Alpha Fighter (10 page)

"I'm not doing that anymore," I say, pushing her away more resolutely. "I don't want to see you anymore. Don't come back here."

"But..." She looks confused. "Come on, baby, you don't mean that. Don't you remember that thing you like?" She looks down at my crotch, then coyly back up at me through her lashes. "Don't you want me to suck your hard cock?"

"No," I say. I make a big circle around her, so none of me touches her as I pass by. I grab my bag out of my locker and get out of there like I'm fleeing a burning building.

In a way, I am. I'm leaving the old Cooper behind, because I've found something—someone—worth being different for. And God, I'm whipped. I haven't even had sex with the girl once and I'm so whipped that I'm leaving a sure thing to go talk to a girl who is, at least for now, surely not a thing.

And I have absolutely no desire to turn around. It's not like I'm suddenly not interested in sex. I'm a man—having my cock sucked by a hot girl sounds great. But I'm suddenly uninterested in having it happen if the girl is anyone but Savannah.

I'd rather go on a friendly jog with this chick than have sex with another one. I am definitely whipped.

Thinking of jogging with Savannah, looking casually hot in her cute little sporty shorts and t-shirt, brings a little smile to my lips. Oh, I've got it bad, all right.

Nothing is going to stop me from getting her now.

Savannah

"S
avannah?"

I almost fall out of my chair, I'm so shocked that she got my name right. Roxie always calls me Susannah, when she can be bothered to call me anything at all, so her suddenly getting my name right seems significant.

"Yes, ma'am," I say. Roxie really doesn't talk to me unless she has something to tell me to do or has new rules and corrections to make to my work. But this time, there's nothing in her hands. In fact, she's holding out an empty hand.

"Give me your book," she says, sounding bored as can be. "Snap, snap."

I jump up and rifle through my backpack for a few moments, glad that I never took my book of work out. Finally, weeks after I tried to show her my work the first time, Roxie accepts the book and really takes a look at it.

There's the familiar reaction and it's wonderful to see it. She starts out flipping fast, but slows down as she flips. Her forehead hosts a considerable amount of botox, so her eyebrows are incapable of climbing even a fraction as high as Anna-Lynne's did, but there's a slight lift.

She finally snaps the book shut and hands it back to me. She gestures at a workspace by the mirrors.

"You'll work there," she commands. "Ty works there when it's not your shift, so you are expected to leave it perfectly orderly and clean at the end of every single shift. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," I say. "Thank you. Thank you so much!"

Roxie nods. "That will be all. Oh, and you will get a 20% raise, as appropriate for your new position."

"Thank you, ma'am," I say. But I'm jumping up and down inside because I'm a tattoo artist now, not because of the raise. To be honest, I haven't looked at any more housing ads in the paper in almost a week. If I am
really
honest with myself, I would have to admit that I don't even want to move out of the apartment anymore.

I know I should, but I really don't want to. I really, really, really don't want to.

"Congrats, girlie!" Tamryn jumps up and gives me a huge hug. "Finally! You deserve this."

"Aw, thanks, Tamryn." It's nice to have a friend. It's nice to feel so safe and happy at home. It's nice to go on runs with Cooper and Maxie every day, like a reliable, sturdy, happy little family.

It's dangerous to think like that, but I cannot stop myself, no matter how hard I try. When my mother and sister were killed in that gang battle, it wasn't just my mother and sister that I lost. I lost my dad, too, who retreated into himself and became a cold, hard drill sergeant. Not a dad. I lost my big brother, Wolf, who pulled away from me to spend all his time learning how to be a Santos man. Gone was the playful brother I'd throw a football around with, or who would give me piggyback rides around the playground. Suddenly, Wolf had no time, interest, or love for me, either. I lost my entire family that day and I lost my childhood.

I am an adult now and I am not going to get my childhood back. I don't even want it back, truly, because I'm the woman I am because of my experiences. But I do want this loving, and loved, feeling that I'm finding here with Cooper.

