Full Contact (Worth the Fight #2) Page 10

  “Doesn’t he know this? It’s his money too. Can’t he just keep it together?” she asked as they headed to his bedroom.

  Slade laughed and began to take off his clothes to get ready for bed. “Babe, he’s been to a dozen different trainers. No one wants him. He’s explosive and volatile. He parties too hard and doesn’t train enough. He’s always getting in a fight.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “No, babe—fight as in bar fight or street fight. He’s known as Scarface, partly because he’s Cuban and partly because of a scar on his face that he got not from a professional fight but in a drunken street brawl.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly. Street fights don’t pay the bills. Not to mention they can get him arrested and/or injured. It could be the end of his career and a huge loss for the Academy.”

  Jessica slipped into bed and started brushing her hair.

  “Sounds like he needs therapy. Or an anger management class. Or yoga,” Jessica teased.

  Slade lay down on the bed next to her and chuckled. “Yeah.”

  Jessica stopped brushing her hair and looked at him. “Actually…yoga might really help. It’s physically strenuous, which may appeal to him, and it can help him relax. Plus it’ll make him more agile in the ring or cage or whatever.”

  “Wait—you’re serious?” Slade asked.

  Jessica nodded.

  “He might be shorter than me, but that man is huge. He’s a heavyweight cage fighter—he can’t do yoga. Can you picture him sitting on the floor in one of those poses you do?”

  “I get how you can’t picture it, but there are lots of men who do yoga. You know how football players sometimes do ballet to work on their coordination? Well, yoga is probably a good tool for a crazy street brawler who should be just a badass professional cage brawler.”

  “I don’t know, Jess. I don’t think he’d do it.”

  “Well, there’s a class tomorrow at the Om Spot.”

  Slade laughed. “Hell, no. That dude’s not going to sit and do yoga with a bunch of chicks. I guarantee you that.” He paused. “Wait. I have an idea. You teach him.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Look, do one-on-one classes with him. Help him learn to relax and focus. I’ll pay you for your time, of course.”

  “I’m not accepting your money. If you need my help, I’ll do it for free. You’ve helped me so much, it’s the least I can do.”

  “No, I’m going to pay you. Don’t worry, it comes out of Tony’s pocket, anyway. And you love yoga. Didn’t you say you’d love to have your own studio? Well, here’s a chance to have your first student.”

  “I don’t know, Slay….”

  “Say yes.”

  “But—”

  “Just say yes,” he repeated.

  “It really means that much to you?” Jessica asked. Slade nodded. “Then yes.”

  Slade gave her the smile, the one that always seemed to make her all gooey and fluttery. “Now, how do I convince the son of a bitch to do yoga when he doesn’t even want to hit the bags or the weights?” Slade mused out loud. “Frances needs to get her ass back to Florida and help me figure this shit out.”

  That was the least appealing thing she’d heard Slade say in a long time.

  —

  “Slaaaade?” he heard when he walked into the gym.

  Francesca had returned that morning from Brazil, and was in the office going through all the paperwork that had accumulated while she was gone. The office was her territory. The gym and the guys were his.

  “What?”

  “I come back to all this?” She lifted a huge bundle of papers and slapped them back onto the table. “My office is a mess. You didn’t even bother to open the mail.”

  “It’s our office. And I’ve been busy. I’ve put a shitload of hours into this place with all the renovations—which, I might add, are taking forever, since the crew we hired sucks. I’m just hoping it will all be done for the grand reopening in just over a month. And I still have guys I’ve had to train for upcoming matches. I don’t have time to play with papers.”

  “Playing? Is that what you think I do? Is that my official fucking job title, ‘paper player’?”

  “Shit, Frances, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant I don’t have time for that. You deal with the business part, I deal with the gym stuff. That was the deal.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” She sighed in frustration. “With Papai sick, I let things go here. Merda, Slade, I’m sorry. You’re right. This isn’t your department.”

