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We circled each other in the cage. His brown hair was slicked back with perspiration. How long had we been at this? I wiped my brow with my wrist and blinked the sweat from my eyes. Sixteen rounds? Or was it eighteen?
I stared into his eyes. We were the same height, and we each had a fighter’s body. We were also both heavyweights, but I was bigger, bulkier. Like John always said, I was bigger than everyone.
Hawk’s expression was as blank as mine, not giving anything away.
Peering into his hooded gray eyes, I tried to read his tells to anticipate his next move. He shuffled his feet. Two swift moves back. One forward. Again and again. Circling me in the Octogan.
What was he waiting for? I was so fucking distracted that he could have tackled me to the ground ten times over and ended the round with a chokehold.
He gestured with his chin as if asking what was wrong. Hawk was never big with words. Hell, neither was I, except to give orders at work. But he took the strong, silent type to a whole new level.
John paced outside the cage. “Right hook, Steven,” he yelled.
I ignored him. Sprinting forward, I aimed for the tattoo on my opponent’s chest.
He sidestepped me without bothering to block my punch. Moving too fast to follow, I nicked the edge of his bicep, but most of my fist cut through a whole lot of air, the momentum lurching me forward. I hit the side of the cage, the steel stinging my skin. I bounced back and regained my footing.
“Good one, Hawk,” John yelled as he whooped.
My opponent circled me like a predator. His feet were so light on the mat as he pivoted and displayed his quick footwork. He was toying with me. Or was the bastard going easy on me, giving me time to recover?
“I don’t fucking need your pity,” I said, lunging toward him. I grabbed him behind the neck and pulled, forcing him to bend at the waist. I brought my knee up, aiming for his chest. He wrapped his hands around my arm and twisted, but he couldn’t get out of my hold. He might be faster than me, but I was stronger. As my knee made contact with his body, I let go of his neck.
The satisfying impact shot a dose of adrenaline through my body, chasing away all thoughts. That was the reason I loved spending my weekends in the cage. It was the only time I could free my mind. It was like a meditation, except one that made you sweat buckets, build muscle mass, and left you covered in bruises.
Hawk lurched backward from the impact, his hands keeping their vice grip on my arm. My knee strike must have winded him, but he didn’t let that stop him. He pivoted and wrapped the crease of my elbow over his shoulder, and slammed his back into my chest.
I knew what would come next. The takedown. He would throw me onto the mat where he had the advantage, his Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu skills far outperforming my Judo skills. I was too bulky to master groundwork. At least against a pro like Hawk.
My size and strength were more suited to a striking fighting style. Muay Thai was my go-to technique. I loved the combination of attack, defense, and counter techniques. The same principles you had to master to be the best in the investment industry. I needed for us to stay on our feet. It was my only chance of beating him, even though he was one hell of a standing fighter too. But I was better. At least, I usually was, when I had a clear head. Not today. My mind was filled with a mix of worry for Laura and delicious thoughts about her body.
With my spare hand, I jabbed at his ribs, knowing full well it was useless. Pain didn’t stop him. It didn’t stop me either. That’s why we were the perfect fighting opponents.
He went into a semi-squat, and at the same time, yanked on my arm, forcing me to bend forward. Then he tucked his hip under me, and suddenly my ass was flying through the air over his head.
I landed on the mat, thethwackechoing throughout the club.
John shook the chain-link fence surrounding the cage. “Steven, get up now! Hawk, pin him down quick!”
Whose fucking side was he on? He could never pick one. Always Mr. Diplomat.
Once I finished a few more rounds with Hawk, then a few with John, my mind was finally free. Completely blank.
After our showers, we relaxed in the infrared sauna, the heat melting away the aches in my muscles. Hawk talked about his hedge fund company, which he started almost twenty years ago, one of the few legit companies he owned. Sometimes I wondered if I had done the right thing climbing the corporate ladder instead of starting my own hedge fund. Hawk was doing as well as John and me, and he didn’t have to answer to anyone, unlike me and that fucking chair. Then John rambled on about the supermodels he’d dated this week. All three of them. Hawk and I rolled our eyes, but that didn’t stop him as he went into way too many details about one of the model’s tight pussy.
I didn’t want to hear it, so I tuned him out until a few minutes later when I heard my name.
“Damn, Steven,” John said. “I haven’t seen you fight that badly since forever.”
He wasn’t close enough for me to hit, and I didn’t have the energy to get up. “Shut up!”
“What the hell is up with you? Could it be a certain intern is distracting you?” John puckered his lips and made kissing noises.
Hawk threw a soaked facecloth at John, and it smacked him in the face. “Can it, Johnny, what are you? Twelve?”
“The fuck? I don’t want your sweat-drenched rag near my mouth.” John chucked the facecloth back at Hawk, who caught it with one quick swoop of his hand. “Eugh, that was disgusting. I think I have Ode-de-Hawk on my lips.”
Hawk leaned back and closed his eyes, smirking. “Serves you right. What kind of man insults a friend’s fighting skills? Did you forget that Steven knocked you on your ass eight times today?”
