Fighting Attraction Page 2

  Who wants a beating?

  PENNY

  Score, a popular local sports bar in Chinatown, is packed when we arrive. With ten television screens, good brew on tap, decent pub food, and long, communal tables, it has been the Redemption team’s go-to place ever since they were kicked out of their last go-to place for causing too many fights. The exposed brick walls are covered in Oakland decor—Raiders, A’s, and Warriors stuff is everywhere—and the delicious scent of chicken wings and beer fills my head.

  I spot Cora over by the bar and make my way through the crowd to join her. Despite the short notice, she looks effortlessly put-together in a floaty pink top, fitted paisley blazer, and tight jeans tucked inside a pair of worn cowboy boots. Her thick, blond hair is tied up in a loose ponytail, and her mother’s big cameo dangles on a slim gold chain, perfectly finishing off her outfit.

  “I only texted you an hour ago,” I complain. “And you said you were in class. How did you get home, change, get fabulous, and make it here before me?”

  “Desperation.” She toasts me with her empty glass. “Plus, I’ve never met the boys from Redemption, and after hearing all about the mysterious Jimmy ‘Blade Saw’ Sanchez, I didn’t want to waste any time.” Cora fell hard for one of her professors during first term, and they had a heated affair until she discovered he was married. With kids. And one on the way. Cora wasn’t having any of that crap and sent the bastard packing, but her heart is still a bit bruised, and this is the first time in a long time she’s been interested in meeting someone new.

  She frowns, taking in the scrape on my forehead, the bruise on my cheek, and the bandage on my finger. “What happened to you?”

  “Just a little accident. After Rampage’s fight, I got knocked over by his opponent as he stormed out of the stadium. I fell off my chair, and my knickers were live-streamed around the world while Rampage beat up the guy in the aisle.”

  “Oh, honey.” Cora makes a good show of concern for all of three seconds before she laughs in a good-natured bestie kind of way. “Why am I not surprised? You always seem to attract the wrong kind of attention. I hope you were wearing sexy underwear.”

  Trust Cora to drill right down to what is most important, my health and happiness clearly not being as important as the pattern on my knickers.

  “Since I don’t have a boyfriend and no hope of ever finding someone who’s into overly excitable, clumsy, curvy British girls who like frilly pastels, death metal, and whiskey, I was going for comfort, not seduction,” I say dryly. “Plus, it’s that time of the month. My knickers are two sizes too big, plain white, and have very little elastic left. Every month I’m amazed they don’t fall down.”

  “People have all sorts of kinks,” she assures me. “No doubt there is a man out there who is thinking right now that he has just found his soul mate.”

  “You think he wants to sleep with my knickers?”

  “I’ve heard worse.” She flags the bartender for a refill and follows me to the long table at the center of the bar where the Redemption team has gathered. Blade Saw and Amanda are chatting with Obsidian at the far end of the table. With a movie narrator voice, a drop-dead gorgeous body, and deliciously dark skin, Obsidian always attracts attention whenever we go out. Amanda and Obsidian had a brief fling before she and Renegade got serious, but that’s a secret I would never share. Renegade is as possessive and protective as they come.

  We find a couple of empty chairs across from Obsidian and Blade Saw, now engaged in a heated argument about whether their favorite professional fighter, Slayer, is coming back from retirement. Cora’s gaze flicks from Blade Saw to Obsidian and back to Blade Saw.

  “Which one is for me?” she whispers.

  I watch her pretending not to look at Blade Saw and laugh. “The one you can’t take your eyes off. He’s into mechanical stuff, so you two have lots in common.”

  Until she started her degree in mechanical engineering at San Francisco State University, Cora had never been west of the Mississippi. She introduced me to sweet tea and grits with sausage gravy. She also introduced me to really bad science fiction movies, something for which I have never forgiven her.

  “If he doesn’t do it for you, there are other options.” I wave my hand vaguely over the table. Cora scans the motley crowd of Redemption fighters, some chugging their beer, others arguing over the last of the chicken wings, and, of course, Doctor Death, a blue-eyed, blond-haired Adonis and Redemption’s own man whore, trying to charm one of the waitresses into his bed. “Or maybe not.”

