Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (60 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Fenton

I
imagined the punching bag was Mario Peretti. He was razor thin and fast. I
would clip him and then come back around to finish him off. He would never see
the combination coming. I concentrated on the new moves, but kept missing the
hard hits. Even a quarter of an inch off was too much for me. I ground my teeth
and tried again.

It was her taste on my
lips that threw off the punches. I had only meant to tease her, shut up her
nervous chatter. Instead, when I grabbed Kya and kissed her, it hit me harder
than a TKO. I had expected shocked and pliable, but she was stronger than she
looked. Kya kissed back.

The punching bag bumped
me, and I thumped my fists together. I needed to shake her off. Mario Peretti
was a whirlwind fighter. I needed a clear head. He jumped fast between
strategies, and I had to keep moving, watching what was coming. I never saw Kya
Allen coming. I had pursued her at the nightclub, thinking I had the upper
hand. Now, she deflected every attempt I made to focus. As I circled the black
punching bag, all I saw was her little black dress.

She had still struck me
as prim and proper when I saw her walk past the bouncer and into the nightclub.
Gone was the crisp work shirt and pencil skirt. It must have been in her walk,
the way she held her head so high. The Country Club Princess slumming it
amongst athletes most people still confused with cage fighters.

I was going to look my
fill and be done with her. Kya was slender, but curvy, with a sway to her hips
when she walked that I'm sure she never noticed. Many men did. There were
taller women, flashier dresses, longer legs, and more skin on display, but when
Kya Allen walked by, heads turned. I liked that. She had an unidentifiable
quality that made men take a second look.

Some people call it
class. Kev called it a challenge. Kya was the kind of woman that had enough
confidence she could make anyone work for her attention. She had mine and I
enjoyed every minute of it. Then, I saw that clean-cut, khaki-wearing guy buy
her a drink.

I had gone up to the bar
before I knew what to say. So, I let my reputation talk for me with some
terrible line about wanting her on my arm. I had been shocked when it worked,
when her arm slid through mine. That was it – only shock. Maybe attraction.
Maybe a bit of heartburn from too much steak at dinner. She did not notice and
I swept her through the nightclub, still seeing heads turn.

I could have been done
with her then. She admitted she wanted me to sign an endorsement deal. I should
have dropped her, like all the other money-grubbers that sniffed around my hard
work. Instead, she made me laugh and I asked her to dance. It was more of a
challenge and her green eyes lit up. Kya did not turn away from a challenge.

I gave up on the punching
bag. Kya dancing, her copper curls thrown back, was all I could see. She had
moved everything– her fingertips dancing up to the lights, down the swaying
hypnotic plunge of her hips, to her small feet in red snakeskin heels. And, the
feeling of her tight waist in my hands. I flexed my fingers inside my gloves.

How
did I let her get to me?

"You gotta shake her
off, whoever she is." My coach, Aldous Antoine, crossed his arms over his
barrel chest. "There's only one way to get a woman out of your
workout."

"I already ran this
morning," I said.

"I'm talking
circuits. Sit-ups, lunges, push-ups, high kicks. Thirty each. Then, run in
place for two minutes. Go," Aldous said.

I swore at him, but
dropped to the floor and counted the sit-ups out loud. Aldous watched his watch,
and I knew if my pace slackened, he would increase my running time. It was a
nasty workout, more punishment than training. Though, if anyone knew how to get
a fighter in the right mindset, it was Aldous.

The first circuit
finished, and I ran in place.

"Get your knees
higher. Don't make me add burpees," Aldous said.

I would have talked back,
but the circuits started to work. The heart-pumping, full body movements made
it hard to think about anything else. No snappy comebacks, no pretty women in
tight black dresses. I groaned out loud.

Aldous lifted one
eyebrow. "She in there good, huh? Well, then what you need is a sparring
partner."

My coach flagged down one
of his friends at the far end of the gym. The silver-haired man nodded and
brought over a young fighter.

"You part of the
touring school?" I asked.

"Yeah. I can
fight," the kid said.

"You can fight or
you hand out fliers at the fights?" I asked.

The young man scowled and
his ears burned red. By the time we got in the ring, he was ready to give me
all he had. He bounced around more than moved his feet. I rolled my eyes at
Aldous.

"This sparring or a
middle school dance, sweetheart?" I asked.

The kid lunged forward
with an off-balance right hook. I tapped him on the back with a sidekick as he
went by, and he stumbled hard.

"I'm not the one who
was sucking face at the nightclub last night," the kid said. "Though,
I guess I can't blame you, that girl looked tasty."

I sent one kick to his
sternum and when he stepped back, I kicked his other knee. He bent forward and
a quick chop broke his nose. "That's no way to talk about a lady. Next
time, watch your mouth or more than blood is gonna end up in it."

