Fighter's Secret Page 6

  This may be the most words she’s ever said to me in one go.

  “You’re welcome. And can I just say how fucking awesome it is that you’ve had seventy-six fights? I might not have that many in my entire career but you have before you’re even thirty.”

  She makes a dismissive sound. “Seventy-six is nothing compared to some of the fighters in Thailand. I trained with guys who had three or four hundred.”

  “Whoa.” I whistle. “Okay, you’re right. You’ve got nothing on them.”

  A laugh bursts from her, almost as though it’s caught her by surprise, and my heart stutters in response. “I didn’t expect you to agree with me!”

  Grinning, I roll onto my side. “Shouldn’t say things if you don’t mean them.”

  Still chuckling, she replies, “Yeah, okay. I guess I thought you were a shameless flirt who’d say anything. No offense.”

  “Offense taken, Harls.”

  “No one calls me that.” I can picture her shaking her head. “‘Harley’ is not the kind of name you shorten.”

  My lips twitch. Challenge accepted. “Just watch me.”

  She sighs. “I’d better go. Thanks for the invite. I’ll see you Monday.”

  “Big plans for the weekend?” I ask, clutching the phone tight to my ear, not wanting her to end the call.

  This time, her sigh is heavy. “Shopping for clothes. I don’t really have much that’s not activewear, seeing as I lived at a gym and all, so I’ve got a few essentials to pick up.”

  “That doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”

  “It’s not, but you gotta do what you gotta do.” She doesn’t ask about my plans, and I find myself wanting to tell her. But then she speaks again. “Goodnight, Devon.”

  I hold all the words I want to say inside of me. They can wait for later. Baby steps.

  “Night, Harls.” I hang up, and pump my fist. I’m going to win my girl. It just might take a while.

  Chapter Seven

  Devon

  First thing on Monday morning, I get my hands on six tickets to the Steel Angels fight night, then message Gabe and Jase in our group chat.

  Devon: Got some tickets to Steel Angels. You and your girls want to come?

  The perfect idea struck me this morning. Triple date. Technically, it’s just a group of friends going to an event together, but with everyone partnered off—and both Jase and Gabe unable to leave their better halves alone for more than a few minutes without wanting to bust the heads of any guys who look their way—Harley will be left with me. It’s the perfect chance to get to know her better.

  Jase: We’re in. Lena is really interested in female fighters after meeting Harley.

  Oh, yeah. It had slipped my mind that she spent Saturday night with Lena and Sydney. I wonder how that went. I hope they were nice to her. Knowing Sydney, I’m sure they were all that’s sweetness and rainbows. Lena’s a bit more fiery, but Sydney has a gift for making everyone feel welcome and like they belong. Gabe doesn’t reply for another half hour, by which time I’ve run five miles and am about to head to the gym.

  Gabe: Random offer. Where’d you get them?

  Devon: Jim Wiley. He’s one of the sponsors.

  Gabe: He just happened to give them to you?

  Devon: I bought them.

  Ugh, why does he have to ask so many questions? He’s a suspicious son of a bitch.

  Jase chimes in as I head downstairs.

  Jase: Fuck, bro. Tell me this isn’t about Harley.

  Devon: Maybe it’s a little bit about Harley. But come on, some of the girls in her tournament are taking part. In her shoes, any of us would want to go.

  Jase: Yeah, okay. But don’t make us regret it.

  Devon: I won’t. Gabe, you in, big guy?

  Gabe: Someone needs to make sure you keep your hands to yourself.

  Devon: Appreciate you looking out for me.

  Pocketing my phone, I spend the rest of the trip to the gym thinking about Harley and how her voice sounded in my ear late at night. Like she was on the bed with me. My heart swells. If I have my way, her voice will be the last thing I hear before I go to sleep every night. When I arrive, I head inside and take off my shoes. Jase is already here, and he’s working with Harley, his head ducked close to hers. He’s gesturing with his hands, and then he lays them on her and demonstrates a judo throw. She lands softly, rolls, and springs back to her feet. Her movements are graceful, and I could watch them forever.

