First Round Knockout Read online

  First Round Knockout

  Curves For the Boys Series

  Jenna Rose

  Copyright © 2019 by Jenna Rose

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About the book

  I lost it all and now I’m about to do something I said I’d never do: throw a fight.

  I’m a winner. I always have been.

  I don’t say much. I let my fists do the talking.

  But I lost what mattered most to me, and now I need to get out, and I don’t see any other way.

  But the way she looks at me has me questioning everything.

  She sees more in me; she sees the champ she knows I could be.

  And I want to be that for her.

  But can I?

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  Contents

  1. Jackson

  2. Merrell

  3. Jackson

  4. Merrell

  5. Jackson

  6. Jackson

  7. Merrell

  8. Jackson

  Epilogue

  1

  Jackson

  “Hope you’re ready for this, Blur. ‘Cause it’s gonna hurt.”

  I flash Kenny a taunting smile just before he lunges at me. The kid’s cocky. It’s understandable though; he’s won his last 5 fights against some tough opponents, and now he thinks he’s gonna take me down. But he’s sorely mistaken.

  Like all inexperienced fighters, Kenny thinks his same technique will work on everyone. He thinks he’s that good. But I’ve watched his fights and I know how he moves; I know what to expect. I’m ready for it.

  I lean in for his right cross and lunge forward toward him. His left hand comes up for the follow-up strike, but I’m too close for him to get a good windup, and the blow glances off my ribs. It hurts a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t take. Definitely not enough to take me down.

  My turn.

  My right arm comes out, high and straight, and with both of his hands tied up from his strikes, he has no way of blocking it. He tries to duck, maneuver out of the way, but my body against his keeps him from moving smoothly, and I nail him straight in the nose.

  He staggers back and I snatch his right arm with my left, then sweep his right leg with my foot, sending him to the mat. As he falls, I catch him with a jab, just to disorient him enough so I can get side control. And then I’ve got him in an arm bar and he’s tapping.

  Just. Like. That.

  “Hurt, huh?” I ask him before I let him up. “That tickled, Kenny.”

  Two minutes later I’m in the showers, and five minutes after that I’m in the car. Most guys would be pleased with their victory, but to me, it’s bittersweet at best.

  I’m a good fighter—maybe the best in New England—and have a championship fight at the Garden coming up that I know I can win. But I’m not going to. Why? Because I’m being paid to throw it. I’ve never thrown a fight before. I never thought I would. Be then she happened.

  Tiffy, my ex-girlfriend. Well, my fiancée actually. We met after a fight, and I was suspicious that she might just want me for my money, but she played her game right; she took her time, made me wait, hooked me and didn’t let me go, and before I knew it, I was in love.

  I gave her my grandma’s engagement ring, we got married in Rhode Island and moved in together. I bought us a house, spoiled her rotten, and then made the biggest mistake of my life; I let her manage my finances.

  A week later, I woke up and she was gone, along with Chris, my ex-manager, and all my money. No, that’s not true; she left me 500 bucks. Maybe she wanted to pretend she wasn’t a completely terrible person, or maybe she just wanted to taunt me. I guess I’ll never know.

  I’m ashamed to say it, but my fighting spirit broke after that. My support structure was gone, and every time I took a punch or gave one, I couldn’t stop wondering what I was doing it for. So when Micky came to me and offered me 500,000 to throw the fight, I said yes. And as I pull up to the Shoreside Theater and park, that’s all I have on my mind.

  I used to come here a lot when I was a kid. We never had much and my parents fought a lot, so when I needed time alone I’d come sit here by the river and watch the waves. Sometimes I’d go inside and catch a movie and watch all the rich kids from Newton come out in their Polo shirts and white pants, laughing and having the time of their lives. As a poor kid from Southie, they were living lives I could only dream of. So even now, at 28 years old, I’ve been coming back here to sit and stare at the waves and wonder about what my life could have been if I’d made difference decisions along the way.

  I sit by the river for hours, listening to the crowds leave the theater, talking about the movie they just saw, and only get up and head to my truck when the last show is getting out. It’s only a handful of people—a middle-aged couple, a group of three college guys, and then…

  Holy shit.

  The sight of the girl who walks out next takes my breath away. It’s like an angel just stepped out of the theater doors. Her brunette hair spills down her shoulders and reaches her waist. Her curves are out of this world. She has a little extra weight on her, but carries it like a fucking dream and her hips have me lusting to pump my dick inside her and fill her up. The thought of her moans as I fuck her has me instantly hard.

  Her skirt clings to her with perfection, showing off her smooth thighs, and I start to wonder if she has any panties on underneath. My mouth starts to water as I think about lifting that thin fabric and burying my head between those thighs. She’s also a rich girl—the kind that would never have gone for me back in the day.

