Until You're Mine (Fighting for Her) Page 2

  “Of all those people, how many did Dad scare off?” Like I’d said, gruff and blunt was his M.O. Any losses the gym took, he, in turn, took out on whoever sat behind this desk. I’d told him dozens of times that a receptionist and an accountant were two very different things, but he’d insisted on saving money and getting a twofer deal. I was pretty sure I was the only twofer deal who could handle it, and that was because he couldn’t plow over me as easily as everyone else.

  Finn shrugged, and I crossed my arms, giving him the narrow-eyed look that—if I still had it—would get him to crack. “Fine. Like seventy-five percent.” He lowered his voice and mumbled, “Plus, maybe another twenty.”

  “This is really why you wanted me back for the summer.” I lifted a stack of unopened envelopes that most likely held overdue bills. “So I can fix the disorganized shit pile and do all the crap no one else wants to.”

  “Wow, a little heavy on the poop metaphors, sis.” At my glare, his grin only widened. Then he sat on the desk, facing me. “It’s not just that we don’t want to do all that stuff—even though, yes, a valid assessment—we seriously don’t have time. We can’t keep up with our training and do the training and admin stuff. I’ve already had to postpone a fight, and if I do it again, it’ll be a bitch to ever book another.”

  I shook my head at the mess, doing my best to avoid Finn’s puppy-eyes, but then he dipped his head, and damn him for being so charming. “I’m such a sucker.”

  “We’ll all do some shit-shoveling, I swear. You can even direct it.”

  I dramatically threw a hand over my heart. “It’s the job I’ve always dreamed of. Why bother putting a paintbrush to a canvas in an attempt to create a beautiful masterpiece when you can direct shit-shoveling instead?”

  He laughed, and that made me laugh.

  Unable to help myself, I began sorting the mess on the desk into piles. “I’ll get everything back up and running on this end, but come fall, I’m gone, Finn. I won’t be guilted into staying, either, so don’t even try it. I have a huge opportunity with a big gallery, one that’s also giving me a chance to work with one of my favorite artists, and I can’t afford to put my life on pause for any longer.”

  “I hear you.” His goofy grin spread wider. “It’s good to have you back. Even if it’s temporary and you have way too many rules. I’m totally going to let your attitude problem slide, too.”

  I plucked the paper weight off the desk and cocked my arm like I was about to throw it at his head. “What was that about my attitude problem?”

  “No idea what you’re talking about. I fuckin’ love your attitude.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I glanced at the computer on the corner of the desk. “You don’t expect me to use that dinosaur, do you?”

  “It’s all we’ve got. You can get a new one if it’s in the budget, but you probably won’t know that until after you sort the receipts.”

  That whole got-my-work-cut-out-for-me saying? I definitely had that going on, and for the first time, I was glad Trey didn’t end up moving down here with me. It made it easier to simply crash with Finn—I doubted they would’ve cohabitated very well, and I wasn’t sure Trey and I were quite ready to try living together. And, even if he’d relocated to San Diego for the summer, with how much work I had to do…? I wouldn’t have time to spend with him anyway.

  Chapter Two

  Shane

  It started with a laugh, one unmistakably female. Next thing I knew, a mitt hit the side of my face and ringing replaced the sound of laughter.

  “Dude,” I said, shaking my head to regain my bearings. Because, seriously, not cool.

  Liam gave a nonchalant shrug. “You get distracted, you get hit.”

  Sure. In the cage. While we were technically in a cage, we were doing striking drills and I didn’t have headgear on. If we were sparring, all bets would be off, but it didn’t matter what I said or thought, regardless of being on my second round of striking drills and my arms feeling like wet noodles. Team Domination had taken a chance on me, and I owed them, so I’d take whatever Liam or Blake Roth himself dished out.

  Ground zero sucked. Especially since it wasn’t my first time there. No matter how much I wanted to argue I shouldn’t have to start completely over, I stuffed those words away. That was one of the conditions of joining the team. It was their way or the highway, and after going down too many wrong roads, I knew I wanted this one.

