Oh boy.
“I need you to walk away now. Go get your coffee.”
I nod, but my body pushes closer to his.
“You’re probably sore from last night, and I want to give you time to heal. If you stay here, looking at me like that, smelling the way you do, inches from my bed, I won’t be able to let you.”
I shiver.
“That’s right, baby. Coffee. Now.” His demand is gentle, but still no less a demand.
I blink my eyes quickly. “I’ll go get my coffee.”
“That’s my girl. I’ll be there in a few.”
Moving past him, he lightly smacks my butt. Shaking my head, but smiling ear to ear, my mind processes his words.
Not gross to me, baby. It’s sexy.
He really must love me.
Nineteen
Jonah
Raven left for work a few minutes ago. And with her absence came my crushing reality.
My scalp is numb from fisting my hands in my hair. Sitting at my breakfast bar, I stare mindlessly at the black granite countertop, as I attempt to sort out the jumbled thoughts in my head.
Throwing a fight isn’t as easy as it sounds. I can’t just walk into the octagon and stick my chin out. I have to fight. Just not fight good enough to win.
How the fuck am I supposed to do that?
I’m undefeated because I go ape shit when I get hit. It’s impossible to reason with the primitive part of my brain. That, along with the roar of the crowd and shouts of encouragement from my team, is a violent combination, a winning combination. Fuckin’ hell, if that isn’t the problem.
I’m going to have to be completely retrained. I have one week to figure out how the fuck to lose a fight.
I grab my new cell phone that was delivered and punch in a few numbers.
“Blake, meet me at the training center in ten.”
Ending the call, I head out.
Blake is a red belt jiu-jitsu master. He earned the name Blake “The Snake” at seventeen when he constricted a guy in a cage fight and had him out cold in less than thirty seconds. If he can’t help me, I’m fucked.
I pull up to the UFL training center right behind Blake.
“Hey, man. You ready to figure this shit out?” He heads my way through the lot.
“Yeah. I have a few ideas. Wanted to go over a couple techniques with you. That cool?”
Blake shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever helps. This shit’s fucked. Still can’t believe you’re,” he looks around to make sure we’re alone in the parking lot, “really gonna do this.”
I lean against my truck. “You sure you’re up for this? I don’t want to drag you into my shit. Not gonna lie though, I could use your help.”
He rips his sunglasses from his face and leans in. “Don’t start this shit with me. You fuckin’ know I got your back. I’ll give you that one, but you say that kinda fucked up crap again, I’ll kick your ass myself.”
I suppress a grin. “Then let’s do this.” I give him a chin lift and we walk to the center’s doors.
Once geared up, we hit the octagon. It’s quiet, just a few guys working at the heavy bags a dozen yards away.
“The key is to avoid this motherfucker’s jaw like a two-dollar hooker,” he says, then cringes. “Sorry, bad joke.”
I shake my head, thinking I may just have to slide one solid punch in during this training session.
“Right, I know that, fuckwad. What I want to know is how the hell do I keep from flippin’ the switch on his ass when he punches me?”
“Easy. Submissions. Take him to the ground and lock him down. Milk the clock until the ref breaks it up.”
That’s not a bad idea. If I can get him in a solid hold where he can’t get the ground and pound, I should be able to buy some time.
“That might work. Let’s work on some submissions that keep his fists away from my face.”
Blake nods.
Without time on our side, we get to it. Modifying a few key holds isn’t easy, but we manage to come up with a couple strategies. A few take-downs and pinning techniques will help, but I’m going to need more.
“I need to go at least three rounds, and I can’t just sit on the mat holdin’ him like a newborn baby. The fans are expecting some stand-up. If I keep my punches to body shots during the stand-up, that should help.”
Blake shakes his head. “Yeah, until he strikes back and hits you hard enough to bring out the beast, but not knock you out! I’m telling you I’ve seen you fight. You need to stay grounded as much as possible. Protect your head, and keep that fine piece of ass in the forefront of your mind. Then, pray for a miracle.”
And now, I remember why I’m friends with Blake.
After a couple hours of training, I hear a voice call my name. I peer through the octagon chain link to see Taylor Gibbs, the owner of the UFL. He’s in his usual dark suit, wearing his usual schooled expression.
“Taylor. What’s up?”
“Need a word with you in my office when you’re done.”
“Give me five.”
He nods and walks away.