Chapter Twelve
95 days left
“Come on, Xander!” Sophie yelled through her cupped hands. “Take him down!”
She highly doubted he could hear her hoarse screams over the deafening crowd in the arena, but she couldn’t help it. She’d had no idea how intense it would be to watch cage fights live and in the front row. Add to that watching as her pseudo-husband-roommate-lover-fighter-guy exchanged blows and kicks and all manner of other violent things with a man called “Brutus the Beast,” and Sophie was ready to pass out.
Kristin bumped Sophie’s shoulder with her own and leaned in to yell into her ear. “When did you become so bloodthirsty? I’m lovin’ this side of you.”
Sophie glanced at her friend on the right with Billy sitting on the other side of his wife. “I’d like to see you sit by quietly if Billy was the one locked in that cage with the fighting equivalent of Rambo.”
“Oh, hell no, honey,” Kristin said. “I’d be over where Reid and Jax are, screaming my damn head off.”
Billy leaned in to the conversation. “No doubt telling me everything I was doing wrong,” he quipped with a wink at his wife.
Kristin threaded her right arm through Billy’s left. “Someone has to be honest with you, sugar pie. Every other woman takes one look at those dimples drilled into your cheeks and they become smiling bobblehead dolls.”
Sophie tuned out her friends’ usual playful banter. They weren’t as consumed by the fight as she was, which was understandable. To them it was just a sporting event where they happened to know one of the athletes. Even Sophie had been enjoying the fights before this, cheering for different fighters and joining in with the rest of the crowd with the “oohs” and “ohs” that came from witnessing particularly hard or impressive hits.
But that was before Xander stepped into the eight-sided cage and put himself at risk.
Though Kristin would always be her BFF, Sophie currently felt a closer kinship to the women sitting to her left. Lucie Andrews and Vanessa Maris were accustomed to their men—Reid and Jackson, who were coaching Xander from their place outside the octagon—fighting in the cage and the extreme toll it took on them to watch.
Every cell in Sophie’s body felt tied in a knot with something pulling on each end. Her butt barely perched on the seat and her hands were clasped together so tightly her fingers were starting to tingle from blood loss. When the horn sounded the end of the round, the ref jumped in to separate the two fighters grappling for control on the mat and pointed them to their corners.
Xander walked in their direction with his gloved hands on his hips, his body shining with sweat, his chest heaving with labored breaths. Sophie scanned him for any major injuries, but the only obvious injury was his right eye. It had a cut—and by cut, she meant an inch-long, bleeding gash—below it and it was swelling to the point of covering part of his eye.
“Oh my God, look at his face! When did that happen? I didn’t see…” Her sentence trailed off when a highlight flashed on the enormous jumbotron. It showed Brutus on top with Xander’s legs wrapped around the man’s waist, and then the jerkoff running the clip hit the slow-motion button to show Brutus plowing his elbow toward Xander’s face. Though she knew it to be a replay, her breath still caught in her throat and her hands flew to cover her mouth and nose. At the last second, Xan turned his face to the left, so the elbow glanced off his cheekbone instead of letting it break his nose. “Never mind,” she squeaked out.
Lucie put her arm around Sophie for a quick side hug then rubbed her back vigorously as though trying to bring Sophie’s body back to the living. “Don’t worry, Sophie, that isn’t nearly as bad as it looks.”
Sophie’s jaw dropped, and she turned to stare at the calm brunette next to her. It was a damn good thing the crowd was still roaring because she didn’t think she’d be able to control her volume due to the hysteria she was trying desperately to keep in check. “Are you kidding? How is that not bad? It looks like someone cut him with a broadsword for Christ’s sake. He’ll be lucky if he can even see out of his right eye this round.”
“He’ll be fine,” Vanessa added, reaching across Lucie to pat Sophie’s knee. “Reid says Xander’s one of the toughest bastards he’s ever worked with, and that big guy is totally gassing.”
“What’s that mean?” Sophie cut a look over to Xander’s opponent.
