Bruiser: A Lonely Housewife Embarks on a Passionate Affair with an Alpha Male MMA Fighter (11 page)

Chapter Thirty Four

Ava

The guilt didn’t kick in until later – until she and Clark were getting ready for bed that evening.

Clark was clearly feeling amorous; and stepped up behind Ava as she wiped off her makeup, and wrapped his arms around her.

“Clark,” Ava shrugged him off. “I’m really not in the mood.”

And that wasn’t really true – because right then and there, she wanted to turn around and throw her husband on the bed and make up for
everything
she’d been doing with Brandon.

But she just
couldn’t
.

And when Clark started nuzzling her neck insistently, Ava used the one thing she knew would kill the mood pretty instantly.

“So, I was talking to Rob today.”

Clark froze, lips still pressed against her neck.

“Ex-boyfriend Rob?” Clark asked, suspiciously. He straightened up, and looked into the reflection of Ava’s eyes in the mirror.

“Yes,” Ava replied, nonchalantly wiping the foundation from her cheeks. “You know he’s over here on the east coast, right?”

Clark grumbled in his throat.

Clark wasn’t a jealous kind of guy. The fact that he was letting Ava spend so many hours a day with Brandon at the karate center was proof of that (although, she snorted,
if only he knew)
.

But Rob – her former college boyfriend who’d gone on to fight in the MMA – was a different story.

Clark had
always
felt threatened by Rob. He was a chubby, nerdy comic book dude – and Rob was a good-looking, D-list celebrity with perfect pecs and long, blond hair.

Of course, Ava didn’t have feelings for Rob any more – but when it comes to eliciting feelings of insecurity in a guy, that’s pretty irrelevant.

Clark felt threatened by Rob; and his reaction to her news was demonstration of that.

Letting go of Ava’s shoulders, Clark stepped back and asked: “So… What did Rob have to say?”

Ava almost felt guilty saying this next part.

I mean, she’d have
had
to tell him sooner or later anyway; but the way she was deliberately bringing up the topic now, to avoid sleeping with her husband, seemed cynical and manipulative even to her.

Turning around, she tried to sound nonchalant as she explained, “He’s going to come and do some sparring with Brandon.”

Clark blinked.

“Rob’s coming
here
?”

“Yeah,” Ava reached for her nightshirt. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

Clark snatched his pajama pants off the bed and clumsily stepped into them.

“No,” he lied.

And then, as Ava climbed into bed next to him, her husband flicked off the lights with a ‘hurumph’ and angrily flopped onto his side, presenting his big, broad back to Ava.

Ava closed her eyes, and tried to sleep.

Chapter Thirty Five

Brandon

The scales creaked as Brandon stepped up onto them.

Vinnie was standing opposite him, and adjusted the weights thoughtfully.

235lbs.

“That’s five pounds down in just in a week, B,” the Italian grinned. “You’re gonna have no trouble weighing in.” He patted his friend on his meaty shoulder, and grinned. “You’re gonna fucking
crush
that Brit.”

Brandon didn’t say anything. He stepped off the scales and reached for his
karategi
, thinking about the weight he’d lost.

A clean diet, hours of cardio and endless shadowboxing and sparring had certainly trimmed some of the puppy fat from his intimidating form – and he was much more focused and full of energy.

But he had no illusions. James MacDonald – the ‘British Bulldog’ – might have been 15 pounds lighter than him, but it was doubtful that any of it wasn’t muscle.

James was a top-tier fighter at the peak of his career.

Brandon ran a karate school, and had a weakness for pancakes.

It would take him months to reach MacDonald’s physical condition – and since Brandon had just over a week before the fight, he’d have to focus on being a better
fighter
than a better
athlete
.

The sound of a car horn snapped Brandon from his thoughts, and he crossed the reception area to the glass windows overlooking the parking lot.

Roaring onto the lot was a grumbling red sports car – an old 1990s-era Trans Am with a monstrous hood scoop and gleaming paint.

And, pulling behind, was a car Brandon instantly recognized – Ava’s Buick Enclave.

As Brandon watched, the two cars pulled to a halt and their doors swung open.

Out of the Firebird clambered a beefy, tanned guy with shoulder-length blond hair and a gleaming white smile.

Brandon recognized him instantly – Rob Staavig, known to his fans as ‘Thor.’ He felt a momentary thrill, realizing that a bona-fide celebrity – albeit of the truly D-list variety – was about to visit his karate center.

Out of the other car clambered Ava – and then Clark.

