As If

By, Just Get Over It

Chapter 1: The Hottie And The Knockout

"I cannot believe that I let you drag me here," I grumbled to my best friend as I squirmed uncomfortably in my fuzzy blue chair in the packed arena.

Here's something that you should know about me upfront: I HATE sports. I find them boring, dangerous, reckless, pointless— yeah, the list goes on and on. But if there was ever a sport that I never understood more than anything, it was Mixed Martial Arts; of the underground kind. It was unsanctioned, and extremely dangerous. The only rule: There are no rules. It's either knockout, or be knocked out.

My best friend however, the terrible monster in the clingy black halter dress and Manolo heels sitting beside me, was a total adrenaline junkie, and if there was one thing that got her hotter than racing down the dark Manhattan streets at night in her brand new Jag, it was two guys beating each other to bloody pulps in the middle of a four-sided ring.

"Take a chill, Sam," she said with a flick of her strawberry-blond wavy locks over her bare, tan shoulder. She was practically bouncing up and down in her chair from anxiousness; she looked like an ill-mannered five-year-old in the front seat on a long car ride on the way to Disneyland.

"No, you chill, Scar," I retorted, blowing her a raspberry quickly after. Scarlett did the same back to me before she glued her eyes back to the ring which was only about a row away from where we currently sat—it made me a little uneasy. "How the hell did you even find out about this place—and get us such close"—I refused to call the great—"seats?"

"Remember the big bouncer guy I hugged before we got into the club?" she inquired. I nodded. "That's my first cousin, Lynn. He promised us free entry and good seats to the fight for watching my niece and nephew last Friday night while he took his wife to some fancy dinner for their tenth anniversary," she explained, straining a little to see over the guy who'd took a seat in front of us, and donned a cowboy hat the size of Texas itself. "Hey buddy," she said in an irritated tone as she tapped the guy lightly on the shoulder. Hat Dude turned around and smiled a charming, Southern smile at her, but her scowl didn't lighten. "You, nor that hat, was made of glass— take it off or lose it," she growled.

Hat Dude's smile quickly faltered into a frown before he gave us an apologetic look and sadly removed his hat, revealing a haircut that looked like he'd gone a few rounds with a chainsaw.

"Whoa!" Scarlett and I said in union as we stared at the catastrophe before us.

"My daughter found the scissors while I was sleeping on the couch," he explained.

Okay, it's official— I never want kids.

Hat Dude turned back around just a bell sounded, and a guy in a tight white t-shirt and black slacks was now standing in the middle of the stage, holding one of those old-school microphones that fell down from the ceiling in his palm. He looked to be about in his mid, to late thirties or so. His hair graying light brown hair was gelled back and he had a mischievous air about him that I didn't like.

"Ladies and Gentleman!" he bellowed through the microphone around the jam-packed arena. "The moment you have all been waiting for. Tonight we have two very talented and prized fighters of IMMAF. Introducing first in the left corner, please welcome, Abraham "The Rattlesnake" Stone!"

My eyes traveled to a large, brute brown-skinned man standing in the left corner whose looks ranged from late twenties to late thirties. He had a long tattoo of a rattlesnake on the right side of his face. His eyes were a fierce cold black, and showed nothing but ferocious menace. He was a good seven to eight feet away from me, yet still I sunk down in my seat as he eyes roamed in disapproval over the crowd gathered here tonight.

Scarlett let out a long whistle. "Wow, I'd hate to go a single round with that guy," she commented, frowning in distaste at the brute man's appearance. No, she was more dressed for a girl who should walk around the ring holding up the cards showing the round number.

I just nodded in agreement as the mischievous-looking man began speaking again.

"And in the right corner, please welcome, Collin "Mongoose" Cordell!"

I now glanced to the right corner and took a sharp breath as I saw a fair-skinned man, muscular though nowhere near as beefy as the brute man, standing in the right corner. His hair was cropped and sandy-blond. He hopped back and forth from right foot to his left. I noticed his attire was very noticeably diverse from his opponents gray boxing shorts and boots; he wore a pair of black and white Vans, black socks, a pair of worn denim jeans, a black tank top, and his fingers where rapped sans the knuckles. How was he supposed to fight in that? He was nearly half the size of the brute man who looked about six-foot-three while the blond boy looked only about five-eleven.

"Ooh, he's cute," Scarlett purred as she tugged at the skirt of her dress, trying to stop it from riding up any further, I could just make out the pattern of her burlap thong. "I hope that guy doesn't kill him."

