Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance (33 page)

Tuck wasn’t going to
be my stepbrother any longer.

The day before I flew
back to school, my mom had a rare moment of lucidity. I was sitting
by her side in a lounger with a little light reading, a packet of
articles on the ethics of gene splicing for my bioethics class.

“Do you like him?”
she turned to me and asked, holding a large water bottle in her hand
for a change.

“Who?” I replied,
suddenly frozen to the spot. She couldn’t mean who I think she
meant.

“Tuck,” she
answered, nonchalant, as if we were having a normal, casual
conversation. I stammered something incoherent, wondering where this
line of questioning was going. “You don’t have to be embarrassed
about it,” she continued. “He’s not my son. You two were never
related. And now you sure as hell aren’t.”

Silence sat between us.

“But what about—?”
I began.

“I know what I said.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I was upset about a lot of
things. I wanted it to work with Leland.”

I honestly didn’t
know what to say. Frozen in shock, I sat there with my reading packet
on my lap.

“He’s nothing like
his father, you know,” my mom said.

That made me laugh a
bit. “I do know that.”

“I sometimes think...
I wonder...” Oh no, she’d started crying. I stood up and went
over to her lounge chair to give her a hug. “I’m fine, I’m
fine,” she said still crying. “I know I haven’t been a great
mother.”

“Mom, don’t say
that.” I wanted her to feel better.

“I’m so proud of
you,” she said, a tear running down her cheek. Now I was crying,
too. “But I worry,” she continued. “You need to live a little.
You’re such a killjoy.”

OK, maybe I wasn’t
crying that hard. “Well, Mom, I’m not sure that’s my biggest
problem.” Look where “living a little” had gotten me this
summer?

“I’m just saying.”
She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, took a sip of water. Then she
looked straight at me. “Don’t be afraid to go after what you
want.”

After that, she went
back into her histrionics, how she was penniless (except for the $10
million), heartbroken (how hot was that man at the bar?), and
hideously old (did you see the way that guy was checking me out?
Scandalous). But she’d had her moment, looked into my soul and
spoken the truth.

I flew home knowing my
mom would be OK. She’d re-invent herself as always. Morphing into
her next phase and bursting out gloriously like a butterfly was her
favorite pastime. Me? I didn’t know what came next. Other than
looking forward to a visit from a friend next weekend.

§

Mike looked
put-together, as always, stepping into the diner like he’d just
left a photo shoot. The man was handsome. And completely playing for
the other team. To think Tuck had felt jealous of him, it was
ridiculous.

Smart young man that he
was, he’d begun his graduate degree at UCLA and just spent a few
days attending a conference at MIT. He decided to stay over the
weekend, “soakin’ up the culcha” he explained in a horrible
attempt at a Boston accent. We met up for brunch.

“You look like hell,”
he greeted me, a kiss on each cheek.

“Thanks, good to see
you too!”

“I thought you just
got back from a week in Mexico with your mom?”

“Redheads don’t
exactly tan.” I knew it wasn’t just my paleness. I’d always
been pale.

“So, I met him.” He
started right in, as if we’d already been discussing the subject.

“What?”

“Tuck.”

I was glad I wasn’t
sipping my coffee when he spoke or I would have spit it out all over
him. “Tuck?”

“He’s a feisty
one.”

“Wait, what? How did
you—?”

“A couple of days ago
I was at the taqueria with a friend. And this big, huge hunk of a man
came over all, ‘How’s Jewel’?’” He broke off and made a
rough and tough face like an animal. Or as much of a rough and tough
face as he was capable of, which wasn’t much, but I got the gist.

“He was angry?”

“En fuego. I think he
came over to throw down like a jealous lover.”

I winced.

“But not for long.”
Mike explained how the friend he’d been with had slung an arm
around him and started to flirt. With Tuck. “It was like slow
motion, you know, when someone finally figures something out? He
looked at me, looked at my friend, looked back at me.”

“He realized you’re
gay?”

“And I didn’t even
have to pull out my ‘Yes, I’m gay’ sign.”

“Did he say anything
else?”

“Yes. He said,
‘you’re gay.’”

