Instead of giving in to Ronan’s ribbing and losing what’s left of his concentration, Duncan danced around Ronan and gave him a high kick to his side. A muffled swear was his only reward and Duncan said, “I don’t know, was it?”
He could do cocky too. Duncan hated that he couldn’t fight professionally anymore because of a shoulder injury. Fighting was his life. He was good at it—no, not just good, he was the best. He started Duncan’s Dojo with his prize money, and here he was helping the next generation Mills fighter, and Ronan was handing him his ass.
Just in time, Duncan dodged Ronan when he stormed at him, trying to finish their fight on the ground. Because his brother got a few pounds on him and therefore the upper hand in a ground fight, Duncan avoided Ronan’s swinging arm as he kept coming at him.
“Stop charging as a bull on steroids, bro. You’re wasting energy.”
“Don’t be such a wuss and stop running from me,” Ronan said while stepping into Duncan’s reach. Duncan immediately seized the opportunity by giving Ronan a fresh uppercut, but paused his advance when Ronan staggered a few feet backwards.
“We’re done for tonight,” Duncan said after spitting out his azure custom made mouth guard. He put his sparring glove to his mouth to tear the lace loose between his teeth.
“I ain’t done,” Ronan said as he narrowed his eyes.
“Yeah, you are. That’s what I’m trying to teach you, bro. You’ve got to keep your focus and stop playing. When you step into—”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear ye,” Ronan said in his Irish brogue, meaning it agitated him enough to let the Irish ’ye’s’ fall from his busted lips. Duncan sighed as he still couldn’t get through to him. Annoyed, Duncan threw his second glove over the rope and into his gym bag.
Duncan had to adjust to his new role as coach for the next MMA fighter in the Mills family. Ronan had the necessary physique, since he was even a few inches taller than Duncan’s six foot four frame.
And Duncan hated to say, but even after fully recovered from his injury, his brother Ronan still got the stronger arms out of the two. But he’d never tell his cocky arse that. Hell no. The one thing standing in his brother’s way of becoming the next Mills champion fighter was his arrogance.
“Let’s go to Lucky, bro. I need to find someone to cuddle me arse after that damn uppercut ye threw at me,” Ronan said as he trailed after Duncan to the locker rooms. Duncan placed his gym bag on the wooden bench and picked up his towel and shampoo bottle.
“Yeah, I’m down for that,” Duncan said. It was already eleven o'clock and after a long day giving classes and sparring with several MMA fighters, he could use some downtime at their family’s Irish pub, The Lucky Irishman.
He stepped under the scalding hot spray and closed his eyes, letting the water wash away the remnants of sparring with Ronan. He let his mind go back to the beginning of this year, when Duncan opened his own dojo in an old empty warehouse in the neighborhood of St. Johns in Austin.
His four brothers and his dad had helped him in making the building ready for its new purpose. The demolition and renovation were over in a heartbeat, because all the Mills brothers were built like Duncan—six-foot-four brick walls of muscle.
The dojo was busy with fighters who trained on the fighting mats and in the two boxing rings, and people working out in the fitness area. The yoga and defense classes made for a mixed clientele and gave less of a man cave feel to his dojo. His gym turned out to be a place where all sorts of people could grow and work on themselves. He loved helping people to reach their goals, and he finally started to fit into his new role as a coach to Ronan.
His brother’s words brought him back at tonight. Hmm, he could use some cuddling too. It hadn’t been that long ago, maybe two days since his last hook-up. But Duncan never went long without a female touch.
Thinking about picking up some random hot piece at their family’s Irish pub tonight, brought him to quicken up his pace. He lacked no attention as an MMA fighting champion. Even now as a dojo owner and coach, he still got around.
“You seeing that redhead tonight?” Ronan said as he toweled dried himself on the other side of the locker room.
Ah, he must mean the fiery chick from two nights ago. “No man, you know how it is,” Duncan said. “It was fun, but nothing more.” He shrugged and stepped into his dark blue jeans. He pulled on a fresh shirt out of his gym bag and slipped on his sneakers. After spraying a not too heavy amount of cologne in his neck, he was ready. Let’s see who the flavor of the night would be.
Chapter 2–Kayla
Looking down at the freshly mopped tiles in the grand hall, Kayla shuffled carefully toward the back of the hall where she earlier spotted the elevators. Bumping headfirst into a broad, muscular back cut her cautious shambling short. “Hmpf.”
The irritated sound of her victim wasn’t lost on Kayla. Taking a quick step back, she apologized. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
At first her eyes drew to a pair of black boots and traveled up a pair of dark blue jeans. When her gaze reached a black T-shirt, she wondered why this man wasn’t wearing a coat, as it was only March. She smiled at this observation, as the temperature here in Texas was most definitely different from what she was accustomed to in New Jersey.
“Well now, you’re sure getting a real good look.”
Oh my God. Was this man for real? He made it sound as if she was ogling him. This guy had some nerve to point that out, even when her eyes still lingered on his broad chest.
She looked up to a chiseled jaw and over to a crooked nose that seemed to have been broken once or twice. His eyes were the lightest green orbs she’d ever seen.
He was easily six foot four with bulky muscles peeping from under the tight sleeves of his black T-shirt. His dark hair was shaved close to his scalp, and if it wouldn’t be weird to do to a stranger, she would definitely graze over it with her palm just to feel the smooth, short hairs tickle her palm.
She’d detected the slightest hint of an accent—Irish, maybe? She wasn’t sure, but it gave his voice a certain sexiness.
Feeling his gaze upon her, she involuntarily shifted on her favorite black pumps. The twinkling light green eyes looking down at Kayla announced that the lack of enthusiasm she was giving didn’t discourage him. No, he studied her as if he was considering her a challenge, his newest conquest even.