  “How’s Pen tonight?” Rampage appears out of nowhere and gives my ponytail a tug. Sometimes I forget he’s from Tennessee, but his slightly gruff, soft twangy accent always sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

  “Throat’s a little sore from screaming myself hoarse after your win, falling off my chair, and being subjected to worldwide humiliation. But otherwise good.”

  His smile fades, and he crouches beside my chair. “How are you really?”

  I shrug, discomfited by his attention and his quiet intensity. Until he went pro, Rampage was just one of the guys I knew at Redemption. We chatted at social events and fights, exchanged numerous high fives and fist bumps, and had the occasional dance at bars. But now that he’s gone pro, he’s a star. Now he works for MEFC, one of the biggest MMA promotions in the world. He has a manager and an agent, PR and marketing people, lawyers and doctors, coaches and fitness consultants. He has sponsors who give him clothes, bags, and bottles and splash his face all over the Internet. Yes, I think he’s hot, but hot sports stars like him don’t go for curvy, broken girls like me.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Your cheek is bruised.” He strokes a thick finger over my cheek. “And you’ve got a cut on your forehead.”

  “Um.” His gentleness takes my breath away. This is Rampage. King of the cage. “Yes. But they don’t hurt.”

  His mouth tightens, and I worry for a moment I’ve done something wrong. Not that I’m afraid of Rampage. He isn’t like the fighters who are aggressive both in and out of the cage. He goes in; he fights; he shakes hands; and once the fight is done, he usually buys his opponent a drink. A nicer guy you couldn’t hope to meet. Too nice for a girl like me.

  Rampage’s gaze drifts down my body, and I squirm in my seat, wishing I had dressed up a bit more for the bar instead of wearing my usual pastel tank top, cream sweater, pearls, kitten heels, and floral-patterned skirt. Amanda says I dress the way she always imagined British women dressed for tea in the fifties, but I shop at the same stores as her. I just make different choices.

  “What’s this?” He lifts my hand, glares at the bandage on my finger.

  “It was just a bit sore.”

  “Sore?” He holds my hand gently in his palm and strokes my bandaged finger. “Christ. I was too easy on him. I should have broken more than his nose.”

  “You broke his nose?” My voice rises with concern. “Is MEFC going to kick you out?”

  Rampage drops my hand, and I feel instantly bereft. “Nah. I’ll probably just get off with a warning. Juice Can made the mistake of bumping into the wife of one of the California State Athletic Commission’s officers before I got to him. It’s not the first time he’s pulled a stunt like that. Looks like he’ll be suspended, and they’ll cut me some slack ’cause my manager, James, told them you were my girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?” I force a laugh. “Well, if it helps you out of a bind, I’m happy to play along. Just don’t expect me to kiss you or anything.”

  My attempt at humor falls flat. Rampage studies me for a long moment and looks away. “No, of course not.”

  Desperate to move past the awkward moment, I introduce Cora to Rampage, Blade Saw, and Obsidian. She dazzles them with her smile.

  “Why don’t you use their real names?” she asks when the waitress comes to take their orders.

  “I
dunno. At the gym, Torment has a ring-name-only rule for the fighters who have earned one. I suppose it’s a way of acknowledging their hard work. But if you hang around the gym enough and always use those names, you forget what their real names are. Or in the case of Obsidian, you don’t even know and after a while it becomes too embarrassing to ask. When we’re all together like this, we all use ring names. I don’t even think about it anymore.”

  Rampage stands and excuses himself. “Gotta do the rounds, ladies. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  A tiny frown crinkles Cora’s perfect brow. “The rounds?”

  “He’s Rampage. Even though this party is for him, he’ll make his way around the table, talking to everyone, getting the gossip, making sure everyone’s glass is filled and there’s enough food. He’ll ask about their girlfriends, boyfriends, mothers, aunts, and kids. He knows who just got a new job, who lost a job, who got divorced, and who just bought a new car. He’ll shake hands, pat backs, and kiss cheeks, but not in a slimy politician kind of way. He’s genuinely interested in everyone at Redemption, and he’s just that kind of guy.”

