Fighting the Attraction

By Kelly Papyrus

Laila Braithwaite loves her job — especially when it takes her out of her apartment to a remote Brazilian peninsula during the miserable first few months of the pandemic lockdown. A PR coordinator for Global Gladiator League, she has her hands full keeping these hot-tempered, macho fighters on the good side of the news. And newcomer Terry Drew projects exactly the kind of image she's been brought there to spin: Cocky, swaggering, and always spoiling for a fight, he makes her job difficult from day one.

There's more to Terry than just muscle, not that he wants anyone to know that, and he finds himself opening up to the spin doctor as she works her magic on his image. Their attraction to each other is undeniable — but he's on a strict no-distractions training regiment, she knows better than to date a fighter, and the minute Fight Night's over, they'll both be headed back to their respective quarantines. All they have to do is keep fighting these feelings for a few more weeks...

Mixing fiery tempers with a steamy locale, Fighting the Attraction explores what happens when the cameras go off between athletes and the people who spin their stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: May 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094418964

Kelly Papyrus

Kelly Papyrus is a writer whose stories feature diverse characters and people of color. She loves learning about new cultures and writing about them. She lives in Florida and loves dogs.

Book preview

Chapter One

Laila

My stomach buckles as the plane dips under a cloud and the wings seem to tremble. I know it isn’t possible, but the entire metal structure around me seems to bend and tip to one side. I grab hard onto the armrest and close my eyes, breathing as deeply as I can, waiting to feel the plane stabilize.

You okay?

I open one eye and see the man next to me looking over at me, a half smile on his face. He’s one of the front office guys, a bigwig who has been riding on this plane for years. Like most of the high-ranking power players in the league, he’s a mid-forties white guy wearing a collared shirt and a tie, even for this long plane ride. He has short sandy hair, but the front pieces are long enough to flop into his eyes, and his face mask covers the bottom half of his face, so I can barely see an inch or two of the middle of his face. Through his hair I can see his eyes are kind, but I don’t want him to know this is my first time on the corporate jet, so I fix a smile on my face and swallow down the wave of nausea I can sense coming up my throat.

Fine, just hate this part of flying. Gets me every time, I say. He chuckles and turns back to his Kindle, and I am satisfied that I have done it. Convinced him I’m just one of the boys. It’s the key to getting ahead in a male-dominated field, and I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I can feel the plane straighten, the floor under my feet stabilizing, and I manage to calm down, staring straight ahead at the rows of seats ahead of me. The plane is full but mostly quiet. I can see most of the passengers with their heads slumped to one side, getting one last nap in before we get to the peninsula and start scrambling to get everything ready for the big night. There’s a little rumble from outside, and the plane free-falls for a split second. I snap my eyes shut again, wishing I was asleep like the others.

Would you like to look at this map with me?

I open one eye and see my seatmate tilting his tablet toward me. I must look baffled, because he quickly explains.

It’s good to concentrate on something besides the turbulence. Distract yourself. I’m a nervous flyer too, he says, and I nod gratefully and look down at the screen. It’s a map of the six square blocks that will house everyone on this plane and the support staff still on the way for the next two months. The quarantine facility is directly off the bridge that connects the island — a peninsula, really — to the Brazilian mainland. Three blocks up sits the main complex. I touch the square on the screen and a list pops up. Main training gym. Corporate offices. Physical-therapy facility. Medical offices. Right next to it is a row of hotels the league has booked out for the fighters and the behind-the-scenes staff. All told, there are a lot of us, but nowhere near as many people as there would normally be at a Vegas fight. I know I’ll be spending most of my time at the main complex, doing the work of two people to make the event happen. It’s what we all agreed to when we decided to come here. The beach is just a few blocks down, and the arena is placed right on the beachfront. I’ve seen the map a few dozen times now, but I still can’t quite grasp that it’s a real place, one I’m rapidly approaching.

They’ve packed a lot into a small space, I say. The man nods, smiling as he puts the iPad in the seat pocket in front of him.

