Page 11 of Sizzling In the Mountains

“I would like a strawberry daiquiri please,” I shout to her over the roaring and grunting all around me. The guys in the cage get back up to their feet and start pummelling each other again.

“Would you like a little umbrella in it?” she asks, staring at me with a stone cold face.

“That’s not necessary.”

“What about a beachfront view?”

Oh. She’s messing with me.

“Do you not have strawberry daiquiris?” I ask. She could have just said that.

“No,” she says, looking more disinterested than I’ve ever seen someone look. “We don’t.”

One of the guys lands a hard punch and blood splatters all over the waitress’ shirt. I recoil with a gasp, but she doesn’t even seem to care.

“White wine?” I ask with a cringe.

“It’s warm and comes out of a box.”

I swallow hard. “Sounds delicious.”

“Great.”

She abruptly turns and leaves. Maybe I should have stayed home after all. Crying into a bottle of wine doesn’t sound so bad now. At least my white wine at home would have been cold.

“Is James coming tonight?” I ask Doug.

“He’s already here,” he says pointing to an area beside the cage. My heart rate picks up a few notches when I see my firefighter crush in jeans and a hoodie. He’s wearing big headphones and punching the air while he warms up. That fluttering feeling I had at the library comes roaring back as I watch him bouncing around. “He’s up next.”

“Oh,” I say as I watch him.

The bloodier of the two bloody men in the cage collapses on the ground and the other fighter raises his arms in triumph. I’m glad that’s over.

The crowd cheers and money exchanges hands all around me. Apparently, there’s illegal gambling going on here as well. I wonder if the local police know about this.

I wince as I watch the unconscious man’s friends drag him out of the cage. He leaves a long red blood streak on the floor.

The waitress returns looking unnecessarily annoyed. “One white wine, extra warm,” she says as she slams it down in front of me.

“That’s on me,” Doug says as he puts his arm on the back of my chair.

“I’ll pay for my own drinks,” I tell him. “Please remove your arm from my personal space.”

Mason snorts out a laugh, but then pretends it was a cough as Doug removes his arm with a frown.

I take a sip of my wine and wince, wondering how long it’s been open. I wonder if it was opened before I was legally allowed to drink.

“Our boy is up now,” Doug says, leaning in. “I bet three hundo on the fight.”

My eyes dart over to James as he steps into the cage. A thrill of excitement ripples through me from my head to my toes as I watch him shadowbox. He’s so sexy. So dark and dreamy.

I know I shouldn’t be attracted to men like him, but I can’t help myself. I’ve always preferred the villains to the heroes in books and movies. Especially the ones that had a good heart under all that gruffness.

James pulls off his hoodie and I hold my breath while my eyes feast on the show. He’s wearing nothing underneath and I feel overwhelmed as I take in all of that hard tattooed muscle.

He doesn’t look scared at all. He looks perfectly at home in that barbaric arena under those halogen lights with blood stains and barbed wire all around him. His breaths are slow and measured and his body is all loose and in control. He has a peaceful look on his flawless face as he shakes out his big round shoulders.

“Kick his ass, James!” Doug hollers.

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