Her face glows with a genuine smile. “Perfect. You’re asexual. Until further investigation.”
I’m not gay. I’m stupid. I can’t trust myself around most men. Nice guys aren’t the problem. No. They’re safe. It’s the other ones: the bad-in-a-bad-way bad boys. Those are the ones I need to stay away from.
As much as I’d love to have what Raven has, the risk is too great. I can’t watch the back of another man as he walks out of my life. I wouldn’t survive it.
*
Cameron
Sitting in a conference room listening to a dozen grown men bitch and throw a fit is another example of how much work needs to be done. I curse Taylor Gibbs for the zillionth time today for fuckin’ up the UFL and turning its warriors into whining babies.
“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. You’re dropping this bomb on fight night?” Blake Daniels glares at me as if he’s trying to burn holes through my skull. “Why now?”
The rest of the table of Vegas-based UFL fighters follows up with similar questions and complaints.
I lean forward, elbows on the table, and grind my teeth against the words that are bursting to be said, but I’ve worked to damn hard for this and need to prove my competence. “This is the fucking Universal Fighting League. It’s what we do. We train and move fighters through the program. In order to do that, we need new bodies in here. I’ve given you the list of fighters that will be joining us here in Vegas. If you don’t like it”—I jerk my head to the door—“get the fuck out.”
“He’s right.” Owen—the head trainer and, from what I can tell, the self-appointed leader of this crew—stands up. “We could use a revival. Some fresh meat and a little competition would do us some good.”
More groaning. What the hell? I rub my eyes and try to wipe what I’m sure is a look of absolute disappointment from my face. Whatever happened to fighters welcoming a challenge? Shit.
“I agree with Cam and Owen.” Jonah—the Heavyweight Champion and, from what I can tell, one of only two people these fighters listen to—speaks up. “Things have been lax since Gibbs left. The Fade and his camp joining us here will keep us on our game.”
“Fine.” Blake smiles like a guy who’s made a decision that’s going to be painful for someone else. “After the ass beating I give him tonight, he’ll stay out of my way.” Tonight’s fight has a lot more to do with him earning back his reputation than it does kicking Wade’s ass. And I curse Taylor, again.
“Blake.” Layla, my assistant and Blake’s better half, speaks up from my side at the conference table. “I think what Cam’s trying to say is that he wants you guys to work together so—”
“Fuck that, Mouse.” Blake shakes his head. “Ain’t happenin’.”
The room rumbles again with protest. I get it. Blake’s been burned, and now he doesn’t trust me or the organization. But getting it doesn’t mean I like it, and I’ve lost my patience. “You spoiled little jackoffs. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be here?” No one answers. Pathetic.
“We’re done.” I push up from my seat and nod for Layla to grab her shit and follow me out of the room and back to my office.
A thought occurs to me when I’m just into the hallway. I freeze mid-step, and Layla must not be looking because she slams into my back with a squeak of surprise. I swivel around to face the room. “There are fighters out there that would kill to be in your place.”
Like me. I’d give anything to have this back, to step into that octagon, trained and ready to represent the sport with honor. These guys don’t have half the respect for this organization that we had. We were the pioneers of mainstream MMA, fought back when gloves weren’t required and there were no rules. Now they whine because they have to share, and some of them don’t even fucking show up for meetings.
“And where the fuck is Rex?” A growl bubbles up in my throat. He bailed me out by taking this fight with Reece, so I push back my rage. I’ll let his absence slide this once. “I expect you guys to fill him in on what we talked about.”
“You got it, Cam.” Owen’s standing, leaning against the wall, arms crossed at his chest, glaring at the team. “I’ll take care of it.”
I nod and turn from the room. Halfway to my office I can hear Owen giving the guys a lecture about manning up and good sportsmanship.
In my office, I throw a stack of papers on my desk harder than I need to. They scatter and mix with all the other shit that needs dealing with. My head pounds and spins in a fuzzy loop of what’s next: nothing I’m not used to. I reach in my empty pocket for the small spiral notebook. Shit, it’s not there. Where did I leave it?
I don’t remember taking it to the conference room, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t. Dropping down into my desk chair with a grunt, I shove my hands through my hair. Retracing my steps, I’m pretty sure I had it this morning when Layla and I met about today’s agenda. But after that . . . Fuck!