Lucie switched from rubbing Sophie’s back to holding her left hand between hers and giving a reassuring squeeze. “It means he’s running out of gas. His cardio isn’t up to par with Xander’s so the more energy he exerts, the weaker he gets. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that’s the game plan Reid is giving Xander. Brutus is known for his KO’s and ground-and-pounds, so Xander’s best chance is to wear him out until he makes a mistake Xander can use to his advantage.”
“Like catching him in a submission,” Sophie said, finally understanding, but no one heard her.
“Look on the bright side, sugar,” Kristin said. “If Xander gets beaten to a pulp, you can always get Mr. Dark and Broody’s number.”
“Whose number?”
“The guy over there in the next section who would rather watch you than the fight. He must like you; he came in to the shop that one Sunday to get coffee, remember? I had to practically shove him out the door.”
Sophie followed her friend’s line of sight until she found the man in question. When their eyes met, his gaze darted down at his phone as though he hadn’t just been staring at her.
Memories of where she’d seen him before flashed in her mind. First at the Sweet Spot as a customer. He’d stood out because “dark and skulking” wasn’t their typical customer type, and she would’ve remembered if he’d been in before that. She’d seen him again on the day she and Xander went to Golden Ages. He’d been the man filling out paperwork who’d watched them cross the lobby.
Two places might be a coincidence, but three? That was a fricking miracle.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as the realization of what was going on slammed into her. There was only one logical explanation: she was being followed.
And she had a good idea why.
Indignation flared in her chest, heating from the inside. Goddamn him. How dare he?
She shoved to her feet with fire in her veins.
“Soph, what are you doing? The second round’s about to start.” Kristin gripped her wrist and gave a little tug. “You should at least wait to see what happens with the current husband before hitting up the next one, don’t ya think?”
“I’ll be right back,” she said through clenched teeth, then made her way to where her uncle’s lackey was sitting.
“Hey!” She had to yell to be heard over the crescendo of the crowd as Xander and Brutus stood and walked to the center of the octagon. To his credit, the man didn’t try any ridiculous Who, me? act. Instead he just arched a single brow and waited.
She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Either you stop following me or the next little talk will be with my husband.”
The guy swallowed thickly as he glanced behind her to where she knew her hulk of a man was getting ready for round two of pummel-and-get-pummeled by a man just as hulkish.
“And tell my uncle that he’s not getting my bakery or any other business on that block. Not now, or ever, so fuck off.”
She didn’t wait for a reaction, just pivoted on her spiked heel and stalked off while trying to unclench her fists and taking a deep breath. As she sank into her seat, the ref gave the fighters the go-ahead with a clap. Like a switch, the crowd’s noise level jumped up a hundred decibels.
She glanced back over to where the man had been sitting. He was gone. Good. She almost wished she could see the look on her uncle’s face when he got her message. The situation handled, she turned her attention back to the fight and hoped like hell Xander didn’t get killed.
The next forty-two seconds felt closer to forty-two minutes as Xander made his opponent work to hold him against the cage and on the ground. Sophie had turned to Lucie and Vanessa twice, expressing her worry that Xander was losing the fight. Each time they assured her he was letting the big oaf overpower him. When Sophie gave them a look that said you’re full of shit, Vanessa answered, “It takes more energy to pin and hold a guy who’s fighting back than it does to be the guy fighting back from the bottom. Trust me, Xander’s more in control of this fight than it looks.”
That settled Sophie’s nerves a little, until Lucie added, “Although, by doing it this way, he’s losing in points, and they’ve each won a round so far. If Xander doesn’t get a finish before the end of the round, he’ll lose the entire fight.”
From the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Vanessa nudge Lucie in the ribs. If she knew Lucie better, Sophie would have nailed her in the other side, because now Sophie was so stressed she thought her muscles would seize up on her any second.
Lose? No. No, no, no. He can’t lose. God, she’d been so stupid, worrying about his possible injuries this entire time when she should’ve been concerned whether he won or lost. Because losing meant it’d take him even longer to get his shot in the UFC, and he’d worked so damn hard to get to that point. She’d never met anyone so dedicated and focused in her life. If he lost, Xander would be crushed, and there wouldn’t be anything she could do to console him. She couldn’t imagine him as anything but the positive, balls-to-the-wall fighter. It would kill her to see him so defeated.