  I struck faster and harder, pushing my body to the brink and then throwing myself on over.

  Whack, whack, whack.

  The buzzer rang, and Liam tossed the mitts aside. “You’ve got two minutes rest and then it’s cardio time.”

  In our line of work, we knew how to get down to business and sweat our asses off, and I was all for it. Most of us gave each other a hard time and were competitive enough to help push each other to our limits, but we also knew how to dick around and have some fun now and then. As a trainer, Liam was more sadistic than most, and he didn’t strike me as someone who even knew how to have fun. Today made five days I’d been working with him, and I hadn’t seen so much as a smile. Since his being one of my coaches meant walking the lines of “Thank you, sir, may I please have another,” I gave a sharp nod, took off my gloves, and pushed out of the cage.

  I tried not to think about used to’s and should be’s because they didn’t change where I was right now. It was downright depressing how six years of hard work and slowly crawling my way up the MMA rankings had been undone in one shitty year.

  Soon that’ll be a distant memory. I have a couple months of hard work ahead of me, and then I’ll start climbing that ladder again, even if I have to start on the bottom fucking rung.

  But I couldn’t complain. The one thing I’d wished for more than anything else had come true a couple of months ago, and even if I never got to strap a big, shiny gold belt around my waist, it would’ve been worth it.

  Even in my head, the lie tasted bitter. I was beyond grateful things had turned out so well for my mom, but I wanted that fucking belt, too. Was it so wrong to want both?

  I heard that laugh again, and I glanced toward the front desk, automatically lifting my hand to block, just in case anyone else tried to land a cheap shot—let the record show I learned from my mistakes.

  The girl with the infectious laugh stood next to Finn. I took in her long curly hair, pale blond on top with dark purple streaks peeking out from underneath, and then my gaze ran down her body. She had on shorts that hugged her curves and left a whole lot of her sexy legs on display.

  My quickening pulse thumped through my head, and finding out if her front half was as intriguing as the back was the most I’d looked forward to anything in a long time.

  She turned, and holy shit, the front matched. In fact, if I had to choose, I couldn’t. Curves and pouty lips and a figure that’d make a Victoria’s Secret model jealous. We’re talking the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen.

  She smiled, and for a delirious second I thought she was waving at me. Hell yeah, baby. I’ll be right there.

  Then Liam lifted a hand, and fuck me sideways, the guy actually could crack a smile. I was starting to think he had some stick-up-his-ass condition that no one was brave enough to get close enough to cure.

  “Damn, is that Finn’s girlfriend? She’s fine as hell. I’d like to get my hands on those—”

  “That’s our sister.” His sharp voice sliced and his grin turned into a glower pointed directly at me. “She’s also taking up her old job as our receptionist, but I think you better focus on the sister part.”

  Great fucking job, Knox. So much for thinking we could bond over our appreciation of a hot girl.

  How did one smooth over a situation like this? I’d skipped etiquette classes in favor of street fights and detention. I’d tried to reprogram myself once my life took a turn for the better, but sometimes the old me wanted to come out swinging. “I had no idea, or obviously I wouldn’t have…” If looks could kill, I would’
ve dropped dead on the spot. “Let’s just say that so far my attempt to make a good impression is off to a rocky start. And unfortunately, not like a Rocky Balboa start.”

  “Funny, because running stairs Rocky Balboa style is suddenly on tomorrow’s agenda. Until then—”

  “Treadmill,” I said. “I got it.”

  Sometimes my friends—my true friends who hung with me before the money and fame and were still there when my MMA career crumbled—asked me why I would submit myself to so much physical torture. Why I would give so much to an organization that’d used me as a novelty when I was this close to becoming the youngest guy to win the welterweight title, but immediately dismissed and forgot about me after I lost a few fights. Three in a row was all it took, and I wasn’t even fully present for any of them.

