Below the Belt Page 2

  He had his drink in his hand when a group of drunk women squeezed in between him and the stranger next to him in order to get the bartender’s attention. The jostling almost caused him to spill his drink, which pissed him off. Lately everything pissed him off. A few months ago, he would’ve been on the dance floor with some woman he’d wind up taking home for the night. Instead, he sat at the bar, unable to enjoy the beats or the beautiful ladies.

  His move to Tarpon Springs and WtF had come after a series of tabloid mishaps—or, as he liked to call them, overreactions. The bar fight that had almost gotten him arrested hadn’t been his fault—it had been the smug bartender’s fault. Tony had heard the bartender making a lewd comment to some woman, and he’d intervened—but of course, the media didn’t care about that part of the story. All they had reported was that he’d been in yet another bar fight after one too many drinks. He probably could’ve handled the entire situation differently—he could’ve called security or management and reported the bartender instead of breaking the kid’s nose—but containing his temper had never been his strong suit. After that, his agent had threatened to quit, and there were rumors that some of his sponsors wanted to pull out. His career was on the line. He needed to get his shit together, as his agent, his PR person, and his lawyer had all warned him.

  Tony was thirty-four years old, and younger fighters were beginning to pose a serious threat to his career. It was getting hard to ignore how sore his body felt after a full sparring match during training, or how his knees creaked in the morning. Hell, if he was being completely truthful, everything creaked and cracked in the morning. He used to knock his opponents out in the first round. But now there he sat in a dark bar licking his wounds after almost having been knocked out after three strenuously difficult rounds.

  Tony swirled the thin red and white cocktail straw around his empty glass. The heat from all the bodies pressed together was getting to him.

  “Hey, I know you. You’re that guy.”

  Tony’s focus went from his drink to the red fingernails on the hand wrapped around his forearm. He didn’t even bother to look up at her face because he was pretty sure he knew exactly what he’d find: a ready, willing female who undoubtedly wanted him to buy her (and her friends) drinks before going back to her house for a night of no-strings sex. Someone who had as much money and fame as he did didn’t have to try. Dating, flirting—those weren’t things he did. His MO was satisfying, emotionless sex. Something he’d never pass up. Something he’d never complained about before. So what the hell was wrong with him tonight?

  “Lindsey,” the woman shrieked, “look, it’s that guy.” Her grip on Tony’s arm tightened. “You know, the guy from the magazine. What’s his name?” she asked her friend, as though he weren’t sitting right there next to her. He noticed that her friend had red hair, similar to Francesca’s. He’d never had a “type” before. They could be blond, brunette—hell, they could be bald so long as they went home with him. But tonight the woman with her hand on his arm was annoying the hell out of him.

  “Oh, yeah.” The other woman, Lindsey, leaned closer to him. “You’re that bad-boy fighter, Scarface,” she yelled into his ear. “What happened to your eye?”

  Tony pushed his chair back. The music was too loud for anyone to hear the screech the chair legs made against the floor. At the abrupt movement, the women wobbled backward.

  “Hey, don’t leave. We’re okay with the eye thing,” the one who wasn’t Lindsey yelled over the music. “C’mon, buy us a drink. We’re real fun. Actually, the scar’s really sexy.” She reached toward his face, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her from touching him. He hated when people touched his scar. Now completely annoyed, he dug into his pocket, slapped some money on the bar, and without so much as a single word to the ladies walked out.

  The Florida heat immediately wafted over him, but it was something he was used to. He had been born and raised in Miami. Heat, humidity, and mosquitoes were the norm for him. So the fact that it was even hotter outside than it was in the club was no surprise. His gray button-up shirt stuck to him, and he unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows as he walked to his car. His rib cage was starting to ache, but he was still too pumped with energy to bother with it.

