Page 4 of Win You Over

Remington

F inn’s hands land on my shoulders, shaking me briefly before patting my back from his spot on the outside of the makeshift ring.

“You’ve got this, dude. Take the fucker out,” he all but yells, his fingers sliding discreetly across the back of my neck.

He wants me to win tonight, possibly more than I want to win, because he likes the person I am after a fight.

The way I fuck him, hard, fast and relentless, when adrenaline is coursing through my blood.

We’re not a thing, never have been. He’s my best friend and we like to fool around.

It’s all very casual, exactly the way I like it.

He runs a hand down my back before stepping away and leaving me alone in the ring.

Pushing off the side, I wave my arms in the air, flashing a smile at the cheering crowd, then lick my lips and slide my hands down my naked chest. I catch a few eyes, offering a wink here and there before toying with the waistband of my shorts.

Someone catcalls and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.

I always put on a show before a fight and the crowd goes wild for it.

Some call it showboating, I call it giving the people what they want.

The crowd loves me. They eat this shit up.

And why wouldn’t they? I’m a fucking snack.

My last fight was over in a minute and apart from a dull ache where the guy delivered a roundhouse kick that caught me square in the hip, I barely have a scratch on me. He was no match for me and I had him crumpled on the floor within sixty seconds, crying like a baby.

Someone boos and I turn in time to see my opponent enter the ring, climbing between two of the three ropes.

Holden Booker. The smile I put on for show a moment ago turns into genuine delight as he straightens, his eyes tuning into me with a steely glare.

Holden looks like he wants to murder me.

It’s cute. Like a kitten. No, not a kitten.

A lion cub. All growly, with sharp teeth and claws.

It wouldn’t surprise me if one day he stabbed me with that knife he likes to fondle.

Fuck, he makes my dick hard.

I adjust myself, not at all discreetly, super glad I wore a jock to keep the goods secure.

Holden's eyes follow the movement, one brow raised above his slightly swollen left eye.

His cheeks are bright red, contrasting against his fair complexion.

Whether that's from hits he took or the god awful heat in here, I can't be too sure.

He’s wearing black shorts and a grey tank top.

Most fighters I know take off their tops when they fight, but not him, and dammit, I want to know why he keeps it on.

Or maybe I just want to see what’s under the fabric that clings so beautifully to his lean, muscled frame.

Or both. Who knows why I want half the things I want?

All I know is that the more I see him, the more I want to unravel him and find out everything there is to know about Holden Booker.

“Oh leeutjie, you made it. So glad you could join me.” I open my hands, palms up and swoop them around the ring.

Holden snarls, his nose crinkled in disgust as he hops from foot to foot, amping himself up for a fight.

He doesn’t say anything – never does – but that’s okay.

I like his silence. I like the growl that rumbles from his chest even more.

“Fuck him up!” Finn yells from behind me and I tune him out, honing my focus on the man in front of me.

Possibly the only person I’ve met that doesn’t like me and I cannot for the life of me work out why.

Everyone wants to be my friend. Or my fuck buddy.

Not Holden though and fuck me , maybe that’s why he gets under my skin so easily.

Holden’s friend, the one with the mousy red hair and sprinkling of freckles over his nose, hands him a mouth guard, which he pops in, moving his lips to get the protective material into place.

The friend rubs Holden’s shoulders and I watch his hands, feeling something about the way he touches the other man.

Parking that thought for later assessment, I open my mouth to say something, but am cut off when a third person joins us in the ring.

Tonight's ring announcer, a professor at our university, who not only runs these illegal fight clubs but also deals drugs from his history classroom, joins us in the ring, standing in the space between Holden and I.

“Alright gentlemen. You know the rules. You have two minutes or until someone taps out. The winner takes home the prize money.”

“And bragging rights,” I add with a smirk.

“And bragging rights, though Lord knows you don’t need anything more to gloat about,” the shady professor says with a roll of his eyes. Okay, so maybe there are other people who don’t particularly like me.

Holden nods in agreement, his eyes narrowing, and I return the gesture. I crack my knuckles, then move my neck from side to side before shaking out my arms.

“Bring it, pretty boy.” I pop my own mouthguard in, biting down on the plastic, my tongue running along the edges where it meets my upper gum. Holden’s nostrils flare, his jaw muscles clenching.

This is going to be fun.

“Gentlemen, touch fists and let’s get this fight started.”

Holden’s knuckle connects with my right eye, bright spots dancing in front of me from the impact.

Everything outside of this ring has turned to static as I backpedal, stepping away from him in time to miss another hit.

With him advancing towards me, I duck forward and land a fist to his stomach, then follow it up with three more swift jabs, causing him to stumble backwards.

He rights himself, shaking his head and squaring his shoulders as he comes at me again.

I raise both fists, bouncing on the heels of my feet as I block his jabs.

We get locked in a dance of back and forth.

Jab after jab, we dodge each other’s hits until he catches me off guard with a right hook kick to the ribs.

The impact sends me reeling to the side, and he takes the opportunity to deliver a series of fast, painful kicks to my obliques.

Pain lances through my thigh, and I throw myself forward, grappling for his shoulders and hauling him closer to me. His own hands land on my neck and he holds on tight, his fingers digging into my skin.

The move brings our bodies closer together and I lift my knee, delivering a powerful blow to his stomach.

Holden’s grip loosens and I do it again, until he’s reeling back, blood dripping from an open wound above his eye as he lifts his fists in defence.

He comes at me again, his foot connecting with my ribs, but it doesn’t deter me as I dive forward, grabbing him around the waist. He lifts his knee to fight me off, but I keep my lower body out of his line of attack and use my added weight advantage to pull him down to the ground with me.

With my bigger body over his, I lean one arm over his clavicle and use my free hand to punch him in the gut.

He’s snarling beneath me, like a trapped wild animal, thrashing around to gain the upper hand.

But it’s not enough. With my legs pinning him to the ground, I rear up and deliver a quick succession of punches.

Holden lifts his arms to protect his head, no longer fighting back.

His body slackens beneath mine, admitting defeat, yet I don’t stop my delivery until the ring announcer hauls me off him, lifts my arms in the air and declares me the winner.

I am once again undefeated. My body buzzes with excitement, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The crowd goes wild, cheering my name and I do a lap of the ring before coming to stand in front of Holden, who has found his feet and is leaning against the side of the ring, breathing heavily.

He has blood trailing down his forehead and from the side of his lip.

He’s covered in sweat, his skin glowing red beneath it.

Behind him, his friend hovers with a bottle of water and a towel.

Spitting out my mouth guard, I offer him a smile and a hand. Ever the gentleman that my mom taught me to be.

“Good fight,” I say, still holding out my hand to him. “I’m a nice guy, so even though you lost, you’re welcome to party with us after. Enjoy a drink or two of that prize money.”

He doesn’t take my hand, just takes out his own mouth guard, looks me directly in the eyes, then promptly spits in my face.

Hot.

Lifting a hand, I wipe it from my skin and smirk, before leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

“How do you always know what I like? You really should stop teasing me.”

I laugh and he growls under his breath, presses both hands to my chest and pushes me away before climbing out of the ring and into the arms of his waiting friend. Maybe I shouldn’t try so hard to rile him up, but fuck, it’s fun.

Losing sucks, I’m sure. I wouldn’t know firsthand because I never lose at anything . But the look of defeat on Holden’s face makes it pretty clear that it does.