“This is so humiliating.”
I can’t imagine what the proper protocol is for a girlfriend who bleeds virgin blood on her boyfriend’s sheets. One thing’s for sure, I need to get those off and get them in the wash before he sees.
Dressing quickly in one of Jonah’s T’s, I throw my wet hair up in a towel and put Operation Virginity Devastation into action.
I race around the bed and toss the comforter to the ground. Ripping pillowcases off one by one, I pile them on the floor along with the sheets. I’m frantically scooping up the soiled linens when I hear the bedroom door open. Frozen in place, I squeeze my eyes shut.
Darn it!
Head down, I sneak a peek, silently hoping I’d imagined it.
“Hey.” He studies the load in my arms, eyes lingering a bit on my legs.
Nope. I’m caught. I hop to standing, losing a few pillowcases on the way, and force my most innocent grin.
“What’s going on?” He tilts his chin to the sheets in my arms. “I have a maid for that.”
His sexy half grin almost makes me forget my all-consuming embarrassment. Almost.
My mind spins, trying to come up with a plausible reason why I’d be doing Jonah’s laundry. His gorgeous body, uncovered from the waist up, does nothing for my concentration. I run my hungry eyes over every muscular curve.
I blink in a flutter, clearing the optical orgasm. Concentrate, Raven. “I, uh, thought I’d help out. Um, do my share since I’ve been living here?” My excuse comes out a question.
Jonah reads me with narrowed eyes. He knows I’m lying.
My eyes dart around the room unable to focus on his penetrating gaze. On a sigh, I drop my shoulders along with the sheets, defeated.
I can’t lie to Jonah. “This morning, when I woke up, I, uh . . .”
He lifts his eyebrows for me to continue.
“When I sat up, I guess gravity or something took over and I . . . um . . .” I drop my face, concentrating on the floor in front of me. “Bled . . . on your nice sheets.” I confess and rub my forehead to avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry. I’ll wash them, and if it doesn’t come out, I’ll buy you new ones.”
I don’t hear him move, but his bare feet move into my line of sight. Standing less than a foot away, he pulls me into his arms. They flex around me and he places a kiss on my head. I relax and snuggle into his hold.
“Let me take care of the sheets. You go get some coffee, and I’ll throw these in the wash.”
He leans back, searching for my eyes. I direct my stare past his shoulder. He cups my cheek, holding my face prisoner, demanding my attention.
“I love you, baby, but I don’t love you thinking that I care about some stupid sheets. I hope it does stain so that every time I sleep on ’em I’ll be reminded of our first time, not that I’ll need the reminder. Last night is burned into my brain, permanently.”
He did not just say that. My cheeks heat and my nose wrinkles. “Eww. That’s gross.”
“What? That last night is burned in my brain?”
I break eye contact to focus on his neck. “No, that you’d want to sleep on sheets stained with my blood.”
His fingers bring my chin up as he bends down. “Not gross to me, baby.” His voice is close and rough. “It’s sexy.” His breath caresses my lips and smells like coffee. My tongue darts out to see if I can taste it. His eyes focus on my mouth and I watch his eyelids drop.
Oh boy.
“I need you to walk away now. Go get your coffee.”
I nod, but my body pushes closer to his.
“You’re probably sore from last night, and I want to give you time to heal. If you stay here, looking at me like that, smelling the way you do, inches from my bed, I won’t be able to let you.”
I shiver.
“That’s right, baby. Coffee. Now.” His demand is gentle, but still no less a demand.
I blink my eyes quickly. “I’ll go get my coffee.”
“That’s my girl. I’ll be there in a few.”
Moving past him, he lightly smacks my butt. Shaking my head, but smiling ear to ear, my mind processes his words.
Not gross to me, baby. It’s sexy.
He really must love me.
Nineteen
Jonah
Raven left for work a few minutes ago. And with her absence came my crushing reality.
My scalp is numb from fisting my hands in my hair. Sitting at my breakfast bar, I stare mindlessly at the black granite countertop, as I attempt to sort out the jumbled thoughts in my head.
Throwing a fight isn’t as easy as it sounds. I can’t just walk into the octagon and stick my chin out. I have to fight. Just not fight good enough to win.
How the f**k am I supposed to do that?
I’m undefeated because I go ape shit when I get hit. It’s impossible to reason with the primitive part of my brain. That, along with the roar of the crowd and shouts of encouragement from my team, is a violent combination, a winning combination. Fuckin’ hell, if that isn’t the problem.
I’m going to have to be completely retrained. I have one week to figure out how the f**k to lose a fight.
I grab my new cell phone that was delivered and punch in a few numbers.
“Blake, meet me at the training center in ten.”
Ending the call, I head out.
Blake is a red belt jiu-jitsu master. He earned the name Blake “The Snake” at seventeen when he constricted a guy in a cage fight and had him out cold in less than thirty seconds. If he can’t help me, I’m f**ked.
