Bruiser: A Lonely Housewife Embarks on a Passionate Affair with an Alpha Male MMA Fighter (9 page)

Chapter Twenty Seven

Brandon

The coffee couldn’t brew fast enough.

Brandon stood by the machine, and watched the thick, black liquid dribble into the pot, and his mind raced.

Yesterday afternoon, he’d fucked Ava.

He’d dragged her into the storage room, like he had Mia so many times before, and fucked her on the vinyl mats.

But with Ava… It had been different.

She’d been so open. So enthusiastic. Fuck, she’d climaxed on his cock loud enough for the Bail Bondsman in the office next door to hear.

And then when he’d been ready to cum, she’d gulped him down like he was nectar, and then looked up with his sperm dribbling down her chin, eager for more.

After over a year of clandestine hookups with Mia, it was a revelation. It was like she truly accepted every part of him, while Mia always seemed to be holding something back.

And that was what was making Brandon so uncomfortable.

Fortunately, some early morning arrivals to the karate center distracted him from his thoughts. Banging on the glass door was a crew of seedy looking guys in t-shirts and dark glasses, lugging plastic bins and camera equipment.

Brandon’s pal Vinnie was with them, and as he waved at Brandon through the door, the karate instructor unlocked it and let them in.

“They’re from the MMA league,” Vinnie explained, as he ushered the camera crew in. “I told you they wanted to shoot a video about you.”

“I could have done with some notice, man,” Brandon sipped his coffee. “The place is a mess. We’ve only got two classes this morning.”

“The place is
perfect
,” it was the guy in charge of the camera crew – a towering southerner who introduced himself as ‘Bubba.’ “It’s just what we’re looking for – it’s
Rocky
’s meat-locker meets Average Joe’s gym from
Dodgeball
.”

Brandon was familiar with both those movies, and wasn’t exactly flattered by the comparison.

“The retarded… I mean
special needs
kids arrive at eleven,” Vinnie grinned. “And all the ghetto brats from Trenton get shipped in after school ends.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “You’re going to get some great footage. Just make my buddy Bruiser look good, okay?”

Bubba grunted laconically – which, Brandon was soon to discover, was how he communicated about 50% of the time.

“And as for
you
,” Vinnie turned to Brandon, and thumped his friend on the shoulder. “We need an interview… Let’s get some footage of you sweeping the floors… Cleaning the windows.. All that humble, American-pie shit.” He snorted. “We’re going to make James MacDonald look like Prince Harry in comparison.”

“Yo,” Bubba grunted. “We want some footage of training as well. Beating the shit out of a punching bag, sparring with somebody.” He held up a tiny camera on a monopod. “We GoPro that shit – in slow motion it’s going to look
boss
.”

Vinnie narrowed his eyes.

“You got anybody to spar with, Bruiser?”

“I’ll call in my buddy who teaches the yellow belts,” Brandon nodded. “He’s nineteen. He’ll love being on camera.”

Bubba nodded, and turned back to his crew. A moment later they were setting up equipment, and doing the really important stuff – like ordering breakfast. Brandon made sure to get a plate of pancakes added to their order from the local diner.

Finally, he and Vinnie retreated to Brandon’s office, and shut the door.

“Holy shit, man,” Vinnie grinned. “This is
really happening
.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Brandon flopped down into the creaking leather seat behind his desk, and looked up at the row of trophies lining the opposite wall.

They’d been good times. Some of the best of his young life.

But even as he considered that, Brandon remembered an old Frank Sinatra movie he’d watched years ago – the original
Ocean’s Eleven
, before George Clooney had gotten his hands on it.

It was about a bunch of WWII vets planning to pull off a heist in Vegas; and Dean Martin played the one character who tried to talk them out of the scheme.

“Good times are only good once you’ve had ‘em,” he’d warned the group of aging paratroopers.

Brandon was hardly aging – but even at 24, he’d been out of the professional fight circuit for nearly three years. Out of everything this bout was going to be, he knew more than anything it was going to be
tough
.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Ava

“Are you okay, honey?”

Clark’s voice snapped Ava out of her daydream.

She’d been standing at the kitchen counter, making Lex a Nutella-on-whole wheat sandwich – and it had taken her practically five minutes to stick the knife in the jar.

“You’ve been acting really weird ever since you got back from the karate center,” Clark grabbed the knife, and finished Lex’s sandwich – before licking the Nutella off the blade. “Is everything okay?”

Her red-faced, round-bellied husband narrowed his eyes.

“Did he say something to upset you?” Clark’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I’ll have a word with him if he did.”

Ava snorted at the thought of her comic book-trading husband threatening a veteran MMA fighter. Just the idea made her laugh.