“Oh God.” I rested
my hand on my forehead. This was like a soap opera. “What happened
next?”

“I thought about
giving him a gold star, but I didn’t have any on me. So I told him
he should give you a call.”

“You did?” I
squeaked.

“Yes, and if he
doesn’t, you should call him.”

“Mike, it’s
complicated.” I shook my head.

“Listen, Jewel, if
you don’t hit that, I’m going to call the cops. Because that man
is so hot it’s illegal. He’s who you were all worked up over this
summer, right?”

“Why would you think
that?”

“Oh, please. He
walked up, steam coming off all of his big muscles because he’s so
hot.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t you try to
deny it. That’s the kind of man who’ll make you so crazy you’ll
go to a friend’s house and get so drunk on mojitos you pass out on
his couch.”

“Yes,” I admitted
with a groan. “It was him I was worked up over this summer.”

“See? That wasn’t
so hard to admit.” I buried my face in my hands. “Why did he
think you and I were a couple?”

“Because…” I
trailed off, not able to find the words to explain that he’d been
my hot-as-hell stepbrother tormenting me body, mind, and soul for
weeks on end and I’d sort of, kind of let Mike’s status hang out
there as a possible buffer between us, as if the specter of a
boyfriend might somehow keep him at bay. Instead, I relied on the old
standby. “It’s complicated.”

“I don’t want to
hear excuses,” Mike rejected my waffling. “I want to hear your
plans to seduce this man. You need some sexy lingerie.”

“Mike,” I started
to protest.

“No, you’re right,
no lingerie, no panties at all.”

Somehow I made it
through the rest of our meal without crying, throwing up, or babbling
everything to Mike. I knew he’d be a good listener, it just all
still felt too raw. I didn’t trust myself where Tuck was concerned.
Certainly not around him, not even talking about him. I felt so
volatile and vulnerable. Instead, I got Mike going, telling me
entertaining stories about the weird and brilliant people in his
graduate program. When it was time to go, I hugged him good-bye and
went about my usual Sunday business, a study group, a yoga class,
dinner with a textbook, and then.

And then. I sat down to
my computer, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. So many times
I’d thought about typing in his name, clicking on a simple search.
Crusher MMA. If he’d gone pro, something would come up. Even if he
hadn’t, with all the attention he’d garnered in his summer fights
I figured something would surface, some news about him, a picture or
two.

That’s why I hadn’t
done it until now. It would hurt too much. But now that I’d heard
his name, knew he was walking around in the same neighborhood where
we’d been together, I couldn’t resist. It felt like dominos, the
click of one against the other creating the inevitable cascade. First
the divorce, Tuck’s not my stepbrother anymore. Click. Then the
discovery, Mike’s just a friend, I wasn’t cheating on him, never
had, never would. Click.

Click went the computer
mouse. Up came the photos. Tons of them.

The first one I clicked
on, he had his fist up in the air, a man holding his forearm clearly
declaring him the winner. Blood dripped down the side of his face,
his body glistening in sweat, every inch man and muscle. He looked
like a modern-day gladiator, victorious in his conquest.

My sex clenched at the
sight of him, heat prickling my skin. I needed a sip of ice water.
Even through the computer screen, this man electrified me.

He was everywhere,
Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, the newest addition to the UFC line-up
with a huge heavyweight fight coming up in early December. His debut
fight as a pro.

He’d done it. Tears
sprang to my eyes. He’d worked so hard for it, earned it purely
with his own sweat, blood and grit. I wished I’d been there with
him when he’d won that fight, the one that propelled him forward,
paving the way for him ahead. He’d done it, finally struck out on
his own. It killed me to not be part of it at all, to just be reading
about him online. I needed to be by his side. I couldn’t stand it.

Slamming the laptop
shut, I turned out the light and tried to fall asleep. Ha. His
sweaty, glistening, chiseled body, raising his fists in triumph. The
set of his jaw, the hard intense burn in his eyes. Rest didn’t come
easy.