  “Dev.” I flinch, and spin around to see Seth standing beside me. He holds up a padded hand. “You warmed up?”

  “Did a run before I came. If you give me two minutes, I’ll get everything loose again.”

  “Good.” He nods firmly. “Need to work on your switch kicks.”

  “Great, be there in a mo.” I wrap my hands quickly, skip for a few minutes, stretch, then make my way over to the octagon in the back, where Seth is shadow boxing while he waits. When he sees me coming, he slips the pads over his arms and paces to the middle of the ring. I hoist myself up to join him, and steady myself, then cross to where he’s holding the pads and snap my left leg up in a powerful kick.

  “Fake knee to switch,” he barks. I comply.

  For the next twenty minutes, he drills me until my leg is ready to collapse, then instructs me to punch a bag for a while so I don’t burn my lower body out. While I do, I watch Harley. She’s holding pads for Buster—a massive white guy with a crooked nose and no neck. She handles him like a goddamn pro, and based on how red his face is and the way his entire body heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, he’s giving it his all in an attempt to impress her.

  She does not look impressed.

  On the contrary, she seems impatient with his posturing and any time he pauses, she indicates for him to throw a punch.

  A smile curves my lips. She’s not into beefy guys with no cardiovascular endurance. Given that I’m the complete opposite of Buster—leaner, darker, and quicker—I can’t help but be heartened by that.

  “Yo, Dev,” Jase mutters as he passes by. “Eyes on the bag.”

  With difficulty, I tear my attention from Harley. Damn it, I can’t be so obvious about my infatuation or Seth will notice. Settling into my groove, I throw straight punches, hooks, and uppercuts, working on technique rather than power. The round ends, and I can’t resist another glance over. Harley has left Buster and is walking toward her water bottle.

  I intercept her. “Hey, Harls.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I told you, no one shortens my name. It’s weird.”

  “Well, now I do.”

  She continues toward her bottle, and I fall into step.

  “Do you want your ticket, or should I hold onto it and pick you up on Saturday?”

  “Now would be good.” She grabs her drink and tosses her head back as she swallows. Sweat glistens on her throat and upper chest, and suddenly my mouth is dry. She puts the bottle down and wipes her face on a towel. “I’ll just meet you at the venue. Save you having to go around and collect everyone.”

  “Okay.” I’d much rather pick her up and have time alone with her, but I claimed this wasn’t a date, so I can’t exactly argue. I try to grin like I couldn’t care less, but the look she gives me implies I’m not successful. “Wait right here and I’ll get the ticket for you.”

  Harley

  The week passes faster than I expect, and before I know it, Saturday has rolled around and I’m standing in my bedroom trying to figure out what to wear like it’s a goddamn first date. Except I made it clear to Devon that it’s not a date, so I don’t know why I’m so wound up. It’s ridiculous. And yet I can’t help running my finger over the silky skirt of a dress I bought last weekend and wondering what he’d think of me in it. The length makes it perfect to rest across the middle of my thighs. If I paired it with heels, my legs would look amazing. Is he a leg guy?

  Not. A. Date.

  But it’s hard to remember that when the sparks have been flying between us all week. Every time we touch—which is often, since we’re training buddies—I lose a few more of my brain cells and feel like a hormonal teenage girl. The other day, he cracked a joke, and I giggled. I fucking giggled in a gym full of muscle-bound men.

  It’s shocking that Seth hasn’t noticed. My poker face might be decent, but Devon’s is appalling. Several times a day, I catch him undressing me with his eyes, and perhaps I could ignore it if he was less charming and outrageously hot, but for some reason, he gets to me.

  In a fit of defiance, I yank open a drawer, grab a pair of yoga pants and a Crown MMA zip-up hoodie, and change into them. There’s no way he can possibly interpret it as a date now. Except, you know, I leave my belly bare, with only a sports bra beneath the hoodie because I’m still a woman and I’m allowed to be a little vain. I zip the hoodie, slip my purse and phone into my pocket, and stride through the apartment, hoping Seth will be in his bedroom. No such luck.

