Chapter 1
Takedown Artist
Diesel
There he is. In the same place he sits every day.
Sprawled out in a corner of the gym, pencil in hand, sketchbook open. His earbuds blocking out the daily chaos. He rubs his nose and leaves behind a charcoal smudge from his fingers. He doesn’t notice.
I notice. I notice far too much about Micah Vance. More than I should.
It’s probably less notice and more obsession. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ve spent three months watching the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, finally feel comfortable here.
Smudged face aside, Micah’s stunning. Bright green eyes like cut glass, messy black hair that never stays in place. Wide, generous mouth. Snark and attitude protecting that beautifully creative mind. There isn’t anything about Micah that I don’t like. Not a single thing.
And that right there is my entire problem.
He’s so far out of my league. He’s talented, gorgeous, and super smart.
I’m a tired 34-year-old fighter with a twice-broken nose and a battered face that’s never gonna make me a cover model.
I barely made it through high school, and my mom’s a teacher, which tells you exactly what the poor woman had to work with.
Not to mention, I’m still struggling along at the amateur level when I should have gone pro years ago.
It’s for the best, really. He’s going somewhere. He’s going to be something amazing. Me, not so much.
“Diesel! Tell me you brought food today, my dude. I’m starving.” Tank slaps my back, but I’m a sturdy guy, so it doesn’t even faze me.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. There’s never a day Tank doesn’t want food.
“You’re always starving.” I say.
“I’m a growing boy. Besides, you bring in the best food!”
I snort. I bring in the only food. There’s a difference.
I don’t actually mind bringing in food. My mom taught me to be self-sufficient, so I learned how to cook early in life. We used to spend every Sunday cooking and meal prepping for the coming week. Mom was all about being organized and prepared.
To be fair, I’ve also been trying to eat more protein lately.
I found this guy on TikTok who has some delicious-looking recipes.
It works out because I have an entire gym full of guinea pigs who will eat anything you put in front of them.
They’re at least good for an honest critique.
Sometimes too honest, but I have thick skin, so that helps.
“Check out the break room. Casserole’s on the counter.”
“Sweet!”
“Leave some for the rest of us. If there’s not enough for Micah and Arlo, I’ll sic Tiernan on you.”
“Why is everyone so mean to me? It’s like you don’t even know me.” He throws his hands up dramatically. That’s Tank. Resident drama llama.
“Or we know you too well!” I call as he rushes off.
“He is like black hole. Always empty.” Anvil’s Russian, and he’s never fully gotten rid of the accent. I don’t think he wants to because he thinks it’s intimidating. It’s not.
I admit, I’m still a little salty that he went pro last year. Not at him, not really. More at myself. I’ve had opportunities, but everything seems to fall through at the last minute. I try not to think too hard about why that happens.
“Isn’t that the truth.”
“You have class today, yes? The kids, they will be excited.”
That gets me smiling. Teaching my BJJ class is the highlight of my week. Kids have a way of making everything fun. I almost feel guilty for getting paid to teach. Almost.
You also love it because Micah always watches.
There is that. I won’t pretend I don’t like it. I do. The way his face lights up during class makes me wonder about his childhood. He’s tight-lipped about his past. I’m afraid to ask about it, even though I’d love to learn more about him.
“Yup, class in an hour.”
Anvil thumps me on the back and goes back to his bag work.
Tiernan, the owner of O’Rourke’s, has five heavy bags lined up along the side wall.
It gives everyone plenty of space to work on their striking.
He has an efficient setup, including a cage and boxing ring, which is exactly what I’d expect from a former middleweight champion.
O’Rourke’s Corner has a full house today. The trendy beat of the latest pop song pipes through the speakers. That has to be Tank’s most recent playlist. He loves to annoy Anvil with his musical taste, or lack thereof. I ignore the fact that my fingers are tapping out the beat on my thigh.
The clinking of the weights and the pounding of the heavy bag soothe me, but then this place has always been more than just somewhere to train. For some of us, it’s home.
“Everything ready for your class?” Tiernan appears at my shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m all set.”
“Good. Thinking about expanding into the next space. It’s empty right now.
With all the recent interest in our BJJ classes, we could use a couple more rooms. Micah’s killing it on the social media stuff.
I can barely keep up it all.” He tells me in that sparse, steady tone of his. He’s a stand-up guy and a solid friend.
“You know me, happy to volunteer for more teaching spots.” I make better money teaching than I do with my side gig as a bouncer. Amateur MMA isn’t a lucrative career path, but I wouldn’t want to do anything else.
“Gonna go grab Arlo and Micah for lunch. Tank is already eating.”
I get a half-smile. The closest thing to a laugh that I’m going to get out of T.
“Better hurry then.” He wanders over to Suerte, one of our pros, to check on his progress. As a retired fighter, he’s a terrific resource for those of us still trying to make it happen.
I rub my hand over my bald head. It’s a nervous habit that I wish I could quit, even though I love the feel of it.
