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And confused.
I pulled myself out of the water to sit next to Joe. “What do you know about female MMA fighters?”
He scratched his bristly jaw. Joe was closer to forty than thirty, yet he’d almost kicked my ass this morning. In the eyes of some people who weren’t me, he had.
The guy was right about one thing. Passion was the missing ingredient. If you had it, any goal was in reach. Without it, you might as well go belly up at your opponent’s feet.
One reason among many it was time to get out. I didn’t want to get myself dead before I had a real chance to live.
“You mean here? In the city?”
“Yeah. I didn’t even know there was a circuit.”
“Oh, there’s a lane for most cars. You feel me?” He flashed a wide smile. His teeth were stained from coffee and chew and probably things I didn’t want to think about. “There are some broads who fight in Brooklyn, most of ’em outta Mark’s. They don’t draw in the crowds like the fellas do. Except for the gawkers. They see a pair of flapping titties in a sports bra and line up with their dicks in hand.” Chuckling, he shook his head. “Better than fuckin’ porn.”
I gripped the edge of the pool in tense fingers. It wasn’t my problem, but I hated the idea of men circling around Mia as if she’d been provided for their entertainment. She’d come to expect guys to treat her that way outside the cage too. When I turned her down, she’d practically fainted from shock. My throbbing bal
ls still hadn’t forgiven me.
And that little speech I’d given her about fucking her then eating her out? Had tormented me all damn night long.
I supposed I deserved it.
“You ever hear of a girl named Mia?” I tried to keep my voice even. Casual.
“A fighter?”
I nodded, chest tight.
Joe started to shake his head, then he scratched his chin again. “Actually, yeah. I have. She’s brunette. Tall for a female. Cut.”
My neck tensed. For fuck’s sake, I was afraid to hear how far she’d gone in the lifestyle I’d lived for years. None of this made any fricking sense. “Extremely.”
“I didn’t remember her at first because she’s not connected. Girl’s more like a ghost than a fighter. She doesn’t hang around the circuit. Just gets in, gets out, and goes home.”
“Is she good?” Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer. She needed it too much. I didn’t know why—or who—she was fighting, but her desperation had rubbed off on me last night. I could still taste it if I swallowed just right.
That most likely made her miles more dedicated than I was. It also made her a risk—to herself. Desperate people weren’t real good at looking out for themselves.
“I can’t say I know that much about her, Fox. She’s built for it, I’ll say that.”
Between the nickname and the echo of what I’d said to Mia last night, my mouth was in perpetual sour lemon mode. “Jesus, why didn’t you ever tell me what that meant? All these years I thought you guys were calling me fast.”
Joe laughed and thumped my back as he lumbered to his feet. With his bulk, it was a damn miracle he could move like he did. “You ain’t as fast as you used to be, boy, but you’re still pretty. Take what you can get, leave the rest.” He ambled away, whistling.
He’d been saying that for as long as I’d known him. I’d lived by that motto, contenting myself with whatever I didn’t have to stretch too far to grab. Fighting had challenged me once. Not anymore. If I’d ever scrapped to get by, those years were in the rearview. Somehow I’d turned into that lazy, indulgent rich boy I’d always been afraid of becoming while still wearing the façade of someone who gave a shit.
Unlike Mia.
Shaking off the tension that still hadn’t dissipated, I got to my feet and strode into the locker room to get changed. I had some research to do.
Under an hour later, I found myself at Mark’s Gym. I’d suited up in my warmest hoodie, which only offered a modicum of comfort considering my hands were raw from last night’s adventures in hypothermia. If anything, the temperature had dropped even further, and Mia not only had my coat, but my gloves. The streaky gray sky promised more snow soon, and where was I? Staring at the peeling paint above the door of the gym I hoped was hers and wondering what the hell I was doing.
I still had my workout bag over my shoulder. Not that I’d be able to use anything in it while at Mark’s. This was a women’s facility, and my still overinflated twig and brassed-off berries would not be welcomed inside.
So I used what I had, and left the rest.
“Hey sweetheart,” I murmured to the first chick who came along.
