Chapter 26

Branna

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Cooper’s new bodywork heals up beautifully and I’m more than happy to take him up on it when he invites me to come see him fight on Saturday night.

“You want to see me fight, sweetheart?” His face stays straight, but his icy blue eyes light up when I say I want to come. “Does that get you going? I’ll get you a front row seat.”

“Thanks,” I say. “But I’d be fine with non-VIP, too.”

“Not for you, sweetheart,” Cooper says. “Besides, I want to be able to see your pretty face.” He gives me that mischievous grin and wraps an arm around me to spin me into him. Nothing has happened between us, yet, but Cooper has definitely been getting closer to me. He takes any excuse he can get, and even makes up some pretty ridiculous ones, to put a hand on me or shove up against me. I try to tell myself I don’t feel anything, or it’s annoying, but I know I don’t want him to stop. Every time our skin touches, it’s like a thousand little electrical shocks of pleasure radiating from the spot where he touched me.

It’s dangerous. But oh, it feels so good.

Cooper leaves for the stadium way earlier than I need to be there, but he drops me off at a delicious-smelling Italian restaurant a few blocks over. He has a quick word with the owner, a big-bellied, jolly Italian who comes out with a big smile on his face, and a little pasta sauce on his forehead, to tell me that dinner is taken care of and he’ll be serving me his best tonight. I want to thank Cooper, but he’s already off to the stadium to warm up.

True to his word, the chef serves me the most amazing meal I’ve eaten in a long time. Maybe even the most amazing meal I have ever eaten. I am full and happy by the time that I need to start heading over to the stadium. It’s beautiful weather for a stroll, though the evenings are beginning to get just a little nippy.

I can hear the hyped-up crowd by the time that I am two blocks over. When I’m a block away, I’m already walking alongside the line. Boy, this is going to be a long wait.

I decide to walk up to the entrance, just to see if I can peer in the door before I go stand in line. There are two big bouncers at the door, physically restraining screaming women in barely enough clothes to cover a toddler’s little body, much less a grown woman’s. The men are enormous, each one over six feet tall and over two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, dressed in head to toe black suits with reflective, black shades. This is one serious line. I’m turning to go stand at the back of the line when one of them slides his glasses down his nose to look at me.

“Hey, miss,” he booms. “What’s your name?”

“Branna,” I answer. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to cut in line. I’m going to the back right now. Sorry.”

“You’re here for Cooper?” the man asks, ignoring my apology.

“Yes,” I say.

“Can I see your ticket?”

I pull my folded ticket, with the gold ‘VIP’ stamped in the corner, out of my pocket and hand it to the man.

He nods. “Right this way, miss.” He opens the door just enough to let me through and the screaming women behind me scream louder. I feel like a celebrity or something as I’m greeted by a woman in a skirt suit and a clipboard, who greets me politely and walks me down the dark hallway.

“You can wait for the fight in the VIP lounge,” says the woman. “I trust you will find everything quite to your satisfaction. If not, just ask for Jennifer and I will bring you what you need for an enjoyable, pre-fight stay.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure it’s —” I stop mid-sentence as the door to the lounge swings open. It’s not like I’m impressed by shiny things. But anyone would take a second stepping into this dark lounge with low hanging crystal chandeliers large enough to sleep in and enormous, leather couches covered in silk pillows. There are big flat screens all over the walls, bottles of champagne and tall-stemmed glasses on every flat surface, and a few lounge attendants walking around with silver trays of food.

I mean, I’m stuffed from that great gnocchi back at the restaurant, but it doesn’t hurt to admire.

Since I’ve forgotten where I was in my sentence, I just say, “Thanks.”

Jennifer nods a welcome and clacks back out of the room. I flip through some fighter mags, ignoring the articles and focusing on the photos of the tatted-up fighters and busty cage girls. Some of these guys and girls have some really cool work. None of it is as amazing as Cooper’s ink, though, and that thought sweeps me way back off to daydream land.

I’m excited to see Cooper fight. I have yet to see him in his element and I have no idea what I’ll feel. Will it be scary, seeing another man swing at his head for five rounds of a long five minutes each? Will it make me jealous to see the beautiful women in the crowd literally fighting for the chance to throw themselves at him? I don’t know what I’m going to feel, but I’m filled with adrenaline.

Soon, Jennifer comes back to get me. It’s game time.

The seats and standing spaces all around the ring, and extending way back into the rear corner of the huge hall, are filled. There are pumped-up men smashing cans of beer, dolled up girls squealing at each other, and the excitement in the room is palpable.

I take my seat, in the very front row just by the cage, and then the announcer comes out, calling out Cooper and his opponent. I don’t even catch the name of the other guy, because I only have eyes for Cooper when I see him walking up to the cage.

His muscles are gleaming out from his unbuttoned robe and his face is obscured by the robe’s hood. Even though I can’t see him well, I go from zero to horny in less than five seconds. His masculine gait—not an affected swagger but a real man’s walk of confidence—makes me instantly wet between the legs and I chide myself mentally for being so easy.

But let’s face it. For Cooper, I am.

The women are screaming their heads off as he passes, reaching out and trying to touch him. Cooper doesn’t pay them the slightest bit of attention, though, and when he walks up into the cage and drops his hood, causing the screams of the women to go up a good twenty or thirty decibels in volume, he scans the front row all around. When he finds me, he locks eyes with me for a second and then gives me a little wink.

I pretty much swoon right out of my seat, but I feel amazing. Here is this perfect ideal of a man and, despite the fact that he has countless beautiful women with their boobs out throwing themselves at him, dying for the chance to be his next one night stand, he’s ignoring them all. He’s ignoring them all but he looks for me to send me a smile.

He’s the exact opposite of Alexei. He’s everything that I want.

I don’t feel the expected jealousy, because I know Cooper doesn’t give a damn about the other women. Seeing how much they want him, and how they’re throwing themselves into the aisles and towards the cage just for the chance to get closer to him, and maybe to feel a drop of his sweat as he pounds the crap out of his opponent, makes me more into him. He’s everyone’s dream man and he’s paying attention to me.

I don’t feel scared for Cooper, either, because even though his opponent probably has thirty pounds on him, Cooper is all muscle and he knows how to work that muscle. He’s all man up there, a perfectly trained, perfectly oiled fighting machine in a playgirl body. His opponent is good, but there’s never a moment that it’s unclear who’s winning. Cooper fights like a hero.

Sitting there, looking up at this man who could maybe, just maybe, be mine, is an amazing feeling. The screams of the crowd fade to silence around me as I just watch Cooper and daydream of the us that could be.