My boyfriends boxer dadd.., p.1
My Boyfriend's Boxer Daddy (My Boyfriend's Dad Book 8), page 1
MY BOYFRIEND’S BOXER DADDY
MY BOYFRIEND’S DAD: BOOK 8
LENA LITTLE
© 2024 by Lena Little
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
Free Books
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Also by Lena Little
PREVIEW
She looks like heaven, and she wants me to teach her how to fight.
As the owner of Brooks Boxing Gym, I'm always up for a challenge. But the temptation of having this girl so close to me is more than I can handle.
Bailey Horton is nineteen, innocent, and sweet. Invading my gym, my senses, and every thought. She comes to me for help against her stalking ex. Too bad he’s gonna have to face me now.
She's going to be mine, and I will protect her from anything that comes our way…even from my own flesh and blood.
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1
PORTER
"Christ, kid, protect that pretty face if you don't want it to get broken. Keep your left hand up!"
Even as the words leave my mouth, I know that it's a lost cause. The kid flinches, and the trainer that I put into the ring with him tries to pull his punch, but it's too late. The kid takes the punch on the side of his face and lands on the floor of the ring with an audible thump.
"Shit," Mark, the trainer huffs, throwing off his gloves and kneeling to help the kid to his feet.
It's pointless. He's a lost cause. He's strong enough, but there's zero will inside of him. It isn't his fault, though. His dad forced him into boxing classes, thinking it would improve his performance on the football field.
"Enough," I tell them. "Mark, get him cleaned up. Kid, call your dad and tell him to pick you up. I'll refund him for the lesson today."
Without waiting to hear from either of them, I stalk back to my office, rubbing my hands over my face in frustration. These rich kids pay the bills, but it's draining my passion for the sport, having to watch them all complete their lessons on the low side of adequate at best, and absolute failures at worst. None of them wants to box. It's either something they've been forced into or just a supplement for their training in other sports.
For me, though, boxing isn't a damn supplement. It's what I've dedicated my life to.
In my office, I can see most of the gym from my doorway, and it mollifies some of my annoyance. It's still a shock, even ten years later, to see what I have built here.
When I opened the doors of this place, it was little more than a dream, but now, it's a reality. A very profitable one.
I had nothing growing up. I was born to a mother who was barely out of her teens and had no idea how to raise a child. She did the best she could, but when I was 12, she got sick, and I ended up being shuffled between friends and extended family members until I turned 18 and enlisted in the Marines.
It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I learned discipline, respect, and dedication there. Most importantly, I found a love for hand-to-hand fighting, which then led me to boxing.
The rest is history. I retired as an NCO and started my own gym. At first, it was just me and a bag of sand in an old building. But, it didn't take long before word of mouth got around, and the gym filled up. I added trainers and a few boxing rings, and soon, the money started pouring in. It helps that I'm the only boxing gym in this part of Chicago.
"Hey boss, are you okay?"
I look up and paste on a stiff smile.
"Yeah, I'm good."
My assistant, Keith, is an older guy who was an MMA champion until he got into a car accident that left him with a permanent limp. Hiring him was a genius move as far as decisions went, and undoubtedly led to a lot of my gym's success. Despite being long retired, his name still holds weight in the MMA world.
Keith eyes me.
"Are you sure? That looked pretty bad. The kid is probably going to have a bruise."
"No shit," I mutter, then shake my head. "Sorry, it's not your fault. I'll refund his lessons. Maybe he'll get the hint."
"What, to stop boxing?"
"No, to actually try and learn something. I'm not going to teach someone who has no interest. It's a waste of my time and a waste of theirs."
"They aren't all bad, Porter," Keith says, sitting down on the chair across from my desk.
"Most of them are," I argue, leaning back in my office chair and sighing. "It wasn't like this when I first opened."
"Yeah, but you were also broke." Keith laughs. "Why don't you go get some air, boss? You'll feel better."
"Okay, sure. I've got to get the spare keys for the contractor, anyway."
I'm working on a new addition to the gym—a full-sized, climate-controlled swimming pool and hot tub for heat therapy. My clientele has gotten so big that we're almost bursting at the seams, but boxing isn't exactly easy on the body for those just starting out. I want something safe, comfortable, and regulated for them to use as a cool down or relief for sore muscles. Keith thinks I'm getting soft in my old age, but I don't believe for one minute he didn't have state-of-the-art shit when he was training in his prime.
I lock the door to my office and leave through the back exit, enjoying the way the sun feels on my skin. This is the only time I have to myself, and I'm going to make the most of it. I make the mistake of closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, and when I take my next step, I run into something that brings me to a staggering halt.
Well, not something. Someone. And as soon as I put my hands on her arms to stop her from falling backward from the force of my body, a shock goes through me like nothing else I've ever felt.