  Losing the fight had really gotten to him, and Francesca had done nothing to comfort him. In fact, she’d just poured salt in his wounds. She was too opinionated, and she loved to remind him what a fuck-up he was. Plus she was always on her moral high horse, trying to make sure he wasn’t out having fun. She needed someone to remove that stick from up her ass. Maybe if she had a little fun herself, she’d loosen the reins a little.

  She never had anything positive to say when it came to him, and he was tired of it. She called him out on anything that didn’t fit with her master plan to make him their top fighter, and he was sick of it. He hadn’t allowed his own father to treat him like a workhorse, and he’d be damned if he’d let her do it. What was her problem?

  To add insult to injury, she kept refusing to go out with him.

  Thirty minutes later, he was back in Tarpon Springs and parked in front of Francesca’s house. It was time he gave her a piece of his mind. She was the co-owner of the gym, but she wasn’t his mother. If he wanted to drink, then he would. So long as he trained and won the next fight, who the fuck was she to dictate what he did in his personal life? Especially since she didn’t want anything to do with his personal life.

  Tony slammed the door of his car, marched up to her front door, and knocked. Nothing happened. He knocked again, harder this time. When she didn’t answer, he pulled out his phone and called her. Again, nothing. It was well past midnight; her car was parked in the driveway and through the window he could see that her lights were on.

  He should have left.

  He should have…but he didn’t.

  Instead, he walked around her house to the backyard. The longer it took him to find her, the angrier he became. Maybe she was on a date. Maybe there was a man inside the house. He didn’t care either way—he was prepared to go toe-to-toe with the hellion, and he would definitely give her a piece of his mind.

  But then he saw red hair draped over the back of a lawn chair a few feet from the pool. As he opened the gate and approached her, he saw a magazine lying open on her chest and a glass of wine on the small table next to her. She had fallen asleep still wearing her formfitting business suit. Her high heels sat neatly on the patio next to her. He had half expected her to open the door wearing her pajamas, but God forbid she would ever have a hair out of place. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. He kneeled next to her.

  “Francesca, wake up.” No response. “Francesca.” He tapped her on the shoulder. Nothing.

  Slightly annoyed by the situation—he couldn’t very well leave her outside—he gently scooped her up and stood. He was sure she would wake up and kick him in the balls for touching her. For a brief moment he contemplated tossing her in the pool as payback for being so judgmental and mean after the fight. As if she’d heard his thoughts, though, she stirred slightly and nestled closer to him, and any thoughts about retribution quickly subsided. Carefully, he opened the sliding door and walked inside and down a hall to the first room he found.

  He laid her gently on the bed, but as soon her body made contact with the mattress, she startled and instinctively jumped up off the bed in one quick movement. “What the hell?” Her eyes were wide, and she was standing in a way that reminded him of a fighter about to pounce on his opponent.

  He held his hands out in front of him. “Calm down. It’s just me.”

  “T-Tony? What the hell are you doing?” She looked from side to side, as if trying to figure out what was happening.

  “You were asleep.” Suddenly he felt ridiculous. “Outside.” He indicated toward the door with his thumb. “You fell asleep outside. I couldn’t just leave you there.”

  Still standing in her defensive pose, she snapped, “What are you even doing here?”
<
br />   What was he doing there? What the hell had been the point? Oh, yeah…he was going to give her a piece of his mind. Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “What’s up with your hair?”

  She looked at him as though he’d grown a second head, then brought her hands to her hair and pulled out the rubber band holding it in place. “What the hell, Tony?” She ran to a mirror. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  She was in the middle of smoothing her hair when he put out a hand to stop her. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I’ve just never seen you look…not perfect. Do you sleep in a suit?” He reached out and touched the lapel of her white oxford shirt.

  “Oh, stop.” She shooed his hand away, still fussing with her hair. “I fell asleep. I didn’t know you’d be stopping by.” She pointed at him. “Speaking of clothes, I’ve never seen you dressed up.”

  He looked down at his slacks. “I went out.”

  “Figured you would,” she said, her hands on her hips.