  Francesca normally had a big stick up her ass and never seemed frazzled. Hearing her apologize was disconcerting; he figured she must be really concerned about her dad’s illness.

  The door abruptly opened and Travis strolled in, eating an apple, a huge man right behind him.

  “Hey, boss. Hey, beautiful boss,” Travis said to them.

  “Don’t you knock?” Francesca asked.

  “Nah. Not normally.” He grinned wickedly and looked back and forth between them, “Wait…should I start?” He waggled his eyebrows as he took another huge bite of the fruit.

  Slade leaned forward and slapped Travis’s shoulder. Then he addressed the man behind Travis.

  “Yo, Antonio. You missed training again on Monday. We on for tomorrow? I was thinking we’d start with some weights. Get you back in fighting shape. Whaddaya think?” Slade said.

  “Tony. Call me Tony,” the man said by way of greeting. “You’re the new trainer who’s going to put me in my place, yet you’re asking me what to do?” Even though it was said in a playful tone, Slade noted a hint of sarcasm.

  Francesca stood up. “No. I’m the one who’s going to put you in your place.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Francesca Silva, co-owner of WtF Academy. Slade is going to train you, but I’m the one who made the deal with your agent. You mess things up, it’s my ass on the line.”

  Tony’s hand gripped hers as his eyes made their way down her tall, lean body, then back up slowly to her red hair. He leaned down and kissed her hand. “Haven’t seen your ass yet, muñeca, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it.”

  Francesca rolled her eyes before yanking her hand from his grip. “Slade and I have some urgent business to take care of. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Francesca—que nombre mas bello para una mujer tan bella. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

  “Acho que você está cheio de merda.”

  “I have no idea what you just said, but that sounded sexy as fuck,” Tony said.

  “Wasn’t that Spanish?” Travis asked.

  “No. Portuguese. I don’t speak Spanish,” she said to Travis, then turned back to Tony. “I said you’re full of shit. Stick to English. And don’t flirt with me.”

  “Hold up—are you Frankie?”

  Francesca looked taken by surprise. “Who told you that? I haven’t gone by that name in a long time.”

  “My old trainer, Lucio, was a friend of your dad’s. He told me all about your dad and that I’d be working with Frankie. I pictured some old beer-bellied has-been full of tattoos. I was very wrong.” He gave her hand a final kiss before leaving the office.

  When they were alone again, Slade turned to his partner. “Come on, let’s tackle all this paper. It’s still early—we can get this all cleaned up. I’ll grab one pile and you grab the other. I’ll throw away the junk mail and make a pile for the other stuff.”

  An hour later, when they were finally finished, Francesca leaned back in her chair. “That was as fun as having a Pap smear.”

  “Eww, Frances. That’s too much information.” He shook his head and changed the subject. “I have to get Tony’s ass in gear. Did you see him? He’s completely out of shape.”

  Francesca nodded. “Cain has a fight coming up. I think Tony should sign up for a fight on the same bill. He’s arrogant, and the only way t
o get him to listen is to get his ego involved. If he loses a small-time fight, he’ll work hard. We need him in tip-top shape for the big fight at the end of the year.”

  “Tell me about it. If he wins the big one, between the prize and the endorsements our cut would be about a quarter of a million. Not to mention the fighters who’ll contract us to train them.”

  “That’s if he can get his shit together.” Francesca stood and walked around her desk. She placed a hand on Slade’s shoulder. “Listen, Tony’s not your usual fighter. He’s a huge pain in the ass.”

  “We all are. I can handle him.”

  “No. He’s here because it’s the last stop. Both his agent and his endorsement contracts are about ready to pull out. The guy used to be the golden boy of MMA, but he has a major chip on his shoulder. Sleeps with anything that walks, drinks like a fish, and sometimes doesn’t even make it to the ring.”

  “I know he’s a prima donna—he’s already missed training. We can’t cater to him, but we can’t be dicks either, because he’ll stand his ground just to make a point. We gotta make this work.”