I grabbed a towel, mopped
my face, and the back of my neck. Aldous jumped in with the kid's coach. They
helped the kid up so they could assess the damage. I knew from experience that
Aldous would set the broken nose himself. I stepped out of the ring.

A nondescript man nodded
at me from the far corner of the gym. Medium height, medium brown hair, brown
eyes, but there was something direct in his stare, something disconcerting. I
stalked over and he flicked a business card into my hand.

"Matt Smith. We've
met before," he said.

"Sure. What are you
selling, Matt Smith? You some kind of reporter?" I asked.

"No, not a
reporter." Matt Smith's expression never changed. He seemed used to not
being recognized and just waited.

"Some agent wanting
me to sign off on, let me guess, granola bars? Vanilla yogurt?" I asked.

"No, Mr.
Morris," he said.

"Look, Mr. Smith, I
don't remember meeting you." I flung the towel over my shoulders and hung
on to the ends with both hands.

"Mr. Morris, I'm a
private investigator," he said. "You hired me to find your
sister."

I wiped the sweat out of
my eyes with a clean corner of the towel. "Oh, right. I didn't recognize
you. Thought you wore glasses." I looked at the business card he had
handed me and recognized the name of his company. "You gotta admit that
'Matt Smith' sounds like a fake name. Though, I suppose fake names are helpful
in a business like yours."

"Yes, fake names can
be helpful," the private investigator said.

"You really spent
ten years working missing persons in Arizona?" I looked the average man up
and down. "You don't look more than, what, thirty?"

"I'm older than I
look. After Arizona, I retired. Worked as a bail bondsman. Finding people is a
special knack I have. Now, I work on referral only. Kevin Casey gave you my
number and here we are," Matt Smith said.

"Do I even want to
know what my slime ball manager needed a private investigator for?" I
asked.

"Like I said, I
specialize in finding people." He shrugged and said no more.

"Yeah, well,
whatever you did, you impressed him. And, I'm assuming I can expect the same
level of nondisclosure?" I asked.

"As I told Mr. Casey
outside, I have no reason to discuss my work with people who are not
involved."

I hopped from one foot to
the other. My legs were cramping, and instead of talking, I should have been
stretching. I considered asking the private investigator to wait while I cooled
down. He probably would have shrugged his shoulders and waited with the same
unreadable calm expression on his face.

"I understand if
you've changed your mind," he said. "As long as my retainer is paid,
there is no reason you need to know information you no longer find
valuable."

"I've got your
valuable information right here," my young sparring partner yelled.
"You broke my nose and that is a fact. A fact I'm sure the police are
going to want to know."

"The police will be
interested in knowing a MMA fighter broke your nose while you willingly sparred
with him?" Matt Smith asked.

The young kid scowled
behind his wads of gauze. "Yeah, it's funny, but just wait until you say
something he doesn't want to hear."

Matt Smith stepped back
as the kid reenacted the entire fight. When it came to the kick to the sternum,
the kid got too into his acting and the wads of gauze blew out of his nose on
to the ground. I laughed as the kid swiped them up before stalking away.

"Sorry about
that," I said. "What were you saying about my sister?"

"Look, if you're not
ready to hear it, then just say so. You can always reach me at that
number," the private investigator said and turned to go.

"No, don't listen to
him. What, are you afraid I'm going to punch you?" I asked. "I keep my
fighting in the ring."

"Except for that
police officer," Matt Smith said.

"Of course, you
would know about that."

"Good business
practice to run background checks on my clients," he said. "Never
know what trouble a client can be after the contract is signed. Best to know
ahead of time."

"Speaking of
knowing," I said. "You were going to tell me about my sister."

"Ah, yes, Ms. Dana
Maria Morris. She is currently working in Las Vegas, though she does not have a
permanent address." Matt pulled out a small black notebook.

"Then, how do you
know she's here in Vegas?" I asked.

"I've, ah, been to
her place of work."

"But she's gotta be
sleeping somewhere. She got a man?" I asked.

"No, I'm sorry to
say, from what I've seen, she has been living out of her car," Matt said.

My fists crushed the
white towel. "And, what kind of work is she doing these days?"

"Dana Maria is also
known as Pixie Dust. She is an exotic dancer in the back of O’Malley's
Casino," he said. His eyes widened, as if expecting a blow from me at any
moment.

He was right. I did want
to punch him in the mouth, but I knew he was telling the truth about my older
sister.

“So, my sister is here in
Vegas," I said.

"Yes." Matt
handed me a slip of paper. "Here's the name of the place she works. First
shift is tonight sometime after eleven."

