TKO (A Bad Boy MMA Romance) (14 page)

              One of my arms emerged from underneath a mass of blankets to smack the alarm clock into silence. I sighed heavily and curled up into a ball. I couldn’t have slept for longer than a couple hours collectively last night. In fact, I was already awake when the alarm started sounding. I was simply knotted up in the fetal position, my stomach twisting and my thoughts racing. I had a feeling that
something--
I didn’t know what-- was going to happen today.

              Because it was Marc’s last day of physiotherapy with me.

              I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. I was conflicted. On the one hand, it would mean the end of all the awful tension, both of us trying and failing to ignore the unspoken connection between us. I would be able to take on new patients and continue building my clientele, with a healthy kick from having Marc Montoya’s name associated with me.

              But on the other hand… I probably wouldn’t ever see him again.

              Well, maybe at the gym occasionally, if I was lucky. Or unlucky? I couldn’t tell. It was so infuriating not knowing where exactly we stood. I liked him, and I knew he liked me. And, in fact, it might have even been more than that. But I’d made myself pretty clear when I told him that our little slip-up was a one-time deal and it wouldn’t happen again.

              Even though I really, really wanted it to.

              What was I going to do? And more worrying still: what was
Marc
going to do? I decided that languishing here in bed until the last minute was probably not the best way to deal with the situation, so I got up, stretched, and started getting ready for work. I hurried through my routine, dressing in a simple pair of dark gray jogging pants and a slim, form-fitting pink V-neck shirt. I put on just a couple swipes of mascara and a dab of tinted lip balm, leaving my hair loose around my shoulders. I didn’t want to make it too obvious that I was trying to look decent for our final appointment together, but I still wanted to look less like a zombie, since I hadn’t gotten anywhere near enough sleep.

              I drove to work in silence, weaving through traffic as the storm clouds gathered overhead. Out here in the desert of Vegas, rain was a fairly rare occurrence. A storm was even rarer. But today, the sky was churning in angry purples and blues. The sun struggled to make itself known.

It started to sprinkle just as I pulled into the parking lot behind The Fighting Chance, and I quickly hopped out and bolted for the door. Just as the sky cracked bright and loud above me, I pushed into the building. Even as I walked down the hallway into the physiotherapy room to get set up, I could hear rain pummelling the roof. I sat down on the bench, crossed my legs, and leaned back against the wall with my eyes closed. I just listened to the patter of rain and tried to keep my mind from wandering back to Marc.

But I couldn’t help it. He was always on my mind these days, whether I was awake or sleeping, happy or sad. He invaded my thoughts even when I tried to distract myself, my brain inundated with images of his powerful frame, my body remembering the sensation of his hands on my skin, his fingers digging into my hips and holding me in place. I heaved a deep breath, shaking my head. How had I been so foolish? How could I have let this man I hardly even knew get so deep inside my mind?

How had I let him into my heart? I thought I had been so careful, keeping up those walls, building a fortress around my feelings. I had trained myself to maintain a one-track mind focused on achieving success. There was no room in my life for - dare I say it - love.

I was jolted from these thoughts by a firm knock at the door. I frowned in confusion, wondering who could possibly be there. It was still too early for Marc to show up, unless he had decided to come in early like I did. I assured myself it was probably just Danny wanting to check in on our progress since this was my final therapy day with Marc. I got up and walked over to the door, calming my anxiety as I opened it, expecting to see Danny.

But I was wrong. It wasn’t Danny.

And it wasn’t Marc.

Standing in front of me was one of the most glamorous, beautiful women I’d ever seen in person before. I had to tilt my head up to meet her eyes, as she was nearly as tall as Marc was. I was immediately taken aback by her appearance: shining black hair falling in thick waves to her mid-back, seductive eyes the color of cinnamon, and full lips. She looked like a movie star. In fact, I wondered if she might be. Sometimes, real celebrities came to train at Fighting Chance, to slim down and tone up for movie roles or media appearances.

“Oh, uh, hi,” I said awkwardly. Clearly she was lost, as she certainly did not look to be in any need for physical therapy. “I think you have the wrong room. Are you looking for -”

“Are you the girl doing physio on Marc Montoya?” she interrupted, in a voice as smooth and cruel as a carving knife. I blinked up at her in confusion. Maybe she was just one of those MMA fangirls who somehow figured out where to find him. Or maybe she was his publicist.

“Y-yes,” I stammered. The girl pushed past me into the physiotherapy room, looking around with her hands on her hips. She was wearing tight black pants and a silver, sparkling tank top. Despite the rain hammering overhead, she didn’t look like she’d even been in the vicinity of humidity ever, in her life. This woman was put together like she had just emerged from the pages of a fashion magazine.

And then it hit me.

That’s where I knew her from. She wasn’t a movie star. She was an ad model. I vaguely remembered seeing her pouting lips and slinky figure on a billboard for a vodka company. What the hell was she doing in my physiotherapy room?

“So this is where it happens,” she was murmuring to herself, gingerly stepping over equipment and wrinkling her nose.