That’s why when she saw Xander spin out from under Brutus on the mat and wrap his left arm around the man’s thick neck, Sophie jumped out of her seat and screamed for all she was worth. Xander pulled back until he was sitting with his back pressed against the cage, Brutus half laying between his legs.
Vanessa yelled over to her. “He’s got a rear naked choke!”
Sophie didn’t care what it was called as long as it led to a W. Xander used his right hand to form a death grip on his left wrist by Brutus’s right ear and pulled back. Hard. His jaw clenched tight and his lips pulled back into a snarl that showed the UK flag design on his mouthguard. Every muscle in Xander’s body bulged with the effort just as every vein in the bald man’s head bulged from the pressure on his carotid.
Finally, at forty-two seconds in the third round, Brutus the Beast tapped three times on Xander’s forearm and the referee called the fight. All four women jumped up and down in a disorderly group hug as they screamed their joy with the rest of Xander’s fans in the crowd until the MC dude started announcing the results of the fight.
Sophie clasped her hands to her chest and stared up at the man who’d become so important to her in such a short time. She had absolutely nothing to do with his performance, and yet she couldn’t be prouder of him. Her cheeks actually hurt from the gigantic smile that just wouldn’t quit.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said with dramatic flair, “this fight was stopped due to submission at forty-two seconds in the third round, making the winner Xander ‘The Hammerrrrrrrr’ Jaaaaaaaaaames!”
The crowd went wild as the referee held Xander’s arm up in the air. After the ref stepped back, Xander raised both his arms and let out what could only be called a battle cry before vaulting himself to straddle the padded top of the six-foot cage directly in front of where she stood.
He peered down at her with a magnificent smile that went a little crooked from the swelling on the right side of his face. His cut had reopened, making his cheek and the top of his shoulder a canvas of bloody smears. The man was a hot mess times a hundred, and God help her, he never looked sexier.
Xander pointed at her and winked—well, she assumed it was a wink. Since his right eye was hidden from his brow meeting his cheek, and he always winked with his left eye, it was entirely possible he simply blinked. But she liked thinking it was a wink better, so a wink it was—then jumped back onto the mat where Reid and Jax congratulated him with additional smacks to the head and body. Yeah, because that’s what the man needed right now.
Neanderthals. Every last one of ’em.
“Xander, come ’ere, buddy.” One of the commentators spoke into a microphone in the center of the octagon and waved Xander over as he was slipping on a T-shirt. Sophie only half listened as the guy interviewed Xander on his thoughts about the fight and discussed certain moments. She mostly just listened to the lilt of his accent and stared like a lovesick teenager at his goofy, lopsided smile between answers.
Until she heard a word that triggered every ounce of her concentration.
“I’d also like to thank my incredible wife—”
He’s married? What an asshole!
“—Sophie.”
Oh…right. Guess that makes me the asshole.
She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes at her own stupidity, but it was a damn good thing she did because one of the huge cameras had turned on her when Xander pointed her out. The entire arena now had their peepers glued to her Godzilla-sized image on the jumbotron in all her blushing glory.
When whistles and catcalls started coming from several sections, Xander’s happy winner face was dropped in favor of “getting his mean on” again. Grabbing the mic from the commentator with one hand, he swept a pointed finger in a wide arc with the other, warning the offenders. “Hey, hey, hey, back off now, ya horny bastards. You can’t have her.” Then, just like that, his snarl morphed into his infamous arrogant smirk as he stated confidently, “She’s mine.”
Some people laughed, some booed, and some cheered, none of which she knew how to take, nor did she care. She was too busy trying to wrangle the fluttering thingies in her stomach after hearing him publicly claim her like a goddamn knight after defeating her captors. The feminist in her railed at her for turning all melty when the man had just insinuated he owned her. But her inner child wearing the cone-shaped princess hat with flowing veil kicked the feminist right in the shins and told her to shut her yap.