I turned in a full
circle. On the second pass, I saw that Kya was standing nearby.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kya

I
had to suffer an elevator ride with Kevin Casey in order to get into the
gymnasium. Down in the lower levels of the casino, hotel, and arena was the
place all the athletes trained before the big events.

"Not supposed to let
endorsement agents down here," Fenton's manager said, "but I'll make
an exception for you."

I slipped out before the
elevator doors were open all the way. "Thank you, Mr. Casey. I appreciate
it."

"Well, wait. Don't
you want to discuss how you can show your appreciation?" he asked.

I dodged between two
boxers whipping jump ropes at lightning fast speeds. Fenton's manager was stuck
on the other side, too wide to slip between them without getting tangled up.
The gymnasium was cavernous with two full-sized boxing rings, a three-lane
running track around the perimeter, plus every amenity of a regular gym.

In the second ring,
Fenton squared off against a young man. The young fighter appeared erratic and
clumsy. Fenton was lithe and lethal, his laser blue eyes fixed hard on his
sparring partner. I knew I was trespassing, as well as intruding, so I stuck to
the wall and found an out of the way vantage point. From a distance, I could
see the young man talking. He must have said something Fenton took offense to,
because with three hard moves, Fenton took down the novice and left him howling
in the middle of the ring.

It was definitely not a
good time to interrupt, so I kept to the shadows. Fenton toweled off and
climbed out of the ring. Then, he spotted a nondescript man on the opposite
side of the gym. I wondered how I had missed the man earlier – he stuck out
like me. I took a step towards them, worried that he was a rival agent.

The look on Fenton's face
stopped me. A grim cut to his jaw made my heart clench. Ridiculous, I knew, to
worry about Fenton getting bad news. I imagined explaining to my boss how I was
only worried because a client never accepts a new contract when they've
received bad news. Still, I knew it was more. The sad look on his face made me
want to comfort him.

I had just witnessed the
brutal way Fenton Morris could take down an opponent and yet, I was worried he
could not take the obviously bad news the nondescript man was delivering. My
feet moved before I could think about what I was doing. If I interrupted
something serious, Fenton might be fed up with me and throw me out. One wrong
move and my bonus, my promotion, and my secure mortgage would all disappear.

I marched across the gym,
veering to the side so Fenton would not see me coming. The brown-haired man
noticed me, but his expression betrayed nothing. The cool way he assessed
everything with his plain, brown eyes was disconcerting. It was as if he could
discern everything about me in one glance, while all I could figure out was
that he was of average height.

The nondescript man
stepped back as I approached, and Fenton looked up and around. He immediately
pressed his mouth shut and palmed the piece of paper. A memory flashed back
from the nightclub, and I remembered telling him my parents were dead and I had
no other family. Fenton had said he was equally on his own. Now, he was talking
to a strange man about his sister being in Las Vegas. He did not want me to
know, and from the way he glanced all around, it seemed he did not want anyone
to know.

Better
off alone
, I thought. Fenton Morris loved his lone wolf image.

"Please, don't let
me interrupt," I said. "I just thought I should let you know Mr.
Casey let me down here. I didn't want you to see me and think I was stalking
you."

Fenton's smirk
reappeared. "Bet you had to sweet talk ol' Kev."

"Luckily, the
elevators are fast around here," I said.

"I'm shocked he
didn't hit the stop button. Where do you think I learned that trick?"
Fenton asked.

I remembered he had
stopped the elevator on the way up to his penthouse. The hot tangle of our lips
and bodies came back to me in a warm rush. I shook my head to cool my thoughts.

"Where did your
friend go? I didn't mean to interrupt," I said.

Fenton looked as
surprised as me. The brown-haired man had faded away. "Not sure I would
call him a friend. Then again, he's not the one stalking me."

"I noticed you
haven't had security throw me out yet. Next, you'll be coming up with ways for
me to show my appreciation, just like your manager," I said.

"You wouldn't be
able to handle it," Fenton said. His eyes swept up and down my body.
"You bring any sensible shoes to Vegas?"

"Yes. I run every
morning. Why?" I asked.

"Well, you could
join me for the rest of my workout if you think you're up to it," he said.

I straightened up to my
full height, still seven inches shorter than Fenton. "You need another
sparring partner?"

He glanced over his
shoulder where the young fighter lay on a bench with an ice pack over his nose.
"No. There aren't any rings or referees where we're going."

#

The
Las
Vegas Overlook Trail was a silent expanse of blue sky and sun-baked earth.
After the neon and concrete of the Strip, I was shocked to find a large swath
of open terrain stretching out before us.

"This is part of
your training?" I asked.

"My coach isn't keen
on joining me, but it beats jumping rope in front of a mirror," Fenton
said. He started up a steep trail and I trotted after him.