  “Bye,” I say, waving as I pass him on the sofa as I head for the door.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, glancing over.

  “Just out with some people from the gym.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He frowns, and it occurs to me that he might be disappointed he wasn’t invited. “Who?”

  “Just a couple of the guys. We’re going to watch Steel Angels.” I add that last part because I know it will distract him from exactly who I’m spending time with.

  “You’re scoping out the competition.” He smiles wryly. “Guess it was too much to hope that you not look into them.”

  “Does it bother you that I’m going?” I’ll do it whether he likes it or not, because I’m the sort of person who needs to know exactly what I’m facing, but I’d prefer not to have him unhappy with me.

  He shrugs. “You’re a good judge of your own process. I trust that you won’t do anything to fuck things up for yourself.”

  A cold finger runs down my spine. I know he’s talking about the fights and not my love life, but his words strike a little too close to home.

  “I won’t.” I stride to his side and drop a kiss on his cheek, which is rough with reddish-blond stubble. His eyes—a shade of blue-green he must have inherited from his father—scan my face as though checking for some kind of tell. I squeeze his shoulder. “See you later.”

  “Debrief me,” he says as I leave. “I want your take on the other girls.”

  I grin. “You got it.”

  Outside, I find an Uber waiting and take it to the venue—a club that’s been transformed for the night. As I climb out, I fish my phone from my pocket and message Devon because I’m not sure who else he’s invited to come with us.

  Harley: I’m here. Where are you?

  His response is quick.

  Devon: Wait at the entrance. I’ll come find you.

  Doing as he says, I study the other people arriving. There are teenagers, men in ball caps, and women in cocktail dresses and stilettos. There are, however, very few dressed like me. I guess they’re all out the back, waiting to step into the cage. The atmosphere buzzes with excitement. I love smaller venues like this because they’re more intimate and the vibes are energizing. Everyone is pumped.

  “Harley!”

  I turn at the sound of my name. Devon is threading his way through the crowd toward me, and attraction punches me in the gut. I swipe my lip to make sure I’m not drooling. He looks that good. His dark jeans cling to his thighs like a second skin, showing off how muscular they are, and the royal blue shirt tucked into them sets off his lively eyes and perfect teeth even more than usual. The top two buttons are undone, and even though I’ve spent plenty of time staring at his chest, my eyes are drawn to the flash of dark skin behind the V of fabric.

  “Hey,” he says breathlessly, and wraps an arm around my back. “We’re over here.”

  The seats he’s claimed are in the second-to-front row. I spot four familiar people occupying them and grit my teeth. Jase and Lena. Gabe and Sydney. He’s turned this into a triple date. Before we reach them, I come to a stop. He swings to face me and I narrow my eyes.

  “This isn’t a date,” I tell him. “I don’t care if you invite every guy at the gym and his plus-one. We are not on a date.”

  “I know.” He shoots me his most wicked grin. “We’re just a group of friends that happen to include three men and three women.” He cocks his head. “You’re not one of those people who thinks men and women can’t be friends, are you?”

  Damn him. He’s putting words into my mouth, and I don’t like it. But I also can’t argue that he broke the terms of our agreement, because he didn’t, and we both know it.

  “Do you want to go home?” he asks, tugging at the collar of his shirt with one hand. “Have I upset you?”

  “No,” I sigh, because as much as I want to be annoyed, it’s actually pretty sweet that he wants to spend time with me enough to orchestrate this whole thing. Maybe he does want more than sex. He’s going to a lot of effort when he could easily pick up almost any other woman here. Instead of them, he’s pursuing me, the queen of mixed messages.

  “Sit with me.” He offers a hand but I ignore it because holding his hand would definitely be date-like. I do take a moment to appreciate the strength of it though. The calluses and scarred knuckles show how hard he works. Heat shoots south. Dedication and a good work ethic are two traits I happen to find incredibly sexy.

  We circle around the chairs and I smile at the others, then sink into a spot with Devon to my right and Lena to my left. Some guy on Devon’s other side starts talking to him, and Lena ducks her head near mine.

  “Did he set this up just to get close to you?” she asks.