"I'm sorry," she stammers, looking up at me.
"It's fine," I respond, utterly distracted by what's in front of me. Although, ‘distracted’ is a bit of an understatement.
My eyes rake over her, and a sudden, deep longing hits me. I don't have a clue who this girl is, but I want her. I need her.
It doesn't help that she's the most beautiful woman I've ever fucking seen. She has bright blue eyes, her hair a mass of waves that fall to the middle of her back. It's bright blond, catching the sun. Her skin is smooth and unblemished, and her breasts are round and perfect. She's wearing a dress, and it's clinging to her body, every perfect dip and curve.
But it's more than just the way she looks that's doing me in. I'm drawn to her. Like a magnet or gravity. The force is strong and impossible to ignore.
I want to claim her, in every sense of the word.
"I'm sorry," she whispers again. Her voice is soft, like a melody, and I wonder how the fuck I'm supposed to control myself. "I-I was just getting ready to come around front and got nervous, so I stopped to catch my breath."
"It's fine, sweetheart," I say. Her cheeks go red at the pet name, and it's all I can do not to growl and take her into my arms.
But now I can see how scared she is, quivering under my hands where I still hold her arms. A surge of protectiveness roars through my chest. Who the hell could scare this angel, and where the hell is he? Because I want to make them pay. I want it bad.
"You're shaking," I point out the obvious. "Come inside and let me get you a drink."
She blinks those large eyes, thick sooty lashes brushing her cheeks. "Inside the gym?"
She shifts the small workout bag on her arm, and the pieces fall into place in my mind. "Yeah. You said you were headed there anyway, right?"
She nods. "I'm supposed to meet a trainer."
I have to fight the urge to laugh. I have no idea who she is meeting, but they're going to be sorely disappointed when I take over her training. Free of charge, of course. There is no way in hell anyone else is going to teach her to fight.
But that begs the question, why does she NEED to fight? This sweet little thing doesn't strike me as a fighter. I've trained plenty of women, some of them extraordinarily talented fighters, but I don't see any of that steely determination in this girl. All I see is the fear that I've come to hate already, with a heavy dash of uncertainty.
"Come on in," I tell her, letting her go just to loop an arm around her waist, guiding her inside. "This is my gym, sweetheart, and I'm going to make sure you feel right at home. What's your name?"
She glances at me, her lips parted. I have the strongest urge to kiss her, and I almost give in. She looks like heaven, and I bet she tastes even better.
"Bailey," she finally says, her voice breathless.
Bailey. The girl I plan to make mine forever. She just doesn't know it yet. "Nice to meet you, Bailey." I roll the name over my tongue, slow and steady. "I'm Porter Brooks. Welcome to Brooks Boxing Gym."
2
BAILEY
<
Five minutes ago, all I could think about was how afraid I was for my life. I shouldn't be thinking about anything except learning to defend myself, but when I look up at this man—Porter—I can't concentrate on a single other thought. Except him.
My God, he's gorgeous.
He's also so big that I'm sure my asshole ex would cower in front of him. Ian is only good at bullying people smaller than him. People like me. Which is why I'm at a boxing gym because I need to learn to fight, not become enraptured with this magnetic man.
"You're going to have to forgive the mess," he says as we enter the building, and his voice is gruff.
"It's okay," I reply, not even seeing my surroundings. He's got all my attention.
"I'm adding on a pool, and the contractor is due to start tomorrow." He grins, and I see a flash of straight white teeth. "Do you like to swim, Bailey? Have you ever used a hot tub?"
"A couple of times," I say, my voice unsteady.
He guides me to the front desk, where a man in his 50s looks up with a smirk. His expression quickly changes to surprise when he sees me with Porter, taking in the oddly possessive way this utter stranger is touching me. "Uh...what's up, boss? Who is...?"
"Bailey," Porter answers for me. "She's here to meet with a trainer. Cancel the appointment."
It takes a second for me to process what he's saying. "What?" I chirp, starting to get nervous. I need this class! "No, no, don't cancel it. I want to keep the appointment."
"Oh, you will," Porter assures me. "But I don't want you with…" He looks at the man behind the desk.
"She's scheduled with Mark."
"I don't want you with Mark," Porter finishes. "I want to take you on myself. As a personal project. I'll be your trainer. Free of charge."
My mouth falls open, and I'm struck speechless. "Aren't you like...the head guy here? Why would you do that?"
"Because…" Porter releases me and steps back, crossing his arms and looking me over. "...from the looks of you and how obviously nervous you are, I think you're going to need the best. Which is me."
He's so arrogant, and I can't figure out if I hate it or love it. Either way, it definitely affects me. His words give me butterflies.