"You struck me as
the big city sort, you know, never far from asphalt or skyscrapers," I
said.

"I prefer it out
here." He stopped for a moment and looked back at the Vegas Strip. The
melancholy look passed over his face again. "People get all tangled up in
big cities, it's not good for them."

I wondered if he was
talking about his sister, but refrained from letting on what I had overheard.
"That's why I love Chicago. There's the city, but then there's Lake
Michigan and all the parks. Nature is never very far away."

"Oh, so that's where
you're based," Fenton said. "You think you can handle this hike? They
have hills out in Chicago?"

I scowled and picked up
my pace. If I was going to convince Fenton to forget about my nightclub lapse
in judgment and still consider signing with my company, I needed to stick to my
script. "This is no problem. Like I said, I run every morning. I also take
very excellent vitamin supplements."

"Oh, here it
comes," he said. He chose the rougher of the two trails in front of us and
kept going. "Alright, Ms. Allen, give me your best pitch. Just remember,
I'm not one of your country club athletes happy to be inserted into a catalog
wearing a cardigan."

"That is exactly why
you should sign with me," I said. "It is my job to protect my
client's interests and broker the deal between the product and the athlete. I
built my career on making sure my clients are never put into campaigns they do
not approve of one hundred percent."

"And, you have a
successful career?" Fenton asked. He stopped on a crest, and I walked into
him.

I smoothed back my hair.
"Yes, I do."

"And, that's all you
want?"

I frowned at the question.
"Well, no, but my job allows me to earn the things I want."

He faced me on the narrow
trail. "You want to earn things, not have them given to you, right?"

"Yes." I
planted my hands on my hips.

"Then, you'll
understand how I want to win the title fight on my own. I am going to earn that
title without anyone paying for my gym time or giving me free shoes or putting
their names on my shorts," Fenton said.

"Just because you
sign off on an endorsement doesn't mean you aren't succeeding on your
own," I said. "You are the talent; you are the only one that can win
the title. The endorsements just make sure you earn money as you go. If you
think about it, they give you the freedom to go where you want and do what you
want. You wouldn't have to fight for money."

Fenton looked over the
top of my head, back towards the Vegas Strip. "That's not the way I want
to do things. Besides, I might be a kid off the street, but I know if I win the
title fight before I sign an endorsement deal, I'll get a bigger payday."

He turned and continued
up the trail at an even faster pace. I forced my breathing to stay steady and
deep as I tried to convince him. "That's exactly why you want to sign with
me now. After you win the title fight, all the brand name endorsements will be
after you. They are volatile and have leagues of lawyers to change the contract
around. If I get you set up nicely with the vitamin supplements, then you'll
have a steady base to negotiate from."

"Very sly, Ms.
Allen. I thought I heard your reputation was based on upfront dealings and
trust," he said.

"I am telling you
the truth. I will take better care of you than some big brand name agent,"
I told him.

"First, tell me what
you get out of the deal," Fenton said.

"I get to branch out
into a new sport. I know what people call me. Just because I rep golfers and
tennis players doesn't mean I can't handle your business, too."

Fenton paused on the
trail and smirked down at me. "I would love for you to handle my
business."

My cheeks flared red from
more than exertion. "I thought we agreed this was strictly
professional."

"Is it professional
to evade my question?" he asked. "Do they teach you that in agent
school?"

"Fine. If I sign
you, then I get a bonus. I also get an office and a chance to get off the
road," I said.

He did not ease up his
fast pace. "And, what will you use the bonus for? Tropical vacation?
Sports car?" he asked.

"The bonus will just
cover the closing costs on my first home," I said.

Fenton stopped to admire
the desert view. "A house? With a picket fence and everything?"

I frowned at the same
view and felt him watching me from the corner of his eye. "It’s the next
step. Buy a house, build equity."

"What kind of
instruction manual on life did you read that in?" he asked.

"It’s what people
do," I said. "I know it doesn't really fit your whole fight hard,
play hard vibe, but it is what makes sense for me."

"So, instead of
being out on the road, you'll be going to the same office every day. Then,
you'll go home to the same house every night. Where's the fun in that?"

"Who said life was
fun?" I turned around and faced the steep trail back down to the car.
"I have a plan, and I'm sticking to it. I don't see anything wrong with
that, no matter what you think. I'm going to work until I have security. A solid
bank account, a house, and way to take care of myself. Once I have that, then I
can figure out what else I want without risking everything."

Fenton followed me down
the trail, moved in front of me, and held out his hand. "I get it. Why do
you think I want to do everything on my own? I can't involve other people until
things feel stable. Gotta be on solid ground first."

I took his hand and we
both stumbled down the rocky path. We held on to each other for balance as we
walked back down to the car together.