Extreme Love

chapter Two


Dante slung his heavy gym bag into the corner and studied the facility he’d call home for the next two months. The sheer size of the training center impressed him. It was at least four times larger than the one in Connecticut.

A traditional boxing ring in the center captured his attention. Two men, one wearing red headgear, the other in blue, squared off as they sparred. Dante itched to join them. He wanted to feel the energy course through his body as he calculated his opponent’s next move—while formulating the countermove that would shock his foe and lead Dante to victory.

He forced his gaze from the ring. On the left, numerous red punching bags hung unused before bleached white walls. Contrary to his reaction to the ring, the bags sent nervous anticipation traveling through him. The sand-filled canvas bags appeared innocent enough, but Dante knew better. Hours upon hours of grueling, painful torture would take place before them, testing his strength of mind. He dreaded the encounters.

In the right corner, a blue mat was on the floor. Dante sighed and stared at the grappling pad. His biggest challenge. The one weakness that could cause him to lose the most important fight of his life. He shook his head. He wouldn’t think like that. Negative thoughts only brought negative energy. That he wouldn’t allow.

He swept the facility with one final glance. The only thing missing was the cage.

He’d save the cage for Vegas, when he’d rip Sentori a new one.

A door closing echoed through the quiet room. He turned to see a bald boulder of a man headed his way. Dante recognized the former heavyweight champion immediately and smiled. “Mike.”

The man returned the smile and offered his hand. “Damned pleased to meet you, Dante. I’m excited to have a fighter of your caliber under my roof.”

“Only the best to help me beat the best.” In two months, Dante would have the toughest fight of his career. He would need every advantage he could get, and a coach who’d once trained his opponent would help lead him to victory.

“You said it. Defeating Richard Sentori won’t be easy. You’re going to have to train your ass off. I’ve watched your fights. You’re good, real good, but Sentori is better. Unless you improve your ground game, you don’t stand a chance in hell.”

Dante respected Mike’s bluntness. This was what he had come for. A kick in the butt, one that would push him into the next realm of fighting, which would end with the championship belt wrapped around his waist. Of course, there was the bonus of being the first to crush the unstoppable Richard Sentori.

Mike leveled him with a stony stare. “Battling Sentori won’t happen just in the octagon. He trained here until his attitude got out of control. Quite frankly, he’s an a*shole. Mind games are his weapon of choice outside the cage.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of his reputation.” “A*shole” didn’t begin to cover how the other fighters described the man. “He’s pissed a lot of fighters off before their match. How he keeps winning is beyond me.”

“Because he’s good. But he does enjoy getting under his opponent’s skin before a fight.”

“I know his game and I’m prepared for it. He won’t get the better of me.”

Seeing the sparring partners finish their drills, Dante climbed onto the side of the boxing ring, hooked his hand around the ropes, and entered the square. Hopping from foot to foot, he shadowboxed along the perimeter of the stretched canvas floor.

Blood pumped through his body. Adrenaline raced through his veins. He threw his head back, relishing the feeling that always accompanied his entry into the ropes, fight or not. Increasing the momentum of his punches, he exhaled in measured breaths as he pictured Sentori’s face before him.

Mike jumped onto the side of the ring and leaned against the ropes. “Those punches aren’t going to help you, you know.”

Dante lowered his arms. “Yeah, I know. I like to stand up and fight, which will be a problem with Sentori.”

“Damned straight it’ll be a problem. If luck is with you, you might catch him with a punch.”

Dante grimaced. No fighter wanted to win by luck. They wanted a solid no-questions-asked win.

Mike sighed. “I know Sentori. He’s studying your fights, looking for all your weaknesses. As it stands, he’ll have you on the ground within seconds. A ground game is what we’ll have to work on. We have to make sure he won’t catch you in his signature hold once he takes you down.”

Dante nodded and resumed his shadow boxing. Sentori’s rear naked chokehold was lethal. He was able to snake his arm around an opponent’s neck like a python: strong, methodical, and unbreakable. Once he had it locked in, well, his record spoke for itself. Out of twenty fights, fifteen had been won by submission.

Dante, on the other hand, had twelve wins by knockout. Improving his jujitsu was crucial to handling Sentori on the ground.

“We have a lot of work to do, but with dedication and focus, I think you can win this. And I will get my own personal satisfaction at training the man who finally takes down Richard Sentori.”

Dante had every intention of delivering. Sentori was the last fighter standing in his way to achieve the one thing he had beaten countless men senseless for: the welterweight championship title.

