Introduction
Cocky Contender is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Stuck Up Suit. It's published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling series.
Cocky Contender-an MMA bad-boy romance inspired by Stuck Up Suit
I’ve been throwing punches since I was old enough to remember.
They call me The Lion, a sexy, tattooed beast in the cage.
I gave it all up after my brother’s accident and now I’m just trying to figure out how to save my family’s legacy and get over a broken heart.
I’ve been in love with my friend Soraya since the ninth grade. Too bad she’s in love with someone else. I even have the broken jaw to prove it.
Then This sexy, irresistible little firecracker with a zesty attitude walks into my gym and turns my life upside down.
She got secrets, something or someone she’s running from, and I’m going to find out.
I won’t let her run anymore. I’ll show her she’s worth the fight.
I must pull off the biggest win of my life.
I’m ready to battle in and out of the octagon for her.
I’m ready to save my family’s livelihood and win the woman of my dreams.
I’m ready to battle for my destiny.
Don’t think you know how this fight is going to turn out.
Chapter One
Sometimes we see only what we want to, which makes it extremely difficult to tell the difference between fantasy and reality.
Last night, I certainly got a heavy dose of reality, and I have a broken mandible to prove it.
Apparently, I’ve been living in some delusive fantasy world for the last twelve years, since the ninth fucking grade, to be exact.
The woman I’m head over heels for has once again rejected me, and my entire world feels like it’s crumbling down around me.
I push through the door of Marci’s, massaging my aching jaw. It’s an old warehouse on the Southside of Brooklyn. My grandfather converted it back in the day, and it’s one of the oldest boxing gyms still standing.
It’s my family’s legacy—their livelihood—entrusted to my brother and me. Well, mostly me, since my brother’s accident.
I’m still thinking about the look on Soraya’s face after her boyfriend left her standing on the grimy sidewalk last night. The hysterical crying she did in front of her building afterward made me realize one thing. I need to focus more on the gym. See, I’ve had a crush on her since I can remember, but she’s always put me in the friend zone. The way she looked at that Graham guy, there’s no doubt in my mind; she’s in love with the prick. Not you, idiot.
My front desk receptionist and long-time bookkeeper, Leah, continues to ignore my glare, scratching a file along her nails. Leah is the little sister of my childhood friend, Matteo. She’s supposed to be making the clients feel welcome, not painting her fucking nails some sparkly red color way too bright for my eyes.
“You like?” She positions her slender fingers outward so I can get a good look at the horrendous color. “It’s called ‘Bite Me.’”
I roll my eyes harder than a teenager who just got cell phone privileges taken away. Last week it was a metallic blue or ‘Plenty Of Fish In The Sea’ as she called it.
“It was either this, or ‘Anal Bleach,’ but that one was a little too pink for my taste.” She wrinkles her face up like a dried plum.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I sigh at her ridiculousness; slapping the caramel latte I buy her every morning after my run on the high-top counter. “Like pay some of the bills or something.”
“I would if we had any money to pay said bills.”
“At least check on the clients and the equipment—maybe work on that ad you said you’d come up with for Instagram, so we can increase memberships. Then we’d have money to pay those bills, and you’d actually be earning the salary you take home.” I rake my fingers through my newly spiked platinum tips, blowing out a harsh breath. Yeah, I know the hair is a bit Jersey Shore, so bite me. Shit, I’m not in the mood for this today.
“You’re going to miss me.” She glances up at my frown and cringes. “Nice face,” she snorts, looking like every bit of the Italian princess she is, with her olive skin, painted, smoky eyes and the dark wavy hair piled in a messy bun atop her head.
I take in her ridiculous outfit when she stands to grab her phone off of a charger. It’s not her usual skintight jeans making me chuckle, but when I get a load of her flowing leopard-print blouse. It ties at the front of her waist like a robe and travels all the way to her ankles. Even my throbbing jaw can’t stop me from cracking up. “Nice bathrobe.”
She scrunches up her mocha eyes and scowls, displaying her newly painted middle finger upright before plopping her skinny, little ass back down in the black leather executive chair. The chair, which used to be in my office, until she whined about her back hurting, and I let her borrow it.
“It’s a new Versace piece, asshole. Straight from the runway. It’s so chic.” She wraps her arms around herself, trying to hug the monstrosity. “My cousin Jackie works for a designer in Bryant Park, and she gets perks,” she rambles on proudly, with an eyebrow wiggle.
I know her perks fall off a truck, as the saying goes. I’m about to inquire more about it, but I think it’s safer for me if I don’t know. It’s no secret what kind of business her family operates.
If her brother wasn’t one of my best friends since high school, and I didn’t love her like the little sister I never had, I’d fire her ass. Then she could get a real job with her cousin, Jackie. But Matteo would probably cut off my balls and fit me for cement shoes if I fired her.
I’m the only one Matteo Bianchi trusts enough to watch over his kid sister, and everyone in here knows Leah’s off-limits because of who her brother is.
Matteo and I grew up in the same neighborhood, and I’ve known Leah since she had braces and pimples on her face. Matteo’s trying to keep her away from the shit he was born into, by sending her away to college, so she can lead a normal life.
I’m not sure if I’m fortunate or unfortunate she will be leaving me soon to finish her master’s degree.
“Are we done here?” She takes a sip of her latte, licking the foam from the top of her lip. “I want to play with the new rainbow vomit filters on Snapchat,” she groans, seemingly bored already with our conversation.
“So done,” I say under my breath.
“You look kinda cute with a crooked jaw.” She tilts her head up, smirking at me. “Was it over a girl or were you hanging out with Tig again?”
“A little of both.”
My cousin, Tig, is the one who introduced me to Soraya in the first place, so I guess he’s partly to blame. He and his wife, Delia, own a tattoo parlor over on Eighth Avenue. Maybe that’s what I need—some new ink.