  He ran a finger down her arm; he couldn’t help it. He wanted to stop, but he needed to touch her; for months he’d been dying to touch her. “You look beautiful. You always look beautiful.”

  She stepped back and crossed her arms. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

  “Honestly?’ he asked sincerely.

  She nodded.

  “I don’t really know. But now that I am, I just want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”

  “A few hours ago you told me to fuck off. You weren’t thinking about kissing me.”

  He moved closer. “Trust me, I was, and if my face didn’t hurt so fucking much, I might even attempt it.”

  Her steely demeanor softened and she smiled wryly.

  Inside, Tony felt confused. One moment he wanted to shake her into being nice, and the next he wanted to bend her over and have his way with her on the nearest flat surface.

  “Come on.” She gestured for him to follow her to the bathroom and had him sit on the edge of the bathtub as she rummaged for supplies. Sitting there watching her move around relaxed him a little, and as the adrenaline subsided, the pain escalated. She stood in front of him and said, “Tilt your head back.” He did as she instructed, looking up at her hazel eyes and full lips.

  Her warm breath and soft hands on his skin helped to put him at ease. She cleaned his wounds with alcohol swabs, putting ointment and butterfly bandages on the bigger cuts. When she was finished, she sat down next to him. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but you should clean the cuts a few times tomorrow. Maybe put ice on your…well, everywhere, I suppose. I’m guessing your shoulder took the brunt of the beating?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his shoulder. “Thanks for patching me up.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, seeming uncomfortable with his closeness. She stood up, took a step back, and began cleaning up. “About earlier tonight—”

  “You don’t need to apologize. I know you were just trying to make a point,” he said.

  “Apologize?” she scoffed. “I wasn’t going to apologize. I was going to say that I really think you could be a great fighter again if you just trained a little harder and partied a little less.”

  “What the hell? A great fighter again? I’m already a great fighter.”

  “No, you used to be a great fighter, and we could get that back. Together we can work on your techniques and make you number one again. You lost tonight. You lost big, and you need to accept that and move on.”

  “It was fucking rigged and you know it!” He glared at her.

  “Are you seriously still blaming everyone but yourself? You know what? I’m done arguing with you about this. I’m trying to help you, Tony!”

  “How? By insulting me?”

  “Because I’m not telling you the things you want to hear, I’m insulting you?”

  “You know what—oh, forget it! Just…fuck you! I’m outta here!” He stomped out of the bathroom and for the second time that night told her to fuck off.

  Chapter 2

  A week later, Francesca walked into her friends Chrissy and Jack’s wedding wearing a long emerald-green dress. Slade’s little sister and his best friend were finally getting married, and Francesca couldn’t be happier for the couple. Of all the women she’d met in Tarpon Springs, Chrissy had been the friendliest, not to mention the most helpful.

  It had turned out to be very useful that Chrissy opened her medical clinic across the street from the Academy, as Francesca’s clients were frequently getting injured. Chrissy often attended to the fighters, and when Jack wasn’t busy being a police officer, he trained at the Academy. It was a tight group of friends, and Francesca was very grateful that they’d accepted her into their clique.

  The day was beautiful and perfect for the beach wedding. The sun was beginning to set, and from the boardwalk that led to the beach she could see the wooden chairs set up on the sand. Francesca was greeted by some guys she’d seen a few times at the Pier, the local bar, as a waiter brought her a flute of champagne. She quickly spotted Jessica, Slade’s fiancée, and Jamie Lynn, better known as JL, laughing at something Travis, JL’s brother, had said.

  Travis saw her first and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Well, don’t you clean up nicely, sugar!”

  “Could say the same thing about you, honey.” She reached up and adjusted his cowboy hat. “New hat, Texas?” Everyone called Travis “Texas” because of his drawl and, well, because he and JL were from Texas.

  “Nah. Just don’t get many occasions to wear it.”

  Francesca turned to the two women he’d been talking to. “And look at you two. Jessica, JL, you both look amazing.”

  “Hi, Francesca! Wow, green is your color, girl,” JL said.