And he would have it.

Nothing was going to stand in his way.

…

“I want the name, Ron,” Cait persisted.

For the last hour, she’d been in her boss’s office at the YMCA going over the plans for her new program. Ron had approved everything but the one thing that really mattered to her—the program’s name. But she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Ronald Bigby—the program director and resident pain in the ass—leaned forward, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’ve gave you free rein on this program. All I’m asking for is a different name. Why is that too much to ask?”

She stared across the desk at the balding man and clenched her teeth against rising frustration. This man was the last obstacle to getting her program off the ground—a program she would have given anything to have had when she’d started her own weight loss journey. She refused to let him stand in the way. “Because the name sets the tone for the entire program. Something generic won’t do that.”

“Cait, the title of a program like this should pertain to the core reason for the class, which in this case is losing weight.”

God, he just didn’t get it. That wasn’t the main reason for the class and she wasn’t sure how she’d get him to understand. “What do you suggest, then?”

“I was thinking ‘Shrinking Georgia.’”

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. How freaking dull. The name held no meaning, nothing to be proud of.

Now “Altering Assumptions”?

That was a chin-held-high title, stemming from the many obstacles she’d faced anytime a new member entered a fitness room. She loved taking the skeptical looks directed at her when she walked into an advanced aerobics class and turning it to an awed ”Damn-this-bitch-can-bust-ass” expression.

It hadn’t always felt like that for her, though. In the beginning, just facing the looks had almost been enough to send her scurrying back home. Not anymore. She was proud of what she’d accomplished and wanted to help other people struggling with their weight to feel the same.

“My entire program is based around teaching others you don’t have to be rail thin to be physically fit, while teaching them to alter their assumptions about themselves, as well as the assumptions of others. It’s not just a weight loss program.”

Ron lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “You’re not going to relent, are you?”

“Not on this.”

“I’m going to have to think on it. I’d still like to see a title more directed at fitness.”

She fought a smile of victory. At least he was willing to think about it. That was something. “Thank you, Ron. This is important to me.”

“Get out of here. I have another meeting in ten minutes.”

She left the office with a huge grin, only to freeze mid-step as she heard, “Whale alert. Stand back, the treadmill is about to blow.”

The grin slid from her face. Two boys stood pointing at a young, overweight teenaged girl on a treadmill. Cait clenched her hands into fists. She knew the boys well. The arrogant, nineteen-year-old troublemakers were inches from having their membership revoked. Now she’d make sure it happened.

She glanced at the girl, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Tears shone in her eyes, but she lifted her chin and continued her walk.

Teens could be the meanest creatures on earth.

She stalked over just as one of the little bastards said, “This isn’t Sea World, Shamu.”

“You two should be ashamed of yourself.”

The boys turned and eyed her with disinterest. “What are you going to do about it? Take away our memberships? Ohh!” They waved their fingers in a mock gesture of fright.

Brats!

The brown-haired one raised a brow. “It’s not like you can talk. You need to be on the treadmill beside her.”

The hurtful words only fueled her anger. This was why she wanted to name her program “Altering Assumptions.” “You think so, huh? I could run circles around you without breaking a sweat.”

The boy snorted.

She spread her arms wide. “I’m dressed for it. You’re dressed for it. Come on, take on a fatty.”

He waved his hand. “I don’t want to humiliate you.”

“Oh, honey, the only humiliation will be yours and you need a huge dose of it.”

The girl had stopped walking, her fingers pressed to her lips, eyes wide. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh yeah, I do.”

Cait jumped up on a treadmill and started to warm up. When the boy didn’t move, she glanced behind her. “Scared?”

He scowled. “You asked for it.”

He climbed on the treadmill beside hers and started his warmup.

“Here’s how this’ll work,” Cait said. “Every two minutes we increase pace by point five until the other can no longer hang on. Got it?”

Sneering, he said, “Got it.”

“Starting at five.”

The treadmill began to beep as she increased speed. The treadmill sped up under her feet and she started to run. Exhilaration filled her as her legs pumped beneath her. She loved to run, loved the feel of energy flowing through her body, the feel of her heart beating hard against her chest.

Two minutes passed quickly, and she increased to five point five. She glanced at the boy. A smidgeon of guilt hit her. He had two more minutes, tops. Once they hit six, he would be finished. Sweat poured from his beet-red face. Labored gasps came from his mouth.

She’d give him credit, though. Determination still filled his face as he struggled to keep up. What nineteen-year-old boy wouldn’t try his damnedest not to be beaten by a woman, especially one who was overweight?

