Submission Moves: An MMA Romance (11 page)

Nick cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at her.
This is where he slinks away and moves on to a more receptive target
, she thought. Like Moira, maybe. This wall of hostility she surrounded herself with had always been effective at weeding out guys who were only after a good time. Good riddance, right? To her surprise, Nick just smiled. “I meant for Angelo’s birthday. It’s this Friday, at this new club in Ashland. Ring any bells?”

“Oh.” She’d completely forgotten about that. Angelo had invited her and the others, her colleagues and the women they trained. She’d already told him she’d be there.
Well, this is embarrassing.  

Nick leaned in closer and she caught a whiff of his scent, a mixture of soap and sweat and something else, something unique to him.  It was so utterly male it gave her a delicious head rush.

“So the guys really like you. I was gone a week and when I got back, I find you’re all BFFs now. Seems like you’ve been much friendlier with them than you have been with me. Why is that, Rosie?”

Yeah, why is that, Rosie?  

“They don’t come on to me, for one thing,” she said. But maybe she shouldn’t have, because it made her sound arrogant, even to her own ears.

“They better not,” he muttered, so low that Rose almost didn’t hear. “They know you’re mine.”

“I’m not
yours
,” Rose said in a voice that she hoped sounded more angry than aroused. “I’m not anyone’s. I’m not a pet.” She was a highly educated, independent, thoroughly modern woman, dammit. She did not stand for any of that caveman bull. So why was she starting to get uncomfortably, embarrassingly wet between the legs?

Nick started to say something, but Joe’s angry voice cut him off.

“Nicky, get your ass in here!”

Rose took that opportunity to duck under his arm and mumble a quick goodbye. She raced blindly out the gym’s main entrance, colliding straight into a solid wall of muscle.

“Watch it.”

Rose stepped back as she gave Chris a shaky smile. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He wasn’t alone. He had a cameraman and a couple of production people behind him. “What’s all this for?”

“We’re doing a segment on Nick for tonight’s news. Are you okay?”

Rose nodded and sidestepped her brother to push open the glass door. “I’m just in a hurry. I gotta get back to work.”

“Okay, drive safe. You sure you’re not sick or something? You look flushed.”

“Yep. I’m fine,” she said with a smile. She threw him a distracted wave over her shoulder as she headed straight for her car. She was fine. She was not sick. Unless being in a constant state of arousal was a recognized disease now. In which case, she’d just taken a turn for the worse.
 

CHAPTER 11

Nick watched as she scampered away as fast as she could manage in her ridiculously high heels. He watched her speak to Chris, feeling an irrational tinge of jealousy at how easy and open she was with him. He shook his head. Man, he was losing it. He’d been in a rotten mood since he got to the gym that morning. He had to hear about how the guys had gone out for drinks with Rose at Bar None. Rose this, Rose that. They wouldn’t shut up about her. He suspected they did it on purpose to mess with him, because by now they’d all heard about how Rose was stonewalling him. To them, it was all so fucking hilarious.
 

He couldn’t get a single date with this woman, and his calls and messages to her all the way from Thailand went unreturned and unanswered. She refused to give him an inch but she had no qualms making friends with his brothers, his teammates, and his trainers. He didn’t like it when girls played mind games with him. But a part of him suspected that Rose wasn’t playing a game, that she meant it every time she told him she wasn’t interested.

But he also wasn’t blind or oblivious. He was aware of how her body reacted to him, was aware of the way she looked at him and watched him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. The attraction was not one-sided. So why the heck was she denying them both?

He watched from the glass walls as Rose’s small hybrid car pulled out of the parking lot. When it disappeared around the corner, Nick finally turned and headed to the lounge where Joe’s pissed-off rants were coming from. His coaches and sparring partners were all huddled around a laptop looking furious.
 

Joe spotted Nick as soon as he entered and motioned for him to take a seat on the couch. “Watch this,” he said, playing the video clip from the beginning.

Big Ugly’s aptly named face appeared on screen, and he unleashed an angry tirade in that incomprehensible cockney accent of his. But Nick got the message loud and clear.

“His one chance of beating me is by knocking me out. But I can withstand his kicks and punches. He ain’t ever had to fight someone as strong as me. The better wrestler and grappler will win this one. Ain’t no such thing as a lucky headlock or a lucky choke. I will put him on his back and I will submit him. I will fucking end his lucky streak. I will retire him like I did his coach.”

Nick’s eyes darted to Joe’s to get a read on the older man’s mood. He was a damn good coach and he liked his new role. But that heartbreaking loss two years ago to Big Ugly, the last fight of Joe’s professional career, was still a sore subject.

“That guy is out for blood. So quit dicking around and take your training seriously.”

Nick raised a brow at his longtime mentor and friend. He’d never given anyone a reason to doubt his commitment before. If anything, Nick was ruthlessly single-minded about his career. He didn’t give in to the distractions that plagued many fighters and caused their career’s demise. Everything Nick did, even out of the octagon, was calculated, from the parties and events he went to, the products he endorsed, the charities he supported, and—to some extent—even the women he dated. Everything he’d done in the last four years, he did for his image, his brand. The name Lucky Charms had never been more ironic. Luck played no part in all that he’d built.  

“Big Ugly is in the best shape he’s ever been. He could really hurt you,” Joe said. “And he fights dirty.”

Nick felt a surge of anger so strong he wanted to crush the laptop with his bare hands, and Big Ugly’s face along with it. He
was
a dirty fighter, always trying to sneak eye pokes and illegal kicks and elbows. When Joe fought Big Ugly for the heavyweight title, he got caught in a rear naked choke late into the fourth round and, after a valiant struggle, Joe was forced to tap out. Instead of letting go, Big Ugly held on tighter. The referee had to pry his arms off. It had been painful to watch, and Nick was looking forward to avenging his coach and cementing his name as one of the greatest in the sport while he was at it.