Xander continued his speech, playing to the fans who clearly loved him. “You can, however, have her cakes.” Sophie felt the smile slip from her face and the light-as-air fluttery things turned to stone and dropped into the pit of her stomach. Was he…? “She’s the owner of Sophie’s Sweet Spot in Rose Valley and she makes the best damn sweets this side of the Greenwich line.” Yep. He totally was. “But that’s not even the best part! For all you health nuts out there like me, she’s reinvented her recipes and created healthy versions that taste just as amazing as her classic cakes, so make sure you check it out. Thanks, everyone, I appreciate all your support, and I can’t wait to prove myself in the next fight.”
“Holy shit. I can’t believe he just did that,” she said as she watched him hand back the mic and do all the PR stuff with Reid and Jax, posing for pics and doing more interviews. Turning to her right, she asked, “KP, did you hear that? Why would he do that? I didn’t ask him to do that.”
Kristin did a horrible job at holding back a grin at Sophie’s expense. “Not that it would be a big deal if you had, but I know that’s not your style. Hell, even if I didn’t, anyone looking at you—and believe me, everyone was looking—could see you were shocked when he plugged the bakery.”
“But that was his moment, he shouldn’t have—”
Her friend grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a quick jostle. “Soph, stop. You’re right, it was his moment, and he chose to use it to give you some very huge, very free advertising. Try to put all that pride away for now, sugar, and let’s not beat the guy up over it. I think he’s had enough of that for one night. Don’t you?”
She sighed and nodded. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”
“Come on, ladies and gent,” Vanessa said. “It’s time to celebrate back at the champ’s place.”
As their group made their way out of the arena, Sophie was thankful for Kristin’s arm through hers, leading her through the maze of fans. Because she was having a hard time focusing on anything other than how her husband managed to feel more like a real husband every day.
This was bad. So very bad.
And she was starting to love it.
…
Nothing tasted better than a beer after winning a fight. Xander tipped the bottle to his lips, enjoying what he’d abstained from for so long during his training. Speaking of abstinence, it’d been two weeks, three days, and—he glanced at the clock on the wall—approximately fifteen hours since he’d had sex, thanks to the no-sex-before-a-fight rule. The only reason he knew he hadn’t turned into an asexual being was that he still got hard every time he thought of his wife, and more so when she was near.
His eyes automatically sought out Sophie in the crowd—the small get together had grown quickly when his teammates showed up with their girlfriends or girls-for-the-night—where she sat in the living room with Vanessa, Lucie, and Kristin, drinking wine and laughing about lord knew what. She looked amazing, as always, in her black skinny pants and a flowy top that bared her sexy shoulders with her jewel-toned hair pulled to the side in a loose braid that hung in front.
“So when were you planning on telling us about you and Sophie?”
Xander (reluctantly) pulled his gaze from her to regard Jax and Reid hanging with him in the kitchen. “What are you talking about? You’ve known from the start of this whole thing. Hell, Jax, your wife acted as our attorney.”
Reid popped a chip in his mouth. “He’s not talking about the marriage, numb-nuts. He’s referring to the fact that you’re in love with your wife.”
“Bingo,” Jax said, clinking his bottleneck against his friend’s. “Loving your wife is typically a given, but your situation is messed up, bruh.”
“He means different,” Reid supplied. “And just ignore that bruh shit. He forgets we don’t speak island slang.”
“Dude, you’re killing my buzz.”
“Shit, my bad. Let me help you with that.” Reid tapped the bottom of his bottle on the top of the one Jax held. Beer foam instantly rose up the bottleneck and began spilling over. Jax swore and covered the opening with his mouth to prevent any further mess, or more likely, to prevent any further loss of his beer.
Xander and Reid laughed while enjoying their own beers. When Jax’s finally stopped spurting, Xan pointed to a towel on the counter. “Now clean up my floor, wanker.”
As Jax mopped up the liquid on the floor, Reid said, “Come on, James, give it up.”
“Seriously.” Jax tossed the towel into the sink. “A monkey could tell you’re in love with her, for shit’s sake.”
“Jesus, Maris, why don’t you say it a little louder? I don’t think the queen quite heard you,” Xander hissed.
“As in, of England? Let’s be honest, her highness probably doesn’t hear a helluva lot these days. How old is Lizzy now, a hundred? Hundred and one?”