For two more minutes, he hung on. Then they increased to six. Thirty seconds passed before he slipped off the back of the treadmill and landed in a heap on the floor.

He sat up, dazed and gasping. Cait stopped her treadmill and faced him. “I hope you learned a lesson to never assume. Overweight doesn’t mean out of shape.”

She hopped to the floor. The win did nothing to ease the anger still gripping her stomach. She glanced at the girl, who exclaimed, “That was awesome!”

Not sure how to respond, Cait extended her hand. “Cait Moore.”

The girl grabbed her hand and shook it. “Becky Morris. Thank you. It’s hard enough coming in here, much less being heckled while you work out.”

“No thanks necessary. I was proud of how you handled the situation. Instead of leaving, you kept going. You have the drive. And it makes me proud to see it.”

“Do you work out here?”

“Everyday.”

“Do you mind—I mean, maybe…”

Cait studied the girl and saw a reflection of herself, an insecure, overweight woman wanting nothing more than to change her life but unsure of how to do it, or even if she could. She reached into her purse and took out a sheet of paper and a pen. Jotting down her name and number, she handed it to her. “I’ll be starting a program soon. I’d love for you to join.”

Becky gazed down at the paper. “I will,” she said, then hugged her.

Emotions hit Cait, and she blinked back tears as the girl pocketed the information and ran off toward to the locker rooms.

Cait turned to leave and spotted Ron leaning against the wall.

He smiled. “You have your name.”

“You okay?” Amy asked.

Groaning, Cait placed her tray on the table and sat across Amy and Brad. “Been a long morning.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Cait glanced at Brad. The thought of talking about her encounter at the gym in front of him didn’t appeal to her. “Not right now.”

Every time she thought of those two boys, her anger flared again. She really needed to let it go. She’d proven her point. But the memory of Becky’s large green eyes filled with tears infuriated her. Why were people so cruel?

“How’d the meeting go?” Amy asked before she shoved a spoonful of broccoli and cheese soup in her mouth.

“Good. I got my name.”

“That’s wonderful! I knew how important it was to you.”

Brad leaned forward. “What’s wonderful?”

Amy quickly filled him in about Cait’s program.

“That’s awesome,” he said.

Cait picked up her club sandwich and took a tiny bite. “Yeah, well, we’ll see how it pans out. I’m hoping for a good turnout.”

She studied the couple across the table. Brad had a muscular arm slung around the back of Amy’s chair, her friend pressed close to his side. The perfect couple: blond, fit, and gorgeous, complementary to the other.

No one would ever underestimate them, unlike Cait, who fought every day to prove there was nothing she couldn’t handle.

A movement to her left caught her attention. She glanced over and froze.

Except him.

The constant chatter in the small deli faded away as the blood roared through her ears. He was the last thing she needed right now. Today had been tiring enough without dealing with the man who hadn’t called. Four days. Not one ring.

Cait whipped her head around and stared at Amy. “I can’t believe you.”

“What?”

Dante strolled toward them and sat in the vacant seat next to hers. Awareness overwhelmed her. Even with a gaping space between them, he was too damned close. She pressed against the wall, avoiding eye contact with his unnerving blue eyes. Why did she have to react this way to a fighter? She hated fighting, wanted nothing to do with the limelight following them. It so wasn’t fair.

“Hey, guys,” Dante said. “What are we talking about?”

“The YMCA has agreed to sponsor a program Cait’s formed,” Amy said.

“Congratulations!”

The smile he sent her caused her heart to stutter and she jerked her gaze back to her plate, rattled at how her body responded to him just from his simple smile.

“What’s the program about?” he asked.

“I’m leading the new weight loss program,” Cait whispered, never taking her eyes off her plate as she reached for her unsweetened tea. Was he sizing her up? Seeing she wasn’t the image of a typical fitness instructor and wondering what she could possibly have to offer anyone who struggled with their weight?

She lifted her chin. Well, she had a lifetime of experience with it.

Dante made a derisive noise. “I don’t understand the need for weight loss programs. Cut calories and go to the gym. How hard is that?”

She lifted her head and met his gaze, unflinching. “Are you serious?”

“It’s simple math. Burn more calories than you take in. Not too difficult.”

Cait twisted to face him. “Tell me, Dante, have you ever had a weight problem?”

Amy moaned and covered her eyes, shaking her head.

“No, I haven’t,” he responded, shooting a glance at Amy with furrowed brows.

