Shit,” Amy cursed.

  Fuck. No.

  Stanley launched off the cage, and my heart stuck in my chest as it was Jamie falling backward with the Stanley throwing a wild punch. Jamie ducked it, but his squat sent him further backward and down to the mat, and Stanley landed on top. They both scattered, a tornado of limbs and missed punches and knees, but it was Stanley who wrapped his arms around Jamie’s head and got him into a semblance of a chokehold.

  Amy and I both tilted to the left and tensed. She muttered under her breath. “Shimmy, shake, shimmy, shake. Come one, Jamie.”

  Jamie got his feet, nearly doubled over with Stanley on top of him, and jerked hard, rising to a standing position, those big muscles coming into play, and his shoulders popped out of Stanley’s grasp.

  With a sudden twist of his feet and torso, Jamie was at Stanley’s back, his arms wrapped around his waist, and he lifted for an old-fashioned belly to back suplex. I knew that one from watching “professional wrestlers” as a kid. I tilted the right, and Amy tilted with me, her fingers pressing into my bicep. Stanley only went off the ground a few inches before he flailed and bent, upsetting Jamie’s upward momentum, and the other fighter soles hit the mat once again. Stanley twisted, his whole body wrenching, and he escaped Jamie’s grasp.

  The two men parted once again, standing off at center ring, chests now heaving their exertion. I relaxed, not realizing every inch of me had been at rigid attention. The crowd stamped and hooted their appreciation. Stanley stepped forward, throwing jab, jab, hook. Jamie lifted his arms, backpedaling, shrugging them off and came back with a jab, hook combo. They faced off again at the center of the octagon, a cut open over Stanley’s right eye.

  “He’s drawn blood,” Miss Obvious clinging to me announced. “That’s good. He’s hurt.”

  But, it was Stanley who launched forward, unleashing a series of short jabs, and their the two bodies came closer and closer, and they swung until their chest leaned together in a Greco-Roman wrestlers hold. They grappled mostly with the shoulders, trying to upset one another’s balance in a mostly judo fashion until it was Jamie who made a swift, sweeping kick with his heel to the back of Stanley’s calve, and the other man went down, landing on his ass.

  Don pounded on the cage. “Atta boy. Get that mount. Elbows.”

  Jamie fell on him, and Stanley’s legs wrapped around his waist, locking at the ankles, as Jamie closed over top of him. He turned his forearms in and rained down blow after blow with the solid flat of his arms. Half of them ricocheted off Stanley’s upheld arms and the other half made it through to forehead and jaw – until Stanley opened up quickly and snagged one of Jamie’s arms as it came down with another blow.

  He held on, and I could recognize an attempt at an arm bar. “That’s not good.”

  Amy twisted her spine, working her arms in a shadow of Jamie’s movements. “Don’t let him sink it.”

  Jamie shifted while defending against his elbow being locked, but the defensive move allowed Stanley to scoot himself to the side and get his feet underneath him once again.

  The two men were up and locked in a wrestler’s embrace once again. Stanley drove forward and planted Jamie’s back against the cage. The two men reached low, trying to grab at knees. Jamie succeeded in pushing the man away, and the blood trickled down Stanley’s eye – the cut having opened wider than before. Those forearms must have landed.

  Jamie marched forward, tasting blood now – his eyes intense, his nostrils flared – and the two men squared off. I was amazed with how calm the two men looked. I was expecting snarls and hatred and grunts or some sort of a feral, animal noises. But they held intense expressions of concentration.

  They stalked one another at the center of the octagon once again, ducking and weaving with air jabs. Stanley launched forward, stooping and then shifting to the left with a series of jabs and a couple made contact.

  I grabbed at Amy. She responded with a squeeze to my arm. “They didn’t hurt.

  “How could that not hurt? He just got punched in the face.”

  “Jamie can shrug those off. He’s fine.”

  The two men ricocheted off the fence lining the octagon, and Jamie used the momentum to launch a straight fist. It collided with Stanley’s arm, but it had enough power behind it that it crashed straight through and landed on the man’s temple. Stanley stumbled backwards again, and once again Jamie was on top of him.

  I jumped and took a step forward. Amy bounced beside me, her energy contagious.

  He rained down those forearms as the two men fell to the mat. Stanley scrambled to cover up and turned to recover his footing, but Jamie was quick and gained the man’s back. Jamie was on top of Stanley now, his chest to the man’s back, and his arms snaked around Stanley’s neck. One bicep curled underneath the man’s chin, and he took hold of that same bicep with his other hand and squeezed.

  I could see it for what it was. “Come on, baby. Don’t let go.”

  “Oh, that’s tight.” Amy sucked in a hurried breath.

  Even from where I sat I could see the intense color of red flush to Stanley’s face as the blood circulation cut off to his brain. The man grimaced and winced. He fell from his knees and hands down to his belly. He writhed and twisted, but he couldn’t escape. Jamie’s lips curled back with the effort and his blue mouth guard popped into full display.

