Uncaged Love #4: MMA New Adult Contemporary Romance (2 page)

Colt leads me to the cage door. We walk together down the red carpet back to the dressing room. Killjoy punches the air, hopping back and forth with outrageous zeal.

When the doors close behind us and we can hear again, Killjoy starts talking ninety miles an hour. “You killed it, Colt. You nailed him! The next two are nothing compared to Mulligan. You’ll take them!”

My ears ring after all the noise. We follow a long corridor until we reach a room with a security guard. He nods at Colt as we pass into a dressing room.

Killjoy flops onto a gray leather sofa. A table lines the back wall, filled with fruit and sandwiches. “You’ve got fifteen minutes before the press will be here,” Killjoy says. He sighs. “I guess all they’re going to want to talk about is the girl.”

Colt squeezes my hand. “That’s all right. Publicity is good for the league.”

Killjoy covers his weathered face with his arm in the shiny blue trainer suit. “I suppose. But this is your big comeback!”

“They’ll talk about that too,” Colt says. “There’s only so much we’ll even say about Jo.”

Killjoy peers out at me. “Are you going to talk?”

I shake my head, panic rising.

Colt pulls me against his body. “You don’t even have to be here.” He pulls out a strand of blue hair. “They are going to think you’re someone else entirely. Kettle Belle 2.”

Killjoy sits up. “Brittany’s good and out of this, right?”

Colt nods. “She wasn’t even here, as far as I know. She went public with the breakup after the last photos with Jo.”

Killjoy lies back down. “Good. I don’t want to screw up the press.” He covers his eyes again. “I can’t keep up with your women.”

A tall, thin man in khakis and a dress shirt enters the room. “How are you feeling, Colt?” he asks. He gives me a quick nod.

“He didn’t get much in,” Colt says.

The man takes a slender silver flashlight from his pocket and shines it in Colt’s eyes. “He got some good ones in during round two, before you made your dramatic announcement.”

Colt chuckles. “A little bit.” He glances over at me. “Jo, this is Doc Simon. He’s the team medic.”

The doctor drops his flashlight back in his pocket and extends his hand for me to shake. I take it timidly. “I hear you’re a fighter too,” he says.

“Just one match so far,” I say. “Got a ways before I’ll call myself a proper fighter.”

Simon looks me over. “You’re too light to qualify for the current women’s UFC.”

“They’re adding a new weight class next year,” Killjoy mumbles from the sofa. His energy has apparently evaporated now that the match is over.

Simon walks over to a counter by one wall and opens a black case. “What class?”

“It’s the 115-pounder,” Killjoy says.

Colt meets my eyes and winks. I lean against the back of the sofa. They’re talking about me like I’m part of the team.

“You going to put her on protein supplements? Bulk her up a bit?” Simon pulls a wad of gauze from the case and squirts something on it.

Killjoy sits up. “Maybe.”

Simon holds the gauze against Colt’s forearm. I didn’t even notice the injury, a hard scrape glossed over with gel to stop the bleeding. “See me after the shower to tidy this up,” Simon says. He pulls the bloodstained gauze away.

“Ten minutes to press,” Killjoy says.

“I better shower,” Colt says to me. “You’ll stay here?”

I nod, but panic flashes through me that reporters will corner me, ask me who I am.

Colt sees my expression. “Actually, come on back with me.”

Killjoy rolls his eyes as Colt leads me to the bathroom door. “Ten minutes, Colt. I’ll send them in there. I will.”

Colt closes the door. The bathroom isn’t as fancy as the dressing area, just steel sinks and a standing shower stall. “You can hide in here if you aren’t up for the press part,” he says.

“I might,” I say.

He strips the tape off his hands. I move over to the shower and turn on the spray. It’s cold and the handle isn’t marked, so I push up my sleeve to test the water. When it’s warm, I turn around.

Colt is naked now, and my breath catches when I look at him. The light is harsh and unrelenting, but he’s perfect. His blonde hair is lit up. He’s close shaven today, I guess for the fight, so the dimples are clear on either side of his mischievous grin.

His shoulders bulge, probably a little more swollen than usual after the hard work of the match. His chest is sharply defined and perfectly smooth. His abs lead down to the cut of his hips. Heat rises in me as he reacts to my looking at him, stiffening.

“Ten minutes,” I manage to say.

