Smash_ A Stepbrother MMA Romance(33)

“I just, you know.” She looked frustrated.

“Spit it out, wifey.”

“I just wanted you to stay. You should stay.”

I grinned at her. “I know you want me to.”

“Don’t be an ass. You think that’s easy to say to you?”

“I guess not.”

“I know my dad said you don’t need to leave, and I’m saying it too.”

“What’s in it for me?”

She blinked at me, surprised. “What do you mean? Free room and board plus meals, I guess.”

“I don’t give a shit about that. What do I get if I stay?”

“Why do you need to get something? I’m just trying to be nice here.”

“You want me to stay. I want something to make me stay.”

She bit her lip, looking frustrated, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. She was wondering if I meant sex and couldn’t decide if she would do that, if she could promise she’d fuck me if I stayed. Even though she wanted to, she knew it would be weird, or bad, or whatever she thought.

“What do you want?” she asked finally.

“Come to my fight. It’s in a few days.”

She looked surprised at that. “Wait, you just want me to come watch you fight?”

“That’s it. Come watch me fight and then decide if you want me to stay or not.”

“I can do that.”

“I’d be careful, sis. You might not know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I’ve been to a fight before.”

“Maybe, but you’ve never seen someone you know put their life on the line.”

She shrugged, not sure what to say. “Well, fine. I can do that.”

“One more thing. Come alone. Don’t bring your friend.”

She opened her mouth, shut it, and nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll text you the details.”

“Okay.”

I grabbed the clutch and started the engine again. She stepped back away from the bike, blinking.

“Later, wife,” I yelled.

“Stop calling me that,” she called back. I began to pull out into traffic. “And sign the papers, you asshole!” she yelled as I roared away.

I smirked to myself, tearing up the road. Maybe I would be moving back home after all.

I liked it when the locker room was empty.

It was a few days after I’d moved out of Frank’s house. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Alexa, though I did send her the fight details. She hadn’t gotten back to me, but I wasn’t letting that distract me from what I needed to do.

The last few days had been dedicated to training and watching tapes of the guy I was fighting. He was young and aggressive and strong, but I was confident. I was always confident.

I liked it when the locker room was empty. I could sit there and meditate, get my mind right, empty my brain, and get ready for what I was about to do.

And I was about to fight for my life. Every time I entered the ring, I knew that I could die. I was risking life and limb in there, risking my future, my career. One wrong move, one false step, and I could easily get beaten, broken, or worse.

It had happened before. It happened to guys like me. In a sport as brutal and fast-paced and violent as MMA, it would keep on happening.

That was what we wanted. The rush of bodies breaking bodies, of the possibility of defeat, or victory, or serious injury. It was all there and it was right.

It was what I lived for.

And then the promoter came in, and my manager came in, my trainer, some media guys. I didn’t like the locker room as much when I wasn’t alone, but it was part of the gig. I answered questions, I talked strategy, but mostly I worked on keeping my mind right.

And then there was the roar of the crowd as the announcer said my name. I walked through the tunnel, heart beating slow, slow, and my whole body loose and calm, radiating a deadly calm. I had learned how to control my emotions and how to enter into an empty, mindless fighting state at my whim. Skad had taught me that and much, much more, stuff nobody knew that I could do.

It’d been a long time since I was out in front of people, but for some reason my usual pre-match jitters weren’t there. I couldn’t even remember the name of the girl I had been thinking about over and over ever since I’d gotten back to America.

There was only the ring and my opponent, an intense focus I hadn’t felt since the Thai jungles. Hours of training in incredible heat and humidity had hardened me to distractions.

Once in the ring, I stripped down to my shorts, my hands wrapped and ready. People spoke words, but I couldn’t hear them. I couldn’t see them. I could only see my opponent. Time ceased to flow, and I felt nothing but my heart beating softly.

Then we were faced off, circling each other. Somehow the round had started. His hands flashed out and I blocked them.