"Don't turn this offer down, kid," the other man adds. "Porter's training rate here is three times as much as anyone else's."
My eyes go wide, and I glance between the two men. "Three times?! Oh, no. I couldn't accept something like that. I don't have that kind of money, and I wouldn't be comfortable not paying for it."
"Don't worry." Porter waves a hand. "I'm not charging you a dime."
"I don't need charity," I say quickly.
"I never said you did. But I have a lot of reasons for wanting to help you, and none of them have to do with money."
I narrow my eyes. "What other reasons could there be?"
Porter shrugs, his massive shoulders rising and falling with ease. "Don't worry about it, doll. So, what do you say, Bailey? Are you going to let me train you?"
I bite my lower lip, trying to make a decision. If this were a normal situation, there's no way I would agree to this. But something about this man has me reeling. He's pretty intense and so confident. It makes me feel safe.
I take a deep breath and nod. "Okay. Sure. But you have to promise to actually train me, and not just go easy on me. I'm serious when I say I really need these classes."
"Deal." He grins, extending a hand.
I look down and slowly place my own hand in his. He covers my smaller fingers and gives them a firm shake, his skin warm.
"You made the right choice, Bailey."
His voice is low and gravelly, and I swear I can feel it in my bones. I don't really know what's going on here, but I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster that I can't stop. It's too late now, and I'm along for the ride no matter what.
While Porter goes behind the desk to do something on the computer with the other man, who introduces himself as Keith, I take a moment to look over my new trainer. The first thing I noticed about him was his height—he's got to be 6'4 or taller—but the rest of him is just as impressive and eye-catching.
Broad shoulders, muscles straining against the material of his t-shirt, tattoos snaking up both arms, and a face both handsome and rugged. I've always preferred clean-cut, polished guys, but something about Porter's wild appearance makes my pulse race.
I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through his hair. It's long, from the one loose strand I'm guessing around jaw length, and a deep dark brown with a few streaks of silver spread through, all caught up in a tie at the back of his neck. His eyes are brown, too, but lighter, like whiskey. He's got a bit of a beard, a couple of days' worth of scruff. I find myself imagining how it would feel between my thighs.
Would he kiss me? Or would he go straight for the prize? I don't have anything to compare him to, but a rush of desire goes through me.
Porter's gaze suddenly lifts and meets mine, and I look away quickly, pretending like I'm interested in a display on the wall. This gives me a chance to actually check out the gym that I've just committed myself to, and I'm taken aback by how different it is from the chain franchise gym I used to go to in high school. I did competitive cheer, and it was important for me to stay in shape. Now that I've graduated, I haven't trained in a long time. Plus, I'm starting to get the idea that whatever they're up to in this gym is totally opposite from the type of exercise I'm used to.
It's one huge, open floor plan, with roped-off rings all over, and punching bags and weights everywhere. The walls are lined with mirrors, and there's a row of ellipticals and treadmills, too. There are a few people milling about, and everyone seems to be in shape, even the guy at the desk who's probably nearing retirement age. It's all concrete and metal, but at the same time immaculately clean.
"Ready?"
I whirl around, and Porter is watching me with a small smile on his lips. He looks amused, and I'm embarrassed, thinking that maybe he noticed me checking him out. "Yeah, sorry. I was just … taking it all in."
"It's a lot, huh? Let me show you around, and then we'll get started. First, I need to know why you're here."
"For training, right?" I ask, and he laughs.
"Well, yes. But why are you here? What are you looking to accomplish? A lot of people come here, and they aren't all training for the same thing."
"Well," I say slowly, not sure how to explain without coming across as totally weird. "I have a reason, but it might sound a little crazy."
"Nothing sounds crazy to me. Just tell me, sweetheart."
The endearment catches me off guard. "Um. Okay. Well, my ex-boyfriend … he's not the greatest. In fact, he's really, really horrible." I twist the fabric of my white sundress between my fingers, feeling a flush of shame coming over my face. "He's stalking me. I just know it. Everywhere I go I feel like I see him out of the corner of my eye, and when I left my friend's place the other night, we found handprints on her window. I ended it with him, and he refuses to take no for an answer."
"You think he's been spying on you?"
"Yes."
"Have you gone to the cops?"
"Yeah." I nod. "But it's not illegal to walk down the street or sit outside of someone's house. There's no evidence, and the cops won't do anything unless he tries to hurt me or break into my house. They basically said, 'Good luck, lady.'"
Porter scoffs, his jaw working. When he speaks again, there’s an edge of danger in his voice, and his eyes hold fire. "Bailey, I need you to answer me with full honesty right now. Has he ever hit you? Hurt you?"
I suck in a shuddering breath. "N-no. Thankfully, no. He's more creepy than he is violent."