But the moment she’d laughed, she realized how insulting it sounded. Clark narrowed his eyes angrily.

“No, no,” Ava held up her hands, and tried to reframe her reaction. “Brandon’s fine… I mean,
Master
Brandon is fine. He’s just got a lot going on. You know he’s going to be on TV? He’s fighting in the MMA next month.”

Clark stood there and looked at her uncertainly.

Dear, sweet Clark wasn’t the most intuitive of men. He was always so focused on his own shit – comic books, and websites, and blogging – that he rarely paid attention to whatever Ava busied herself with.

But her hanging out with a handsome karate instructor? And acting weird about it?

She realized for the first time that maybe Clark wasn’t as oblivious as she assumed him to be.

“It’s all fine,” Ava promised, and grabbed the Nutella sandwich from her husband. “I’m going to go out and get my eyebrows threaded in a bit. Can you watch Lex?”

Clark raised one eyebrow, and grabbed the sandwich back.

“Sure. I was going to rewatch
The Dark Knight Returns
anyway. We’ll have a little popcorn party.”

Ava wasn’t entirely convinced that a cartoon recounting Batman’s legendary showdown with Superman was entirely appropriate viewing-material for a 3-year-old, but at this point she wasn’t going to argue.

She wasn’t going to get her eyebrows threaded, either.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Ava

As Ava pulled her Buick into the lot outside of BB Martial Arts Center, she was surprised by the number of cars there.

A van. A half-dozen clapped out Ford Escorts and Ranger pick-ups. Then some of the SUVs and mini vans that the moms typically drove.

The parking lot was fuller than she’d ever seen it, in all the years she’d been taking her kids there.

Parking at the edge of the lot, Ava walked to the karate center and pushed open the glass door. Immediately, her senses were assailed by noise and smells.

Music was playing on the stereo. Fresh coffee was bubbling in the pot. Kids were screaming and punching and kicking in the studio.

A cameraman was following their every move, too – while proud parents looked on at their movie-stars-to-be.

And Brandon was at the head of it all – standing in the front of studio, center of attention for all the kids, and the cameras.

The head of BB Martial Arts Center was moving through karate forms for his students with a slow deliberation Ava hadn’t seen him use before – clearly knowing that the camera was on him. He was truly giving his students the attention they deserved.

Ava stood and watched through the windows separating the reception area from the studio – studying Brandon as the big man guided the special needs students through their forms and maneuvers.

For such a big, burly bear of a man, Brandon moved incredibly gracefully when he put his mind to it. His brown eyes were narrowed intently, and as he went through his graceful motions, the room full of special needs kids followed as best they could.

There was something beautiful about it; and Ava stood transfixed for what must have been five minutes – until a cameraman barged her out of the way so he could ‘get this angle’ through the glass windows.

As she stumbled aside, somebody else with a clipboard complained: “Is anybody going to answer that fucking phone?” And Ava realized that the phones had been ringing – a
lot
.

Because Brandon was still preoccupied with teaching his class, Ava made herself useful picking up the calls.

“BB Martial Arts Center. Can I help you?”

Just like the previous day, Ava suddenly found herself taking names and numbers from potential students. She scribbled down enquiries from adults and parents, eager to learn more about this local school they hadn’t known existed until its owner appeared on the lineup for a Saturday Fight Night.

By the time the special needs class finally ended, and Brandon had made small talk with parents and the camera crew, Ava was sitting at the front desk with a stack on inquiries beside her, and an earache from having the receiver clamped to her ear.

Brandon came swaggering over, red-faced and sweaty.

“Ava!” His eyes flashed when he saw her. “What are you doing here?” He looked at the pile of Post-It Notes she’s collected. “More than that – what are you doing answering my phones?”

Ava shrugged, looking up at the handsome young karate instructor.

“Somebody had to. They were ringing off the hook.”

She passed him the pile of potential new leads. Brandon’s eyes widened as he read the names and numbers.

“I-I’ve hardly had a chance to go through the ones from yesterday,” he told her. “This is amazing.”

The big man’s lips tightened into a thin line.

“Ava,” he reached out, and squeezed one of her slender shoulders. “Ava, I think this could
work
.” He looked up and into her eyes, and she felt butterflies churn in her stomach at the intensity of it. “Ava, I think I can save the school.”

“Yo, yo, B!” A sharp Long Island accent pierced the bubble they’d found themselves in. Ava looked up, and saw a skinny Italian dude in a sharp suit swagger over. He quickly snapped at Brandon, “We need to take some photos, ‘kay?”

And then the skinny Italian noticed Ava sitting there at the front desk. His eyes shone.

“Why,
hello
.” He offered her his hand. “The B-man didn’t tell me he’d hired a receptionist.” He glanced at Brandon. “Where have you been hiding this Yummy Mommy, B?”