“Only takes two to shower,” he says.

“The water’s running…” But my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it between my legs.

“Come here,” he says.

I take a step toward him. I know what it’s like after a fight. The adrenaline rush. The feeling of invincibility.

Before I can even see his movement, he’s closed the distance between us and his mouth is on mine.

He snatches at my jacket and flings it to the floor. His hands jerk at my jeans, ripping apart the snap and unzipping them in one move.

His lips crush against mine, his tongue probing me. I’m lost, losing my grip on gravity, balance. His arms go around my waist, walking me backward, closer to the steel sink.

I push the shoes off my feet as my jeans work their way down. Colt breaks the kiss to bend down and yank them away. I’m wearing only the blue sweater above my panties, but in an instant the panties are gone. He lifts me up to sit on the counter beside the sink. The cold steel bites into my skin, but I barely even register this before Colt pushes my knees high and props my feet on the lip of the cabinet.

I’m exposed, legs wide open, and his mouth is on me, his face buried between my thighs. I suck in a breath, clutching his shoulders. He spears me with his tongue, and his fingers spread me so he can probe deeper. Steam has begun to curl around us. We’re wasting water, I think, then my mind is erased when he sucks on the nub. I’m panting, and his fingers plunge into me. I’m so close, and trying not to cry out.

Then he pulls back, pushing the sweater out of his way, shoving the bra aside. He takes both breasts in his hands as he plunges forward, entering me in a sharp stroke.

I do scream then, and clap a hand over my mouth. Colt chuckles. He grips my knees to hold me in place, thrusting now with such force that I’m lost again, grabbing his head, hanging on.

I rock against him, and the spirals start, the tightening waves of pleasure. I can’t stop them, and I’m unleashing, noisy and frantic and pressing harder.

A tremor goes through Colt’s body. When my muscles begin to convulse around him, he releases inside me. I clutch his shoulders, riding it out, letting it all cascade through me. We hold still for a minute, and finally I feel Colt’s arms start to shake. I pull him in close. “About time fighter boy shows he can be worn out.”

He buries his face against my neck. “You can never leave,” he says. “Don’t walk out on me again.”

My hands run along the cords of muscle on his shoulders. “I won’t.” And I mean it.

The door trembles with a series of bangs. “Press time!” Killjoy shouts.

Colt backs away. “Time for that shower.”

“You have negative one minute,” I say.

He looks down at my legs, still parted from where he stood between them.

“Damn hard to leave that alone,” he says. But he steps into the spray.

I jump down and collect my clothes. When I turn to the mirror, I see that I’m still wearing the hat with the blue hair clipped inside. It’s like I’m another girl entirely. And yet, all of these versions of Jo — the timid runaway, the fighter, Colt’s lover — they are all still me.

Chapter Three
 

When I walk into Buster’s Gym Monday morning, thoughts of all my other troubles come racing at me. There’s Lani, my friend who has been gone ever since the strange night that she introduced me to her fighter friend Parker. I have never been able to ask if she knew Colt would be at that match, or why Parker seemed interested in me so fast.

And then there’s Annabelle. She arrived last week, acting as though she’d never lifted a kettlebell. But she’s strong and fit like she’s been training for a long time. I suspect she is actually Annie, Colt’s last girlfriend, the one who wrecked him so badly he started losing fights. I don’t know it for sure, and I don’t know why she’d be here.

I lock up my belongings. None of the girls’ lockers are being used, so neither Lani nor Annabelle can be here. I head back out and pass Buster in the hall. His face is animated, and even his bald head seems shinier, like he’s lit up.

“Hey, Jo,” he says. “Saw your picture with Colt.” He laughs. “Where’s your flower hat?”

I punch him lightly on the arm. “He’s really made it now, hasn’t he?”

Buster opens the storage closet and pulls out a tangled mass of exercise bands. “He has. I expect life will get a little crazy as he heads toward that title match.”

“It might.” I twist the end of my braid. Maybe I should do something about my hair again. If my picture is going to be everywhere, I need to make sure I don’t look like my old self, like Joanna. I can’t risk my past catching up to me now. Not when I’m finally where I want to be.

Buster takes off for the weight room. I pop into his office to note the time on my sign-in sheet. His desk is a crazy mess, as always. Several of the membership forms for the new girls who have signed up lately are scattered across the top.