  It wasn’t like there were a lot of jobs a guy like me could get, and I knew I could get back into fighting shape and regain my former glory and then some. I felt the need to prove myself to people who’d called my winning streak a fluke, or downplayed how fucking hard those fights had been. To prove myself to people who’d scattered the second it looked like I wasn’t their money train or ticket to fame anymore. Now I knew to put my trust in the right people, and that’d make the difference. I’d also be a hell of a lot smarter with my money.

  With my goals in mind, I stuck in my music, turned it up to ear-shattering level, and jumped on the treadmill. When my lungs and legs burned, I sped up instead of slowed down. My feet started dragging after mile four, so I lowered the speed and upped the incline to make up for it.

  For the next two to three months, this was my life. Train, train, and train some more. My coaches would say jump, and I’d ask how high. Blake “Bring the Wroth” Roth had been one of my idols, and I still couldn’t believe I got to train with him. There’d been whispers that Team Domination wasn’t what it used to be, but that only attracted me to them more. I wanted a scrappy team who knew how to fight, whether from the top or the bottom, and I had no doubt they could get me to where I needed to be.

  My coaches had also assured me that if I showed them I was ready for a fight, they’d find me one ASAP. I was hungry for one, the bigger the better, so I’d dived right into training camp mode, letting that tenacity take control.

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught blond hair, and I jerked my head down and stared at the numbers on the display. I couldn’t afford distractions, and the last thing I had time for right now was a girl, no matter how hot, or how tempted I was to take a quick peek.

  Just one more look for old times’ sake. Never mind that we didn’t have old times. Better resist, it’s not worth it. Liam’s already ready to bury me, and knowing him, he’s probably watching to make sure I’m not slacking on my cardio.

  Right then and there, I gave myself a good talking to. Blondie was a Roth, and that meant she was completely off-limits. From now on, I wouldn’t so much as check her out.

  Chapter Three

  Brooklyn

  My day was off to a stellar start. If stellar meant that everything had gone wrong from the minute I woke up. I’d poured the last cup of milk over my cereal, only to find it chunky and expired. Finn then let me know he’d switched to almond milk “forever ago” and I should, too, because of fill-in-the-blank health reasons—I tuned him out because I was groggy and still mourning my cereal, healthy bland kind or not. After his spiel, I gave one of my own about how I’d rather not drink nut milk, and then we’d both broken into laughter because we were super mature.

  The laughter died pretty quickly when he told me he didn’t have a caffeinated substance of any kind in the place.

  Deciding I’d have to rely on a shower to wake me up, I’d zombie shuffled to the bathroom. In the light of day, the room was…well, I’d forgotten how vastly different my definition of clean was compared to what I used to refer to as “guy clean.” Trey was a neat freak, thus the “used to” but suffice it to say that Finn’s version of clean had me wishing for dimmer lighting. Or, like, hazard gear.

  When I’d decided to stay with Finn to save money, I’d been thinking of all the fun and laughing, not the fact that there’d be pee on the toilet seat that was forever left up, and that I’d have to settle for a chalky protein shake instead of my usual bowl of Froot Loops. I’m going to have to hit the grocery during all my non-existent free time today.

  Sure, it was first-world-problems stuff, but memories from the past had also kept me up half the night, and thinking of everything I needed to do today didn’t improve my mood. Unfortunately, time away didn’t magically make it easy to be around Dad, either.

  I pulled my car into a parking spot behind the gym. Okay, I committed to doing this, so I need to just suck it up and deal.

  Figuring I might as well look fabulous while I was doing said sucking it up and dealing, I twisted my rearview mirror so I could apply my favorite fuchsia lipstick.

  And promptly dropped the wand.

  It hit my thigh, leaving a smear of pink as tribute to my awesome coordination skills, before bouncing off the console and landing somewhere in the passenger seat vicinity.

  I leaned over and ran my hand over the floor, praying the expensive liquid wouldn’t pour out and stain my upholstery. It was the kind that lasted all day, too, which I loved for my lips but not so much for my car. It’s never going to come out of the fabric. All day probably translates to ten car-stain years.