I pull up to the UFL training center right behind Blake.
“Hey, man. You ready to figure this shit out?” He heads my way through the lot.
“Yeah. I have a few ideas. Wanted to go over a couple techniques with you. That cool?”
Blake shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever helps. This shit’s f**ked. Still can’t believe you’re,” he looks around to make sure we’re alone in the parking lot, “really gonna do this.”
I lean against my truck. “You sure you’re up for this? I don’t want to drag you into my shit. Not gonna lie though, I could use your help.”
He rips his sunglasses from his face and leans in. “Don’t start this shit with me. You fuckin’ know I got your back. I’ll give you that one, but you say that kinda f**ked up crap again, I’ll kick your ass myself.”
I suppress a grin. “Then let’s do this.” I give him a chin lift and we walk to the center’s doors.
Once geared up, we hit the octagon. It’s quiet, just a few guys working at the heavy bags a dozen yards away.
“The key is to avoid this motherfucker’s jaw like a two-dollar hooker,” he says, then cringes. “Sorry, bad joke.”
I shake my head, thinking I may just have to slide one solid punch in during this training session.
“Right, I know that, fuckwad. What I want to know is how the hell do I keep from flippin’ the switch on his ass when he punches me?”
“Easy. Submissions. Take him to the ground and lock him down. Milk the clock until the ref breaks it up.”
That’s not a bad idea. If I can get him in a solid hold where he can’t get the ground and pound, I should be able to buy some time.
“That might work. Let’s work on some submissions that keep his fists away from my face.”
Blake nods.
Without time on our side, we get to it. Modifying a few key holds isn’t easy, but we manage to come up with a couple strategies. A few take-downs and pinning techniques will help, but I’m going to need more.
“I need to go at least three rounds, and I can’t just sit on the mat holdin’ him like a newborn baby. The fans are expecting some stand-up. If I keep my punches to body shots during the stand-up, that should help.”
Blake shakes his head. “Yeah, until he strikes back and hits you hard enough to bring out the beast, but not knock you out! I’m telling you I’ve seen you fight. You need to stay grounded as much as possible. Protect your head, and keep that fine piece of ass in the forefront of your mind. Then, pray for a miracle.”
And now, I remember why I’m friends with Blake.
After a couple hours of training, I hear a voice call my name. I peer through the octagon chain link to see Taylor Gibbs, the owner of the UFL. He’s in his usual dark suit, wearing his usual schooled expression.
“Taylor. What’s up?”
“Need a word with you in my office when you’re done.”
“Give me five.”
He nods and walks away.
I turn to Blake. “You know what this is about?”
Blake looks at the space Taylor recently vacated then back to me. “No clue.” He shrugs.
We make plans to continue training tomorrow, and I head to Taylor’s office.
He probably wants to talk to me about the fight, but I feel like a kid called to the principal’s office. There’s no way he could know about my deal with Dominick. Dominick isn’t stupid enough to go flapping his gums. Blake and Raven are the only other ones that know. Blake seemed just as caught off guard as I was, and Raven, well, there’s no way she’s talking.
His no-good assistant isn’t at her desk, so I walk in his office without knocking. It’s an a**hole thing to do, but I don’t have the patience for social politeness.
Taylor looks up from his computer screen. “Jonah, have a seat.”
I stay standing. “What’s this about?”
He lifts his eyebrows and nods to the chair in front of me. I sit.
“We just signed a deal for a joint campaign with the female MMA fighting league.”
“Okay. What does that have to do with me?”
“Not much, just a few cross promotions, photo shoots, magazine covers—stuff like that.”
I nod. It’s not uncommon that the UFL use me for promotional shit. I still don’t see why this warrants a visit to the boss’s office.
“I’m going to need you to be seen with their headlining fighter, Camille Fisher. Won’t be much, just the pre-fight formal dinner, and we’ll get her seats by your corner for the title fight. After that, a few sightings out at the clubs ought to do it.”
Pretending to date a girl I don’t even know so that the suits can pull off a campaign? Hell no.
“No. I’m not doing that.”
His eyes narrow and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “No? Why not.”
“I’m dating someone. I’ll be bringing her to the formal dinner, and she’ll have my seats at the fight.”
With a chuckle, he leans back into his chair, relaxed. “That it? Surely a few dates with another girl won’t bother her. Tell her it’s for work. Besides, have you seen Camille? She’s hot. I’m doing you a favor, my friend.”
What kind of man does he think I am? The kind that f**ks girls whose names he doesn’t know without a second thought. Not anymore.
“Look, Taylor, I want to help you out. I’ll do photo shoots, press junkets, whatever, but I’m not cheating on my girl even if it’s staged for publicity. Have Del Toro do it.”
“She doesn’t want Del Toro. She’s requested you personally.”