Last Round

Last Round Fighting for Love Frankie Page Frankie Page Books Copyright © 2023 LAST ROUND by Frankie Page All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [email protected] The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Octagon and UFC are a registered trademark of Zuffa, LLC and is used purely in a fictitious manner. Edited and Proofed by Kat Pagan Cover designed with licensed images from Adobe Stock: 109026618 75777773 425595836 Because every girl deserves a moment of panic with a few notes of excitement and curiosity... Contents 1. Wake-up Call 2. Breathless 3. Some Things Never Change 4. New-Hire Orientation 5. Dick Move 6. Uniforms 7. Punishment 8. Not Going as Planned 9. As Good as Dead 10. K-fucking-O 11. Plan B 12. Motivation 13. Egg Rolls 14. A Gentleman’s Agreement 15. S.O. 16. Cockblock 17. All the Reasons 18. Keeping Perspective 19. Research 20. A Dream Come True 21. Carpal Tunnel 22. Nerves 23. Victory 24. Climbing the Ladder 25. In the Light of a New Day 26. Friends 27. Ri-DICK-ulous 28. The New Order 29. Fed Up 30. Real 31. The Naked Truth 32. Moving On 33. Tense 34. Practice Makes Perfect 35. The Challenge 36. Achievement Unlocked 37. Distracted 38. Last-Ditch Effort 39. Something to Lose 40. Fight of His Life 41. The Plan 42. Happily Ever After Part One 43. Happily Ever After Part Two Bonus Content Thank you Moore By Frankie Page Wake-up Call Killian “Get up, dumbass,” Sean’s recorded voice repeats. Growing louder as I blindly reach around the cluttered nightstand in search of the offending device alerting me that it’s morning. Bastard has been my wake-up call for so many years. It’s the only thing that can get a rise out of me when I’m dead to the world. A marching band could stampede through here, banging their drums and clinking their cymbals next to my head, and I’d barely roll over. As helpful as his verbal broadcast is, him being here with a bucket of ice water would be a hundred times more effective. At least this annoying ass wake-up call can be muted. “Fuck off, Sean,” I grumble, my voice still thick with sleep. “Dude, get the fuck up,” he replies sternly. Did he adjust the alarm? Just as that question pops into my head, it’s answered by something hard and cold colliding with my nuts. “What the fuck?” I shoot upright, shoving the object away from my exposed testicles, and quickly realize it’s a large bottle of water. A half-frozen bottle of water. Despite having my AC set at full blast, the plastic is sweating onto my sheets. “Seriously, this is why I made you the alarm, so I didn’t have to look at that…” Sean gestures to my morning erection, standing proud and undeterred by Sean’s arctic strike. “Is that a new piercing? Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s bad enough that your dick is so burned into my memory that I even noticed. You can spare me the confirmation.” Swinging my legs over the side of the mattress, I lower my feet onto the cool hardwood floor. It feels so fucking good. Maybe I should sleep on the ground. It might help me get through this heatwave from hell. I spot my half-consumed cigarette in the ashtray next to the ridiculous neon-pink Bic I got a few months back. My eyes land on the jizzing cock I drew on the side in black Sharpie, and I grin. It’s my longest-standing lighter to date. For some reason, no one’s stolen it yet. I bring the butt to my lips, the stench of tobacco stronger from having been lit and left to smolder, light it and take a heavy drag, savoring the burn of menthol before chasing it back with the bit of whiskey still coating the bottom of my glass. With the cigarette dangling from my lips, I stand and stretch my limbs. Everything is sore and stiff. Though I’m only a wee bit into my mid-thirties, with the number of injuries my body has been subjected to over the years, some mornings leave me feeling like I’m ninety. “Go shower,” Sean orders. “I’ll make breakfast. We’ve got an hour.” “An hour?” I ask, reaching behind myself and scratching my ass. Sean rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’ve got that interview downstairs today with the news station about the gym.” “Is it the anchorwoman with the tits?” I don’t have to explain further. We all know the one. I may not care much for the news, but I’d happily watch it on mute. Even made it a game at the bar. If her button pops, everyone gets a round on me. It’s the one time I love to lose. “No.” With that one word, Sean kills the slight pep in my step at the thought of finally getting my hands on the real twins of this city. Shit, I’m sure I could’ve had her spread wide, ankles over my shoulders, on the adjustable bench before the interview even started. Talk about B footage. “It’s the dude.” “Halitosis Henry,” I groan, raking a hand over my face. “When did I even agree to this?” “You didn’t. I did.” “Then you do it.” I extinguish my finished cigarette in the glass tray. “Because they want K.O. not me.” Sean tosses some clothes in my direction, presumably what he wants me to wear today. “K.O. is dead.” I drop them, stepping over the discarded pile on my way to the bathroom. “No, he’s hungover.” I turn, my arms crossed firmly over my chest, and arch a brow at him. “Don’t