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This is our second fight, and both times it has been for the belt. He was the reigning champion when I came into the company. It took me a year and a half to get to the title. I had been flirting with the top ranks, but the president wanted to make sure I would be staying with the company when he gave me the shot.
I won a year ago and it’s been a pretty good fucking reign.
This fight isn’t something I am worried too much about, but shit, every fight has the potential to be the last.
Dropping the barbell onto the floor, I check myself out in the mirror. I’m fucking ripped but Christy calling me an old man got my dander up. I do a couple of flexes in the mirror and watch my muscles move. Fuck that shit, I’m in my prime baby.
She keeps coming into my head as I step into the ring with a couple of different guys to work on my routine. I’m sure it’s only because of the newness of the situation, but I can’t stop it from happening. It’s bothering me though, because I can usually focus on what needs to be done.
I don’t usually allow myself to be distracted like this.
During a break in between the ring and working on the floor bags, I walk around the gym with my arms on top of my head. Taking deep breaths in and holding them, I stop at the bulletin board. There, on the board, is a flyer from World Cage Fighting. It’s a come one, come all type of thing for female fighters.
On the top it announces a five thousand dollar purse for the winner.
All over the nation women have been dropping into dojos, wanting to take part in women’s MMA, and our company has been no different. The company has been trying to attract talent but hasn’t managed to discover enough worthy ladies yet, though they are trickling in.
My day passes by as it always does, and before I know it I see Christy walking in through the doors, her uniform replaced by her normal street clothes.
Heading to the bulletin board, I yank down the promotion sheet and walk over to where she is standing with a few other kids. Chase hasn’t started talking yet so I flag him down.
“I need to speak with the Runt over there,” I say, pointing to Christy.
Walking over to her, I pull her to the side and put the promotion sheet in her hand.
“That’s where you will be in a month and a half. This is your shot. No more sitting at the kiddie table, playing around at fighting. Time to put your big girl panties on and hit someone.”
Chase is staring hard at me as I lead her away from the group but I ignore him.
Marching a stunned Christy over to Dale, I say, “I’ve got a new fighter for you. She needs to get the basics down so she isn’t killed in six weeks at the fights.”
Chapter Seven
Christy
Walking into the gym, I’m already on edge because I have no clue how things are going to go down today. Has Alex already blabbed about me staying with him? Or are we going to keep this thing just between us?
I wish I would have discussed it with him earlier but it was too hard to think straight when I was in the car with him. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t trust him or if it’s something else… but it’s annoying as hell. When I’m near him, my brain gets all fuzzy and I’m super aware of him… His larger-than-life presence. His smell. His nearness.
He just seems too good to be true.
Seriously, what man his age just helps a girl like me without wanting something in return?
Maybe I shouldn’t go back to his house tonight. Maybe I should just hit that hotel…
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself and he won’t even offer.
I don’t know why but that annoying part of me hopes he does offer.
Dammit.
I really wish I didn’t blurt out that I wasn’t going to sleep with him. He seemed so taken aback by it. Seriously, I’ve never seen such a big guy look so horrified. You’d think I just asked him to buy me tampons.
Obviously, the thought of sleeping with me has never crossed his mind, and I guess that makes me the pervert because I have thought about it.
A lot.
Since our run this morning, I can’t get the picture of his glistening abs out of my head. I wonder what the rest of him looks like underneath his clothes. I wonder where those groove lines at his hips lead.
It’s not what’s in the box, it’s what’s in his pants?
For some sick, disgusting reason I’m dying to know.
After securing my backpack in the women’s locker room, I join the others of my group as we wait on Chase. The guys in the program are just shootin’ the shit, and I’m trying to act like I’m interested in their stories about the girls they hooked up with or the stupid drunk shit they did last night.
