Vicki Essex - In Her Corner

She wasn’t too far from Bourbon Street, so she pointed herself toward the district. As she meandered along the famous strip, she was surprised by the number of people out on a Monday night. Weaving through the crowd, it was hard to imagine what the weekend would look like.

She peeked into the bars as she passed, then walked into one that suited her—clean, classy, with modern furnishings and an extensive menu. TV screens showed sports highlights, a baseball game and, more importantly, an MMA fight.

She parked herself at the corner of the bar closest to the screen showing the fight. She ordered a bottle of beer. She didn’t normally drink when she was training, but it didn’t seem right to order water.

She nursed her drink as she watched the fight, studying the two lightweights’ techniques. She knew of one of them—Alessander Mortensen, an up-and-comer who specialized in judo. He’d trained briefly with her brothers in São Paulo. His opponent, Mike Bourne, danced out of the other man’s reach, striking and weaving, but not getting any significant hits in. The guy was afraid.

“Oh, c’mon!” she yelled at the screen. The match ended to a round of boos. Bourne had let the clock run out, evading Mortensen as long as possible, scoring points with cheap kicks to the shins. Sadly, she couldn’t say that Mortensen was doing any better.

“I didn’t know chicks watched this stuff.” A man slid up next to her. He smelled like uncooked ground beef. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She barely spared him a glance. “No thanks. I already have one.”

The man asked the bartender for two beers anyway. “What is it about these fights that chicks like? Two greased-up guys mounting each other? That’s pretty gay.”

She turned cold eyes toward him. He might have been okay looking in a certain light, but the words coming out of his mouth spoiled any such illusions. “I like watching the fights because it’s what my family and I do for a living. And as for your homophobic comment, I won’t even dignify that with a response. Now take your cheap-ass beers and go away. I’m trying to enjoy the fight.”

He slid closer. “Aw, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean—”

“Read between the lines, asshole.” She raised her voice so everyone in the place would hear. “You insulted me. You blew it. Now leave me alone.”

“Hey, buddy.” A presence as oppressive as a storm front pushed into her personal space from behind. The hairs on Bella’s neck rose. “Is there a problem?”

The beefy-smelling man snatched up his beers and grumbled, “Dyke bitch,” as he shuffled off.

“We’re good here,” she ground out, keeping one eye on the man. “Just giving this creep his walking papers.” She challenged him with a level look when he turned and glared, but his eyes canted to her protector and he moved on.

“Were you planning on starting a bar fight here tonight? You don’t want to get banned before you’ve tried their shrimp po’boy sandwiches.” Kyle took the guy’s place next to her, staying close until the man made it back to his table.

“If he started something, I would’ve finished it.” She took a long pull of her beer to soothe her nerves.

“I don’t doubt it. But I’d hate to have to explain to your family why I had to bail you out of jail when you haven’t been here a week.”

“Sorry. But I won’t pretend to be nice to jackasses for the sake of being polite, especially ones who talk to me like I’m a dumb piece of meat.”

He chuckled. The sound was pleasant, even human. “I can see that. I think you made everyone in the room cup their balls.” His eyes shone with admiration and a bit of nervousness. “Do me a favor, and just say thanks for the rescue to salve my male ego.”

She studied him carefully. He must’ve had a few drinks in him because he seemed a lot more relaxed. His shoulders weren’t hunched up around his ears, and the lines on his face weren’t so deep. He was actually smiling. As he was now, she could sort of see why Marco had warned her against his lady-killer reputation. “Thanks.” She toasted him with her bottle. “I owe you one.”

He flagged down the bartender while she let her attention return to the match. She couldn’t concentrate on the commentary, hyperaware of Kyle’s elbow resting an inch from hers. She thought he was watching her, but she didn’t dare look. “What are you doing here?” she asked finally.

“Besides protecting your honor?” He paused and nodded toward a booth. “I’m here with...friends.”

She glanced at the table. Three petite coeds sipping cocktails with umbrellas in them chattered animatedly. Bella stifled a snort. “A little young, aren’t they?”

He smirked. “A gentleman doesn’t ask a lady her age.”

“You might want to, in case the cops come around asking for ID.”

His lips tilted in a half smile. “Jealous?”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t want to admit she’d been feeling kind of lonely since arriving in the States.

“Hey...do you want to join us?” Kyle asked as if reading her thoughts.

“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’m going to finish this and see where the fight goes, then head home.”

“If you change your mind...”

She waved him off. “Go on. The Powerpuff Girls need their juice.”

He gathered up the drinks in his big hands. “Stay out of trouble.”

“You, too, Coach. Don’t let them stay out past their curfew.”

He chuckled and went back to the table. Bella was in a better mood as she watched the rest of the fight.

She kept an inch of warm beer at the bottom of her bottle as the next fight started. She heard the girls with Kyle laughing and giggling. She didn’t want to watch them, but they were loud and boisterous, drawing envious looks from all corners of the bar. The girls hung on Kyle’s every word. The blonde looked especially into him, gazing doe-eyed at him.

The bartender put another open bottle in front of her.

She looked at him quizzically. “I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house. I liked the way you handled that jerk earlier. I’ve been looking for a reason to refuse him service and kick him out.” He crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest. “Sorry I didn’t step in fast enough.”

“No need to be sorry, Mr....?”

“Neal.” They shook hands, and he nodded vaguely over his shoulder. “I can see you’re really into the game.”

“Oh, I’m actually watching the fight.”

“I didn’t mean the Yankees game.” He inclined his chin toward the table. “I mean Kyle. Must be at least once a week he comes in with a date or picks up some chick and leaves with them. I’ve got my money on the one in the pink sweater tonight. You?”

Bella wasn’t sure why she felt such disappointment. She’d been warned about Kyle’s reputation, after all. “The blonde,” she said decisively. “Look at those puppy-dog eyes.”

He polished the counter top, chuckling. “I’ll be honest, when he came over here, I thought maybe you were a contender.”

“Oh, we know each other. He’s my wrestling coach.”

“No kidding? You’re training at Payette’s?”

“I’m working there while I train. Kind of like an exchange program.”

They chatted awhile about her background. Neal was more into boxing, but he seemed genuinely interested in her. Platonically, she was certain, if the wedding ring on his finger meant anything.

“Oh, damn.” Neal turned in time to see two of the girls get up from the table and hug their blonde counterpart goodbye. A couple of minutes later, Kyle and the blonde left. Bella’s gaze snagged his as he passed. He averted his eyes, almost shamefaced. “Looks like you were right.”