  “Merda. Espero que sim,” she mumbled. Slade looked at her with his eyebrows furrowed. “I said, ‘Shit, I hope you’re right.’ ”

  —

  When Slade left the gym later that afternoon, he badly wanted to see Jessica and tell her about his hellish day. That wasn’t something he’d ever done before with any other woman, but he felt as if he needed to unload and that she would help.

  As soon as he opened the door to the Pier, her head whipped around. It was as if they were magnetically connected. The bar seemed relatively empty, and she had been wiping down a table. She stopped, smiled, and ran—ran!—up to him and jumped, her legs locking around his waist. Thank God he had braced himself because she came so fast it had caught him off guard. She planted kisses on his lips, neck, and cheeks. A few patrons whistled and others laughed. His hand went to her ass to hold her up.

  “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Awesome greeting, babe.” He was feeling better already.

  “Oh, gross!” he heard his sister say. He looked over Jessica’s shoulder to see Chrissy sitting at the bar.

  “Hi, sis.” Then he looked back at the woman currently wrapped around his body. “What’s with all the love?”

  “I wasn’t expecting you—I guess I was just happy to see you. Got carried away.” Her cheeks flamed. “Too much?” she asked, embarrassed.

  “Never. A happy Jessica is never too much.” He kissed her back. Still carrying Jessica, he walked over to the bar, gave his sister a peck on the cheek, and set Jessica down on the bar.

  “I don’t know how hygienic it is to have the bartender’s ass on the bar,” Chrissy said wryly.

  “More hygienic than Ralph’s puke—he threw up right there last week,” Jessica retorted, pointing to the spot where Chrissy’s drink sat, “after one too many shots.”

  Chrissy wrinkled her nose and chuckled. “That’s just gross.”

  Jessica jumped down, reached for a rag, and wiped down the bar top, specifically the spot where she had just sat.

  “So, what’s up?” she asked Slade as he took a seat next to his sister.

  “Bad day.” Then he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “But it just got better. Much better.”

  “You guys are so cute!” Chrissy squealed.

  “What happened?” Jessica asked, getting a beer for Slade.

  “Frances is back, but she freaked out over the office being a complete mess. And we’re trying to figure out how best to deal with Tony. Just a lot of bullshit things.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Jessica asked.

  “We have a few minor fights coming up in the next month or so, and we’re going to try to convince Tony to fight. If he wins, great. But Frances thinks that if he loses, the blow to his ego will be enough to make him serious about training. We need him to do good later this year. If things work out with Tony, then we’re gold. The guy brings in major money. And if we can turn it around for him, we’ll be able to bring in other big-name fighters.”

  “Seems like you have a lot invested in this guy,” Chrissy observed.

  “Yeah. A little too much. Scares the shit out of me, but it’s all we have right now.”

  “I know you’ll do great. It’ll all work out.” Jessica kissed his cheek before going to serve a group of people who’d just walked in.

  When it was just the two siblings, Chrissy looked at Slade and smiled. When he noticed, he rolled his eyes. “Stop that.”

  “What?”

  He waved a hand. “All the smiling.”

  She snorted. “You want me to stop smiling?”

  “Yes. Stop it.”

  “I’m just happy for you. I’ve never seen you so content and responsible. It’s like you’re growing up right in front of my eyes.” She reached up and squeezed his cheeks as if he were a small child.

  He swatted her away. “So what are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been looking for a place to open a small medical office and I was in the neighborhood, so I came by to say hello to Jessica.”

  “You two have really hit it off, haven’t you?”

  “She’s awesome, Slade. So sweet and funny. And she wears her heart on her sleeve. I love you, brother of mine, but I’m telling you, don’t hurt her.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  She squeezed his cheeks again. “I think you loooove her.”

  Love? What the hell? “No!” he said hastily. “I mean, it’s just…I, uh…” He looked across the bar to where Jessica was laughing with some patrons.

