Takedown Artist (The Corner #2)

1. Chapter One

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 learn to feel comfortable here.

I was hooked the first time I saw him. Defiant and shaking, he demanded we immediately go help Tiernan with that douchebag Derek, Arlo’s ex.

Then Tiernan hired him to handle our social media, and now he’s here every day, which is wonderful and awful at the same time.

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 he uses to protect that beautiful, 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.

Guys like me don’t end up with guys who look like that.

Plus, 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. It’s not surprising the red-headed chaos gremlin is already hitting me up for food. There’s never a day Tank doesn’t want food.

I resist the urge to smack the back of his head.

“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, and I learned how to cook early in life. I enjoy it, and it’s a way for me to relax. 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 high-protein 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, which helps.

“Check out the break room. Casserole is 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. What is intimidating is his size.

At 265, he fights in the heavyweight class, so he’s even larger than me, and with that white-blonde hair, he looks like the Russian villain from Rocky IV.

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,” I say instead.

“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 to get his social media pictures.

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. For an Irish guy, he’s pretty stoic. Although that seems to be getting better now that he and Arlo are together. He actually smiled the other day.

“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 with 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 say. 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 warn him.

I get a half-smile. It’s the closest thing to a laugh that I’m getting out of T.

“Better hurry then. I’m working with Saint on his striking. I’ll grab something later,” Tiernan says before wandering over to check on Suerte, one of our pros. T’s a retired fighter, and 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. I get like this when I have to have an actual conversation with Micah. It’s nerve-wracking.

Suerte’s frowning at Tiernan, but Suerte always looks as if he’s pissed.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the 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, and one hell of a fighter.

He’s been a pro for almost three years now, and he’s done pretty well for himself.

Arlo’s in the office working away on his laptop. Tiernan has him doing all the business stuff now, which is perfect because Tiernan hates paperwork. Arlo seems to enjoy it, and 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. I want that too. Someday.

“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.

He’s definitely put on some weight since Tiernan first gave him a job here. He was homeless and skinny as a rail at first, but now he’s looking much healthier. I’m glad to see it and not just because he loves my cooking. Although that does make him one of my favorites.

I head over to Micah’s sketching corner. He seems to have claimed it, and no one’s objected. I guess it’s his now. I don’t mind. Seeing him make the gym his home has been so satisfying. From what I can tell, he needed one.

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 just 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, and 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 cut it. The way it hangs over his eye on the side is hot AF.

My hands are dying to get a hold of it. Maybe with Micah on his knees…

Do not go there right now.

I try not to sniff him when he’s this close to me, but it’s a struggle. He always smells so good. Citrus, spice and him. It makes me 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. Progress, I guess.

Arlo’s already at the small card table in the break room. It’s old and worn and can only seat four people comfortably. 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 always an excellent day when I can make those two grin.

“You wanna hang out with me later? I’ve got a bunch of reports to run. Boring,” Arlo tells 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 with his usual snark.

He doesn’t look that upset, but the tight lines around his eyes and the way his jaw clenches show me it’s bothering him more than he’ll admit.

Typical. It makes me want to punch people. Specifically, the go-cart 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. It’s so 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 both dated that douchebag, Derek, it wasn’t that big of a mystery.

Yeah, he’s just not into you.

Fuck me sideways.