Fighting Attraction
Page 4
“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.”
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.”