“Don’t engage, Xan. Just encourages his dumb ass,” Reid said. Jax winked and smiled around the bottle as he tipped it back and took a sip. “So you’re in love with your wife. Does she know?”
Xander sighed. “I know you mean well, mate, but you’ve got it all wrong. I mean, I care for her a great deal. She’s great and we have a lot of fun.” He couldn’t help but smirk, remembering the night they played with frosting in the very spot his friends were standing. “A lot of fucking fun. But she made it clear she didn’t want this to go further than the term agreed upon, which frankly is a huge relief because I can’t afford to be tied down and lose my focus. My career is my priority, as is the bakery to her.”
Every word had been a burning cinder on his tongue, leaving him with a layer of soot and a feeling of unease. He tipped his half-full beer to his lips and drained it to try and wash away the awful taste in his mouth. Maybe he was coming down with something, a virus of some kind. Tossing the empty bottle in the bin, he grabbed a fresh one and mentally scoffed at himself. More like bitten on the bollocks by the bloody love bug.
Jax clapped a hand on Xan’s shoulder and for once appeared serious. “Piece of advice, man. Denial will lead to one of two outcomes. It either prolongs the inevitable, in which case you’ll be kicking yourself for all the time you wasted.”
Reid finished the thought. “Or you’ll end up losing her and want to do a fuck-lot worse than just kick yourself.”
Xander studied them, noting their somber faces. “Speaking from experience, mates?” Xan looked over at Sophie, smiling and reacting in girlish glee with Lucie as they listened to Vanessa tell a story, complete with over-the-top gestures and animated features that would inspire a cartoonist. “Neither of you seem to have lost your girls,” he stated plainly.
The two men who’d been like brothers since they were kids—and legally brothers-in-law now that Reid was married to Jax’s little sister, Lucie—glanced at each other, then followed Xan’s example and turned to watch the women. It was Reid who spoke first. “We almost did.”
Jax followed with, “The details aren’t important, but we pulled some boneheaded shit and hurt them. Bad. Lucie wrote Reid off, and Vanessa almost missed her best friend’s wedding because she couldn’t stand to be around me.”
Damn. It’d kill Xander if he thought Sophie couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him. “How’d you win them back?”
Reid. “Paid a hundred thousand dollars for a date with Lucie.”
Jax. “Hijacked his wedding reception.”
Xander arched a subtle brow in their direction. Reid shook his head with a knowing grin. “Story for another time.”
“It’s a damn good story,” Jax said. “Come to think of it, so is yours. Let’s sell ’em to Hollywood. We’ll need an agent for contract negotiations.”
“You’re married to a lawyer, jackass.”
There was possibly nothing funnier than seeing fear of his wife on the face of a man who chewed up and spit out MMA-trained monsters for breakfast. Reid and Xan laughed and knuckle punched to their solidarity against their friend.
Narrowing his eyes, Jax pointed a finger at Reid. “You tell V, and I’ll have to mention that time you thought you saw Lucie and grabbed some strange woman’s ass.”
And just like that, joke time was over. Now Reid pointed his finger, but jabbed it into Jax’s chest. “That was an innocent mistake, so fuck off, bro.”
“You fuck off first.”
“Boys,” Vanessa barked out from across the room. “Do we have a problem?”
From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first time the women had to intervene. Vanessa’s green eyes nailed the men with a scary look fitting of her job. Xander sure as hell wouldn’t want to face her on a witness stand. Or at home for that matter.
Reid and Jax stole a split-second glance at each other—undoubtedly making sure they were on the same page—then faced the women. They scoffed as though Vanessa was seeing things and answered in tandem with a “No,” and then drank their beer as they turned back to face Xan.
“So, boys, when was the last time you saw your bollocks?” Xander tried holding a straight face, but it was no use. “Do they keep them in their purses, or are they maybe on your mantle at home?”
Jax snorted. “V doesn’t need my balls; she’s got her own set. Sometimes I think they’re bigger than mine.”
“You got that right, Maris.” Vanessa appeared at Jax’s side, snaking her arms around Jax’s waist. “But you’ll always beat me in arm wrestling, baby, so hold on to that one,” she said with a few pats to his chest.
Despite the public emasculation, Jax smiled down at his wife. “Damn, I love you.”