I haven't seen anyone from either motorcycle club since that freak Lily sighting at Bennie's Pizza” If there were a grand scale motorcycle club gang war, there would be news about it through the grapevine. Hell, there would be news about it on the news and in the newspapers. But aside from the usual urban shoot-ups and violence, there haven't been any reports of anything unusual. Maybe Flint and Salvador have come to their senses and decided that who I want to marry—or not—shouldn't be the deciding factor in a major scale violent gang action that would claim countless of their men's lives.

What do I matter, anyway? I may be a Santos, but I'm also just a girl.

I'm just a girl, Cooper is just a guy, and maybe we can just be in love.

Maybe that wouldn't be so terrible.

Savannah

C
ooper's new bodywork heals up beautifully and I'm more than happy to take him up on it when he invites me to come see him fight on Saturday night.

"Really?" His face lights up when I say I want to come. "Oh, that's so great! Don't worry, I'll get you sick seats in the front row."

"Thanks," I say. "But I'd be fine with non-VIP, too."

"Nah, never," Cooper says. "Besides, I want to be able to see your pretty face." He gives me that mischievous grin and wraps an arm around me to spin me into him. Nothing has happened between us, yet, but we've definitely been getting way touchier with each other. We take any excuse we can get, and even make up some pretty ridiculous ones, to put a hand on each other. And every time our skin touches, it's like a thousand little electrical shocks of pleasure radiating from the spot where he touched me.

It's dangerous. But oh, it feels
so
good.

Cooper leaves for the ring way earlier than I need to be there, but he drops me off at a delicious-smelling Italian restaurant a few blocks over. He has a quick word with the owner, a big-bellied, jolly Italian who comes out with a big smile on his face, and a little pasta sauce on his forehead, to tell me that dinner is taken care of and he'll be serving me his best tonight. I want to thank Cooper, but he's already off to the ring to warm up.

True to his word, the chef serves me the most amazing meal I've eaten in a long time. Maybe even the most amazing meal I have ever eaten. I am full and happy by the time that I need to start heading over to the ring. It's beautiful weather for a stroll, though the evenings are beginning to get just a little nippy.

I can hear the hyped-up crowd by the time that I am two blocks over. When I’m a block away, I'm already walking alongside the line. Boy, this is going to be a long wait.

I decide to walk up to the entrance, just to see if I can peer in the door before I go stand in line. There are two big bouncers at the door, physically restraining screaming women in barely enough clothes to cover a toddler's little body, much less a grown woman's. The men are enormous, each one over six feet tall and over two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, dressed in head to toe black suits with reflective, black shades. This is one serious line. I'm turning to go stand at the back of the line when one of them slides his glasses down his nose to look at me.

"Hey, miss," he booms. "What's your name?" 

"Savannah," I answer. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to cut in line. I'm going to the back right now. Sorry."

"You're here for Cooper?" the man asks, ignoring my apology.

"Yes," I say.

"Can I see your ticket?"

I pull my folded ticket, with the gold 'VIP' stamped in the corner, out of my pocket and hand it to the man.

He nods. "Right this way, miss." He opens the door just enough to let me through and the screaming women behind me scream louder. I feel like a celebrity or something as I'm greeted by a woman in a skirt suit and a clipboard, who greets me politely and walks me down the dark hallway.

"You can wait for the fight in the VIP lounge," says the woman. "I trust you will find everything quite to your satisfaction. If not, just ask for Jennifer and I will bring you what you need for an enjoyable, pre-fight stay."

"Thanks, but I'm sure it's—" I stop mid-sentence as the door to the lounge swings open. It's not like I'm new to nice things or extravagance. I'm a Santos MC princess. But there's a difference between living in your rich father's house and finding yourself in a dark lounge with low hanging crystal chandeliers large enough to sleep in and enormous, leather couches covered in silk pillows. There are big flat screens all over the walls, bottles of champagne and tall-stemmed glasses on every flat surface, and a few lounge attendants walking around with silver trays of food.

I mean, I'm stuffed from that great gnocchi back at the restaurant, but it doesn't hurt to admire.

Since I've forgotten where I was in my sentence, I just say, "Thanks."

Jennifer nods a welcome and clacks back out of the room. I flip through some fighter mags, ignoring the articles and focusing on the photos of the tatted-up fighters and busty ring girls. Some of these guys and girls have some really cool work. None of it is as amazing as Cooper's ink, though, and that thought sweeps me way back off to daydream land.

