One
Rocky
Itake a sip of my club soda as I watch the boxing match on the big screen.
While I’d love to have a beer, that's not what I'm here for. When I'm scheduled to fight in a match, I go through a grueling process of abstinence. I watch my diet. No processed or refined foods. Only healthy, whole foods. No alcohol. No fucking—not that there's been any fucking for me for years. I have two hands to sate my needs with, but I even abstain from self-gratification before a match.
My trainers insist that a strict diet with no drugs of any kind, including alcohol, and no sex helps build up the testosterone needed to really channel a good fight. I don't know how much I believe all that shit, but I do know I want to make sure my body is a well-honed machine when fight time comes around, so I follow their advice.
I'm not much for heavy drink anyway. I prefer to keep a clear head about myself, but a good beer is hard to beat every now and then. After this match, I'll have me one, I silently promise myself as I take another swig of the soda.
“Ooh, that's gotta hurt,” the guy to my right says, his eyes glued to the screen. I look back up at the TV as Riker delivers a right hook to his opponent.
I grunt in agreement. My brother sure knows his stuff when it comes to boxing.
I'm glad I was able to talk him into taking it up instead of watching him waste away up on the top of that mountain he lives on. He's only in his early thirties—like me—but he went into the military when we were younger—unlike me. He's never told me what happened over there. All I know is that he came back a different man. He won’t talk to me. He won’t talk to reporters. Hell, he won’t talk to anyone.
Before I turned him on to boxing, he used to just sit up in his house secluded away from everyone, brooding and doing fuck who knows what.
He’s got a lot of rage in him. Anyone can tell that by watching him box. You don't box the way he does without having something to work out. At least he has an outlet to channel his frustration into.
I like a good boxing match too, but my strengths lie in MMA. I like the variety. I like the combativeness of it, and while I don’t have the aggression and internal turmoil my brother does, I have a passion for the sport.
Riker KO’s his opponent a minute later, and pride fills my chest for my brother. The ref holds Riker’s hand up, declaring him the champion of the match. My brother accepts the applause, but he doesn’t look jubilant like most victors of a fight do. He’s just as stoic as usual, with the same grim, no-nonsense expression he’s worn since he came back from overseas.
I plop down some money on the bar and stand. Now that the match is over, I can go home and rest up for my own match.
I’m mentally calculating the time difference between my brother and me so that I can figure out when to give him a call to congratulate him on his latest win when I turn around and stop dead in my tracks.
My eyes light on a mass of fiery red hair that tumbles down a slender back. Those red locks almost touch the top of the woman’s ass, and I stare at them mesmerized. The locks are full and wild, curling out every which way. I've never been the kind of guy who gets off on hair, but this woman's hair is fucking beautiful. My fingers twitch at my sides. I have the sudden urge to spear my hands into that hair and see if it feels as soft and silky as it looks.
The curls bounce as the girl tips her head back and laughs before she hops off the barstool beside her grinning friend, a brunette who I hardly notice out of the corner of my eyes because my gaze is pinned on the pretty little redhead.
She can't be much more than five feet tall, and when she looks in my direction, my chest tightens like I've been punched in the gut when I look into the prettiest pair of green eyes I've ever seen. They're big and innocent-looking and framed by thick, dark lashes.
I know fucking is on my list of prohibited activities, but I'd break every rule in the book for a chance to get my dick wet by this pretty little redhead, but it's not even about that. I'm not just looking at her in lust, though I'd be lying if I said I'm not practically salivating at the thought of burying myself inside what I already know is going to be the tightest little pussy in the world.
No, it's more than that. I feel something I've never felt before surge inside me when I look at her. I don't just want to stick my dick inside her. I want to wrap her up in my arms and hold her close to me forever. I want to crawl inside her head and learn everything there is to know about her.
I blink when I realize I would be happy just to talk to her. I want to get to know her. There's something about her.
I know that if I ever did get inside her, there's no way I'd ever be able to let her go.
My head should be in the game. I should be mentally prepping myself for my fight tomorrow. A lot of big players have bet money on me. I know that. I don't want to let them down. I don't want to let myself down.
But right now, the only thing I can think about is the pretty little redhead across the bar and finding out what her name is.
I take another sip of my club soda before I plop it back down on the bar. I grimace. Fuck, I wish that was a beer.
I might can abstain from alcohol for the sake of the match, but there's no way I'm going to leave this bar without finding out who this tiny angel is.
* * *
Holly
Cara's eyes widen as they focus on something behind me.
My laugh dies off, and I turn, my own eyes widening when I see what she sees.