The Look of Love

You can’t fight love…

There’s only one thing MMA fighter Gunnar Wells is more devoted to than his career, and that’s his mother, “Queen” Elizabeth. An elegant African American woman who adopted Gunnar and his two white brothers, Elizabeth was there when they needed her, and they’ll do anything for her. For Gunnar, that means running her hair salon when she suddenly falls ill. And if that’s not awkward enough for the champion fighter, he’ll have to work alongside Eboni Danielson, the other love of his life. The one he left behind to pursue his dream. The one he’s never forgotten…

Between the salon and her volunteer work, Eboni keeps busy to keep her mind off the man who broke her heart. So when Gunnar shows up again, she does her best to stay cool—on the outside. But the more she watches Gunnar step up and help out, the less she can deny her feelings. Soon Gunnar is doing everything he can to convince Eboni to give him a fighting chance. Can she trust him again—even when old secrets and new dangers come between them once more?

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Mama’s Boys

The Look Of Love

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Mama’s Boys

Crystal B. Bright

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

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Copyright © 2015 by Crystal B. Bright

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First Electronic Edition: June 2015

eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-711-4

eISBN-10: 1-61650-711-X

First Print Edition: June 2015

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-712-1

ISBN-10: 1-61650-712-8

Printed in the United States of America

This book is dedicated to my family and friends who all encouraged me to write again. Thank you for believing in me and encouraging me. Thank you to the love of my life, Jimmy. Your love and support means everything to me. I love you.

Thank you to the professors at Old Dominion University and Seton Hill University who taught me a lot about crafting a great story. Thank you to Lyrical Press for taking a chance on an unusual series. Thank you to every author I have read. I learn from each and every one of you.

I have always had a soft spot for rough and tough men who are put into awkward situations. I think it brings out a vulnerable side to men...plus it can be a bit comical. Movies like “The Nanny”, “The Tooth Fairy”, and “The Game Plan” are examples of men put in strange situations but also make them endearing.

Because of that fish-out-of-water type of genre, I got the idea of having three brothers, all stars in their sports, put into a situation where they would have to run their mother’s very feminine businesses. I also wanted to write a series about brothers. What’s hotter than three sexy brothers?

I hope you all enjoy my story about the Wells brothers and the way they run a hair salon, a flower shop and a clothing boutique.

Enjoy!

Crystal

The adrenaline coursing through Gunnar Wells’s body needed some release. The muscles in his arms and thighs tightened, ready for activity, for combat. A good workout would ease his tensions. Tonight, his mixed martial arts match would have to do.

He paced the cramped dressing room that smelled like rose petals and bleach, too dainty and too clean for what he had to do. The delicate aroma and the rough sport he would be engaging in soon reminded him of his mother, always a lady in demeanor and look, but a tough taskmaster.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could arrest it and pull it back down to a scowl. He needed to keep his mind on his match. Staying away from his childhood home helped keep him on track.

A mural of the famous Welcome to Las Vegas sign painted on the locker-room wall snagged his attention for a brief moment. The blue, red, and white neon sign full of diverse geometric shapes attracted tourists every day. Gunnar saw the city as a place to start another part of his life. He didn’t need a reminder of the location he’d made his home for the past ten years.

The Silver Streak Hotel and Casino spared no expense in keeping both the crowds and the performers entertained. Gunnar had heard that hosting these mixed martial arts matches had afforded the hotel enough funds to add a new wing to the hotel with another two hundred hotel rooms. He guessed beating a man to a bloody pulp meant good business.

Gunnar tilted his head from one side to the other to stretch his neck and help clear his head. Even with the door closed to his dressing room, the sounds from the audience in the main arena area filtered through the walls.

With each chant of “Guns” from the crowd, Gunnar’s heart pounded harder and harder until both the chant and his heartbeat became one.

“Guns! Guns!”

Thump! Thump!

He swiped the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. The tape on his hand scraped across his skin, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. Gunnar glanced at the tape to make sure he hadn’t ruined its integrity. After doing this sport for so many years, he found that every little thing mattered. A loose binding on his fist would distract him. Like a hunter, he needed to keep his focus.

For his match against a fairly established mixed martial artist like himself, he didn’t feel unnerved. In his ten-year professional career, he’d battled absolute monsters. Being six-foot-three and two hundred forty pounds, he fit in the behemoth category. Like his mama always taught him, it’s not the dog in the fight; it’s the fight in the dog.