  Stanley’s grip eased from trying to pry away Jamie’s strong arm, and he laid a feeble palm on Jamie skin then tapped. Once, twice, three times, and the referee jumped into action, practically tackling the two men to get Jamie to release his hold.

  Jamie rolled off his opponent and sprang to his feet like a tiger uncaged. The crowd shouted, and he roared with them. Amy and I clung to and shook one another. Adrenaline pumped from every movement, every flex, every cry of triumph. Jamie turned quickly, spotting Don in his corner. He pointed and fished the blue mouth guard out. Then he made eye contact with me, and the man beamed, that cocky as shit grin getting huge.

  And there it was – that something in his eyes – for everyone to see. He locked on me and came to a full stop at the center of the stage, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, and animal desire written all over his face.

  The referee interrupted our incredibly public private moment and hustled the two fighters to the center of the ring for the official announcement of victory.

  Amy dug her fingers into my arm, her lips close to my ear. “You are so getting laid tonight.”

  Damn right, I was.

  An incr
edible pride filled me at the referee raised Jamie’s hand over his head and the crowd went wild for him. I looked for the short little fuck with the tablet in his hand. The recruiter was on his feet, applauding, with big ole grin of professional satisfaction on his face.

  When I looked back to Jamie, the cage door was opening, and he plowed through it. Taking the steps in one leap, he headed straight for me. I stepped away from Amy, ready to take my man in my arms, but fuck. I got tackled. Jamie rammed into me, lifting me off the ground, and mashed his lips into mine.

  My fingers were in his hair in a heartbeat. I opened for him, and Jamie ran his tongue against mine, his fingers digging in between my shoulder blades. Loud hoots and whistles from across the stadium floated in to me through the haze settling into my brain.

  “Holy shit, you two. Save it for the locker room.” Don slapped us both on the shoulders.

  Jamie drew back, everything about him on fire and alive. “We did it.”

  I shook my head. “You did it. You fucking did it!”

  He took me by the hand and pulled me toward the locker rooms. “I need to get you home.”

  Why heart skipped at the word home rolling off his lips with such ease. “You don’t want to stay for the rest of the fights?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Jamie Brockman.” The little fuck grabbed my man’s attention.

  Jamie creased his eyebrows, annoyed at the interruption in his beeline to the back. “What?”

  “A fantastic fight, Mr. Brockman. We’re looking for guys with that tenacity in the octagon.”

  His annoyance turned to confusion. “We?”

  “I’m with Bellator. I was here to take a look at Stanley, but you – you stole the show. Are you signed?”

  Jamie blinked several times in quick succession as he came back to where he was. I could see the light turn on in there, and Jamie squeezed my hand tight. “Oh. No. I’m not. Not yet.”

  “Wonderful. I was hoping you’d say that.” The little fuck fished a set of papers from behind his tablet and presented them along with a pen. “It’s the offer I was going to give Stanley.”

  Jamie’s eyes went wide, and his hand automatically raised to accept the documents. Don slung his arm around his shoulders and slapped him on the chest. “You won’t be disappointed in him. This is only the start. He’s got so much to learn still.”

  I looked from man to man. They were all on a high. The fighter, the coach, the recruiter. The music thumped, and the lights dimmed for the introduction of the next fighter. The last episode of that damned business podcast poked at the back of my brain. It was the newest member telling about his first experience with a binding contract he’d signed because he was just so ecstatic about getting the job.

  It was Jamie’s right hand that was in mine – his dominant hand. He began to release my fingers to take the pen, but I beat him to it. “Tell you what, Mister…?”

  The little fuck seemed to realize for the first time that I was present. He glanced down as I took the contract from Jamie. “Mister Greene. And yourself?”

  I plucked the pen and handed it back to him. “Brandon Dixon. I’m the gym manager. This kind of stuff goes through me. I’ll take a look at it over the weekend and get back to you by Monday.”

  “Of course, Mr. Dixon.” The little fuck stretched to shake my hand, and I put as much firmness into as I could. I wasn’t used to handshakes, as stupid as that sounded. “Monday is great. I look forward to hearing from you. Let me know if there are any problems with any of the clauses. I’m sure we can work things out beneficially for both parties.”

  I made a mental note to triple read the fine print. Hearty handshakes and shoulder pats made their rounds about the small group, and the little fuck dismissed himself to give his full attention to the next fight.

  I held thumbed through the dozen or so papers clipped together and held them up to Jamie. “Any idea what’s in here?”

  “Did you just say you’re my manager?”

  “I said I’m the gym’s manager.”

  Jamie grabbed the front pocket of my jeans. “Don’t want to mix business with pleasure?”

  “No. I’m totally fine with that. In fact, I’m planning on stocking the gyms office with condoms and lube. You’d look good bent over the desk.”

  He jerked on my pocket, and my body crashed into his. His lips hovered over mine. “Get your ass back to that room. I need your lips around my cock.”

  The roaring of the crowd faded away the further we retreated into the belly of the coliseum. Jamie practically shook with the intensity of the testosterone searching for an exit. His energy infused me, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I took one look over my shoulder at the beast of a man with wild eyes – and I took off at a run.