Cait kept her voice calm, even though her anger was quickly resurfacing. “Do you know what it’s like to walk into a gym with a bunch of fit-looking people and feel like everyone is staring at you? To have to overcome your fear of being made fun of in order to participate in a class?”

“Those are excuses. If a person wants to lose weight, they will. If they don’t, then they’ll use those fears to stay at home. It’s all a matter of self-control.”

“You tell that to the sixteen-year-old girl I just rescued from two vicious teenage boys. How is being called ‘Shamu’ while she worked out making her want to return to the gym? How does heckling help her get past the insecurities she’s already feeling? It doesn’t.”

Dante’s mouth snapped closed, and his head jerked back.

”Here’s some food for thought. Until you’ve hauled around an extra eighty pounds most of your life and then struggled to lose it, maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself.”

Images of the boys taunting the poor girl flooded her mind. Tears burned the back of her eyes. “I’ve got to go.”

She pushed back her chair avoiding any and all contact with his shoulders as she brushed past and hurried from the deli.

“Hey, wait. I’m sorry.” She heard him call after her, but she kept going. Amy chastised Dante with, “Nice work, bonehead,” before she pushed through the double glass doors and into the hot July air.

Dante’s opinion wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. Every day, Cait dealt with people who couldn’t comprehend what she and people like Becky had been through and struggled against. Normally, she didn’t react, knowing it was easy for people to judge something they knew nothing about. But hearing the same ignorance spewing from Dante’s mouth had lit a ball of fury in her that only added to the anger those boys had kindled.

Add in the raging ball of hormones she became when Dante was around, and keeping her opinions to herself became impossible. What was it about the man that caused all these festering emotions? And, boy, was there a wide range of them. Distaste for his career choice, paralyzing insecurities when he was near, anger at his uninformed opinion, and desire…so much desire.

She hurried across the parking lot to her car. Desire didn’t matter. He was Dante Jones, fighter extraordinaire, surrounded by cameras, screaming fans, and violence. She wanted nothing to do with it.

Why was she even thinking about this? It wasn’t an issue. He hadn’t called—heck, he’d probably stumbled across their table by accident in the first place.

She climbed into her car and sat behind the wheel. Glancing back at the deli, she took a deep breath. Dante stood on the top stair with his long legs spread, hands on his hips, watching her.

In response, her heart stuttered.

Distance.

She had to keep her distance.

…

Nice going, idiot.

Dante watched Caitlyn make a left onto the busy highway and cursed. What was it with this woman and his inability to connect with her?

He should have called her. He’d wanted to. But Amy believed face to face would be better than calling. So he’d gone with her suggestion and waited. Fat lot of good that had done.

At least his appearance had been enlightening. Caitlyn’s shyness was a façade. One wrong comment from his mouth created such spitting passion, he believed he’d gotten a glimpse of the real Caitlyn. And all that fire was enough to incinerate him.

He chuckled. They called him the Inferno. He was sure he’d found the female equivalent to his name. But what held her back, though?

A mystery to unfold, one he was certain he would enjoy every minute of. Besides, Caitlyn challenged him. She didn’t agree with every word that came out of his mouth like the Stepford wife types who threw themselves at him, who stared at him adoringly even though they didn’t know him. He smiled. Caitlyn could give two shits he was a MMA star, and she had no issue putting him in his place when she disagreed with him. He liked the change.

It’d been a long time since he’d pursued a woman—a very long time. The idea of chasing Caitlyn energized him.

Dante smiled. And on the day they finally kissed, he’d know it wasn’t because of his celebrity status or his hefty bank account. No, when they kissed, it would be because she wanted him.

He returned to the table. He sat down and took a huge bite of his BLT.

Amy tilted her head, her gaze never leaving his.

He swallowed. “What?”

“You like her.”

Dante shrugged. “She’s interesting.”

“Yeah, ’cause you’ve learned so much about her to make that assumption.”

He lowered the sandwich to his plate. “What are you saying?”

“If this is some sort of hard-to-get game that has you all turned on, I’m warning you, look elsewhere. Cait doesn’t need that, and I won’t let it happen.”

With her arms crossed and her lips pinched together, Amy was closer to the truth than he cared to admit. Admitting the reason Cait piqued his interest would be a bad idea.

“It’s not a game for me.”

And it wasn’t. It was a challenge with a woman he found insanely attractive.

Amy relaxed, a small smile coming to her lips. “Then I’m willing to help.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell you the one place you can get to her where she can’t hide.”