Take Down, page 3
Jules took another long sip from her drink. “Yep. Fun times.”
Megan laid a hand on Jules’ arm. Jules had moved to Vegas to start working for the WFC, partly in hopes of repairing her dysfunctional relationship with her father. Things weren’t perfect, but they were much better than they’d been. Jules spent a lot of time and energy playing peacekeeper between her hot-tempered dad and anyone who had the misfortune to piss him off. It wasn’t easy, but somehow she managed it with grace.
“If anyone can handle it, it’s you. I’m sorry you had a tough day. But you’re here now, so let’s stuff our faces. Then you can go home to Nick and let him distract you even more.” Megan winked at her, taking a sip of her drink.
At the mention of her boyfriend, Jules’ face lit up, and something clenched in Megan’s chest. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her friend. If anyone deserved love and happiness, it was Jules. The fact that she’d found it with Nick, who was sweet and fun and practically worshipped the ground she walked on, made it even better. Megan was thrilled for her. Elated. But also jealous, because she couldn’t deny that she wanted that kind of love for herself. The kind that was big and bright and powerful. The kind that rearranged your entire universe, and you didn’t know how you’d lived without it before.
And she was trying—doing the online dating thing, making sure all of her friends knew she was open to meeting someone, putting herself out there all in the name of love, but God, it was hard sometimes. Even though she was only twenty-seven, the pool of eligible men her age was quickly drying up. All the good ones seemed to already be taken. She didn’t mind dating someone a bit older, but she’d found that those men often came with baggage—ex-wives, kids. Not a deal breaker, but far from ideal, especially if they weren’t handling it well. For the right person, the baggage would be worth it, but none of those guys had been right. And the men she did date either weren’t looking for something serious, or had some major issue that clearly explained why they were still single. But she believed the man for her was out there somewhere. And if she gave up—a tempting prospect sometimes—she’d never find him. So there was no giving up. She wasn’t a quitter.
“Nick looked really good at the demo today, didn’t he?” Jules asked, a slightly dreamy expression on her face.
Megan smiled, pushing away her sadness. “He did. I can’t believe he’s going to be in a shampoo commercial.”
Nick’s mane of dark shoulder-length waves was legendary among the female WFC fans, and he’d just landed a major endorsement with Dove men’s shampoo.
“Ha, he told you about that?” Jules asked, digging into the chips and guacamole the waiter had just set down. The pride and love in her eyes were obvious, and Megan couldn’t help but smile. She was so proud of Jules and the way she’d overcome her past to fight for Nick.
“He did. He’s pretty excited about it.” Megan snagged a chip for herself. “I’m officially calling it, by the way,” she said, pointing her guac-laden chip at Jules.
“Calling what?”
“You’re gonna have a ring on your finger within the next couple of months. Before spring, for sure.”
Jules’ cheeks went pink and she choked on her chip. She took a sip of her drink before speaking. “You really think?”
“That boy’s crazy about you. Wouldn’t surprise me if he proposes over the holidays.” Christmas was only a couple of weeks away, and she knew Jules was headed to Chicago to spend it with Nick’s family.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she said, shaking her head slowly, her gaze distant and unfocused.
“So you haven’t thought about how nice Jules Giannakis sounds?”
Jules sucked in a breath. “I have, but . . .” She looked down, but before she could continue the waiter came by to take their order.
“Enough about me,” said Jules once they’d ordered enough food to feed a small army. She turned her knowing gaze on Megan. “Go ahead. Ask me.”
Megan laughed, not even trying to hide her interest. “Tell me everything you know about Gabe.”
“Ha, I knew it! When he came over to talk to you, I could practically see the electricity between you guys.”
Megan’s stomach did an excited little flip. “Really?” she asked, not because she didn’t believe it—she’d been there, she’d felt it—but because she really liked this topic of conversation.
“Oh yeah. Definite sparks. I felt like I was intruding just by standing there,” Jules said.
