He removes his attention from the guy who’s already shifted his interest back to his date. Seth nods his head, says his goodbyes to the rest of the table, and I shoulder the blame for our sudden departure.
We stroll past table after table, unable to avoid the congratulations on the rematch, and when the door is only a few feet away, Darryl and Jackson slip in front of us.
“Not now, Darryl,” Seth growls through clenched teeth.
“I’ve called your lawyers; they’re going to—”
Seth pushes past them, dragging me behind him. “Cancel them.”
“Cancel them?” Jackson questions. “Seth, you-”
Seth snaps around and I take a quick defensive step back—until my arm is straightened and straining at the elbow, but he doesn’t let me go. A few passersby move quickly away from the scene unfolding before them. “I can’t back out now. He announced it—in front of everyone. I will fucking destroy Don and everyone else the MMAC throws at me. Fuck them all.”
They exchange glances for a few seconds before Darryl retrieves his phone from his pocket and dials a number. Seth tugs me in close again, letting go of my hand and wrapping an arm around my waist. He pulls me away from Darryl and Jackson and we head outside.
We don’t say a word to each other, but he keeps me held firmly against his side up stairs, through corridors and in elevators—all the way to the hotel room. He lets me go to unlock the door and he pushes it open. My heart hammers in my chest like a jackhammer to concrete and I’m scared to go inside and be alone with him. I don’t think I can handle another night like last night.
“Please go inside,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
His voice isn’t harsh or commanding—he seems sad—broken. I step inside and I don’t look back. I tap as fast as my heels will let me upstairs and into the shower. When I come out all fresh and revived, dressed in sweat pants and a tank top, I go back downstairs. The lights are dim and the bright neon of Vegas become obvious as they filter in through the large window. I hesitate on the last step when I see Seth sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. His back is to me—the depressions are darkened by shadows of absent light. Swallowing my uncertainty, I push off the last step and move to the couch Seth has dragged over to the window. As I draw nearer to him, my sight catches all of the droplets of water on the surface of his skin. He used the shower downstairs to avoid me and what I have to say about the rematch with Don. I’m not hurt. He needs space and I respect that.
Before I step around the arm of the couch, I hesitate, and out of pure nervousness, I clear my throat. He lifts his head from his hands and looks over his shoulder at me.
“I can go…” I mumble uneasily, shifting my weight.
Seth flicks his head, gesturing for me to join him and I can’t move quick enough. He slides across the couch to make room and when I sit down, he grabs me, pulling me to him, and with a flick of his hips, he flips me, pressing my back firmly into the couch. He slides his body between my legs and my muscles tense as he drops a heavy portion of his weight on top of me. His full lips press against mine and they melt together in a slow rhythm. When he pulls back, I ask, “Are you mad?”
The bright pinks and yellows outside reflect in his dark eyes. “Yes.”
“You can go to the gym—you don’t have to stay with me.”
He shakes his head. “When I look back on the night I proposed to my wife, I don’t want to remember it like this. I want us to be happy and loving for now…the rest can wait until tomorrow.”
I slide my fingers over his shoulders and down his arms, savoring the feel of his warm skin under my fingertips. As my hands come up his neck, I see my ring glisten in the light and my breath catches. How easy it is to forget how happy we were tonight before Matthew Somers and the mention of Don Russell destroyed it. Seth asked me to marry him and I said yes…I said yes.
“We can just lie here in silence and appreciate each other’s company,” he adds with a soft sigh.
Seth rests his head on my chest and watches the cars driving down the boulevard. His thumb glides back and forth over my hip, sending pulses of pleasurable energy through my stomach. I let my fingers move smoothly over his shoulder, up his neck, and into his hair. I can feel his muscles are tight and alert. I know he’s playing calm and collected for my sake, to show me he can change, but I don’t want him to change if it means wallowing in his own anger and poisoning himself with stress from the inside out.
I flex my hips and Seth lifts himself off of me. “Maybe you should lie on the bottom,” I suggest. “I can see the news headline now; Fighter Falls Asleep and Crushes Fiancée Under the Weight of his Body.”