“Uh, excuse me, what exactly are you looking for?” I asked, stepping forward. I didn’t know how she’d gotten back here or why, but I doubted she had an appointment with anyone, and Danny didn’t like having anyone back in the physical therapy offices who wasn’t authorized to be there.

The woman swivelled around on her spiky black heels and gave me a withering glare.

“You,” she replied, spitting the word like it was a curse.

“I--I think you must have me confused with someone else-”

“Oh no,” she interjected, walking toward me with all the ferocity and grace of someone stalking down a catwalk. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you that you had to be the one. Innocent little freckle-face, slummy clothes, just small enough to make him feel like a big man. Yeah, you’re the one who’s been fucking my boyfriend.”

My stomach dropped about seventeen floors.

Oh, fuck.
I was such an idiot! I should have known our little secret was going to get out! My career would be ruined forever, Alice and I would end up homeless wandering the streets of Las Vegas, begging for scraps…

“I don’t know what y-you’re talking about,” I stuttered, shaking my head and back away. This woman was gorgeous, but there was a menacing feel about her, like she wouldn’t flinch at the idea of stabbing me with one of her stilettos.

“No, no, that clueless angel routine may have worked on Marc, the horny moron, but it sure as hell won’t work on me,” she hissed, raising one perfectly-sculpted black eyebrow.

“Wh-what do you want?” I asked, now backed up against the wall.

She stopped short and gave me an almost pitying smirk. “Is that what you asked him, too? And what was his answer? I bet he made you feel like a real woman for the first time in your sad, empty little life. He’s good at that - playing pretend.”

“It’s not like that,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.

“Do you even know who I am?” she demanded.

“I--I recognize your face but I don’t know your name,” I answered sincerely. She rolled her eyes and sighed in annoyance.

“I’m Selena Marquez, and Marc is important to me and my career. I am not gonna let some affair with the help derail my plans to be a successful model. I have a really big endorsement on the table right now, and I cannot let that idiot man ruin my chances of sealing the deal. Do you know how bad it would look? I’m supposed to be a catch. I’m the trophy Marc wins whenever he comes out on top in the ring. And once people find out that he threw me away for a fling with
you
? Bam! Out the window go all my big plans,” she ranted, a fire in her eyes.

I was frozen in place, unable to comprehend all this information. This was definitely not my world, and none of it made much sense to me. But I could tell Selena was pissed, and that she was not above insulting and threatening me to get her point across.

“Well, you don’t have anything to worry about,” I replied softly. “I’m not going to tell anyone about what happened.”

“Oh, you better not. Because if you do, just know that my PR team is the best of the best, and they will spin you as the evil, low-class mistress who seduced my boyfriend away from me. He was hurt, and you took advantage of him,” she threatened.

I almost wanted to laugh at the idea of my ever being able to take advantage of Marc Montoya. The man could pick me up and throw me like a frisbee if he wanted to. But Selena was terrifying, too, and I was not about to give her any more reason to hurt me.

“And besides, it’s over, okay? It was nothing! Just a slip,” I exclaimed defensively. Admitting this out loud sent a shiver of regret down my spine. I hated myself for even having to say this in the first place. I was better than this. But I hadn’t known that Marc had a girlfriend.

“Sure, yeah. That’s how it always starts out,” Selena scoffed.

“And he never said he had a girlfriend!” I cried.

She rolled her eyes again, shaking her head as though I were some ignorant little child who couldn’t possibly understand anything about how the world worked. “Well, duh. Of course he’s not going to talk about me to you. But did you really think Marc Montoya was single? Come on, you may look like a naive little girl, but I know you can’t possibly be that dumb.”

“It only happened once, okay? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to happen. Neither of us did, I swear. And if I’d known about you-”

“Right, like that would’ve really stopped you. What did he promise you? Money? Fame? Just be honest. What did he give you?” she demanded. I wanted to cry.

“Nothing! He didn’t offer me anything like that!” I retorted, feeling my cheeks burn.

Selena snickered. “You mean you did it for
free
? Jesus, you’re even dumber than I thought. He just used you like you were another piece of equipment in this room, didn’t he?”

              “He’s not like that,” I protested, even as I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. I refused to let them fall. I couldn’t show weakness like that. Not in front of Selena Marquez.

              “Oh, sugar,” she sighed. “Yes he is. All men are. They all just want to use your body and then toss you aside as soon as the next new shiny toy shows up. Here’s a tip: the next time, remember to ask for something in return.”

              “Stop,” I breathed, staring down at the floor, feeling utterly spent. I didn’t want to believe her. I couldn’t let her twist my perspective this way.

              “You know he’s done this before, right? On his last transatlantic flight he screwed a flight attendant just because she had a short skirt. When we stayed in Cabo for two weeks, I caught him eyeing the maid who came in to clean our room. He has a taste for the help, always has. Makes him feel better about his own low-class background,” Selena explained, grimacing in disgust.

              “You’ve made your point. Please, just leave,” I begged quietly.

              There a moment of tense silence.

              Then she shrugged. “Consider yourself warned. Just wanted to give you a heads-up about the kind of guy you let into your off-brand, discount panties. Have fun on your last day, and try not to fuck him, if you can manage.”