Gloves Off

By Kate Stone

How am I going to keep my hands off her when it's her job to touch me?

 

MMA teaches you to be tough. I'm one of the best, but one look at Claire and I could barely keep myself upright.

 

It's a good thing I had crutches to keep me from looking like an idiot in front of the most amazing woman I'd ever seen.

 

I took a calculated risk in my last fight but my opponent zigged when I thought he was going to zag and my knee paid the price. With Claire's help, I've got to heal from surgery and get myself back into fighting shape. 

 

I knew Micah was hot, but as a sports therapist I work with hot guys all the time. My only focus is getting him back to fighting strength and my business. Dating isn't on my radar and falling in love is out of the question.

 

If only my heart would listen to my head.

 

***

Gloves Off is a steamy hot sports instalove romance with a happy ending, no cheating and no cliffhanger, perfect for fans of L. J. Shen, Ilsa Olsen and Lucy Darling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Stone
• Release date: Jun 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201448691

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For Mr. Stone, who makes all my dreams come true.

Table of Contents

Chapter One – Micah 1

Chapter Two – Claire 10

Chapter Three – Micah 21

Chapter Four – Claire 30

Chapter Five – Micah 43

Chapter Six – Claire 59

Chapter Seven – Micah 71

Chapter Eight – Claire 80

Excerpt from Bully to Boyfriend 93

About the Author 106

Chapter One – Micah

Dealing with a shit -ton of pain without the adrenaline of a fight pumping through my veins was damn close to hell. But then again, I couldn’t complain because I also hated the mental fog painkillers put me in more. I needed to suck it up.

You don’t need to be a hero, you know, my brother and manager, Anton, said from his seat in the corner of my hospital room. Take some damn painkillers, Micah.

You don’t need to be a hero either. My mouth and throat were so bone dry that my words hardly came out. Go be with your wife and baby. Or even better, go take a nap.

Hey, she told me go visit you so I wouldn’t be hovering. He sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hand. They’re both trying to rest right now so she told me to come over here. It’s not like I’m staying for more than twenty minutes.

His wife, Pia, just gave birth to their first baby, a little boy they also named Anton. They were in the same hospital I was in to get surgery to fix a bunch of torn ligaments in my leg.

I don’t see how you’re hovering over her if you’re barely awake. I reached for my water pitcher and cup, wincing at the pain in my knee at the simple movement.

Fucking hell. I’d been out of surgery for a day and I was already sick of this. I’d worked hard through my entire career, starting with Brazilian jiu-jitsu classes as a kid all the way to becoming a pro MMA fighter today, and this was the first injury I’d had that had sidelined me for more than a day or two. And it happened right when I was getting close to a title fight.

I shoved that thought to the side. Maybe I should have taken some of those painkillers to keep my mind off my career.

Let me get that, he said after I’d already poured myself a cup. You’re going to fuck your leg up.

From leaning over? I guzzled down the water and refilled the cup again.

Hell if I know. He dug his phone from his pocket. Speaking of, you know I can’t bring you home and help you out.

No shit.

He gave me a look that said, don’t fuck with me right now and scrolled through his phone.

I’ve gone ahead and hired someone to help you out, he said. I’ve heard a lot of good things about this company from some other fighters’ teams. Someone will be with you 24/7 to help you out with the basic post-surgery stuff, then they’ll be there to help you with physical therapy. And most importantly, they’ll keep your stubborn ass in line so you don’t injure yourself even further by trying to go swimming or some other stupid thing.

So, a fancy nanny? I smirked, imagining a middle-aged drill sergeant ordering me to work my wrecked leg before yelling at me to put ice on it. Will they tuck me in at night, too? How much extra did you have to pay for them to babysit a thirty-year-old man?

Listen, dumb-dumb, Anton said, reverting to our go-to childhood insult. You can’t sit still for more than fifteen minutes at a time on a good day and I know for a fact that without supervision, you’ll try to rush the recovery. And if you try to rush it, you could ruin your leg and end your career.

That thought sobered me up fast and brought up a wave of anxious nausea. I took another sip of water to settle my stomach, looking down at my patient wristband. It itched no matter where I pushed it on my arm, a constant reminder of the deep shit I was in.

So just cooperate. If you take your time, you can get back to training faster than you think. He stood up and stretched. I’ve gotta get back to Pia and the baby. The service will bring you home via medical transport, where the nurse will be waiting. Her name is Claire — she’s the founder of the company, so you’ll be in good hands.

Okay, I said with a sigh.

It’ll be fine, he said, clapping me on the shoulder.

I guess. Thanks for setting it up for me. I leaned back on my pillows. Give Pia and little Anton a kiss for me. And send me pictures, too.

Will do. Text me when you’re home, okay? He gave me a half-smile before stepping back into the hallway.

My room went quiet again.  Anton was my only close family since our parents passed away ten years ago and most of my friends were other fighters. My social life was limited to the occasional party or hang out. All in all, I was comfortable being by myself.

Still, I felt surprisingly lonely once he left.

I drifted into a restless sleep until a nurse woke me up to get discharged. My doctor trailed in after and gave me the full rundown of what was going to happen with my wounds and what my physical therapy would be like after my discharge.

He gave me another prescription for four doses of the heavy-duty painkiller that I was supposed to take before bed, plus a different one for if the pain got too bad in the day. I wasn’t sure if I would take them, but it was better to have them than not.

My nurse helped me out to the curb in a wheelchair, where my medical transport was waiting. The moment we started driving back to my house, I wanted those damn painkillers. Every bump in the road that I never thought about when I was driving jostled my leg. I could handle pain — I had to in my profession — but this was