Gunnar attempted to push thoughts of his mother from his mind. He couldn’t help but think about her and his brothers before each match. One brutal fight could leave him broken, destroyed, or dead. After all his family had done to support him, he couldn’t let them down. He fought for them as much as he fought for himself and his career.

Truly the only woman who had ever understood him, thinking of her would only turn him into mush. For what he had to do in a few minutes, he needed to be on his game, an animal. He needed to be Gunnar “Guns” Wells, the heavyweight International Ultimate Fighting champion that the spectators loved to hate. Or maybe they hated to love him since he hadn’t lost a match since starting the sport.

As he marched in his bare feet, he closed his eyes and envisioned the entire match, a calming technique he’d employed for years thanks to his yoga-loving mother. He stomped on the thin carpet that covered the concrete flooring. The hardness reminded him that nothing came easy to him, and it shouldn’t. Only hard work would get him the rewards he wanted. Fighting afforded him the lifestyle he’d only dreamed of as a youth. If only he could have shared the success with someone.

“No negative thoughts. No negative thoughts.” Gunnar talked to himself a lot to get into the headspace needed for his match.

As usual, he’d made sure to clear out his locker room before his match. No one disturbed him or retrieved him until he got called to the ring. After each winning match, he did the same ritual. He called his mother and then his two brothers, Gideon and Thane. All three of them understood the mentality it took for him to psych himself up to perform.

His brothers, as professional athletes themselves, had their own pregame rituals. Their mother proved to be a bit harder to train. She would call to wish Gunnar luck every now and then, probably when she thought his opponent looked too gruesome or menacing. She’d gotten better lately about letting him have his space.

After this match, he really had think about going to visit her. It’d been far too long since he’d been down to Virginia Beach and seen his mama. As soon as the thought entered his mind, his gut wrenched like he’d already been kicked in it by his opponent. The usual cold sweat he would get anytime he ventured close to the East Coast covered the back of his neck and back.

Although his mother would welcome him back home, not everyone would. Time and distance hadn’t cleared Gunnar’s mind of his past mistakes. He had a feeling some other people he’d left wouldn’t be as open to his appearance.

Gunnar squeezed his eyes shut and stopped moving, stopped marching. He allowed the moment to be real for him, this fight, his job. He squeezed his taped hands, allowing the tightness of the adhesive to stretch over his achy knuckles.

He gazed down when a sharp pain struck a nerve in his wrist. He shook his hands to relieve the ache. The discomfort would be temporary. Security would last forever.

A two-rap knock sounded on the door before his trainer, Chuck Wilhelm, poked his shaved head into the locker room. Gunnar’s insides twitched as soon as he saw the man. He knew what the next step would be. Showtime.

On instinct, Gunnar raised his hands, readying them to have them outfitted with his trademark black gloves with an eye embroidered on the backs of each. He already had his hair pulled back into a ponytail, something Chuck hated.

“Shave it all off,” his trainer would tell Gunnar.

“What? And look like you? No way.” Gunnar never thought his shoulder-length hair caused him a problem, especially since he never lost a fight because of it.

As Chuck approached him, Gunnar noticed his trainer carrying a cell phone.

“Call.” Chuck held up the phone.

Gunnar shook his head. “You know the rule. No calls. No interviews. Just fighting.” He picked up a plain black T-shirt and slipped it over his head.

“It’s Mama.” Chuck smirked.

“What?” Gunnar stopped moving.

“Queen Elizabeth.” Chuck snorted. “Still don’t understand how a big, blond dude has a black mother who calls herself Queen Elizabeth.”

Gunnar didn’t answer Chuck’s standard question. He’d heard that comment about his relationship with his adoptive mother since she’d taken him and his brothers into her home.

Gunnar snatched the phone from Chuck’s hand and turned his back to him. “Mama, how are you?”

To anyone else, Gunnar would have bitten their heads off and yelled about calling him before his fight. For the woman who had given him more chances than he deserved and a better life, she’d more than earned his respect.

“Darling,” his mother said her standard opening that she gave to everyone. “How are you?”

As much as he didn’t want to, Gunnar couldn’t help but smile. She’d done it. With her smooth delivery and tone, she turned his insides to pudding. “Kind of a strange time to call to ask me how I’m doing, don’t you think? I have my match starting in a few minutes. Chuck is getting me ready.” He turned back to Chuck and held up one hand so that his trainer could slip on at least one glove.

“Oh, you have that thing tonight, don’t you?” Her enunciation of each word further solidified her Queen Elizabeth nickname.