  I’m off center. No girl has ever turned my head like this, and I brace myself against my truck as I watch her walk, moving like a runway model across the parking lot. My blood boils when I glance at the guy walking beside her, but I settle down when I realize he’s just her gay best friend.

  How the fuck is this happening? After Tiffy, I thought I was done with women. But now I’m upside down over a girl I have only seen from a distance. I have to talk to her, but just as I start to make my way over to her, two men slide out from behind an SUV and approach her. I don’t even wait to react; these guys are bad news.

  “Give us the purse and we might not hurt you,” one growls in a thick Southie accent. He stands in front of them as the other circles behind. The girl quickly scrambles for her phone, but he snatches it from her hand and smashes it against the pavement.

  “The purse!” his friend barks. “Now!”

  I’m moving quickly, as silently as I can, but they’re going to see me in a second. I’m right up on them.

  “P—please don’t hurt me!” she whimpers, causing my blood to boil. My muscles are taut. Adrenaline flows through me like before every fight. The guy in front of her glances to his right and sees me coming, but it’s too late.

  The bones of his nose break beneath my knuckles. He coughs and cries out, staggers backwards and topples over flat. He’s not a fighter—just a punk. I spin, expecting an attack from the other guy, but he’s already backing away. I put myself between him and the girl anyway; I’m not leaving anything to chance.

  “One and only chance,” I tell him as he glances at his fallen friend. “Leave now or end up just like him.”

  It takes him no less than two seconds to decide. He turns a
nd runs like the pussy he is.

  When I turn around and face the girl, my whole world stops. Things move in slow motion as I stare into her light-brown eyes that grab me and don’t let go. She has the face of a goddess. I want to get down on my knees and worship between her thighs. How the fuck is she doing this to me?

  “Are you all right?” I ask her. Her friend is shaking behind me, but he’ll be fine. I keep my eyes on her.

  She turns to look back at her fallen attacker, but I gently turn her head away and pull her eyes back to me.

  “Don’t look at him,” I tell her. “You don’t need to remember a piece of shit like him.”

  “You—you saved me,” she stammers, her voice soft.

  “What’s your name?” I ask her. I have to know.

  “Merrell,” she replies.

  “Merrell.” I nod back. Her name calms me, sinks into my chest like an antidote to my rage. “Merrell, I’m Jackson.”

  She forces a smile, and I almost lose my shit. Never in my life have I been so smitten. Yeah, that’s what you call a first-round-knockout.

  2

  Merrell

  “No, I wasn’t drinking, Mom,” I say for the fifth time this morning as I finish my Lucky Charms.

  “Then why do you look hungover?” she asks. “You’re only eighteen, honey. You shouldn’t be drinking yet—”

  “I wasn’t!” I snap as I get up and take my bowl to the sink. That was a little much, but she doesn’t snap back at me. I haven’t told her about last night—how I went to a movie in the city, how two men tried to mug me and a mysterious stranger showed up and saved me like a hero out of a movie. No, my mom is over-protective as it is. If I tell her that, I’ll never be allowed to leave the house again.

  “Are you sick then?” she asks me. I have to make something up.

  “I—I didn’t eat anything yesterday,” I reply. “I just have been feeling weak.”

  A concerned look comes over my mom’s face and I already know I messed up. Here comes a conversation I don’t want to have.

  “Honey, it’s okay that you’re not…as thin as the other girls…”

  “Mom!” I blurt out, rushing from the kitchen.

  “I—I just don’t want you to become anorexic, sweetie!”

  “Mom,” I say, stopping and turning to her. Yelling isn’t going to make this better; she’s just worried about me, and this whole conversation is my fault. “I’m not anorexic. I wasn’t not eating because I’m worried about my weight; I just got caught up with things and forgot. I’ll make up for it today, okay?”

  Mom hesitates, but eventually smiles.

  “Okay, sweetie.”

  I smile back as she gives me a kiss on the forehead, then make my way back upstairs to my room and close the door.

  It’s my first summer as a free woman. I’m legally an adult and never have to go back to Newton High again. I’ve had more than enough of my share of spoiled rich kids and thought heading into Boston last night would be a great way of celebrating and seeing the “real world.” I guess I was wrong.

  I thought I was going to die last night when those two men came at me. Sure, Ryan was with me, but Ryan is just about as tough as I am—maybe even less so. Honestly, I was surprised he didn’t faint. When it comes to music, movie recommendations, going shopping, or being up on the latest gossip, Ryan is the best. But when it comes to fighting? Yeah, not so much.

  But then he showed up…

  It was like something out of a TV show. My prince arrived in my moment of need and saved me from the bad guys. He also scared the shit out of me. Is that wrong? I mean, he’s got to be at least six-feet-tall, is clearly a bad boy from Southie with short hair and tattoos and arms that look like he could tear me apart. I probably would have passed out if he wasn’t so insanely gorgeous.