“That’s because you know what’s good for you.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed him firmly on the lips. “Plus, I know how to execute the perfect murder, no pun intended. So, you know, there’s that.”
For the next couple of hours, everyone laughed and talked, told stories and tried to one-up them with every turn. Finally, everyone decided to call it a night, and Xan closed the door on the last of their guests. The perfect end to a perfect night.
Xander shot a gaze to where Sophie was straightening up the living room. Well, he amended, he could think of an even better way. It involved one very naked wife screaming his name so loud that their neighbors filed a noise complaint.
His cock stirred in his pants, but he couldn’t ignore that it was no longer the only part of his anatomy that swelled when he thought of her. She affected his heart in ways he couldn’t conceive. His mates had seen it; saw right through his “it’s not like that” bullshit. As he locked up the flat for the night, he thought about their parting words.
“Think about what we said earlier, Xan.” Reid nodded in Sophie’s direction. “From what I can tell—and what I’ve heard from V and Luce—Sophie’s a strong and independent woman. She doesn’t buckle under pressure, she rises to the challenge. That’s the kind of partner a career fighter needs by his side.”
“Exactly,” Jax added. “Remember that the next time you want to act like an asshat and tell yourself you can’t have the best of both worlds. Nothing but stone-cold denial. Don’t let her slip through your fingers, man.”
They were right. He had the opportunity to learn from their mistakes. To put this thing with Sophie on the right path and avoid all the pain that came with denying them the happiness he’d do anything to give her. But he couldn’t talk to her about any of it yet. He still needed time to wrap his mind around it and prepare his arguments for what he knew would be a debate of pros and cons with her.
But it didn’t mean he couldn’t show her how he felt, and starting right then and there, that’s exactly what he planned to do. Not that he wasn’t already showing her, but he’d been holding that last piece of himself back. Everything up to that point was fun and flirty and overtly sexual because those things were safe. It was like an unwritten rule between them: thou shalt not be serious, tender with thy affections, or maketh love by candlelight.
Fuck it.
Sophie was still preoccupied, so he quickly prepared the bedroom with the things he’d bought recently with her in mind. Knowing her weakness for him in nothing but his jeans, he pulled his shirt off—not without a stifled grunt or two from some of the better body shots he’d sustained in the fight—and tossed it into the linen basket. Then he padded barefoot, jeans slung low on his hips, out to the living room where he found her peeking out the curtained windows at the bakery. He’d seen her do it before but never mentioned it. Didn’t see the point in taking away her private moments. But tonight, he needed to steal her attention.
Stepping silently behind her, he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her in tight. She hummed in contentment and melted into him, her head tilting to one side. Christ, he wanted to lick her from one end to the other, but he didn’t want her mind foggy with arousal. Yet.
“How much did you have to drink tonight, beautiful?”
Her eyes remained closed as she answered. “I had a nice buzz going early in the night, but three glasses of wine is my limit. Any more than that and I wake up with a headache from hell. How ’bout you?”
“No more than I’ve been drinking since I was twelve.”
Her warm chuckle vibrated through his chest. “I forgot how forward-thinking you Europeans are when it comes to alcohol.”
“Don’t forget nudity, sex…all the fun things, really. Not like you American prudes.”
“Hey.” She turned her face so she could see him. “I’m not a prude.”
Xander bit his bottom lip to keep his amusement in check as much as possible. “I know,” he said, touching his forehead to hers. “Do you trust me, Sophie?”
Eyes of dark chocolate stared back at him. He thought she’d question him or take a long time to think about it. But a beat later she answered simply with, “Implicitly.”
“Good,” he said, his voice more gruff than normal. “No talking for now, and don’t move until I say otherwise.”
He stayed at her back and undressed her with slow movements, pausing to skim his hands over her skin every time he exposed something new, until all that was left was her lacy black thong. Placing his palm over the front of her neck and under her chin, he lifted, tilting her head back so he could whisper his plans for her.
“Tonight, Sophie James, I’m not holding back.” He traced the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue and felt her body tremble in his arms. “No tempering what I want and how I want you. After tonight, you’ll never doubt that you’re mine.”