I'm excited to see Cooper fight. I have yet to see him in his element and I have no idea what I'll feel. Will it be scary, seeing another man swing at his head for sixty minutes? Will it make me jealous to see the beautiful women in the crowd literally fighting for the chance to throw themselves at him? I don't know what I'm going to feel, but I'm filled with adrenaline.

Soon, Jennifer comes back to get me. It's game time.

The seats and standing spaces all around the ring, and extending way back into the rear corner of the huge hall, are filled. There are pumped-up men smashing cans of beer, dolled up girls squealing at each other, and the excitement in the room is palpable.

I take my seat, in the very front row just by the ring, and then the announcer comes out, calling out Cooper and his opponent. I don't even catch the name of the other guy, because I only have eyes for Cooper when I see him walking up to the ring.

His muscles are gleaming out from his unbuttoned robe and his face is obscured by the robe's hood. Even though I can't see him well, I go from zero to horny in less than five seconds. His masculine gait—not an affected swagger but a real man's walk of confidence—makes me instantly wet between the legs and I chide myself mentally for being so easy.

But let's face it. For Cooper, I am.

The women are screaming their heads off as he passes, reaching out and trying to touch him. Cooper doesn't pay them the slightest bit of attention, though, and when he walks up onto the ring and drops his hood, causing the screams of the women to go up a good twenty or thirty decibels in volume, he scans the front row all around. When he finds me, he locks eyes with me for a second and then gives me a little wink.

I pretty much swoon right out of my seat, but I feel amazing. Here is this perfect ideal of a man and, despite the fact that he has countless beautiful women with their boobs out throwing themselves at him, dying for the chance to be his next one night stand, he's ignoring them all. He's ignoring them all but he looks for me to send me a smile.

He's the exact opposite of Nate. He's everything that I want.

I don't feel the expected jealousy, because I know Cooper doesn't give a damn about the other women. Seeing how much they want him, and how they're throwing themselves into the aisles and towards the ring just for the chance to get closer to him, and maybe to feel a drop of his sweat as he pounds the crap out of his opponent, makes me more into him. He's everyone's dream man and he's paying attention to me.

I don't feel scared for Cooper, either, because even though his opponent probably has thirty pounds on him, Cooper is all muscle and he knows how to work that muscle. He's all man up there, a perfectly trained, perfectly oiled fighting machine in a playgirl body. His opponent is good, but there's never a moment that it's unclear who's winning. Cooper fights like a hero.

Sitting there, looking up at this man who could maybe, just maybe, be mine, is an amazing feeling. The screams of the crowd fade to silence around me as I just watch Cooper and daydream of the us that could be.

Cooper

J
ust having Savannah in the crowd, watching me fight, makes me feel like I can do anything. Tonight's fight was actually against one of my more well-matched opponents and I generally take a bit of a beating from him, even though I end up winning every time, because he's still good enough to get some punches in. Tonight, he can't touch me.

I'm floating on air, jabbing left, leg slam right, utterly destroying him. I can feel no pain, I can do no wrong. With Savannah there watching me, I'm invincible. I hear her cheer when my opponent, Slayer, starts going down and it makes me hit faster and fight harder. I'm fighting for my girl.

It isn't until after the match is over and Slayer is lying on the floor in defeat that I realize what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking that I need to win this and be a man for Savannah. I was thinking I need to do it for my girl. I've only been in love once before and it was a dumb enough decision and a painful enough experience that I decided that I'm never doing that shit again. After Sarah, I told myself that I was done. I told myself that I was never letting a woman make a mockery of me again. I stuck to my promise to myself for years, never going beyond casual fucking.

And then one day this mysterious beauty with a secret past and more tightly-locked emotional baggage than there are secrets in the whole Navy combined comes walking into my apartment with a sassy smile and a devil-may-care confidence, and I start to forget myself. Slowly but steadily, and without even trying, the girl has worn down all my defenses. And here I am now, thinking of a girl I haven't even fucked—haven't even seen naked—as 'my girl.'