Free The Fighter (The High Rise, Book 1) by Harper Bentley Page B

me giving me the opportunity to take him to the floor
with a rear-naked chokehold where he ended up tapping out.
    So I’m on
frickin’ Cloud Nine right now, feeling like I could conquer the
world.
    I’m still
reveling in my victory as I pull a t-shirt out of my bag at one of
the benches I’m sitting on in the back of the room when Matt
approaches. After putting it on I can’t help but grin up at
him.
    “You looked
good, man,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder, setting his gym
bag on the bench.
    “Thanks,” I
reply. “You up next?”
    “Yeah, after
this match.” He nods at the cage where two loanees are going at
it.
    “Who do you
have?”
    “Guy standing
next to Crowley.”
    I look over
and see a guy almost the same size as the one I just took. “Damn,”
I mutter because Matt’s probably five-eleven and about a buck
eighty.
    “Yeah,” he
says with a snort. “Couldn’t talk you into taking my place, could
I?”
    I chuckle.
“Not tonight, buddy.”
    “Got any
advice?” he asks.
    I shrug then
stand to pull on wind pants. “I’d get him in as many clinches as I
could, of course making sure to hold his arms so you don’t get an
elbow to the head. Don’t grapple with him because he’s got the size
advantage.” I pull socks and shoes out putting them on. “But be the
better striker. I saw him in warmups and he’s slow. If you play it
smart, you’ve got a chance. If you can take him down and get him in
a heel hook, try to break the fucker’s leg. Guarantee he’ll tap out
before that happens.”
    I’m not sure
if this advice helps but Matt’s nodding as if it might so that’s
something.
    “I’ll try. You
gonna stay and watch?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Good. Maybe
we can get a beer afterward.”
    “Sounds good.
I’ve gotta make a phone call but I’ll be back. Remember, just be
smart.”
    “I’ll try.
Gonna go warm up now. Keep an eye on that?” he asks nodding toward
his bag on the bench. I nod back then he says, “Wish me luck.”
    “Good luck.
And, hey, there’s no shame in tapping out yourself. Hell, if not
for my pride, I’d just start tapping out after the first round in
every fight. Kyle’s gonna make money either way, right?” I say.
It’s technically true. But knowing him, he’d penalize anyone who
did that, probably quadrupling their monthly amount, the
fucker.
    “Good point.
Thanks.”
    I nod and pull
my phone out of my bag then walk to the stairwell where I can get
some quiet.
    “Did you win?”
Aaron answers after the first ring.
    I chuckle.
“Yeah.”
    “Good. How’d
it go?”
    I tell him the
details of the fight letting him know I’ll have a black eye when I
come see him tomorrow but it’s cool. After hanging up, I go back in
to see that Matt’s in the ring waiting on his opponent. I’m nervous
for him but soon realize I shouldn’t be. Dude’s been holding out on
me. The minute the fight begins, he’s much faster than his opponent
and he’s all over him, executing uppercuts, jabs, kicks, the whole
nine yards as if he’s been fighting for years. I’m in awe as I
watch thinking I’ll have a few questions for him once this is
over.
    And it’s over
by the second round when Matt implements a Superman, taking the guy
down then he just wails on him until the ref stops him,
subsequently calling the fight because the guy gets a cut so deep
on his cheekbone that I swore I saw bone. Jesus.
    When Matt
walks over I’m giving him the eye.
    He snorts and
sits on the bench opening his bag to pull out a t-shirt.
    I’m still
staring at him until he chuckles and asks, “What?” as he pulls on
his shirt.
    “You know
what. You’ve either done this before or you’re the luckiest son of
a bitch I’ve ever met.”
    He laughs.
“Yeah, I have. Why?”
    “Because you
held back on me yesterday. Don’t do it again,” I warn jokingly.
    “I was afraid
I’d hurt you,” he jokes back.
    This makes me
huff out a laugh. “Sure, old man. Whatever you say.”
    He snorts