I laughed and rolled my eyes at my best friends before I turned my attention back to the fight that, as soon as the bell sounded, got underway. I frowned and shook my head as I watched both men begin taking swings at each other until finally, the brute man's iron fist connected with Blondie's jaw and I could have sworn I heard a sick crunch. This was so stupid and reckless.

The crowd commented with 'ooh's'—Scarlett included—while I just waited for this thing to be over; which I hoped was shortly so I could go home.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, my interest had peaked incredibly as I watched the two men squaring off in the middle of the ring. They were battered, bloody, and bruised but they still summoned the energy to circle each other and looked for openings to take the other down. I was surprised that Blondie had actually lasted this long. After receiving a few good left hooks, a knee to the chin, and a suplex slam, I was sure he'd be done, but he took everything his opponent threw his way, and had even managed to get in a few impressive kicks and punches as well. I could tell that things were getting down to the wire as the brute man suddenly abruptly took a swing, though Blondie was quick on his taped feet and dogged to the side. In a second he was airborne, and with a precisely aimed spinning kick, he sent the brute man stumbling back in a daze. Blondie smirked before he ran forward, jumped up in the air and delivered the sickest Superman punch I had ever seen directly between Abraham's eyes. The larger man went flying over the ropes and down onto the concrete floor below and they counted him out for the ten. The entire arena—myself included this time—burst into a roar of applause as the man from before who'd introduced the fighters came out and raised the bloody winner's hand.

"Your winner!" he cried as he grabbed the descending microphone. "Collin "Mongoose" Cordell!"

"Wasn't that AWESOME?!" Scarlett screamed in my ear over the roar of the applauding fans.

"Yeah," I admitted. Though I still hated sports with a fiery passion, I had found a level of respect for underground MMA fighters—they took each other to their limits. We all watched and jeered as the brute man was helped from ringside while Collin stepped forward and took the mic.

"Come on; you call that a fight? I bet any one of these people out here in the crowd could do better than that—don't you, Marsh?" Collin inquired, looking at the mischievous man from behind who was standing in the background leaning against on of the turnbuckles. He shrugged in response but smirked. "Well let's find out then—who wants to step into the ring with a real fighter? Who's got the guts to accept the challenge?"

"Ooh, me, me!" Scarlett cried at the top of her lungs. Before I could quickly hush her, she had jumped up and was now standing in her chair, waving her arms wildly and still screaming at the top of her lungs. I groaned and slapped my palm against my forehead before I quickly stood up as well in my chair to tell her how ridiculous she was acting.

"And we have a taker!" I gasped and squinted as suddenly Scarlett and I were caught in an incredibly bright spotlight. I then glanced around to find every eye in the arena on Scarlett and me—well, she wanted it; she got it.

I shrugged and moved to sit down when suddenly I noticed the light was following me, and not staying glued to Scarlett— uh-oh.

"Wait, me?!" I gasped in a shrill voice. "Oh no— no way!"

"Come on down, don't be shy," Collin crowed from the ring and I was really starting to dislike him. I flipped him off before I grabbed my jacket from my seat and moved to do what I should have done in the first place—leave. "Aw, is the poor little baby going home to cry to his mommy? Hey, where ya goin'?"

"As far away from you as possible!" I retorted though I'm sure he couldn't hear me with all his self-righteous cackling. I scoffed and turned on my heels and continued in a huff right out the door into the parking lot. So what if all of Manhattan thinks I'm a chicken— right?

-~*~-

So, apparently her best friend storming out in a huff after being publically humiliated in front of over a hundred strangers wasn't enough to ruin Scarlett's night. The little bitch hadn't even come out after me, and I'd been propped up against her Jag for over an hour now, and it's fucking freezing out here, and me being the total spaz that I am I left my coat inside of said car. I swear to god I'd of already slashed her fucking tires if she wasn't my only way home.

A couple people had walked out of the same front double doors that I'd stormed out of an hour earlier. Each time they passed they glanced at me, whispered something to one another, (those who were polite enough to whisper their jeers anyways) and then laughed. Great, people who didn't even know me thought I was a big, fraidy-cat. Damn that Collin… whatever the rest of his stupid name was.

No one had yet to come out in over half and hour now so when the door open I pushed myself off Scarlett's car expecting her to come out and beg my forgiveness, but instead I saw a face that—if I didn't know how it would turn out for me—I wished that I could pummel into the dirt. I scoffed and turned my head, sending my long strands of reddish-brown hair into my face as I refused to look at him for a single second longer than I needed to. However I could still hear him, and apparently he seemed to be in a pretty heated conversation with someone on his cell phone.