  Those eyes—crystal clear and blue, piercing into me as he asked me if I was okay. His hands, rough and strong on mine as he led me to my car and stayed with me while he made sure I was okay to drive. Those boyish good looks, hardened by life, and the way he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

  Jackson…

  My heart rate’s picking up just thinking about it. He was such a stark contrast between the other boys I grew up with at school—rich kids who’d never seen a hard day’s work in their life, guys who talk about the hottest sneakers or the trendiest clothing companies. Yeah, I can’t see Jackson doing that. What I can see him doing is grabbing my waist as he pulls me in and—

  I shake my head and put both hands over my face. Just thinking about him touching me again has me all hot and bothered. I wasn’t what you’d call a “cool girl” in high school. I kept to myself and played video games and read fantasy books. Even if a good-looking guy took interest in me, my personality turned him off immediately.

  I don’t cheer, I don’t play field hockey and I don’t post booty pics on my Instagram. I don’t have a fake ID, I don’t drink, I don’t go to parties…basically I’m not the kind of girl that guys go for, and as a result, have been dragging around this V-card since I was old enough to get wet for a guy. And last night after what happened? When I came home, I was soaked.

  I dreamt about Jackson. It was like lucid dreaming or Inception; instead of just giving me his number and telling me to call him for self-defense lessons last night, he took me home to his place, slowly undressed me, caressed me with his strong hands and made love to me all night. I woke up this morning sweating with my hand between my legs.

  My reaction to Jackson is unlike anything I’ve felt before. Maybe that’s because he’s not like any man I’ve ever met before. It’s like he has this power within him. He wanted me; he made that obvious, but he didn’t want to make me feel small or threatened, even though I knew he could take me if he wanted. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me, take me as his, but he just gave me his number and told me he would train me in self-defense if I wanted. He was a gentleman, but part of me wishes he wasn’t.

  I pull out my phone and scroll to his newly-created contact.

  Jackson (Your Savior)

  I have to laugh. I didn’t see that last night when he put it in. Clearly it’s just a joke, but it’s also right; he’s definitely my savior.

  My thumb hovers over the dial button, and my heart rate increases again. I want to call him, but I’m terrified. Why would a guy like him be interested in me? What’s he going to do when he finds out I’m just a lame introvert who’d rather read about elves and goblins or try the latest Switch game when he wants to go out to a club or a bar or whatever?

  “No. I can’t call him. Don’t be stupid, Merrell.”

  Feeling self-conscious as hell, I get up and go over to my desk mirror. My mom’s right; I do look like shit. Reaching for my make-up brush, I set my phone down, and just as I do, it buzzes, causing me to jump. I glance down and see Jackson’s name on the caller ID.

  What are the chances!? He calls me right after I chickened out calling him? I don’t answer. I can’t. I’ll just let him leave a message and see what he has to say, then I’ll call him back…

  …maybe.

  I let it finish ringing, then pick it up and unlock it to check if he left a message, but as I do, it rings again. Persistent. It makes me feel good. Despite my heart rate, I have to answer this time.

  “Hello?”

  His voice from the other side makes me instantly blush.

  “Merrell, it’s Jackson,” he tells me.

  “Yeah, I saw your contact come up on my screen,” I reply. “Pretty funny, mister.”

  “I’m even funnier in person,” he tells me. “Listen, I scheduled you a self-defense lesson for tonight at seven.”

  “You—you did?”

  “Yup,” he says. “We’ve got to make sure that the next time something like that happens to you, you’re prepared. I’ll text you the address. See you then.”

  “Jackson, wait—!”

  He hangs up. I should call him back and tell him that he can’t just do s
omething like that and assume I’ll go along with it. But honestly, I want to go. Setting my phone down, I look over to my closet. I don’t own a single item of athletic clothing.

  What am I going to wear?

  3

  Jackson

  “Private lesson, eh? Gonna teach her how to take a dick?”

  Eyes blazing, I glance up at Tucker, who’s just coming out of the shower.

  “Watch your mouth,” I tell him.

  “Easy, big fella,” he says, putting up his hands. “I don’t know the bitch.”

  “Don’t call her that,” I growl, getting up in his face. “Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time, man?”

  Tucker just grins; he’s a complete narcissist and overly-confident prick. He doesn’t fight; he just weight-trains at the gym and is so proud of his body that I wouldn’t be surprised if he jacks off at night while looking at himself in the mirror.

  “Sorry, bro,” he chuckles. “I didn’t realize she was your wife already.”

  Shaking my head, I leave the locker room and head out into the gym, which is almost empty; there’s just two more sparring partners finishing up. By the time Merrell gets here, it should be just the two of us.

  I feel stupid admitting this, but I’m actually antsy about seeing her. I wish she’d just get here and get it over with; all this waiting around is making me nervous actually, which is a feeling I never thought I’d feel with a woman. And boy what a woman she is…