Brandon’s eyes widened as he saw Ava’s rotund husband. In all the time Ava had been coming to BB Martial Arts Center, Clark had only ever made stop-ins to collect the kids. It was weird to see him actually
volunteer
to turn up.

But the reason for that soon became abundantly clear.

Ava wrapped her arms around Rob, and hugged her ex-boyfriend happily. Then Clark awkwardly shook the MMA fighter’s hand, and even from all the way across the parking lot, Brandon could see the look of suspicion and distrust on Ava’s husband’s face.

Brandon snorted. As was typical, Clark was getting insecure about the
wrong
guy.

With the greetings exchanged, the three of them headed across the parking lot towards the karate center – and Brandon held open the door for them and called to Vinnie. “Yo! We have a celebrity in the house.”

Rob laughed as he walked inside – clearly both embarrassed, and pleased with that introduction.

Brandon welcomed Rob with a smile, but immediately started studying him.

There was something kind of cheesy about Rob Staavig. With his rich tan and shampoo-commercial hair, he looked more like a male model than a fighter. Which, to be honest, was pretty much what he’d been since he left the octagon five years earlier.

These days, the few people who knew him recognized him from his fitness channel on YouTube, or his columns in MMA magazines, rather than his three near-championship streaks eight or nine years earlier.

But Rob was still clearly in good shape – and as he swaggered into the karate center, the handshake he gave Brandon was strong and firm.

“Bruiser Broderick, right?” Rob didn’t wait for introductions. “Pleased to meet you. Been reading about your college career – you had promise.”

“He
still
has promise,” Vinnie had come in from the studio, and was offering Rob his own hand to shake. “He’s going to kick that British bastard’s ass in a week and a half.”

Rob smiled charmingly, but just shrugged.

“So, Robbie says he’s willing to spar with you,” Ava beamed, rubbing her ex-boyfriend’s arm. Brandon watched to see Clark’s reaction – and was rewarded by two obvious shudders. The first when she’d touched Rob’s arm, and the second when she’d called him ‘Robbie.’

“Yeah,” Rob grinned, brushing a curtain of blond hair from his face. “As soon as Ava called, I knew I had to meet you.”

He patted Brandon on the arm, a little too familiarly.

“I’m commentating on a Fox affiliate over the summer, and they
loved
the angle of me helping you get back in shape. They want to come out and film a story about it.”

“That’s great,” Vinnie clapped his hands. “We need all the publicity we can get, man.” Then he cleared his throat, and as if it had been his intention all along, added: “The classes for special needs kids will
really
benefit from some air time.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. He knew Vinnie was just doing this to increase his own sphere of influence - but as long as it ended up with him saving the school, he was more than happy to go along with it.

“Well, come on, buddy,” Rob slapped Brandon on the shoulder. “Why don’t we head out onto the mats and you show me your stuff.” And, with that, Rob pulled off his t-shirt with an almost shameful lack of self-consciousness.

Underneath the t-shirt, Rob had bulging pecs and a sculpted six-pack; all showcased by the best tan a spraygun could supply. Even Brandon felt a little intimidated, and he noticed that Ava’s chubby husband Clark practically turned green at the sight.

Brandon pulled off his own jacket and t-shirt – and both fighters stepped into the studio in nothing but their loose pants.

Vinnie, Ava and Clark stood by the chairs, and watched the two fighters stretch and limber up.

Then they both walked barefoot into the center of the vinyl mats.

After banging gloves together, the two fighters circled each other warily, and Rob flashed a confident grin at Brandon and demanded, “Come at me, bro.”

And when Brandon did, Rob punched him
hard
in the face.

Chapter Thirty Six

Brandon

As Brandon dabbed his bloody nose with a tissue, one thing became immediately apparent to him.

Rob wasn’t fucking around.

Sparring with Johnny and spending hours shadowboxing had been great for his heart-rate; but he realized now that
none of it
was going to prepare him for time spent back in the octagon.

Brandon suddenly remembered how dangerous and brutal MMA fighting could be. For the first time since he’d agreed to this fight, he actually felt worried.

He hadn’t fought in nearly three years. He was overweight and out of shape. And he was facing off against one of the league’s hottest up-and-coming fighters.

“You ready to go again, B?” Rob had already adopted Brandon’s nickname – another demonstration of the over-familiarity that Brandon would soon realize characterized Rob Staavig.

The blond Norwegian was dancing around on the mats, slapping his gloved fists together in anticipation.

Giving his bloody nose one last wipe, Brandon slapped his own gloves together and staggered back onto the mats.