  “Jeez, buy me dinner first,” I said to my gear shifter, which had made itself at home between my boobs. Evidently, I was going to have to get out of the car and go around to find it. I stretched across the passenger seat to unlock that door, then sat up and shot my reflection a dirty look. My bottom lip was hot pink, making my top one look super pale in comparison.

  I rounded my car, and when a quick glance didn’t reveal my lipstick, I dropped to my knees on the warm tarmac of the parking lot. Using the flashlight option on my phone, I illuminated the space underneath the seat.

  “How’d you get so far back there?” I asked my lipstick, because apparently this day had already reached crazy-lady-who-talks-to-herself levels. I thought about opening the hatchback and going that way, but I was already sprawled out here, and if I could just stretch a little farther…

  “Got you, you bastard.” I shifted myself into reverse, but a tug on my scalp made me freeze in place. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I braced my hand on the top of the door and tried to tug again but couldn’t slide free. With a few contortionist-type moves, I managed to get my lipstick upright on the console, then I reached up to remove the clump of hair that’d caught on the wires under the seat.

  “Having some trouble?”

  The deep voice made me jump, and naturally, my head whacked the underside of the seat. If I hadn’t looked at the calendar this morning, I’d swear it was Monday, shitty Monday. “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, yes you are. Don’t get me wrong, I could stand out here all day, watching your ass bob up and down, but I’m starting to feel sorry for you, and that just takes all the fun out of it.”

  If I could shoot the guy a dirty look, I would. And that was still in the plans, I just had to free myself without leaving behind a bald patch. Finally, the last few strands came free and I sat back on my heels.

  A large hand came into view, and I hesitated a moment before taking it. He pulled me to my feet, and I quickly let go and took a step back, trying to regain my bearings.

  The guy who’d been doing striking drills in the cage yesterday stood across from me, an amused smile on his ridiculously handsome face.

  My what nice eyes you have. Seemed appropriate to compare him to the Big Bad Wolf, considering the predatory look in his green eyes and wolfish grin, the better to short-circuit my brain with. I hadn’t gotten a good glimpse at much besides his torso and those jacked arms, so I’d missed details like his nearly-black hair worn short but slightly messy on top, the scruff dusting his jaw, and green eyes framed by dark eyebrows that arched as I fin
ished my ocular pat down.

  Realizing I was staring and way too close, and what the hell am I doing, I have a boyfriend, I went to take another step back. My car’s side mirror jabbed into my hip and I swore, which only added more amusement to his expression.

  I rubbed the spot, even though that had never worked very well at easing pain. “I’m having an off day, okay?”

  “Okay.” He jerked his chin toward my car. “Nice wheels, by the way.”

  Despite the fact that it’d held me captive for a few minutes, I patted the turquoise hood of my 1967 Ford Mustang. “Thanks. He’s my baby.”

  “Oh, it’s a he, is it?”

  “For sure. He growls and acts real tough, but if I don’t give him the right fuel, or it’s been too long since I’ve taken him for a ride, he gets all whiney about it.”

  Sexy Fighter Dude ran a couple of fingers over his nice mouth—so sue me, I noticed—and his laughter came out low. The swirl in my stomach was because I missed my boyfriend.

  And maybe just a smidge because the guy standing across from me was crazy hot. Luckily I knew that in the long run, that wasn’t what was important. Fighters were moody and self-involved, completely aware of their hotness and often used that to charm their way into getting whatever they wanted, and being with them was like volunteering for a rollercoaster ride that dropped you off a cliff at the end. I wanted a steady guy who’d be there for me when I needed him, one who I could trust with my heart.

  I had that with Trey, the guy who’d been my constant for nearly a year, so I was shutting down my unruly thoughts about the guy standing across from me ASAP.

  “It sounds to me like you’re not getting enough satisfaction during the ride.” His smooth, deep voice rumbled through me, like the bass line of a song, and my pulse picked up the beat. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to go very long without insisting he take you for another spin.”

  Heat settled in my cheeks, but I did my best to appear unaffected—I wished I was. Evidently, I was going to have to up my defenses when it came to Fighter Dude, strike the sexy. “I’m not sure this conversation is going in a very appropriate direction.”