For years, Nick dominated the middleweight division, successfully defending his title from legitimate contenders—and he made it look effortless. He
could’ve
stayed a middleweight. In fact, many people in the sport still thought that was what he should’ve done. But Nick wanted more. He wanted to push himself to the very limits of his skill, endurance, and heart. A part of him also wanted those critics who blamed his success to a series of lucky breaks to finally be silenced.  

When the previous light heavyweight champion was stripped of his belt and kicked out of the league for testing positive on performance enhancing drugs, the title was left up for grabs. Nick immediately decided to go after it, despite the advice of his camp and management. Why would he want to risk his pristine record, they’d asked. That was when Nick decided to strike out on his own. He’d always wanted to. That had always been the plan. But this disagreement about his career path had been the last push that he needed.  

The move up one weight class had been a rude awakening. His opponents were bigger and stronger than he was used to. Nick managed to hold on to his undefeated streak, but many of the fights had been close. He got the first win by decision of his career and several others followed. Still, he fought his way to a title shot. If successful, he would be the first fighter in the league’s history to hold two concurrent championships.

Colin “Big Ugly” Randall had the same idea. After securing the heavyweight championship belt, he moved down to the light heavyweight division. This faster and leaner Big Ugly dropped his opponents like flies. He was heavily favored to win against Nick.

Since both Lucky Charms—
what a stupid fucking name
—and Big Ugly made the move to light heavyweight, fans of MMA waited with bated breath until the two reigning champions would finally meet in the octagon. In three weeks, they were about to get their wish.
 

The build-up to the fight had been ridiculous. If Nick was the prince charming of MMA, with his good looks and squeaky clean reputation, Big Ugly was a fitting anti-hero. The British-born fighter was large and brutish with a cruel face and a body covered with tattoos. His career had been more inconsistent, with stunning losses and even more stunning comebacks. But he was considered one of the best pound-for-pound fighters and the best grappler the sport had ever seen.
 

“No one stays undefeated forever,” Nick said in an even voice.
 

The other guys looked at him in disbelief. Those were not the words they were expecting from their champion. This fight was crucial, possibly the most important one of Nick’s career. This was his first title fight with his new camp, so it wasn’t just
his
reputation on the line.

“You shouldn’t entertain such defeatist thoughts, Nick,” Joe said with a worried frown. “We’re working our asses off right alongside you because we believe in your chances.”

“But it’s true, I’m gonna lose eventually.” He looked at Joe and the other men who had sweated and bled just as much as he had in the last five weeks and would continue to do so in the three remaining weeks of training camp. “But not to him. Not to Big Ugly.”  

It took a lot to thrive in this brutal sport. There was absolutely no room for self-doubt. You either believed you’re better than the man you were going into the cage with or you might as well throw in the towel. Nick had been telling himself he was the best from the get go, even back when he didn’t have anything to show for it. He kept telling himself he was the best until he believed it, until he started acting like it, and until other people believed it, too.

“Come fight night, I will step inside that octagon and Big Ugly’s gonna be just another victim.” He flashed them a smile of pure smugness. “I got this.”

Joe nodded, satisfied, then fixed Nick with a stern look. “No more distractions,” he said meaningfully.
 

Nick didn’t even pretend not to know what or who he meant. One corner of his lips turned up in a sheepish smile. “I got this,” he repeated, this time a touch uncertain. The truth was, he’d never been more off-balanced about a girl before—and in the middle of fuckin’ training camp at that! No two ways about it, Rose was bound to be his undoing. Now why in hell didn’t that thought fill him with dread?

CHAPTER 12

“What’s wrong with you?” Paolo said, nodding to a girl who’d been trying to catch Nick’s eye as she shimmied on the dance floor with her girlfriends. “She’s so hot for you. That’s a sure thing right there.”

They were celebrating Angelo’s 24th birthday in a hip new club that was admittedly full of gorgeous women. Many were throwing interested glances at their group. Most of the guys had already taken their pick and were tearing it up on the dance floor while Nick hung back on the L-shaped couch in the club’s VIP section. His brothers and his teammate Rafael, who were taking a break from dancing or trying to pick up women—or who knew what else they’d been up to—sat with him. Normally, this was the kind of thing he’d be into on a Friday night even in the middle of training camp.

He loved women, plain and simple. He loved how they looked and how they smelled. He loved flirting with them and watching them light up from his attentions. He loved it when they fawned over him and babied him. Mostly, he got off on rocking a woman’s world so good and knowing that no other man would come close to being good enough. Maybe it was an ego thing. Either way, Nick treated women like queens, whether it was his own mother, a waitress paid to wait on him, someone he was chatting up in a bar, or someone he was dating—especially someone he was dating. He liked laying on the charm thick, but he wasn’t exactly some playboy womanizer who refused to be tied down to one woman. He would’ve been perfectly fine if any of his relationships progressed into something serious. As such, through no one’s fault, none of them did. He always broke it off as gently as he could. He couldn’t stand not being on good terms with anyone he was once involved with. It made him feel like a prized jerk. Plus, if his mother ever heard that any of her sons didn’t treat a girl right, she’d have their balls on a plate.

The girl Paolo had been referring to broke off from her group on the dance floor and came straight at them. “Hey, you wanna dance?” she said, sounding a little out of breath. She was tall, willowy, and very blonde. Her short white dress hugged her lithe body and her long hair fell down in loose waves. She had a sexy and innocent vibe going that Nick usually found appealing.