Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(68)

“Liam’s been watching Webb’s tapes.” Caleb motions to the stocky Brit. “Let’s run through some ground game and defensive moves.”

Fine by me. Pride isn’t something I’m comfortable feeling. I’d like to think I’m a constant work in progress, that there’s always room for improvement. But the last two grappling sessions I had with Liam I came out on top. Hopefully, he has something new for me today.

“You ready, old man?” I toss my towel away and grin at Liam.

He snarls and flashes his chipped front tooth, which adds a ruthlessness to his already intimidating mug. “Fuck yeah, you little tosspot.”

These guys and their slang. British insults are the cutest damn things I’ve ever heard. “Aw, that’s sweet.”

He growls then lunges, and just like every other day, we move through takedowns, submissions, and escapes.

The weeks go on like this, training every day and going back to the penthouse every night to wind down, make dinner, and read or watch a movie.

As fast as the weeks fly by, the weekends do the opposite. Saturday and Sunday drag along at a slow crawl. I train lightly those days, and I’ve managed to do some sight-seeing, but it makes for an isolated experience. I hit the pubs with the guys at night, which is fun. The UFL UK has a decent amount of groupies, so no matter where we go, we end up with plenty of company.

I’ve never been the guy who’s always surrounded by groups of friends. Being an only child who grew up to be a somewhat—oh, who am I kidding—a total nerdy adult, I’ve only ever had one friend, who I refuse to let myself think about. So, although being the center of attention isn’t something I’m used to, I gotta admit it’s not half bad. It’s on that thought that Liam hooks my neck from behind.

“Oh come on!” The female voice with a thick French accent sounds from just off the mats. “No chance you’ll beat Webb if you’re sleeping on the job, Harry!”

“She’s right, HP.” Liam mumbles in my ear and laughs before releasing me.

Fleur, all five-foot-three inches, stomps across the mats and props her hands on her narrow hips. Her big hazel eyes blaze with irritation, and her dark blond ponytail falls over her sculpted tan shoulder. “What the f*ck is wrong with you, Potter?”

“Nothing.” I shrug and get to my feet, getting a sense of victory when I stand a whole head taller than her.

“Did you hear that, cowboy?” She glares at Caleb, who rolls his eyes. “He says nothing, but he let himself get choked out by Liam.”

“I didn’t let myself; he just bested me.” Okay, that’s not exactly true. I may not have been as focused as I should’ve been.

“Oh…he bested you.” She smiles, and every time she does, I’m always amazed she chose fighting over something more fitting like modeling. She has an innocent beauty about her that reminds me of a young Kate Moss, except with more muscles. She steps back and crouches, opening her arms in a fighting stance. “Let’s see if you can best me, Potter. After all, I’m just a teeny girl.”

“Oh f*ck…”

“He’s shafted.”

The surrounding fighters continue with their mumbled comments as they back off the mats.

Even her brother Olivier says, “Watch your balls, HP. She doesn’t fight fair.”

I sigh and shake my head, staring down at her. “You don’t want to do this, little flower.”

“Don’t I?” She lifts a sculpted brow. “Make me regret it.”

I keep my eyes on her as she circles me; her eyes study me as if she’s calculating where to strike first.

Her legs step with practiced fluidity; they’re short but toned and lead from a pair of long MMA training shorts to end with bare feet and bright red toe nails—umph!

Her shoulder hits my gut and arms wrap around my middle. Her leg sweeps at my feet, but I step back to avoid her kick.

No matter how many times we train together, it always amazes me how much power she can pack in her small frame. The guys call from all around us, taunting and cheering, which is ridiculous. The girl weighs next to nothing, so I fold over her, reach around her waist, and lift her off the ground.

“Gah!” Her legs kick, and in one swift move, I flip her to her back and hold her arms above her head.

She digs her heel into the mat to try and flip me, which makes me laugh.

A weak growl rumbles in her throat as I tangle my legs in hers and lock her down with my hips.

“I win.”

Her eyes narrow, but I see something else there. It’s in the way her pupils dilate and her lips part. Even under her loose T-shirt, I can feel her back arch to press her breasts against me. I hiss out a breath and drop my chin, pretending it’s exhaustion and not the uninvited rush of lust that’s heating through me.

Shit! I don’t want this.

I shove off of her and hop to my feet, more than a little troubled by my body’s reaction to her.

Not that it shouldn’t react. I mean the girl is gorgeous and the soft curves of her body pressed to mine would elicit a reaction out of a dead man, which is basically what I am—dead—at least on the inside.

The slow clap from Caleb calls my attention.

“Very nice, Killer. You’ve managed to takedown a hundred-pound female. Now let’s see if we can work you up to a one-hundred-seventy-pound professional fighter, m’kay?”