Suerte’s frowning at him, but he always looks as if he’s pissed.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen that guy smile.
The only time I see him look remotely happy is during a fight.
Not sure what that says about him, and I’m sure as hell not gonna ask.
He’s even more close-mouthed than Micah.
Despite his demeanor, he’s one hell of a fighter.
Arlo’s in the office working away on the laptop. Tiernan has him doing all the business stuff now, which is perfect because Tiernan hates paperwork. Arlo seems to enjoy it, so it works for them.
“Hey Diesel!” Arlo’s a different person now that he and T are together. He’s always wearing a warm, contented smile these days, especially when he’s around T.
“Just checking in. You eat yet? ‘Cause Tank’s in there so you might want to hurry.”
Arlo laughs as he shuts his laptop and stands. It’s such a bright, cheerful sound that I can’t help but grin back. I’m so glad the two of them found each other.
I head over to Micah’s sketching corner. He seems to have claimed it, and no one’s objected, so I guess it’s his now.
I tap him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. His head jerks up, but when he sees it’s me, he gives me a warm grin and pulls out his earbuds. Even a month ago, I couldn’t get a smile out of him, much less a conversation.
“Hey, Diesel. You guys need me?” he asks in that precise way of his—not controlled so much as contained. His voice is lower than you’d expect for someone his age, and a bit rough, but, damn, I could listen to it all day.
“Nah, checking to see if you want some lunch. Tank’s already started, so you know how that goes.”
“Hah. Valid. That man’s a menace. I better get in there.”
“Smart man.”
I hold out my hand to help him up. He’s not big on physical affection. That’s hard for me because that’s my go-to, but I get that it’s not for everyone.
He takes it without hesitation, and I pull him up. It’s not difficult. He’s tall but lanky, all lean muscle and long legs. He pushes his dark hair away from his face. It’s longer now, but he hasn’t gotten it cut yet. It’s an attractive look on him.
I want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go, but I content myself with a quick back pat. Three months ago he would have flinched at that, so progress, I guess.
Arlo’s already at the small card table in the break room. If we keep adding more strays, we’re gonna need a bigger table. I’ll mention that to T.
Micah grabs some of my chicken artichoke casserole, my newest experiment, and takes a seat next to Arlo. Tank, of course, has a heaping plate. Seriously, I can’t figure out how that guy makes weight.
“Oh God, this is so good,” Arlo says, neatly cutting himself another bite.
“Damn good!” is Tank’s enthusiastic reply.
I shudder at Tank’s mouthful of food, on display without a care. Ugh.
“Tank! Manners. Use them.” I bark out in my trainer voice. Not that he’s gonna listen.
Arlo snickers. I see Micah’s lip turn up at the sides. It’s a good feeling when I can make those two grin.
“You wanna hang out with me later? I’ve got a bunch of reports to run and it’s so boring.” Arlo asks Micah.
“Sure. I got plenty to keep me busy. ‘Cause I’m in such demand for my fantastic graphic services.”
“They are fantastic,” Arlo reassures him.
“Too bad those guys at the Go-cart place didn’t think so,” he replies. He doesn’t look that upset, but I can see the tight lines around his eyes and the jaw set tight. It’s bothering him more than he’ll admit. Typical. It makes me want to punch people.
“Tell ‘em to eat a bag of dicks.” Tank says, inserting himself right into the conversation, as usual.
Arlo smiles, and Micah shakes his head.
“Sure, Tank, I’ll get right on that,” Micah snarks.
My hand’s already reaching for him when I remember to pull it back. Damn, this is hard.
Patience. That’s the key here.
Micah is staring intently at his phone, which is not something he does often. Maybe he’s got a new client.
Arlo nudges his shoulder, pushing his light brown hair off his face as he leans toward Micah.
“Let me see. What are your options?” he asks quietly.
“Here. I’m not sure about any of them honestly. Maybe the last one.” He hands Arlo his phone, and they huddle over it together.
I know it’s none of my business. I’m just a co-worker in his eyes, and I’ve got no claim on his life. So why am I sitting here wishing I could figure out what they’re looking at with such intense scrutiny?
“What about this one?” Arlo asks, pointing to something on his screen.
“More your type than mine,” he says, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head.
His soft gray t-shirt rides up, and I can’t pull my gaze away from the mouth-watering strip of tan skin on display.
I really need to get a life, or get laid.
Something. Except when I imagine getting laid, Micah is all I see.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. You’ll find one you like,” Arlo says confidently as he gives Micah a one-armed hug.
“Dating sucks,” Micah tells him, tossing his phone onto the table with a thud.
Dating? He’s dating?
It’s completely wrong and I know it, but I glance down at his home screen, and there it is. Grindr. Well, that answers the ‘is he into guys’ question. Although considering he and Arlo share a douchebag ex-boyfriend, it wasn’t that big of a question.
Yeah, he’s just not into you.
Fuck me sideways.