Again, the two of them danced around in circles for a moment – reaching out to tap gloves as they both weighed up their opponent.

This time, Brandon let Rob make the first move – and boy, did he.

The slimmer fighter pounced like a bobcat, and came in swinging. Brandon shielded his head from the blows with his elbows, and then tried to take a swing himself. It went wild, and that opened him up for an ear-ringing thump that landed right on the side of his head.

Grinning smugly, Rob bounced and danced circles around Brandon, slapping his gloves together.

“Gotta be quicker than that, Bruiser,” he grinned. Then just as Brandon straightened himself back up, he came in like a jackhammer again; raining a dozen punches down on Brandon that the bigger man struggled to block with his elbows and fists.

Snarling, Brandon used his bigger size like a bludgeon; and pushed Rob hard in the chest, sending the tanned fighter staggering back.

It wasn’t a hit, and it hadn’t hurt, but it gave Brandon the seconds he needed to recoup – and he needed every one of them.

Once again, Rob came in fast and relentlessly; throwing a cannonade of punches that kept Brandon on the defensive. But unlike the previous two times, Rob didn’t stop the assault even after he’d scored a hit.

With Brandon off balance, Rob practically jumped on him. One of Rob’s thick arms curled around Brandon’s neck, and he hooked his foot into the crook of Brandon’s knee.

Like somebody had called ‘timber’, Brandon came crashing down. Rob landed on him like 215lbs of bricks.

Brandon actually managed to roll the smaller man off him, and as they wrestled on the mats, for a moment, Brandon actually thought that
this
was where he’d get the upper hand.

After all, Rob was smaller and lighter than him; and
nobody
knew wrestling like Brandon did.

But that was only what Brandon
believed
– and he only believed it up to the point that Rob started throttling him.

In MMA, wrestling is like a game of chess. Each fighter reacts to their opponent’s move with one of their own; and often plan several moves ahead, each scheming to get their opponent into one of these sought-after, impossible-to-escape from pin-downs.

As a black belt in Brazillian Jiu-Jitsu, and having been certified in Krav Maga, Brandon considered himself one of the best when it came to getting down and dirty on the mats – but within seconds his opponent had managed to turn an ugly takedown into a seemingly inescapable one.

When Rob finally got his knee into Brandon’s thigh, he started yanking on the bigger man’s arm until it threatened to pop clean out of its socket. Immediately, Brandon
knew
he was in trouble.

He gritted his teeth, and struggled – but Rob’s hold on him was like a vice. Soon his arm was screaming in pain, and Rob Staavig wasn’t letting up.

Brandon struggled. He kicked. He arched his back and tried to pick Rob clean off the ground, but he couldn’t.

And through it all, Rob tightened that hold on Brandon’s arm, until his tendons screamed.

But Brandon didn’t tap out.

He’d
never
tapped out. He wasn’t about to break that streak on the dirty mats of his own karate school.

“For fuck’s sake,” Rob hissed in Brandon’s ear. “Tap out, bro.”

“Huuungh!” Brandon snarled, and tried to wrap his fingers around Rob’s arm.

“Tap out, man!”

But Brandon didn’t… And after ten long, tortuous seconds, Rob suddenly let go, and rolled aside – giving Brandon sweet relief from the burning pressure on his arm.

Brandon grinned triumphantly, and staggered to his feet, finding Rob already up and waiting for him.

Brandon lifted his fists in a defensive stance – but Rob didn’t do the same.

“It’s over, Bruiser,” the blond fighter growled.

“No,” Brandon took a swing, ignoring the pain in his tortured shoulder. “I’m good.”

“No, you’re not,” Rob stepped effortlessly out of the way. “I
let you go
.” He snorted derisively. “What did you expect me to do? Pop your fucking arm out of its socket, because you’re too damned stupid to tap out?”

Brandon paused.

He stood there, fists raised, and watched three pairs of eyes looking at him the same way. Rob, Ava and Clark – expectantly, and impatiently.

And with a sinking feeling in his guts, he realized Rob was right.

He’d
let
Brandon go.

Brandon’s fists fell to his sides.

“How long did he last?” Rob called out. “A minute and a half?”

“Two minutes, ten seconds,” Clark replied – because
of course
Clark had been timing it.

Rob swaggered up to Brandon, and thumped the bigger fighter on the shoulder.

“I know you get paid just for turning up,” he told him. “But if you want to be taken
seriously
in this fight…” He thumped his fist into his palm. “You’ve got a lot of fucking training to do.”