Page 55 of Until We're More
Fucking winked!
And turned right back around, giving me a nice view of her perfect ass as she strolled across the cage and down into the audience.
Shane’s hand hit my chest before I even realized I’d taken any steps in her direction.
“How many times is she going to walk around the cage in that skimpy outfit while a bunch of pervy guys ogle her?” I fully counted myself among the pervy guys—my thoughts were absolutely, depravedly filthy right now.
Shane shrugged.
“Did you know about this?” I asked.
“Hell no.”
My jaw began to ache, and my teeth were in danger of being ground to dust. “It’s got Brooklyn written all over it.”
“The word ‘intervention’ has been thrown around plenty when it comes to you and your girl.”
Shit, fucking shit, fuck, fuck.
“Finn’s fight first,” Shane said, his gaze homing in on my fists, clenching and unclenching at my sides. “Then you can go do…whatever you’re going to do about it.”
I didn’t know what thatwhateverentailed, but it took me a few seconds to shake myself out of the trance Chelsea’s appearance in that sexy outfit had put me in.
If I peered into the audience and saw anyone looking her way, I’d want to kill them, andof courseguys would be looking her way. She was hot as hell, with fiery red hair that I wanted to gather in my fist and—
After. This will be continued after.I squatted down in front of my brother, rattled off a few key things to remember about the fighter, and detailed the plan of attack, even though we’d rehashed it countless times over the past month or so. With the adrenaline of the fight and the crowd and all that work coming down to three five-minute rounds, it was hard to remember everything, and this was where instinct and muscle memory helped make up the difference.
“You ready?” I asked, and he gave one sharp nod.
Then he walked out to the center of the cage and touched gloves with his opponent.
For the next three rounds, I’d pour every ounce of my energy into being the best coach I could be for my brother. That was what was important now. Helping him clinch this win.
But as soon as the fight ended, there was about to be another one, and knowing Chelsea, we’d be going for at least three full rounds.
…
He’s got him; he’s got him…
Finn’s specialty had always been ground and pound, so we’d spent a lot of time upping his standing game. Davies wasn’t used to missing, but Finn blocked, ducked, and countered his punches faster than he could throw them, and all the extra swinging was tiring him out.
Both of them, actually.
“Keep ’em up,” I yelled at my brother as his fists lowered a couple inches, his chest heaving as he sucked in extra air. Thankfully Davies didn’t heed my advice, and I saw the opening the same time Finn did. Lighting quick, he dropped down, wrapping up the legs and driving his head into Davies’s hip for a double leg takedown.
As soon as the guy’s back smacked the mat, the fight was all but over. A few big punches and a mean elbow, and the ref called it.
The next several minutes were a blur of celebrating and people moving, and I tried to focus on the here and now, even as the urge to get to Chelsea constantly played in the background.
Finn returned to the corner, and we shared a quick hug. “Proud of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go take care of something.”
“Yeah, I thought you might,” Finn said with a smug grin.
Turned out, I didn’t have to go far—Chelsea and Brooklyn were nearly to us.
“Congratulations, Finn,” Chelsea said, giving him a hug at the same time Brooklyn did, and she echoed the happy sentiment.
The second Chelsea dropped her arms from around my brother’s shoulders, I reached out and snagged her hand. “You’re coming with me.”