I wonder if Annabelle’s is in there.

I step back in the hall. The gym is pretty quiet so early. Only a couple weights are clinking in the next room. Buster’s bound to be fighting with that tangle of bands for a few minutes. I go back in his office.

The names on the forms are familiar. Sammy, who wants to be able to walk around her college campus at night without feeling nervous. Lauren, who is hoping to lose a few pounds, although I think she looks fine. Then I see it. Annabelle Warren.

My heart hammers as I look over her form. She’s twenty, same as me. Her address is in a part of LA I’m not familiar with but seems kind of far for her to come work out over here. Her goal for joining was “to get stronger.” Ha. She’s plenty strong.

I stick the page back under the others. Annabelle Warren. It has to be her real name, as her credit card charges wouldn’t go through otherwise. I’m not sure who I can ask to find out if it matches Colt’s ex. Even though I would never admit it out loud, I could use Brittany right now.

A box of lightweight sandbag discs arrives, and I sign for it. We had to get more, with all the girls joining. I remember my first day unpacking the new ones for Colt’s addition and smile. I can carry a whole box of these now. I’ll get those girls strong too. These smaller discs will go completely unused within a month, if I have anything to do with it.

Buster is back in the new addition, wrestling with the bands. He looks up when I come in. “Oh, good, new sandbags.”

I drop the box by the wall. I’ve been training the girls in the addition. I think of it as my space now. I still look around and see Colt everywhere, but now it’s not a sad thing.

Buster tosses another band on the floor, freed from the tangle. “You think you’re up for another fight this Friday?” he asks.

“I am.” I’m up against a girl who goes by Diva Delaney. She’s small and nimble, a fast striker. She often wins on points, since she’s such a quick hitter.

“Good.” He sighs and tosses the knotted bands on the bench beside him.

“I’ll do those later,” I say. I pick up the loose ones and hang them on a hook. When I turn around, Buster is watching me.

“You know, I’m really proud of you. When Colt brought you in here, I thought, ‘What have I gotten myself into?’” He laughs. “Good ol’ Gunner knew what he was doing. I’m not sure how I would have saved this gym without you.”

I swallow hard, realizing I was planning on running away just a few days ago. But that’s all in the past. I sit on the bench next to him. “We’re doing good things now.”

He nods. “I hope I’m doing the right thing by letting you in the cage.” He stares up at the big hexagon that takes up a large chunk of the room. “I don’t like to think what would happen if you got hurt.”

“I’ll be fine.” I’m touched, though. I haven’t had anyone looking after me, really caring about me, since my dad died when I was eight. “I’m pretty tough.”

His clear gray eyes search my face. “Just about the toughest girl I know.” He looks back at the cage. “You got any folks?”

My chest gets all tight. This is why I don’t make friends. I don’t ask about their lives, and they don’t ask about mine. “No,” I say. Maybe I can keep it simple.

“No mom, no dad?”

“No.”

“Sisters? Uncles? Nothing?”

He’s not going to let this go. “I never knew my mother or any of her family. My grandfather died in Vietnam. My grandmother died when I was six. My dad died in an oil-rig explosion when I was eight.” I realize how much death I’ve just mentioned. But that’s how lives go. People live, and people die.

“I’m sorry,” Buster says. “You live in foster care or something?”

I think carefully how to handle this. “I had a stepmother. I left when I was able.”

“All right,” he says. “That all makes sense. I just wanted to know if I had someone to answer to if something happened to you in there.”

I relax. That’s all he was worried about. Who to call if I got hurt. “Nope. Nobody.”

“Colt is somebody,” Buster laughs. “But he’s probably not going to leave your side anymore. You’ve got him pretty locked up, from what I can see.”

I’m not sure about that. “If you need somebody, Zero works across the street at the cafe. He probably knows me best.”

“Good to know.” Buster looks past me. “I think one of your girls is here.”

I’m relieved this tricky conversation is over.

But when I turn around, the girl standing in the doorway is Annabelle Warren.

Chapter Four
 

“Hey, Annie — Annabelle,” I say. Damn, I have to be careful. “You ready for some strength work?”

Annabelle nods. Buster picks up the tangle of bands and heads back toward the weight room. I open the box of sandbags. It will be amusing to see how this girl fakes struggling with tiny eight-pound discs.