Taking Him Down

“Are you what they call a technical fighter?” She’d heard the term someplace, and it now accounted for a healthy percentage of her meager MMA vocabulary.

Rich shook his head. “Mercer’s a technical fighter. Means he can execute a kick or punch with, like, robotic precision. Me, I’m sloppier, but when I hit, no matter how busted it might be, I like it to land hard. Like, hard. Plus I’m not the strongest grappler. Best if I can mess a guy up while we’re still standing. I do what they call sprawl-and-brawl, avoid going down to the mat whenever possible.”

She crossed her legs, accidentally brushing Rich’s shin with her bare foot. Zing. She cleared her throat. “Sorry. So, how did you get into all this? Tell me you were in med school or something, then you had a nervous breakdown and went all Fight Club.”

He cocked a skeptical brow. “You wish I was a doctor?”

“No, I mean, it’d be cool if you had some upstanding life before you went rogue. It’s such a romantic cliché,” she said with a silly sigh. Oops, that’d be the champagne.

“Sorry, I was never upstanding. Grew up poor, immigrant parents, got in tons of fights in grade school. High school dropout. But I could lie, if it gets you all worked up.”

Lindsey grinned, hoping her blush didn’t show. “Nah.”

“You sure? What do you want me to be, in my previous life? Investment banker? Oil magnate?”

She laughed.

“Lawyer?”

“Definitely not,” she said a bit too passionately.

He bumped her shoulder with his. “Disgraced royalty?”

“That would explain your fight name.”

“Nah, that’s just because of my aforementioned pretty face,” he said, flashing her a smile worthy of an Armani campaign.

“It’s the nose. You have a very princely nose.” She nearly reached up to touch said nose, but perhaps mercifully, Jenna and Mercer wandered over. Lindsey edged herself farther from Rich’s hip. Assuring Jenna she was freshly single in front of him seemed lacking in both class and subtlety.

Jenna beckoned Rich to his feet for a hug. “I wondered where you were hiding. Congratulations. If I’d been able to bring myself to watch, I’d say you looked great.”

“I always look great.” Rich and Mercer gave each other the standard manly half-hug-slash-handshake.

“Great work, man,” Mercer said. “Just don’t forget where you came from, once you sign with an org.”

“I’m sure I won’t, not with the Wilinski’s branding you’ll want plastered all over my shorts.”

“We’re about ready to head out. Did you still want to catch a ride with us?” Jenna asked Lindsey just as someone came around refreshing the champagne.

“Oh…” She watched the foam rise in her glass. She didn’t want to leave yet. She wanted to stay and keep flirting with Rich, keep this lovely buzz stoked and put off getting bitched at by Brett for waking him up. But the subway would stop running shortly and cabs were expensive, especially if she was soon likely to be on her own, paying rent… . “I guess I should.”

“Where do you live?” Rich asked.

“Brigham Circle.”

“You can share my cab later.”

“You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. It’s on the promotion company’s dime.”

“Okay. Great.” Far better than great.

“Right,” Jenna said, giving Lindsey a look, one she translated to mean Don’t forget you have a man at home or some similarly fretful matchmaker admonishment. “I’ll see you Monday. Have a great weekend, both of you.”

Lindsey watched them disappear into the chaos, suddenly shy now that her evening was officially slated to end in the same vehicle as Prince Richard.

“Wait.” She turned to him as he sat. “Don’t you live in Lynn? Isn’t that, like, twenty miles from where I am? In the opposite direction?”

“Like I said—not my fare to pay.”

She smiled, tapping his glass with hers. “Any plans for your prize money?”

“Help my mom out with some bills, get my car fixed. Nothing flashy.”

“Saving those flashy plans for when you’re one of the main event guys?” She shook her head, boggled by the top-level payouts. “Fifty grand for a night’s work.”

“I know. Still, nothing compared to Tyson back in the day, or the big Vegas boxing matches. Seven figures for a single fight.”

She looked him in the eye, feeling a flash of intimacy and praying it didn’t show on her face. “Think you’ll ever be that big? A million dollars big?”

“Nah. Even for the biggest events in UFC, the main event guys don’t take home more than two or three hundred grand. And those are the top Ultimate Fighting Championship guys. Celebrity types. Names you might actually recognize outside the sport. People are only just realizing it’s not a fad or some pro-wrestling-type sideshow.”

Lindsey tried to imagine any woman seeing a commercial featuring a half-naked Rich and not finding herself turned on. To the sport. Turned on to the sport. “I should buy shares.”

“I’ll buy shares in Spark, then. Mercer says your stable of singletons is growing nicely.”

“I’m meeting with my first client on Thursday.” Sort of. She’d be shadowing and assisting Jenna to start, completing a couple courses this fall before being officially cleared to oversee her own clients. “And you’ll be on the road soon—no longer a threat to the female population of Spark.”

“Their loss.” His gaze shifted to some distraction in the middle distance.

“Are you looking forward to whatever’s next? Jetting off to exotic foreign locales?”

His eyes met hers once more. Goodness, they were dark. And deep. Boring through her skull and dismantling her good sense.

“No jets for me,” Rich said. “More like motor lodges off the freeway or somebody’s spare room near whatever facility my future manager sends me to train at.”

“But you are leaving Wilinski’s, right?”

Word came down the corridor that people were relocating to a club. Rich nodded his comprehension but turned back to Lindsey.

“I’ll get sent away to some camp for a while, so I’ll have a chance to try on the competition.” he looked thoughtful a moment.

“What?”

Rich’s voice went quiet, nearly soft, and he dropped his gaze to the glass in Lindsey’s hand. “It feels shitty, saying that. Like I’ve outgrown the gym.”

“Maybe you have.”