"… Well if I stop then how the hell am I supposed to pay both our bills?" There was a pause as I guess the other person on the line responded. "Well I can't just up and quit! I signed a contract to fight for Marshall with IMMAF!" Another pause and I really wished that I could hear whoever was on the other line. I decided to risk it and glanced over to where Collin was standing.

He was dressed now in a pair of fresh denim jeans, a white t-shirt, a denim jacket and brown boots. He actually looked rather handsome, though he was still a jerk. I then glanced at his face which was covered with a few purple bruises from his recent activities; I also noticed that he was as red as a beet.

"Look I'll come over and then we can talk… No don't— Dammit!" I gasped and jump from start as he tossed his phone with some much ferocity, I was afraid that it had shattered to pieces by the speed it carried before it even smashed against the brick wall. "Fuck!" he swore after he realized just what he'd done.

Collin sighed heavily and dragged his fingers through his hair before he scanned the near deserted—not counting all the empty parked automobiles that surrounded me—parking lot. His eyes unfortunately traveled to mine which were still glued to him, and I could see the recognition in his hazel irises as he began to step closer. I instinctively reached behind me and gripped the handle to the passenger side door of Scarlett's Jag, praying that someone upstairs was looking out for me just this one time. I tugged— dammit! I gulped as he was now standing over a foot or two away.

"Hey," he said. "Aren't you that guy who I scared out of the arena? The guy from the second row right?"

I scowled deeply at him but nodded. "Yeah—what's it to ya?"

"Look," he said, his voice a little low. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you—I get a little antsy after a fight," he said apologetically. He stepped closer and I automatically recoiled from him, moving a little closer to the back of the car. He stopped, chuckle and raised his hands the way a criminal would to show an officer that he was unarmed. "Whoa, I just wanted to introduce myself properly—the un-assy version of me."

"Oh, there's another side," I muttered sarcastically, looking longingly towards the door and cursing Scarlett in every language I knew.

He laughed again, this one heartier. "You're funny. Look, my name is Collin Cordell," he informed, extending a hand to me.

I looked at it, reluctant to have any contact with him, but when I glanced at his face, his smile seemed genuine enough where he wouldn't try to snap my arm off if I accepted. Reluctantly, I stepped forward and let his hand engulf me in a handshake. His hands were hard, and rough, which was to be expected from a guy who was technically an underground street fighter.

"Wow, your have really soft hands," he commented, as if we were focusing on the same topic. "Softer than any girl I've had contact with."

I sneered at him. "Thanks. Well, nice meeting you—bye." I said in a deeply monotone voice before I looked back at the door. A cold gust of wind blew through the Fall Manhattan air and I shivered, rubbing my hands up and down my arms for warmth.

"Hey, is your friend the blonde bombshell in the black dress?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes. Have you seen her?"

"Um…" he rubbed the back of his neck. "She might be a while. She's enjoying the company of a few of Marshall's other boys."

I laughed spitefully and rolled my eyes. Of course she was—a total slut that Scarlett Anderson was. I had to get some new friends.

Collin glanced across the lot at a blue and white Ford pick-up that was parked at a slanted angle near the building. "That's my car," he said pointing to the vehicle. "How about I give you a ride?"

My eyes grew at least ten times wider than normal. "You're joking right? I just met you—and you're honestly not my favorite person right now anyways."

"Look, I'm really sorry about before. Just let me give you a ride. It's cold out and some dangerous guys hang out around here." I gave him a mistrustful look. He then removed his jacket revealing those incredibly toned arms. "I've got a warm jacket," he offered.

I frowned, weighing my options. I could continue to wait out here for Scarlett, cold and alone in a strange part of town where underground street fighters hung around, or I could get in a car with one of the street fighters and risk being raped, murdered, kidnapped… but that jacket did look really warm, and I didn't find the option of sitting out here and freezing my buns off very appealing.

"All right—fine!" I said, snatching the jacket from his hand and draping it over my shoulders. I then pointed a finger directly in his face. "But you take me straight home, am I clear?"

"Crystal. By the way, it'd be nice if I knew your name as well since you already know mine," he mused as he stuffed his hands into his jeans hip pockets.

"Sam," I told him. "Sam Walsh; now take me home."

A/N: Okay, I know what you're thinking: "Oh, my gosh. Another one when he already struggles to update two!" well sorry but this had been floating around in my brain WAY longer than any of those other two but it sucked at first and I've rewritten it like ten times already and now I finally like it so I decided to post it to see what you guys think. I hope you like it, there will be more action, romance, and drama, and all that good stuff later, promise. Tell me what you think 'kay?