Bruiser: A Lonely Housewife Embarks on a Passionate Affair with an Alpha Male MMA Fighter Read Free Page B

had instigated.
    When Brandon had quit to pursue his law degree, he’d stopped working with the well-dressed Italian – but they’d kept in contact. For some reason, Brandon always knew he’d need his fast-talking friend again.
    Now might be the occasion.
    “Did you sleep here last night?” Vinnie sniffed the air suspiciously, as Brandon hauled himself to his bare feet. “It sure smells like it.”
    “Yeah,” Brandon nodded. “I’m staying with my parents at the moment. I was here last night – figured my first class was at 5am.” He shrugged. “Why bother going back? I’m gonna sleep on a couch in either case, and this one’s a foot longer.”
    Vinnie nodded.
    The little Italian was poking around Brandon’s karate school – looking at the faded paintwork, and the crayon pictures pinned on the walls.
    “So this is your place, eh?” Del Priore mused.
    Brandon nodded proudly.
    “It’s a fucking dump.”
    “ Hey !”
    Vinnie wheeled around and smirked. Ever since he’d known him, Brandon had admired that smirk – it was the only thing that stopped his friend getting punched in the face a lot.
    “Yo, no offense, B,” Vinnie shrugged. “It’s just… Kinda run down. Shitty location.” He sniffed the air. “And it smells.”
    “I’m working on all of that,” Brandon promised. “When I got it off the old owners, they’d let it go to shit. I’m rebuilding it all.”
    “Well, God bless ya’, kid – ‘cos you got your work cut out for you.”
    Brandon narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t called Vinnie here for him to state the obvious.
    As if reading his mind, Vinnie asked: “So why’d you drag me down here? Traffic was a bitch.”
    “I need your help, Vinnie.”
    “I ain’t in the habit of lending money no more – not to a friend, anyway.”
    “I don’t need money,” Brandon growled. “Well, I do . But I want to earn it myself.” He padded into the lobby, where a six-hour old pot of coffee was sitting. He poured himself a cup. “I need to raise some money, quick , to keep this place in business.”
    Vinnie stood silently. That was one of the most effective tricks he pulled – it always forced people to divulge more than they’d intended to.
    But Brandon was wise to his tricks.
    “Forget why I need the money,” he snapped. “Just tell me if you can think of where I can get some.”
    He shrugged. “I know I’ve been off the circuit for a while, but there must be something I can do to raise some quick cash. Training? Instruction. Shit, I’ll give massages if you need me to.”
    Vinnie laughed, shaking his head.
    “It was a weird fucking coincidence you calling me up,” he admitted, “because I’d been thinking of reaching out to you anyway. You still watch the fights?”
    “Of, course,” Brandon shrugged. “I’m at Buffalo Wild Wings, every Saturday night.”
    “So you’ve heard of James MacDonald?”
    “The British Bulldog?” Brandon nodded. “I know him. That was a hell of a bout he had against Hannibal Alexander last month.”
    “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You heard what happened to Baller?”
    ‘Baller’ was the nickname for Hannibal Alexander – an African American fighter who was trying to earn himself a Tupac reputation despite his Huxtable upbringing.
    “I heard he got shit-canned for three months for picking a fight with MacDonald in a hotel lobby,” Brandon shrugged.
    “It’s more than that,” Vinnie grinned. “The MMA committee overturned the results of his fight with MacDonald – probably because the Scottish bastard wiped the floor with him when they threw down in the Hilton. Kind of threw the original decision into question.”
    Brandon narrowed his eyes.
    “What’s that got to do with me?”
    Vinnie’s grin widened.
    “Brother, they’re looking for a rematch. To throw MacDonald back in the ring with somebody to replace Baller.” He winked. “I was going to pitch ‘em you .”

Chapter Nine
     
    Brandon
     
    Fifteen