Ballbuster (A Playing Dirty Sports Romance Book 1)

by Lane Hart

  "So what are you afraid of?" Jax asks me while we walk toward the Hard Rock Cafe.

  "Failure," I admit, since he'd been honest with me. “And snakes."

  "Huh, really?" Jax asks, scratching the side of his head like I've noticed he does whenever he's thinking. Bending down next to my ear, he whispers so only I can hear him, "I don't remember seeing you flinch earlier today. You wrangled that python in my pants like a pro."

  An embarrassed laugh escapes me at the same time cold chills race down both arms from feeling his warm breath against my ear.

  "Guess yours is the exception," I respond, unable to help my smile.

  ...

  Dinner is uneventful and mostly quiet as the men shovel food in their mouths the entire time. I'm talking appetizers, salads, entrees, and my favorite, dessert. After Jax, Mr. Money Bags insisted on paying the check we went over to get our seats at the Xanadu Theater.

  I end up sitting between Jax and Jude, with their dad on the other side of Jude, in the front freaking row! We can almost reach out and touch the huge metal octagon.

  "How'd you guys manage to get such great seats on short notice?" I ask. "And how much do I owe you for my ticket?"

  "Nothing, they were free," Jude says.

  "Free? You mean you got four front row tickets for free?"

  "Yeah, princess, you didn't know? You're with MMA royalty," Jax chuckles.

  "Ha! That's hilarious." I can't help my giggle. I may be a little looser than normal after the two girly drinks I had at dinner.

  "Seriously, Jax was named the first ever IFC King of the Cage. He has more wins, more knockouts, and fewer losses than any other fighter in the entire worldwide league," Jude brags proudly on his older brother. "Actually, he has no losses."

  Wow, that's...impressive.

  "They probably stripped that shit from me, too, because of that fucking slut. I'm gonna have to fight to earn my championship title back," Jax tells us.

  "That's BS," I reply. "What happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

  "The IFC cares more about the sponsors’ opinions than the truth since they don't want to lose a penny."

  The lights dim and loud music comes pouring over the speakers, Ludacris's "Move Bitch." The crowd starts clapping and cheering so I do the same, even though I don't see anyone or anything happening.

  "What's going on?" I ask the guys.

  "The first fighter just came out and is getting cleared by the ref to enter the cage," Jude explains, nodding to a curtained area. "This song is what he picked for his intro, you know, to get hyped up."

  "Oh," I say, then after thinking it over, ask, "What songs do you guys use?"

  "Sick Puppies' ‘You’re Going Down’ is Jax's, and mine's Macklemore's ‘Can't Hold Us.'"

  "Nice," I tell Jude. Familiar with both songs, I can see how they fit each man's personality.

  Finally, I spot the mostly naked little guy when he climbs up the steps and steps into the cage. Tight, black spandex shorts, small red gloves, and a red mouthpiece is all he's wearing. A rock song comes on and then the second fighter goes through the same procedure.

  Once both are in the cage, the ref goes inside and locks the door. While the two men bounce in place on their feet, the announcer tells us their names, weight, and records. These are flyweight fighters, weighing in at a whopping one hundred and twenty-five pounds. I actually weigh more than these scrawny guys.

  Even though they're small, they come out brutally swinging. By the second round, I'm pretty sure blood's sprayed us from the geyser pouring out one of the dude's nose. I cover my eyes until the crowd roars because someone is deemed the winner.

  "What happened?" I ask.

  "There are three ways to win; by knockout, by submission, or by decision," Jude explains. "If both fighters last all three rounds or five rounds in a title fight, then the judges decide who wins by a point system. If all three judges agree, it's called a unanimous decision. If it's two against one judge, it's a split decision. If they all score it even with no clear winner, it's a draw."

  "Okay. So that guy won by a submission?"

  "Yep," Jude responds. "A knockout is when the other guy is unable to continue fighting or is no longer defending himself, sometimes because they're actually unconscious. A technical knockout is when the ref or a doctor says a fighter is too injured to go on. A submission is when a fighter taps out in defeat."

  "Wow, this is scary. I can't imagine seeing one of you up there getting hit over and over again."

  "I don't get hit," Jax says.