  I wince. “I’m starting to get that impression.”

  She shakes her head. “He’s incorrigible. We don’t mind shifting to put some distance between you, if you want.”

  “Thanks, but it’s okay.” She smells like berries, and suddenly I’m conscious of how I smell. Perfume isn’t something I own, and the only fragrance I wear is in my deodorant.

  “You want a drink?” Devon asks. “Beer? Water? Wine?”

  “Water.” I stand. “But I’ll get it myself if you steer me in the right direction.”

  “I’ll come,” Sydney pipes up, and links her arm through mine before Devon has a chance to beat her to it. She winks at me. “Over here.”

  As we walk, she talks. “He means well. Honestly. He’s a good guy, but he’s totally full steam ahead when he wants something, and it’s pretty clear he wants you.”

  “You think?” I’m not fishing for a compliment, I just don’t get it. He’s only known me for two weeks, and I’ve made it obvious that I won’t be an easy catch. I don’t understand why he’s willing to go to so much trouble when he could easily have anyone else with nothing more than that panty-melting grin and a few words.

  “Oh, yeah.” We brush past people and force our way to the bar.

  “What do you want?” I ask her as a bartender makes his way along the line of people to us.

  “Anything white.”

  I raise a hand to catch the guy’s attention. “A water and a white wine, please.”

  His gaze skims right over me and pauses on Sydney, lingering on her cleavage. I roll my eyes. See, this is the reaction I’m accustomed to from men. I might as well not exist.

  “Water and white,” I snap, waving my hand at him.

  He shakes his head, looking dazed. “Yeah, whatever. Coming right up.” He grabs two glasses and pours, then raises his head to check out Sydney again. “You here alone, sweetheart?”

  “I’m here with my boyfriend, Gabe Mendoza,” she replies, syrupy sweet.

  He swallows, and his eyes flick away from her, as though he’s expecting Gabe—in all his terrifying glory—to materialize behind her. “Oh, right. Well, here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  As we return to our seats, I ask, “Does that happen often?”

  “Only when I’m by myself. Apparently I look like easy pickings.”

  “Hmm.” Other than Devon, I can’t remember the last time a guy hit on me. Maybe what Thaklaew said has some merit and I’m just not what most guys want. I sigh. What do I care, anyway? I’m a fighter. A professional athlete. Not a girl out for a good time. But sometimes it’s nice to feel wanted. And that’s why, when I slip back into my seat, I don’t shrug off Devon’s arm or react when the tops of his fingers brush my shoulder. The scent of his skin is intoxicating, with a faint underlying hint of Deep Heat, and I can’t resist breathing him in. He shifts closer.

  “The girls in the first few fights are new to the scene,” he murmurs.

  “Figures.” Generally event organizers like to save the best for last.

  We watch the first two matches in silence, but when the third set of fighters are summoned to the cage, I recognize one of the women from the photographs Seth showed me. Shaved head, snake tattoos winding up her arms. She looks scary, but from years of fighting, I know not to judge an opponent by her appearance. Some of the toughest women I’ve faced have been petite.

  “She’s one of them,” I murmur to Devon.

  He nods. “That’s Savage Rose. She’s a pit bull.”

  The fight begins, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize he’s right. Savage Rose moves relentlessly forward, and her strikes never let up. She doesn’t give ground, and seems to have an endless supply of energy. The match doesn’t even go two rounds because she lands a solid punch dead center of her opponent’s face and the girl crumples.

  “Man.” Devon whistles. “Took her down like a boss.” He glances at me, one side of his mouth hitched up. “Nervous?”

  “Fuck, no.” I’m buzzing just from watching it. “I can’t wait to get in the cage with her.” She’s my kind of fighter, and I can already see her weaknesses. “She’s not used to being on the back foot. If I push forward, she won’t know what to do with me. I might be reading too much into it, but I think she’s used to people being intimidated by her.”

  He cocks his head, lips pursed thoughtfully. “You might be right. Hell, I’m a little scared of her. But,” he adds, holding up a finger, “I’m more scared of you.”