Grace for Drowning

The crowd roared their approval. I wanted to be mortified, but the energy in the air was infectious, and I found myself screaming too.

The next two fights weren't quite so intense, both ending in submissions rather than knockout blows, and before I knew it, Logan's time arrived.

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for," called Charlie. "This is going to be some fight, folks. The local hero against the Illinois powerhouse. In the blue corner, hailing all the way from snowy Chicago, give a warm Las Vegas welcome for Martin 'Caesar' Bianco!"

A few more boos rang out from the crowd, but this time most people showed Caesar the same respect as the other fighters, cheering and hollering as they'd done all

night. The guy that stepped into the ring certainly looked like he deserved it. He was a ridiculous specimen of a man — broad chested and long limbed and padded from head to toe in thick slabs of muscle. If I had to guess, I'd have said he was even taller than Logan. Objectively, he should have been good looking, with the kind of strong chin and blonde shaggy hair usually found in glossy magazines, but the movie star smirk on his face was so off-putting it ruined any sense of appeal he might have had. It was a look that said "everybody is paying attention to me and that's exactly the way things should be."

"And in the red corner, the reigning Final Blow champion. He's a Vegas legend in the making. Make some noise for Logan 'Blackjack' Anderson."

My lungs hitched as Logan strode into view, muscles flexing in the spotlights. I'd seen him training many times before, but this was different. There was an intent to his movements now, a sense of gravity and power that set adrenaline surging through my veins. He walked out there like he owned the place, like he owned the world. There wasn't a man in the room that could compare to that raw strength and sheer masculinity.

I'd thought the crowd was loud before, but that was a whimper compared to the cacophony that erupted as he stepped up to meet his opponent. I'd been right, Caesar was taller by at least half a foot, which made him a truly intimidating foe. But Logan didn't look fazed. He just radiated steely confidence.

I yanked my gaze away. His actions last night proved he didn't want me, so I certainly didn't want to pine after him. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to do but watch. The queue in front of us had evaporated. Now that the main event had started, apparently nobody even wanted to miss the thirty seconds it would take to get a drink.

"Is this normal?" I asked, nodding to the empty space.

Jonah shrugged. "When Logan fights, yeah, it's pretty much all eyes on him." That smile bloomed on his face once more and he raised one eyebrow suggestively. "In fact, we could basically get away with whatever we want until the end of the first round. Quick shag behind the bar?"

I laughed and raised my hand to my brow in a mock swoon. "Two minutes on a bar room floor? Who says romance is dead?"

A tingle suddenly rolled over my skin, and I glanced toward the ring once more to find Logan's eyes on me. That intensity was still there, but his brow was now furrowed, his mouth twisted ever so slightly downward. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say he looked pissed off. I returned his look and gave an exaggerated shrug, and his jaw tightened further still. It was actually strangely satisfying. Yeah, that's right, I can have fun with other people too.

Our staring contest was interrupted by Charlie calling for both fighters to assume their positions. Logan's gaze lingered a moment longer, then he turned to face his opponent. Caesar studied him, still wearing the same look of casual superiority. It felt bitchy, but there were a few moments in there where I actually didn't hate the thought of seeing Logan get knocked on his ass.

The bell rang, and the fight was on. It started slowly, the two men circling one another, probing and testing with short sharp attacks. They seemed almost evenly matched. Caesar's long arms gave him superior reach, letting him fling fists at Logan from relative safety, but Logan was much faster, almost impossibly so for a man of his size, and those blows only found empty air. The smugness gradually fell from Caesar's face as he realized this wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

As the clock ticked, the ferocity intensified. Logan paced around the ring slowly, methodically, but then with scorpion speed, his body would uncoil like a spring, unleashing a vicious blur of muscle and bone. The two fighters found their rhythm and their attacks began to connect. Caesar threw a monster of a punch, the kind that looked like it would shatter concrete, and for a heartbeat it seemed like it was going to end things on the spot, but Logan dropped his body low and the bigger man's fist glanced off his shoulder. Logan used that momentum to drive himself forward, unleashing a staggering uppercut of his own. Caesar twisted, but the blow still caught him on the side of his stomach. I couldn't help but wince at the impact. Nobody should have been still standing after a punch like that, but Caesar recovered quickly, darting backward with a growl and raising his guard once more. I began to feel light headed and realized I was holding my breath.

I tried forcing myself to think about what I'd seen the previous night, but my brain and my hormones were two totally different beasts. Watching Logan's muscles flex and explode as he tried to pummel his opponent into the ground was one of the hottest things I'd ever seen. My whole body felt flushed. Moisture pooled between my legs.

They traded blows until the bell rang again, neither making any effort to take the fight to the ground. I got the sense that this had become about more than simply winning. This was something masculine and primal, and they were going to beat each other with their fists until one man was on the floor.

Back in their corners, they both shone with sweat, but looked focused and full of energy. Caesar simply stared at his opponent while his coach whispered advice in his ear, but from the moment Logan sat down, his gaze never left me. It was actually making me uncomfortable, but there was nowhere to go, so I just stared back.

"Looks like you've got a friend," said Jonah.

"Looks that way," I replied.

He paused for several seconds looking poised to speak. "What's the deal with you two anyway? For a while I thought you were hooking up on the sly, but then last night I saw him hitting it off with Chrissy, so..."

I let out a long breath. "That's her name?"

"Yeah. She's around the bar quite a lot. Has a bit of a reputation for being...extra friendly, if you catch my drift."

I did, and it made my stomach twist. I'd done my best to convince myself their conversation hadn't been what it seemed, but that was basically a waste of time now. How could I have been so wrong about Logan? Was I really such a bad judge of character? He'd seemed so genuine, and the spark between us seemed so fierce.

Jonah must have read the turmoil on my face. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. Logan's eyes followed the gesture, his nostrils flaring, but his anger only fueled my own. He had no right to be pissed. No fucking right at all.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Jonah continued. "I was just passing the time. We can talk about something else."

I shrugged. I was so damned sick of bottling everything up, of being pitied and tiptoeing around everything. "It's okay. I thought maybe there was something there, but apparently I was wrong."

Jonah chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully for a moment. "Fair enough." His grin reappeared. "Well, if you feel like making him jealous, you know where to come."

Perhaps the heat in Logan's gaze should have told me not to prod the bull, but he'd hurt me, and in that moment all I wanted was to do the same to him. Reaching out, I looped my fingers through Jonah's and turned toward him, doing my best to smile seductively. "That's very generous of you."