  "Never?" I face him and ask skeptically.

  "Never."

  "That explains how you still have such a pretty face," I tease him with a smile.

  "Pretty?" Jax scoffs.

  "What about you, Jude? Your face is still pretty too. Don't you ever get hit?" I ask.

  "Hell yes." He laughs, rubbing his jaw likes he's having phantom pain from a past fight. "Jax is what we call a striker or a heavy hitter, meaning he wins by knocking guys out with his fists. I just try and dodge my opponents’ punches and kicks until I can take them down since I'm better on the ground. You know, with wrestling and submissions."

  "Jude is a helluva lot better than me at the ground game when he doesn't get knocked out beforehand or submit," Jax responds.

  "Nothing's worth breaking an arm or leg," Jude replies. "And I've never been knocked out, asshole. Well, except by you, but that doesn't count since those weren't officially sanctioned fights."

  I'm caught off guard when a cameraman suddenly appears right in front of our faces. I hear the announcer say Jax and Jude's names which are immediately followed by deafening applause and cheers. Nice to know the fans are still behind Jax while his case is pending.

  The two take the attention in stride, Jax with a lazy, carefree nod of his head, and Jude with a fist pump and smile.

  The rest of the night is a blur of punches, kicks, and bloody, sweaty guys before Jax walks me back up to my room. I think watching two men beat the crap out of each other will take some time to get used to, but it had been fun to see the fights with the guys. I don't want to say goodnight, but I worry about what I'll do if I don't turn in now.

  "You sure you don't want to come play poker with us?" Jax asks, leaning a muscular shoulder against the wall beside my door.

  I shake my head while pulling my key from my purse and sliding it in the slot. "Thanks, but I better head to bed."

  "Okay, suit yourself." He shrugs. His dark eyes lower to my lips, making me think he's considering kissing me. Of course, he just pushes off the wall and starts for the elevators with a quick over the shoulder, "See you in the morning."

  Oh, and I can't help but notice that the man's firm backside is like none other.

  "Goodnight," I call back. "And, Jax?"

  "Yeah?" he asks, turning around to walk backward with his hands in his pockets.

  "Thanks for everything...you know earlier today?"

  "Everything?" he asks with a cocky grin. Of course, I know right away that he's referring to what happened in the doctor's office.

  "That, and your, um, offer," I say, my cheeks burning from the embarrassment of actually talking about it. "That's probably the second nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

  "Oh yeah? What's the first?" he asks, coming to a stop in the hallway.

  "Well, this one time a guy answered my phone and set my hateful father and jerk fiancé straight with just a few stern words. I think they may have actually pissed themselves, which is pretty freaking hilarious."

  "Sounds like they were assholes who deserved that shit," he says with a widening smile.

  "They did. But now I'm all confused. A man I just met shouldn't treat me better than the two men who are supposed to love me unconditionally."

  "Being more decent than those two isn't a hard thing to accomplish, even for a jackass like me."

  "Guess not," I agree sadly.

  …

  Jax

  Heading back d
ownstairs in a thankfully empty elevator, I'm still thinking about Page. The damn woman is making me go soft. I never expected her to say she didn't actually want to go to law school. What kind of parent doesn't let their kid choose their own career?

  Hearing that makes me thankful that our dad's always been so supportive. Most parents would hate having not one but two sons that fight for a living. Not him. Dad's always encouraged us to do what makes us happy, even more so after he became a single parent.

  While Jude and I are trying to relax and gamble a little in the casino, women keep approaching us, practically shoving their tits in our faces or rubbing their asses on us. I've never understood until now how Jude resisted the constant temptation. After meeting Page and getting charged with rape, I see the sluts for what they are; faceless, brainless bodies to fuck for a few minutes, only to be forgotten seconds afterward. What a waste.

  Page is classy and beautiful, so damn smart, unintentionally funny and an OCD perfectionist. And kissing her in that damn doctor's office? I don't think I've come that fast since I was a horny teenager. I swore to myself that shit wouldn't happen again. So now I'll only have the memories of the sexy sounds Page made, and how good it had felt having her hands on me to haunt me like nightmares. She's got me wishing for things I can never fucking have. It's like being trapped in hell while staring into heaven. It's so fucking close but always just out of reach.