  “Hey!” The slap of Jamie’s bare feet sounded after me. “You aren’t faster than me, Bran.”

  I didn’t need to be. All I needed was to get to that damn training room and lock the door behind us. I turned one corner at a dead sprint and then another. Jamie was right behind me. There it was. Team Brockman taped to the door. I reached for the handle to vault inside, but Jamie seized me and spun.

  My back hit the door, and Jamie grabbed both my wrists. His chest collided with mine, and he ground his lips into mine. His tongue explored my own. The man held the primal smell of sweat and lust. I tried to struggle out of his grip and open the door, but who was I kidding. Jamie pined me, not letting me escape for one moment, his body flattening against mine.

  The firmness of his big cup intoxicated me, and I thrust against it, needing the hardness that lay beneath. I’d never wanted a cock buried inside me so badly.

  “God, Jamie, just get me inside and fuck me.”

  “I need this damned cup off,” he growled.

  He flung the door open, and we stumbled inside, locking it behind us. Jamie let me go and went straight for his own shorts, yanking them down and going for the athletic support next. Motherfucker, that was a huge goddammed package. I pulled my clothes of. I couldn’t get naked quickly enough. Shoes. Shirt. Jeans. Gone.

  Jamie tackled me against a set of lockers, and the metal clanged as I fell into them. His hands were on me – all over me – in my hair, at the nape of my neck, pulling at my shoulders and hips. Both our cocks stood at rigid attention, and I snaked a hand between our bodies, coupling our shafts together, and jacked us both. Jamie’s response was immediate. He groaned, muscles tensing.

  Fuck, his cock rubbing against mine was good. Jamie thrust into my hand. He kissed with hot, passionate lips down my jaw and neck. His teeth bit into my shoulder, and he licked across my skin. My balls tightened in. Jamie had me on edge, and I was ready to blow.

  I hit my knees, my hands going to Jamie’s perfect ass. This was not the night for teasing. I took Jamie into my mouth all at once, his cockhead running straight to the back of my throat.

  He slammed his palms into the locker, roaring, “Fuck, Bran. God, that’s good.”

  I moaned for him, taking hold of the base of his shaft, and running my lips up and down. I sucked hard with every stroke, and Jamie’s knees gave. He pumped into me, fingers coursing through my hair. His hips worked in circles as he rocked in and out of my mouth. My erection thrummed with anticipation.

  “Holy shit, stop.” Jamie pushed away. “Condoms. Do we have any fucking condoms?”

  Naked, on my knees, I watched that glorious man upend duffle bags in a frantic search. I moved to the table and bent over it, my ass in the air. The sight brought him to a sudden stop, and he took his cock in hand, licking his lips.

  “Just get over here,” I said.

  His voice was on edge. “I can’t find a condom.”

  “I don’t care. You had to get tested for the fight. You’re clean. Just fuck me.”

  That man’s chest filled with air, and pure lust filled his eyes. He ripped at his open fingered MMA gloves. The bottle of Vaseline from before the fight was on the table, and I decided I couldn’t wait for him. I spr
ead the stuff over my fingers and down between my legs. I took a wide stance and sent one and then two fingers into my tight ass.

  Jamie froze, his jaw dropping. His gloves fell to the floor, exposing his taped hands beneath. I took in the view over my shoulder as he slowly approached, his eyes fixed on my fingers opening up my ass to him. He applied Vaseline to his shaft, massaging his own balls as he watched.

  “Honey, you are so fucking hot, but you need to get your fingers out of your asshole right now.”

  I obeyed my man and held onto the table for what I knew was coming. Jamie lined up the head of his cock with my tightness. He took firm hold, his fingers wrapping around to the hollows of my hips.

  “I’m not a wallflower, Jamie. Fuck me.”

  He thrust in. I yelled out, and my world was an explosion of light. Those damned hips of his rolled, and he settled in to the base. “You better hold onto that fucking table.”

  Holy Mary, did I. Jamie pulled out to his tip and rammed back in, his balls slapping against mine. His breath came heavy, and he grunted with each stroke. Jamie’s fingers dug into me, and my knuckles turned white. Heat rocketed up my chest, and Jamie hit my prostate. I saw stars.

  I cried out, and Jamie cursed. The room filled with wet slaps and feral noises. My body rocked with every wild thrust of his hips. My balls tightened in again, and I slammed my eyes shut. Hot cum seared through my shaft, and I came hard. I flexed, my ass tightening down on Jamie’s cock. The man swore, and his thrusting turned to twitches. He shouted and filled me.

  The room became silent – me collapsed on the table – Jamie collapsed onto my back. His hard muscle against my skin – even his sweat – it was glorious. His lips trailed over my shoulder, and I turned to him. His lips were firm, but his kiss harbored an intoxicating tenderness. I moaned into his mouth, and he hummed for me, a smile forming.

  “You need to attend my fights more often.”

  “We need to take this fucking table home.”

  “A fucking table. I like it.”