Her stomach flipped again. He was attracted to her. She’d suspected, and Jules had basically just confirmed it.
“So what’s his deal? When I interviewed him, he wasn’t really . . . He kept avoiding a lot of questions, especially about what made him start fighting professionally. Throwing up roadblocks, you know? And then he just left.”
“Yeah, sounds like Gabe. He’s not big with the talking. Or the smiling.”
“I noticed.” But she’d been drawn to his intensity. The quiet, confident control he’d exuded. Something about the way he looked at her made everything else disappear.
“Beyond what’s in his official bio, I don’t know much about his past. He’s from California, used to teach karate, fought in Imperial in Chicago—which is where he and Nick became friends.”
Megan nodded. “Yeah, I got all that from the interview. But I want to know more. He totally clammed up when I pressed him on what made him start fighting full-time. There’s something there, and I want to know what it is.” She paused, tracing her finger along the lip of her margarita glass. “I’ll need to figure out a new approach.”
“And this goes beyond professional curiosity,” said Jules.
“There’s just something about him . . .” She trailed off and shook her head. “I’m not even sure how to explain it.” She had the odd feeling that Gabe Maddox could somehow give her something she was missing, but that didn’t even make sense given how little she knew about him.
The waiter returned with their food, setting plates of tacos, bowls of noodles, ceviche, steamed buns, and wontons on the table.
“Sometimes things aren’t always easy to explain. Believe me, I totally get it,” said Jules around a mouthful of sesame noodles. “When I first met Nick, I saw him and I needed to know him. I can’t explain that. It’s like some part of my brain knew he was my person.”
Megan nodded as she chewed. “Is Gabe single? Does he date?” she asked, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t interested.
Jules shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I don’t really hear about him dating, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend. I’ll ask Nick; he might know more.”
Megan stifled the wave of disappointment she felt at the idea that maybe Gabe didn’t date. She couldn’t help but wonder if his lack of a love life was somehow connected to all the things he didn’t want to talk about. “Thanks. I . . . God, he’s so hot,” she said, and felt a blush rising on her cheeks.
Jules laughed. “He is. And he seemed into you.”
Butterflies exploded in Megan’s stomach. “Well, I’m definitely into him.”
“I know. I saw the way you two were practically eye-fucking each other at the demo.”
Megan’s heart stuttered to a stop before restarting at double time. God, what would Gabe be like in bed? All that quiet intensity entirely focused on her, on pleasure, on connection? Want pulsed between her thighs, followed by the tiniest twinge of pain.
Ever since the surgery for cervical cancer, she’d found that arousal kind of . . . well, it kind of hurt. Just the initial stages. If she really relaxed she could get past it, but it took a lot, and relaxing in bed wasn’t exactly her strong suit.
What if she slept with Gabe and he found her lacking, just like Logan had? The thought was sobering, but not enough to dull the arousal still throbbing through her veins at the thought of Gabe inside her.
“Hey, I forgot to ask you,” said Jules. “How did your appointment go?”
Megan forced herself to swallow her bite of pulled pork taco. “Dr. Lincoln’s office called the other day. They found some abnormal cells during my last pap, so I have to go back for more tests.”
Jules set her fork down slowly, her face drawn in concern. “What kind of tests?”
“A colposcopy and a biopsy.”
“Oh, honey. Do you want me to come with you?”
Megan shook her head. “No, it’s okay. It’s really not a big deal. It’s probably nothing. They’re just doing the tests out of an overabundance of caution, according to Dr. Lincoln.” She took a big swallow of her margarita, trying to drown out the fear and worry that she might not be done fighting. That despite everything she’d already been through, she might have more in front of her. She knew it was probably premature to start worrying, but she also knew that this was exactly how it had started last time.
She smiled, wanting to reassure Jules. “Really, it’s not a big deal. Just a precaution. I’ll be fine. I feel fine.” Sort of, if she didn’t count the lingering emotional scars from the treatment.