With a heart-stopping chuckle, we shift positions and Seth lies flat on his back with his hands tucked underneath his head. Whoa. If I had a dollar for every perfect muscle I see in his upper body alone I’d be rich—or Seth would be rich…because I’d pay him to let me lick them. I slip my legs over his hips and unashamedly run my hands over his stomach, feeling every bump and tremor. I glance at his mouth and he smiles up at me. It’s a genuine smile, one that makes all of my insides feel light and happy. I run the palms of my hands over his chest and onto his shoulders, no longer looking at his face. I focus on relaxing him and making him feel better about tonight. I can feel his intense eyes on me, watching me as I continue to caress him.
“Your hands feel nice,” he mutters almost sleepily.
“Does it make you feel better?”
Under my fingertips, his muscles relax a fraction. “Much better. I like it when you take care of me.”
I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on his nipple, gaining a small hum of approval. If I’m going to be his wife, I need to learn how to take care of him properly. I need to step up and look after him, the way he deserves to be looked after.
“I’ll take care of you forever,” I whisper.
Seth doesn’t say anything in return. I’m not sure if he even heard it and that’s okay. I never said it to get a response. I said it because I mean it and it eases the overwhelming bubble of excitement in my chest.
After a long while, my fingertips are numb and tingly, and I’m unsure where his flesh ends and mine begins. I lie on him now and I rise up and down a fraction of an inch every time he breathes. Forty minutes ago, Seth removed my shirt and watched my breasts as I massaged him. It was thrilling, to say the least, and the urge to coax him into having sex with me was almost overwhelming, but I held my own and kept my cool. Just. If he hadn’t fallen asleep, I’m sure my resistance would have caved. It always does when he’s around. With one last slow, pathetic stroke of his forearms, my hands give up and collapse on his skin. My eyelids are heavy, like they have tiny weights tethered to my eyelashes. I let them close and snuggle even closer into my sleeping Seth.
Starting tomorrow, he will dive into intense daily training sessions and have little to no time for me. Thankfully, Selena is here and I won’t be totally alone…but despite her presence, however, I know Seth’s two upcoming fights are going to linger over me like a dark cloud. I know Seth can take Junior, but I’m worried his emotions are going to get the best of him when he fights Don. If Seth loses to Don, it will break him. I shake the thought from my head. Seth won’t lose. He is the bright center of my universe…untouchable. Infallible. He can’t lose.
Chapter Twenty-One
Seth
(Fight Night: Seth Marc vs Junior Moset)
A plastic chair slaps the concrete wall and I’m brought back to my senses. Anxiety ripples through my body and I clench my fists as it rests in my chest and threatens to suffocate me. Where is she? I sent Darryl up to the hotel room half an hour ago to find her. Olivia wanted to wait until the very last minute to come down. These fighting things still make her nervous and I try my hardest to respect that, but without her here with me now I don’t think I can make it through my warm up. I want to see her calming green eyes looking at me—all caring and worried.
I flex my fingers and survey my bare fingers. They stick out from the thick material and I turn my hands palm down to assess the gloves. Across the top of my glove—right over the padded knuckles—it reads ‘MMAC’ in big white letters. I made it. I’m here, ready for my professional debut…this fight, win or lose, will be remembered for the rest of my career. The first fights always are.
Being immortalized an amateur losing my first pro fight isn’t the only thing eating at me, the crowd is, too. Tens of thousands of spectators all sitting and waiting for the main card fight. Junior is the crowd favorite—something I’ve known for weeks now. His pro record is nine to one, losing only to disqualification in his first fight by repeatedly grabbing the cage for added support. My professional record is zero both in wins and defeats. They don’t care about my amateur record or that I’ve had twenty-two official fights and haven’t lost a single one. What counts is now. I need to win this fight—and I will—I just need to keep my head clear and in the game. One mistake and Junior can have me in an arm bar, or triangle lock—or even a guillotine. I’ve seen his fights. He knows exactly how to lock the submissions down and getting out of them is going to take more energy than it’s worth.