  Chrissy sat back, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face, as he tried to figure it out for himself. “You’re stuttering.”

  “Shut up.”

  —

  It was six in the morning when Jessica woke up. Her leg was wrapped around Slade’s thigh, her head resting on his shoulder. She tried to disentangle herself, but he pulled her in closer and gave her messy hair a kiss. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  “You were persistent.” She smiled, got out of bed, and headed for the bathroom to get ready for yoga class. This was the happiest she’d ever felt. “What do you have planned for today?”

  “I’m supposed to be training Tony. I have to be there in an hour.”

  When she was dressed and ready to go, he tried to pull her back into bed. “Yoga pants are the hottest things ever invented and your ass is the best ass ever made. Together, it’s like a surefire boner every time. I really just want to peel those pants off and bite your ass.”

  She laughed and kissed him before pushing him away. “I gotta go. Don’t want to be late. I’ll wear them for you later. Not sure about the biting, though.” She turned, bent over a little, and wiggled her ass at him.

  He groaned before tossing a pillow her way.

  —

  Slade used the key card he’d been given by the hotel’s receptionist. He’d had to use all the charm he could muster to get the woman working at the front desk to give him the card. But he’d had no choice. When Tony hadn’t shown up at the gym that morning, he’d gone to the hotel and spent five minutes knocking on Tony’s door with no answer. He had to find out what was going on.

  The room was pitch black. There were empty beer cans on the floor, an empty bottle of whiskey, and cigarette butts filling the ashtray by the table in the main room of the suite.

  “Tony,” he called. No answer.

  The door to the bedroom was open. “Tony?”

  He saw clothes scattered throughout the floor, not just men’s clothes but women’s clothes as well. In a sliver of light shining through the closed curtains, Slade could see red toenails, blond hair, and a tattooed forearm.

  Slade was pissed. He walked to the window and opened the curtains, bathing the room in sunlight.

  “Coño!” Tony yelled, turning his head away from the window.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What time would you like me to wake you, Your Hig
hness?”

  Tony mumbled something in Spanish again. Slade was sure it was expletives directed at him.

  “You were supposed to meet me at the Academy two hours ago. Man, we need to start getting you ready. You haven’t trained in over six months, and you’ve bailed on our last three sessions.”

  With his eyes still closed, Tony felt around the bed in search of a pillow, which he promptly put over his head.

  “Get the fuck up, Antonio. We have a fight coming up. I want you in it.”

  Tony mumbled in a thick, sleepy voice, “I’m not fighting in some small-town fight just so you can get your hands on your cut of my shitty winnings.”

  Slade sighed. Fucking diva. This guy was going to be tougher than Francesca had anticipated. But regardless of all the things he really wanted to say, he needed to walk a fine line. Pissing Tony off too much could cause him to walk out, and Slade needed him. The Academy needed him. He would have to rein in his temper in order to get Tony to cooperate. “It’s not for the money, Tony. It’s to get you back in the game. We can train and spar all day, but until you’re in a real cage, in a real fight, with real fans, you aren’t going to get your head back into it.”

  All Slade heard in response was snoring. And the woman…well, she hadn’t so much as stirred. He grabbed his phone and called for backup.

  Twenty-five minutes later there was a loud banging at the door. When Slade opened it, a seething Francesca stormed in, a bottle of water in her hand. “Where is he?” she asked. Slade pointed to the bedroom. “Smells like shit in here. I told you this guy wouldn’t be easy, Slade.”

  Francesca walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, her ass right next to Tony’s face. She softly caressed his cheek. Tony moaned. “Tony, honey. Wake up,” she whispered to him. He moaned again. “Tony, baby.” She continued to caress his face, then went a little lower on his body. That seemed to get his attention, because Tony’s eyes opened and his lips turned up into a lazy smile. “Am I dreaming?” he said as he reached for Francesca. She got up and walked backward slowly, her finger crooked in a come-hither motion. As if he were the snake and she the charmer, he got out of bed and stalked toward her.