Ava blushed, and Brandon shot his friend a snarl.

“This is
Mrs. Cassidy
,” he growled. “She just volunteered. Literally.” He turned to her and smiled. “Came out of the studio and there she was, manning the phones.”

Vinnie snorted.

“Well,
Mrs
. Cassidy,” he grinned, “I’m Vincent Del Priore – and you’re working for a future
superstar
.” He then turned back to Vinnie. “Come on, Bud. They want to take the exterior shots and that redneck Bubba keeps complaining that they’re ‘losing the light’ or some shit.”

Brandon nodded. Turning to Ava, he passed her back the notes and said: “Please – put these somewhere safe.” And then the phone started ringing again, and he asked: “Can you hang out for a while? Answer some calls?”

Ava sat there, looking up at him.

She was meant to be back from ‘getting her eyebrows threaded’ already – and no doubt Clark would soon be wondering where she was.

But the thought of being here, amidst the bustle and excitement, was addictive to her. She couldn’t bring herself to leave.

“Let me just call Clark and clear it,” she said.

Chapter Thirty

Ava

It was growing dark by the time the last of the camera crew filtered out, and students for the cardio kickboxing class were already starting to arrive.

Brandon took a few seconds of solitude to pause in the corridor and flop against the wall.

Today had been one of the most emotionally and physically intense days he could remember.

With a camera focused on him, he’d put more effort into his form and motion than he’d ever done normally; and he’d finished each of his classes dripping in sweat, his body aching in ways he’d forgotten were even possible.

But he’d also done the best day of teaching he could ever remember.

But then there were the people –
so many people
!

Parents asking him about the MMA. Bubba and his camera crew asking questions. Dozens of phone calls that Ava had mercifully come around to deal with instead of him.

Brandon wasn’t the most social person in the best of times, and today had left him mentally exhausted.

“B?”

It was a soft voice, calling from behind him.

Turning around, Brandon found Ava looking up at him, her arms crossed in front of her large bosom.

“Are you okay, B?”

Brandon ran fingers through his shaggy black hair.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he lied.

“Listen, the class is waiting for you,” Ava jerked her thumb in the direction of the studio, “and I’ve got a pile of inquiries two inches think.” She shrugged apologetically. “But I’ve got to go. Clark’s super pissed that I came and helped out.”

Brandon reached over and placed a hand on Ava’s slender shoulder. Her lips curled almost imperceptibly at his touch.

“Go,” Brandon said soothingly. “I’ll be fine. And thanks.” He squeezed her shoulder, and felt her lean into his touch. “I didn’t want you to get into trouble for me.”

She snorted.

“Of all the things I’m going to get into trouble for regarding you,” she admitted, “this is probably the least of them.”

Brandon’s cheeks burned pink.

Sensing his embarrassment, Ava changed the subject.

“Look, you have twenty five inquiries this afternoon,” she told him. “You should call them back. How many extra students did you say you needed?” She looked upwards, doing some calculating. “You might have enough to start turning a profit with this place.”

But Brandon was doing some mental arithmetic of his own. What with covering Mia’s abandoned classes, and running his own, he barely had enough time to run the place as it was – let alone make sales calls.

And that ignored the other issue – he had less than three weeks to prepare for a televised fight.

Brandon looked down at Ava, and had a brain wave.

“How would you like a job?” He asked her.

Ava blinked. “
What
?”

The more Brandon thought about it, the better it sounded.

“Seriously,” he told her. “Man the phones for me. Call up the inquiries. Start getting me some new students.”

Ava stood there silently.

“I-I can’t afford to pay you,” Brandon admitted. “Not right now.” But he was still calculating in his head. “But how’s about this? I’ll give you 50%.”

“Fifty percent?” Ava’s eyes narrowed.

“I need thirty more students to break even. Get me sixty, and I’ll give you fifty percent of whatever they bring in per month. And the same for however many you can get me on top of that.”

At an average of a hundreds bucks a month, that meant…

Ava’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?”

“Fuck, yes,” Brandon nodded. “
I need this
. And right now, you’re the only person I’d trust to do it.”

Ava looked up at his broad, flat, handsome face. His eyes were open; warm and welcoming. He was looking at her in a way she hadn’t been looked at in years.

Respected. Needed. Appreciated.

“Let me talk to Clark,” Ava answered, though she already knew his answer. As long as she was bringing in enough money to put Lex in daycare, and was out in time to collect Harley from the bus stop, he wouldn’t care.

To Clark, it would all come down to money. And that made things delightfully free of complication for Ava.

Because the money was an excuse for agreeing to do something she’d happily have volunteered to do for free.