Page 4 of Crazy In Love
“You’re protective and possessive of the people you love, and one of those people now defers to Chris for comfort—instead of you. You’ve become obsessed about this.” He takes a step back and taps the roof of the car. “Consider sharing that little boy instead of tearing him in two. And be nice. I don’t want you to get stabbed by the hillbillies.”
“You’re being an asshole, you know that?”
“Come back in six weeks, and we’ll talk about it.” His phone trills, so while he backs up, he drops his hand into his pocket and fishes thedevice out, grinning from ear to ear as he reads the name on the screen. “Sherry. Hey. I was just putting her in the car.”
“JFK, Ms. Tatum?” Michael’s eyes wait for mine in the rearview mirror, so when I nod and settle back into my seat, he pulls away from our building and into New York traffic.
JFK. And then… Bumfuck Nowhere.
Yee haw.
ROUND TWO
CHRIS
“You’re embarrassing me, dude.” I stand over my fighters—Cliff and Tommy—and shake my head with frustration. Tommy is my best friend. He’s my twin brother. Honestly, he’s my whole fucking world, but right now, he’s the enemy, and though everyone expects him to be the better fighter—the title belt hung on his office wall kinda says so—the years I’ve spent working with Cliff on his ground game are starting to feel like an exercise in insanity.
He’s not ready to defeat the champ. Not even close.
“Bridge your hips.” I lower into a crouch and stare into Cliff’s widening eyes. His dark red face. His white neck, wrapped in Tommy’s furious lock. “You gave him your back, then your front. Now you’re all tangled up and about to go to sleep.”
“He can’t escape this one,” Tommy grunts past his mouthguard. “Ready to reset?”
“Nope.” To reset would be to give my fighter apass. Which is how we repeat our mistakes. So I deny him the out and tap his left ankle. “You gotta get this leg around. Snake it under and use your knee to force that space.”
“He’s not breathing. Reset?”
“Bring your leg under!” I reach between the two of them and grab Cliff’s ankle, dragging it around while I ignore his reddening face. “You fucked up when you put your neck on the chopping block, so now you fight for your life, or you accept your fate and close your eyes.”
“Chris—”
“You wannawin at the next Stacked Deck tournament? Means you’ve gotta focus on your ground and pound. The Rollers dominate on the mats, and they sure as fuck aren’t screwing around when they’re supposed to be training. Right now? You’re embarrassingourgym.”
“Yeah. But I’m making friends.” Cliff wiggles and steals an inch of space, drawing a deep breath into his lungs and snaking his leg around Tommy’s to lock in his hooks. “They like me there. So that’s nice.”
“So retire and become the next Mrs. Kincaid.” Tommy slams his elbow into the side of Cliff’s neck, breaking their grips and rolling away until he flops to his back. Panting, his sweaty chest lifts and falls in search of air. “You’re more focused on flirting with those girl fighters than you are about bringing one of those belts back to our gym.”
“I mean…” Cliff starfishes the canvas, arms and legs spread wide, and a goofy ass grin plastered across his face. “I’m not flirting with them or anythin’, since most of ‘em are married already. But I enjoy the tournaments and training with the champs every year.”
“You’re training with the champ right now,” Tommy snarls. “Fuck you very much.”
He laughs. “Differentchamps, Boss. Geez. Don’t get your feelings hurt. If you’d make the drive with me in December, you could fight Conner and put that beef to bed. But you won’t, so you?—”
“Can’t,” I insert. “Contracts were already signed, and some of us like money.” I drop to my ass and rest my elbows on my knees, dangling my head until the stretch in the back of my neck feels good. “He chose right, and Conner chose right. Their paths were heading in different directions. But you,” I meet his smug gaze, “you’re just a shitty fighter, no matter where you’re competing.”
“That was unkind.” He runs a gloved hand through his hair, cut short when it’s typically on the shaggier side. “Why do you insist on being mean to me, Coach?”
“Because you won’t fight the way I want you to.”
“With the mongrel in my blood,” he snickers. “You want me to be a killer, when mostly, I just enjoy the sport and meeting new people.”
Literally the opposite of everything I stand for.
“You asked for our blessing to fight at Stacked Deck.” Tommy rolls to his hands and knees and crawls to his water bottle. “You’re never going pro the traditional way, and the Rollers are happy to take your five hundred bucks. We were cool with it. But Jesus.”
“You’re not cool with it anymore?”
“You keep losing!” I lift my head and tilt it backward, extending mythroat instead. “You mosey on over to that other gym every December and twirl around like you have no worries in the world. But everyone else is there to win. It’s war for them, but it’s just a fun adventure for you.”