Worry filled Jules’ blue eyes. “Okay. But the offer stands if you decide you don’t want to go alone.”
She squeezed Jules’ hand. “Thanks, I really appreciate that.”
After they’d finished dinner and parted ways, Megan drove the twenty minutes from the Strip to her apartment, which was in a quiet neighborhood on the southern edge of town. Every few minutes, she glanced down at her car’s temperature gauge, keeping an eye on it. She’d had it in the shop a week ago because it had kept overheating, but so far the repair seemed to have worked. Her car was old and had over one hundred thousand miles on it, but she wasn’t ready to junk it yet. While she loved being a freelance journalist, it wasn’t the best-paying job in the world, and a new car just wasn’t in the cards right now.
She stepped into her cozy apartment, dropping her keys in the little bowl on the table by the front door, letting the comforting quiet of home envelop her. Kicking off her shoes, she padded into the bedroom, changed into pajama pants and a soft T-shirt, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. She retrieved her laptop from the small corner desk in the living room and settled on the couch.
She opened a new Word document, but then immediately minimized it and opened up her web browser, typing “Gabriel Maddox” into the search bar. She’d Googled him before, but she felt compelled to search him again, telling herself that maybe there was some new information to be found. Really, she just wanted to see him. Several pictures of Gabe came up, all official WFC shots, as well as links to his Wikipedia page, and several recent articles from MMA blogs. None of them gave her any new information.
As she clicked through the pictures, her heart fluttered in her chest. She paused on a recent picture of Gabe in the octagon, shirtless and sweaty, a look of focused intensity on his face as he stared his opponent down. Her eyes traced the muscles of his chest, his abs, his arms. God, even his hands looked strong. He was powerful and gorgeously masculine. She clicked to another picture, his hands on his hips, emphasizing the cut lines there, his blond hair tied into a knot at the crown of his head, a few loose strands hanging down. Blue eyes bored out from under a determined brow.
She couldn’t get him out of her head. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since that first interview. He’d stepped into the room, said sorry in that deep voice, and wrapped her around his finger without even trying. Closing her eyes, she let herself imagine what it would feel like to be pinned down by all that muscle. His hands in her hair, his mouth on hers, rough and demanding as he took and she gave. Warmth pooled in her belly, and then there it was. That twinge of pain. She opened her eyes and huffed out a breath, feeling aroused and unsatisfied, yet not wanting to continue the fantasy.
She knew she needed to find a way to cope with her lingering body issues. She’d tried therapy. She’d tried self-help books. She’d tried everything. Nothing worked. Because deep down inside, she still felt as though her body had betrayed her. She felt alienated from it because of all the things that were different now. The pain that came with arousal. The knowledge that if she wanted kids, it wouldn’t happen the old-fashioned way. She wanted her old body, the one that hadn’t been defective, that she’d known and loved. A part of her stubbornly refused to love herself the way she had before. She felt damaged now, as though she were less of a woman, and a part of her believed she was undeserving of love and pleasure, which made orgasming with someone else pretty much impossible. These days, it was her vibrator or nothing. It did the trick, but it wasn’t satisfying the way sex was. Not even close. But she just couldn’t seem to get out of her head enough to let go. Not anymore.
She knew it was fucked up, but she didn’t know how to move past it either. Everything—sex, love, the fallout from the cancer—was twisted into a snarled knot, and she had no clue how to unravel it. All she knew was that she wanted to.
Closing the web browser, she returned to her work, needing to focus on something else besides herself. She pulled up her file of notes, reading through her transcribed interview with Gabe. Her first article was due in a few days, and would hopefully appear online shortly after that, as long as her editor was happy with it.
She took a sip of her water and started typing, losing herself in the work.
In the time it takes the average person to brush his or her teeth, Gabriel “The Sandman” Maddox can almost literally crucify his opponent. On paper, the current light heavyweight champion’s story seems relatively straightforward. An angry child, drawn to the discipline of karate. A young man, passing the joy of sport on to the next generation. A driven champion, determined to stay at the top of his game.