§

A week later, a Fed Ex
package arrived at my door. Inside, a ticket to a fight in Vegas plus
a paper itinerary: a round-trip flight, a car picking me up at the
airport, a suite at the Bellagio. And a note, written on a sheet of
notepad paper torn in half: please come. His scrawl, I’d seen it a
few times. I recognized it instantly.

He wanted me there.
Maybe he needed me there.

It didn’t even take a
second, I knew instantly, yes, I’d go. Even if all he wanted was
friendship and support, not interested in me in any other way. Maybe
he just wanted to show me what he’d accomplished. Maybe this was a
way for him to get closure and end this random, fucked up chapter of
his life. Hell, maybe he handed out tickets like candy at a used car
dealership, indiscriminate, thoughtless. This could mean nothing to
him.

But I’d go, ready for
anything. In a hotter-than hell backless dress and heels. Because for
once in my life I knew exactly what I wanted and I didn’t care
about the risks and consequences. I didn’t worry about whether it
was prudent. I didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. I
wanted Tuck.

Tuck

I hadn’t heard
anything from her. My handler confirmed she’d received the package.
I could have called, texted, hell I could have flown the fuck over to
Massachusetts and thrown Jewel over my back, caveman style, dragging
her back with me. That’s what I wanted to do.

From the moment I’d
seen Mike at that taqueria, I’d been dying to talk to her, see her,
apologize. She hadn’t been cheating on me. Mike was gay. I was an
idiot.

But I knew I couldn’t
force this. Even though our parents weren’t together anymore, she
might not want to be with me. She might be back at her ivy-covered
college thrilled to be rid of me, thanking her lucky stars that she
escaped the beast.

I knew I was an animal,
intense, but with Jewel that was the only option. If this went down
again between us, there was only one way it was going to happen. No
more playing games, no more yes-then-no, I-want-you-but-I-can’t
bullshit. If we got into this again, that was it. Lockdown. No more
loving then leaving, no more “I’m not sure” drama. I needed
this girl like I needed the air I breathed. If this started up again,
she needed both eyes wide open when she walked into it. Because if
she came to me, I was never letting her go.

I’d been training
like a monk for months now, if monks kicked the shit out of people.
Back in August, I’d clinched it, sealed the deal. I’d gone at
that last amateur fight like a bat out of hell, unleashing every
ounce of pent-up frustration and rage coursing through me. I had a
lot. I won no contest, unanimous decision.

The UFC had finally
come calling and it was all coming together as I’d hoped. I got
hooked up with top-notch guys, trainers and coaches and teammates who
pushed as hard and gave as much as I did. They scheduled my first
fight early in December, giving me plenty of time to settle in,
train, get used to the new spotlight. Plus plenty of time to promote
my pro debut: Vegas, baby. It was on.

The day of the fight
her flight was supposed to get in at two. By four, I’d had it. I
needed to know.

The guys with me
figured I was amped up about the fight. “You got this,” one of
them reassured me.

Another offered me a
fist bump. “It’s in the bag.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled, turning into
the corner with my phone. I sent her a text:

You
here?

My phone said it only took two
minutes to receive a reply. It felt a lot longer. Then I got it.

Yes

When I stepped into the
cage the night of a fight, adrenaline surged my body, making me feel
invincible. What I felt now made that look weak. She’d come. Soon,
I’d see her. I’d touch her. I could walk on fire.

I didn’t know what
she had in mind. She might think she’d simply come and cheer for
me, clap politely, shake my hand and head out. I had other plans.

My crew ran me through
my pre-fight routine, warming up my body, pumping up my mindset. I
didn’t need a pep talk today. I knew I had this.

I was getting my hands
taped up, surrounded by people when the knock came on the door. The
second I saw her it was like everyone disappeared from the room. Her
hair, her skin, her mouth. I needed to devour her.

Her lips parted when
she saw me, as if she felt it, too. This thing between us, I didn’t
know what it was, but I knew it couldn’t be denied.

“Hey,” she said
shyly, the guys in the room with me parting for her.

“Give us a second.”
I stood up. The trainer finished taping up my hand.

“Five minutes,”
Coach barked. “Then we got to get you in there.”

I nodded, never taking
my eyes off of Jewel.