The door swings open, drawing my attention. The rest of the team fades out and my sight focuses solely on my woman. When her gaze lands on me, the anxiety in my chest minutely lets up and I sigh a breath of relief. Even back then I couldn’t pinpoint what it is about her that relaxes me so much…maybe it’s because she’s always so nervous I take it on myself to make her feel better. My team filters from the room and closes the door behind them. We’ve done this enough times now that they know to leave us alone when she comes to see me. I can’t have my whole team thinking I’m weak. Only she is allowed to see that side of me. I brace my hands on the bench on either side of my open thighs as she strolls right up between them and places her hands half on my shoulders and half on my neck.
She looks absolutely amazing in a pair of classy black slacks and a stylish white sweater. No mini skirts. No tight tube dresses. Perfect.
A relaxing hum vibrates from her fingertips and creeps over my skin before seeping into my pores. Unintentionally, I bring my lips closer to hers and I stop myself just as they graze. Her breath hitches before she expels it nervously on my face.
“Thank you for being here,” I mumble, looking deep into her eyes. “I couldn’t do it without you.”
“You were doing just fine before I came along.”
No, I wasn’t. I was ready to throw in the towel, to give up fighting. Darryl knew it and Jackson knew it, too, but when I met Olivia, her passion and her fight ignited a spark in me I thought was long gone. She inspired me…and I think that’s why I have to see her before a fight…because she gives me the motivation I need.
“You have no idea,” I say, playfully nudging her nose with mine.
Her fingers snake around the back of my neck and lock together as she pulls my forehead harder against hers.
“You’re going to win,” she says. “You’re not going to win for me, or Darryl, or the MMAC. You’re going to win for yourself because you put in the hard yards to get here.”
There she goes again, always knowing the right things to say.
“And if I don’t want to win?” I ask, teasingly.
“Then you better lose with a smile on your face.”
I laugh under my breath. Fuck that. I’m not losing to anybody, my pride won’t let me.
***
The cold cement of the hallway floor makes my feet tingle as I march down the corridor. My hands clench into fists, unclench, and then clench again while I dance back and forth on the balls of my feet a few times. When I come to a stop behind double doors and after I read the MMAC’s slogan—‘Be strong. Be smart. Be great.’ I tilt my head to the ceiling with my eyes closed, and blow out a long, slow breath. In both ears, Darryl and Jackson are talking to me—giving me words of encouragement and helpful tips, but I don't hear them. My mind is elsewhere, focused on cages and crowds. In no time, the bass of Seth’s intro song starts thumping through the sound system and the door in front of me opens. I flex my muscles from shoulders to thighs and I prowl out of the empty, slanted hallway and into the crowd, doing my best to seem as confident as ever.
People grab at me and I ignore them, focusing only on the empty, looming cage. I run my tongue over my guard to feel it securely in place as adrenaline shakes my body and boils my blood, sending it at light speed through my veins. I love this. My nerves are electrified, like I’m sitting on the edge of a severe storm, praying not to get hit by the bolts of lightning that strike the ground next to me. As I approach the steps to the cage, a staff member of the MMAC checks my gloves and mouth guard while Darryl reaches around me and unzips my black hoodie. I shrug it off and bound up the stairs and into the cage. The roar of the crowd is so loud it’s deafening, and I’m absolutely floored by the amount of people who have come to see me and Junior fight. Never in a million years would I have thought people would flood an arena to see me fight. I run my bare fingers across the baked vinyl cage, doing a lap of the ring. When I run my hands over a certain part of the cage, I linger for a little while. I turn my head to the left and instantly pick Olivia out of the crowd. She’s right at the front, sitting beautifully with her legs crossed and fingers in her mouth as she nervously chews her nails. She’s focused on the floor as Selena talks in her ear, but when she looks up at me from underneath her thick, long lashes and sees me looking at her while I touch the spot I fucked her two weeks ago, her fingers fall from her mouth and there’s no doubt in my mind her cheeks are heating up. Flashbacks flood me—perfect pink nipples, sleek, wet pussy and swollen lips. I have half a mind to kick everyone out of the arena and drag her back up here.