  God, I want more of her. Since when did I become a rule follower anyway? Probably since I met someone worth keeping them for.

  ...

  The next day we all hang out around the pool since none of us want a repeat of yesterday's angry attack of sea life. The salt water would probably burn Page's stings like a motherfucker, too. She stays unusually quiet, not just with me but with Jude and my dad as well. I think they notice her withdrawal since no one seems very talkative. After the last few days, she's sort of become a part of our family, and it's been nice actually having a woman's presence mingling with the three of us for the first time in seventeen long years.

  "So what's the plan for tonight?" Jude asks. "Ego?"

  "He has the biggest," Page mutters softly, nodding to me. She's sunbathing next to me, lying on her back with her dark sunglasses covering her eyes.

  "Yes he does, but I was actually asking if you want to go to Ego tonight. You know, the nightclub here?" Jude asks.

  "You kids have fun shaking your asses," Dad says before he gets up from his lounge chair. "I'm turning in early."

  "Can I drown in fruity drinks and gamble there too?" Page asks after my dad walks off, getting to a sitting position in her lounger. Today's cock tease consists of a black and hot pink polka dot material that barely covers the four gorgeous areas of her body.

  "Sure can," Jude assures her.

  "Then I'm in," she says. "Although, we should probably go soon and turn in early since we have court tomorrow."

  Goddamn, I hate the reminder of that fucking guillotine blade hanging over my head.

  "So we'll go at seven? Call it a night maybe around eleven?" Jude asks, looking between Page and me.

  "Why do you even want to go?" I ask him. "It's not like you're gonna pick up any women."

  "I can't go hang out and have fun with my brother and his attorney?" Jude scoffs. "Page will dance with me, won't you?"

  "Sure, although, just to warn you, I have the rhythm and coordination of a newborn baby fawn," she tells him with a smile.

  Screech.

  That was the sound of my teeth meeting at the thought of his or anyone else's hands on Page.

  "No way." Jude snickers. "I bet you're more like a baby giraffe since you're so tall."

  "I'm in," I agree. If I'm there, no one will touch her, not even myself.

  …

  An hour later the three of us are sitting at the bar in Ego ordering a round of drinks. When I'm training for a fight, I usually avoid alcohol, but since I'm not and have no idea how long before that may ever happen again, I decide to go with a bottle of Budweiser Select. Page is throwing back drinks as quick as the bartender sets them down. Jude's staying sober, because, well he's only twenty.

  "Woohoo, let's dance!" Page exclaims, sliding off her barstool and heading for the dance floor. It's early, so there's not a lot of people on the floor yet. Page doesn't seem deterred by that or act intimidated by all the attention on her.

  "This should be fun," Jude says with a smile before he follows her.

  I'm working really hard on trusting my brother on the whole Page issue, but it's still not easy to see the two wrapped around each other like pretzels, grinding to the beat of the loud music. The woman lied, she can dance, or at least she can move her hips in a way that's sexy enough to make me pant from a hundred feet away.

  Tonight she's wearing a white strapless dress that makes her glow under the black lights of the dark club. She doesn't go unnoticed by the guys in attendance, either. That would be impossible with her perfect curves and long, gorgeous legs. Her blonde hair is styled in one single braid that falls over her right shoulder, and I'm sure I'm not the only one thinking about how I'd like to wrap it around my fist and yank on it while fucking her from behind.

  With her back to me, I can tell that Jude's at least keeping his hands above the belt, so I probably won’t break them. Page's arms are wrapped around his neck, reminding me of how'd they'd felt yesterday when they were around me.

  The longer I sit at the bar, the more I wonder why the fuck I'm torturing myself. I should just go back to my room and...what? The fact that I'm less miserable here, watching the woman I want but can't have dance with my brother than I would be if I weren't here, is disturbing. If I leave, I'll drive myself insane wondering who she's dancing with, how they touch her, and if she's going back to some random guy's room with him. Her fiancé seems to be far from her mind. The thought shouldn't make me as happy as it does. The asshole doesn't deserve her. She hasn't mentioned anything about him this weekend, but she's bound to have heard from him. Does he care that she's here? Is she going to wise up and end things with that asshole?