I’ll take that as a compliment, he says, extending his hand. Adam Zeeland, logistics coordination. It feels weird, shaking a stranger’s hand after months of avoiding all human contact. I remind myself that we’ve all been tested and cleared to travel in such a small space together, and that I have sanitizer in my purse. All human interaction feels weird after months of being home, trying to stop the spread of coronavirus. That’s why you agreed to this job. The apartment was driving you crazy. You’ve got to get your anxiety under control.

Laila Braithwaite, I say as I shake his hand firmly. Media relations.

How long have you been with the league, Laila?

About a year or so? It’s hard to tell time properly anymore, I say, and he nods sympathetically.

I know what you mean. It will be nice to pretend things are normal once we get out of quarantine and get settled on the island, he says. This your first trip to a fight location?

Is it that obvious? I ask, trying not to show how disappointed I am that he’s figured me out already.

No, nothing like that. I work all the fights, have for years, and you don’t look familiar. The part of your face I can see, anyways, he says. I smile at his attempt at a joke, wondering if he can tell from my eyes that I’m smiling under my mask.

Any advice for a first-timer? I ask.

Just roll with the punches, no pun intended. There are so many moving parts to each event and any one can go wrong at any time, but we always find a way to fix it. And try to get some sleep now and in the quarantine rooms, if you can. Things will be intense after that, he says.

I realize as he finishes talking that we are cruising along, the turbulence behind us, and with the adrenaline rush over, I am pretty tired.

I think I will try and take a nap, I say, bending down to grab my eye mask, travel pillow, and blanket out of my carry-on bag. Thanks for distracting me.

No problem, he says, taking the iPad out as I slide the eye mask into place and try to shut my brain down briefly.

Section Break

It doesn’t matter if you know who I am now, bro. You will by the time I’m done, you feel me?

The voice is loud enough to pull me out of my nap, and I am instantly annoyed. I push the eye mask up and peek at the area to the left of me where the voice is coming from. I’ve never met him before, but I can tell instantly he is a fighter. Not only is he wearing a tight, long-sleeved shirt that manages to show off the muscles underneath, but he has the attitude of a man who makes his living beating on other men. His chin is tilted up as he talks, and his voice is aggressive for no good reason that I can see. Though the plane is quiet, most people asleep, he’s still talking loudly enough to be heard over a crowd. I don’t recognize the man he’s talking to, but he looks as unimpressed as I am by this whole speech.

Sure thing, boss, the second man says in a much quieter voice, but the first man, the one whose voice woke me out of a dead sleep, is too fired up to let it go there.

No one thought I’d make the cut, feel me? No one. But here I am, he says, thumping his chest with one hand as if to prove he isn’t a ghost. I smirk despite myself. There is a certain kind of fighter that exudes a quiet confidence, and then there are these guys, the guys desperate to show their swagger to anyone who’ll look. I hate myself for loving that type of guy, but if I’m being honest with myself, I know I do. I’ve always gravitated to men who talk a lot of shit but can back it up if the need arises. It’s not my best tendency, and I’ve promised myself not to head down that path again. I’m here to work. Look but don’t touch.

I feign a stretch so I can turn my body just a little in my seat and get a better look at his face. He has hair twisted into cornrows, with smooth brown skin and thick eyebrows. Not polished and groomed like most of the guys in the league, who get a haircut twice a week and wax their armpits regularly. He sits forward in the airplane seat, chest sticking out and broad shoulders up, like he wants to run out the door and find his opponent the second we touch down on the ground.

He’s definitely cute. And trouble. Watch yourself, Laila.

Making it here is just the first step, man. You gotta pace yourself, the second man says. This is solid advice that almost none of the new fighters in the league will follow; no matter how much trainers and corporate executives tell them to lie low, abstain, work out, and stay out of trouble, they’re so excited to make the cut that they can’t hold back. I want to peel my eyes away from them and stop paying attention, but the first man is already shaking his head in response.

I gotta hit the ground running if I’m going to make the entire peninsula take notice of me. You take it slow, bro. Let me know how that works out for you. He laughs, the annoying sound ringing through the small space. Cocky asshole. Let’s see how long before the league machine chews him up and spits him

Reviews for Fighting the Attraction

[Wendy · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I just loved this one… the perfect blend of sexy and sweet plus how hot are MMA fighters??? On an island???