But in person, it’s obvious that there’s more to Maddox’s story.
4
ROCK MUSIC BLARED from the MGM Grand Garden Arena’s speakers as lights flashed in a strobing pattern, spelling out the letters W-F-C across the ceiling. An excited buzz mingled with the music as fans eagerly anticipated the first fight of the night. Megan looked around, taking it all in as she jotted down a few notes about the atmosphere and vibe. Palpable electricity hummed through the air, and she couldn’t help but feed off of the crowd’s energy.
The first time she’d come to a fight with Jules earlier that spring, there’d been a sense of exhilaration that had interested her in the sport. It was so much more than shirtless, sweaty dudes punching and kicking each other. It was discipline and skill and athleticism. It was heart and determination and guts.
Granted, she’d never complain about the shirtless dudes.
“Megan, I’ve only got a couple of minutes, so fire away,” Craig Darcy said as he dropped into the empty seat beside her. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as Jules, and though he was in his late forties, the former boxer still maintained his athlete’s body.
She shot him a smile as she started her digital recorder, hoping the music wouldn’t interfere too much. “Thanks, Mr. Darcy. Over the past couple of years, the WFC has really started to take off. What’s the secret to your success?”
He shrugged. “No secret, really. I’ve been involved in this sport for nearly as long as you’ve been alive. Like any kind of success, it comes down to luck and hard work, mostly. I haven’t changed my approach even though we’re getting bigger. Simply put, I love what I do, and I work at it every day.”
She nodded, noting the way he gazed out over the arena like a king surveying his kingdom. He didn’t come out and say it, but she could tell he was proud of everything he’d accomplished. “What are your thoughts on Leandro Oliveira?”
He sighed heavily before answering. “Did you know that I fought to get him here? I threw money at him, dangled primo fights in front of him, practically threw myself on my knees and su—” He cut himself off and shot Megan a sheepish glance. “You, uh, you get the picture. And now that he’s here, a part of me wonders what the hell I was thinking. He does what he wants, when he wants it, if he feels like it. But he’s a damn good fighter. My money’s on him tonight. I’d be lying if I didn’t think him against Maddox would be a hell of an interesting fight. In short, my thoughts are . . . I guess conflicted is the right word here.”
Megan nodded again, trying to ignore the way her stomach dipped at the mention of Gabe. “There are rumors that some of the fighters aren’t happy about the Mereo deal, Oliveira included. Any comment on that?”
He rubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s a great opportunity for the fighters. Don’t know what you’ve heard, but they can keep their sponsors and make money from Mereo on top of it. I don’t know what more they could want. With Mereo, all they do is show up and we hand them a check. This deal gives them more time to focus on training, without limiting their income potential. You have to consider who’s complaining. Some of these guys could be making a million bucks a fight, and it still wouldn’t be enough.” He shook his head. “You know, you look at other professional sports, like baseball, football, hockey, whatever, all those guys can get outside endorsement deals. But they still gotta wear the team uniform on the field. It is what it is, and it’s a done deal.” He glanced down at his watch. “I gotta go. Call my assistant if you need more. Nice seeing you, kiddo.” Without so much as a handshake, he stood and left, striding off purposefully through the crowd.
Given the length of his answer and the defensive hunch of his shoulders, she had a feeling she’d touched a nerve with the Mereo question. She turned off her recorder and made a few notes about Darcy’s body language. She hadn’t planned to explore that angle in her article, but after dinner with Jules the other night, and now this, she wondered if it was worth looking into.
Glancing around the arena, she noticed all the different ads. Geico, Dragon Energy Drinks, Dick’s Sporting Goods. Did the fighters get any of the revenue from those ads? She made a note to dig a little more into that, because she wasn’t sure she bought Darcy’s story that the fighters were getting an entirely fair cut.