  Cora watches Rampage flag down a waitress to fill Amanda’s glass. “A perfect Southern gentleman, and that accent…”

  “He really is.” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “At least until he gets into the cage.”

  “You like him.” She tears her gaze away from Rampage. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

  “Because he’s just a friend. We fist-bump. He tugs my ponytail and calls me ‘Pen.’ Sometimes we compete in submission dummy tossing at the gym, although I get a handicap because the dummies weigh about eighty pounds. We play drinking games together, which I always lose, and we gossip about people at the gym. I’ve been trying to find him a girlfriend, but he doesn’t like any of my choices.”

  “Maybe he’s already found her.” She gives me a nudge, and I look up to see Rampage watching me from the other side of the table.

  “Still alive,” I say to him. “It takes more than a fall from a chair to really hurt me.”

  “Don’t like the idea of you being hurt in any way, darlin’.”

  Darlin’. He’s never called me darlin’ before. And in that accent… My mouth waters as I conjure up all sorts of naughty things Rampage and I might do together as he whispers Southern-style darlin’s in my ear in that soft Tennessee twang.

  “That’s because you don’t know me very well. I like pain.”

  “You don’t strike me as a masochist.” A curious expression crosses his face—part thoughtful, part longing—but it passes so quickly, I wonder if I saw it.

  “I’m not.” Horrified at the truth I never meant to share, I hold up my injured hand and wiggle my bandaged finger to make my admission seem like a joke, although it’s not. Pain is part of me—an inescapable component of my life. “See. Doesn’t hurt. I’m thinking I should take up MMA seriously instead of watching everyone while I work out. I can take a beating and be ready for another go the next day.”

  I press my lips together to shut myself up. Damn. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.

  “Who wants a beating?” Doctor Death pulls up a chair and squeezes into the tiny space between Cora and me. Redemption’s man whore didn’t get his reputation by ignoring a new and very pretty face, and Cora won a few beauty pageants before she gave up the stage to become an engineer.

  “Now, here’s your masochist,” I say to Rampage, relieved to have a diversion, even if the diversion already has a hand on my thigh. “He wants to be hurt. Otherwise his hand would be on the table and not on a place it shouldn’t be.”

  Rampage’s face creases in a scowl, and I knock Doctor Death’s hand away.

  “Penny. Darling.” Seemingly unfazed by my rejection, Doctor Death pecks me on the cheek. “Introduce me to your friend, and please tell me she’s joining the gym. We need more beautiful women to brighten the place up.”

  “Cora Montgomery, meet Doctor Donald Drake, otherwise known as Doctor Death. He is one of California’s foremost heart surgeons, an MMA fighter, and ring doctor at Redemption. Doctor Death, meet Cora. She’s doing her degree in mechanical engineering at SF State.”

  Doctor Death’s eyes widen. “I’m definitely sitting on the right side of the table. I don’t know which of you to sleep with first.”

  “Don’t mind him,” I say to Cora. “If you tell him to stop, he’ll stop. Basically, he’s oversexed, an incorrigible flirt, but harmless.”

  An hour later, after the fighters at the table have discussed the fight to death, Cora and I head to the bar for a change of scenery and discreet conversation.

  “What did you think of Blade Saw?” I lean against the worn wooden counter and try to catch the bartender’s eye.

  “He’s all sorts of hot. Very sweet. Funny. I like how dedicated he is to the sport.” She smiles at the bartender. He winks and gestures that he’ll be right over. Sigh.

  “What about you?” she asks. “I can’t believe you’ve been hanging around so many gorgeous men and you haven’t asked any of them out. Rampage is really into you.”

  “The guys at Redemption are friends, almost like brothers.” I try the smile-at-the-bartender routine and get a cold stare in return. “I want a bit of danger. A thrill. I want someone who lives on the edge.”