  While I'm arguing with myself, Jude walks back up, swiping at the sweat running down his forehead.

  "Can I get a water?" he asks the bartender.

  "Where's Page?" I ask, looking back out on the floor.

  "Chill, she's in the bathroom, probably mopping up her own sweat," he replies. "Did you see the woman's moves? She was trying to kill me."

  "Mm-hmm," I mutter, unable to stop myself from seeking her out anyways.

  After Jude guzzles half of his glass of water, he turns to me, and asks, "So, you just gonna sit here all night like a bump on a log?"

  "Maybe."

  "Well, don't expect her to...uh-oh," he gasps.

  "What?" I ask, following his gaze across the room.

  "I'm not sure, but...is that Page?" he asks.

  "Where?"

  "On top of that table?"

  On a table? What the fuck?

  A sexy woman in a white dress is dancing provocatively on a mini-circular stage off to the side of the dance floor. I don't know whether I want to jerk her off there and throw her over my shoulder, or, well...keep watching. Knowing I'm not the only one watching is what seals the deal on my decision.

  I take off in her direction, pissed at her for letting other guys see her this way, and incensed that I even fucking care. Why does this woman affect me like this? Is it because I'm just horny and want to fuck her? No, it's more than that. As I watch her gyrate several feet up in the air, I realize that she means more to me than a quick fuck. I'm driven by this unfamiliar need to just be near her and take care of her. And hell, in return I think I actually want her to take care of me. Not that I'd ever admit that shit to anyone.

  It's becoming clear from my viewpoint that Page either isn't wearing any panties, or they are minuscule since her ass is practically hanging out. I can't help but wince when I see the jelly sting welts.

  "What happened to your sweet little ass, baby?" the ja
ckass next to me asks Page loud enough to be heard over the music.

  "Jellyfish," she yells back.

  "I bet I could kiss it and make it better," the Jersey Shore wannabe says.

  "I bet I could leave you permanently disabled before you can blink," I warn him.

  His eyes widen when he finally faces me. Page is taller than this shrimp. Without another word, he turns and leaves.

  "Go away, Jax," Page shouts without turning around, her arms still moving above her head, her hips fucking hypnotic.

  "Page," I yell over the music, trying to get her attention. "Page!"

  No response. I thought we could do this the easy way, I'd ask her to get down, she'd agree, and we'd be good. I should've known better after the three drinks she downed in the span of five minutes.

  "Page, get your ass down!"

  "No!" she shouts. "Stop scaring guys away, you big jerk!"

  Fine, if she won't come down then I'll go up since I can't yank her down by her ankle without hurting her. I grip the edge of the small stage, pulling myself up on it, and then get to my feet.

  Finally doing what I've wanted to all night, I grab Page's hips and pull her flush against me, wedging my knee between her legs.

  "W-what are you doing?" Page stutters or slurs as her body stiffens up.

  "Dancing with you," I whisper against her ear.

  "Why?" she asks. "So no one else can?"

  "Yes."

  Finally relaxing, she wraps her arms around my neck.

  …

  Page

  The room feels like it's spinning around me, but I'm not sure if it's an effect of alcohol or Jax's close proximity.

  His warm, hard body is pressed tightly against mine, and he smells so freaking good. Even though I have no clue why he decided to climb up here and dance with me, I take advantage of the moment and lay my head on his shoulder. Jax's arms around me tighten in response like he approves. I never know with him. This whole weekend has felt like a crazy, emotional roller coaster. At the moment I can feel us teetering at the top, right before the sudden drop-off.

  "I like the braid," he says against my ear. "But I'd give anything to see you with your hair down."

  I'm taken aback and not sure how to respond to his statement. There's no doubt in my mind that I'm deep into conflict of interest territory. I haven't told Jax yet, but tomorrow I'll go to court with him and give a limited notice of appearance just for his arraignment. After that, I have no choice but to bow out and let another attorney take over his case. I'll still help out, doing what I can, but I'm not capable experience wise or emotionally to represent him in his trial. I have another small reason for withdrawing, although I'm not getting my hopes up that anything will happen between us once I'm no longer representing him.