  “Yes! Really brings out your red hair,” Jessica said as she hugged Francesca.

  “What has you guys cracking up?” Francesca asked.

  Jessica laughed some more. “Wait until you see the ring bearer. Let’s just say it’s been, uh, interesting. This proves how much Slade loves his sister!”

  “Oh, no! Let me guess—it has something to do with Drogo?” Francesca asked. Everyone knew how much Chrissy’s vicious little dog, Drogo, hated Slade. The feeling was mutual.

  JL laughed. “You guessed it. Jessica was telling me how during the rehearsal dinner last night, every time Slade bent down to get the rings from Drogo’s tiny collar, Drogo snarled and tried to bite his face off.”

  They all laughed. “I just can’t imagine that,” Francesca said. “It’s a Chihuahua. How much harm could it possibly cause?”

  “It hates Slade. Loathes him!” Jessica added. “You know, we have two of Drogo’s pups at home; they tolerate him, but they’re not too fond of Slade either. I think it’s genetic.”

  “Let’s keep our fingers crossed that Drogo makes it to the front with the rings, then,” Francesca said.

  “By the end of the ceremony, Slade may not have any fingers to cross.” Travis laughed. Then he pointed to the door. “Hey, it’s Cain.”

  Cain walked over to the group looking wonderful in his crisp black suit, white shirt, and thin black tie. On his face was his trademark scowl.

  “Yo, brother, you’re at a wedding, not a funeral. Lighten up a little,” Travis teased.

  Cain grunted something unintelligible before giving the ladies swift kisses on their cheeks. He didn’t even try to smile.

  “So, has anyone heard from Tony? Is he coming today?” Jessica asked.

  “Nope. Hasn’t come into the Academy once since the loss last week. I’m giving him until Monday to recover and suck it up before I start making calls. His agent is ready to fire him, and don’t even get me started on the phone calls I’ve received from his sponsors. Everyone seems to think I’m his handler,” Francesca said.

  “Do you think he’ll be back?” Jessica asked. “Slade’s been a little worried he may walk.”

  “He’ll be back,” Cain responded, and the women all looked over to him questioningly.<
br />
  “Yeah, the guy lives for the sport,” Travis put in. “Once he gets over his snit, he’ll come back. He ain’t going to apologize and probably won’t want to talk about the fight, but he’ll be back.” Cain nodded in agreement.

  “Oh! Well, speaking of the devil…” JL pointed to the door, where Violet, who was JL’s best friend, and Tony were walking in. He was wearing a tan suit with a white shirt, and he looked absolutely perfect. His usually smooth face was accented by a slight stubble, and his black hair was parted on the side. Francesca had to admit that seeing him had always done something to her—he was just the most attractive man she’d ever seen. The scar on his face just added to the bad-boy sexiness he exuded.

  “What the fuck?” she heard Cain growl next to her.

  She’d been so busy checking Tony out, she hadn’t noticed he’d walked in with Violet. They’re dating? And why did that make her feel jealous? She didn’t want to feel jealous. She had no right to feel jealous. Damn, the man had asked her out a zillion times in the last five months and she’d repeatedly turned him down. He had a right to date. In fact, it would’ve been unusual if he hadn’t brought a date. But Cain apparently felt differently. No one seemed to know the issue between Cain and Violet—but there definitely was a story there, because Francesca had witnessed Cain’s insane jealousy and protectiveness toward Violet.

  Francesca wondered if Tony knew he was about to get his beautifully scarred face punched. “Hi, guys,” Violet said in her normal chirpy tone.

  “You look wonderful, Violet,” Jessica said. Francesca, JL, and Travis repeated the sentiment as they all greeted one another.

  “Look who I found roaming the parking lot.” Violet pointed over her shoulder to Tony.

  Francesca felt a gush of breath release from her lungs. They’d just walked in together—they weren’t together. Cain looked just as relieved. He whispered something quietly into Violet’s ear that made her blush.