  “You want another man who’s going to beat you like Vetch Retch? That’s the kind of thrill you want?” Cora bristles, now in full-on protective mode. Even when I’ve had too much to drink and I’m making an ass of myself, Cora has my back. When she found out Vetch hit me on one of our dates, I had to physically restrain her from going after him. She only backed down after Amanda’s private investigator, Ray, also known as “the Predator” at Redemption, dragged Vetch into an alley to teach him a lesson that involved more than one broken bone.

  “Go out with the nice guy.” She gestures to Rampage, who is playing darts with Blade Saw at the back of the bar. “We’ll double-date.”

  “How about you go out with the nice guy and invite me to your wedding?”

  “How about we get a couple of Mai Tais and head over to the pool table where we can have a game while watching your Redemption friends bend over to pick up fallen darts?”

  “Is no an option?” I glance over at the dartboard and catch a glimpse of Rampage’s beautiful, tight ass outlined in blue denim.

  Cora follows my gaze and laughs. “Definitely not.”

  After we get our drinks, we head over to the pool table. Cora strikes up a conversation with Rick, a thin dude with long, dark hair, and his ponytailed friend, Jim, who is wearing a “Bassists Go Down” T-shirt beneath a leather vest, cut to show off his two full sleeves of tats. We chat with them a bit and they invite us to join them.

  I never played pool until I came to America, but after my first game with Cora, I was hooked. We went out every weekend, and I practiced until I had blisters on my fingers. Although I can now hold my own at a table, I’m nowhere near as good as Cora, who learned how to play when she was young and never misses an opportunity for a hustle.

  “I noticed you when you walked in,” Jim says as I lean over to rack the balls. “All sweet and sexy. I’ll bet underneath those girly clothes, you’re a wildcat inside. How about we make the game more interesting?” He discreetly waggles a small cellophane envelope of white powder with a happy face sticker on it beneath his jacket.

  “How about I just ride the high from our win?”

  “Don’t be so uptight, sexy girl.” Jim comes up behind me when I turn back to the table. “Our place is just around the corner. We can all go there after the game, have a little fun…” He leans closer, his breath hot on the back of my neck. “You look like you could use a little excitement.”

  My breath catches in my throat. Jim is the kind of guy I usually go for—a little bad, a little dangerous—and if Cora comes with me, I won’t have to worry
about something going wrong. But there’s something about him that makes me uneasy, and when I think about being alone with him, my heart pounds, and not in a good way.

  “Who’s going to break?” I step back, but Jim doesn’t step with me. Instead, he plasters himself against my back, winds one arm around my middle, and grinds his crotch into my ass.

  “Stop it. We just want to play pool.” I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip.

  “You being a tease?” he murmurs in my ear. “Bending over the table showing off those sweet tits, wiggling that beautiful ass until I’m so fucking hard I can’t…”

  And then he’s gone.

  Rampage shoves Jim face-first into the wall, his hand around Jim’s neck. On the other side of the table, Blade Saw grabs Rick’s collar, keeping him out of the fight.

  “You got a problem with the word no?”

  “It’s okay.” I put my hand on Rampage’s massive tatted forearm. “I had it under control.”

  “Got real tired of watching him trying to get under your skirt.” Rampage shakes my hand away. “This is the kind of fucker who’s gonna take advantage. He’s gonna hurt you. Sweet girl like you needs to be with someone decent. I don’t know why you keep going after the trash. Makes me worry about the nights you go out when I’m not around.”

  “Ouch.” I step away, swallow past the lump in my throat.

  “I’m telling you like it is because I’m your friend.” He drops his voice so only I can hear. “Friends watch out for friends. And right now this fucker is going for a walk, and you’re not going with him.” He grabs the back of Jim’s shirt with his free hand and frog-marches him out of the bar. Blade Saw gives Rick a shove and follows them out.

  “So you’re just friends?” Cora raises a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Just friends.”

  3

  Go home, Pen

  PENNY

  Between the humiliation of Friday, the alcohol, and a late-night party with Cora’s university friends on Saturday night, I get very little sleep over the weekend and arrive at Amanda’s office on Monday morning in a very bad mood.