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    Tyson: Tough London
    Tyson: Tough London
    Tyson: Tough London
    Ebook80 pages1 hour

    Tyson: Tough London

    By M.C. Adams

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    Reasons to hate my MMA instructor...
    1. He's got a body I'd kill for.
    2. He's as arrogant as sin.
    3. When I'm around him, I just can't say no...

    I don't do relationships. I don't do passion. And I most definitely don't do love.

    But all that changes when I meet TYSON.

    Six foot four and built like a stallion. An inked, powerful stud with a filthy mouth and a dirty mind.

    Exactly the kind of man I should avoid. My polar opposite.

    But the harder I push away, the more firmly he drags me in.

    And I don't even know if I want to escape any more.

    A prequel to the interconnected Tough London series, this standalone gay MM Novella has no cheating and a sweet HEA.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWicked Romance
    Release dateNov 25, 2019
    ISBN9781393426189
    Tyson: Tough London

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      Book preview

      Tyson - M.C. Adams

      TYSON

      A TOUGH LONDON NOVELLA

      M.C. Adams

      WICKED ROMANCE PUBLISHING

      ONE

      ‘Of course I’ll come to a kickboxing class with you,’ I said to my friend Hunter last week, ‘anything to help a friend.’ He let out a sigh of relief and clapped me on the shoulder. I put a brave face on, trying to pretend I was bang up for it, but honestly, on the inside, I’ve kinda been dreading it.

      Hunter is one of the toughest guys I know. He works as a bouncer at one of the rowdiest gay clubs in the centre of London - Sailor Barry’s. It’s his professional duty to stay in shape, and keep his martial arts skills as sharp as a shuriken. Kinda the polar opposite to me.

      Don’t get me wrong. I’m not exactly a pushover. I run a successful company - we shift thousands of tons of letterhead and copier paper every week - we make over a million pounds profit a year. I manage a rowdy bunch of fifty-four employees, competitive, boisterous salespeople. And they all respect me. I’m a no-nonsense sort of boss, firm but fair. As long as you don’t cross me, I’m amiable enough.

      But… kickboxing? I’ve never done anything like that in my life. In my teens, I was a gymnast. I know — sound manly, right? I took part in local, and even national, gymnastic competitions. I’d have carried on with it if work hadn’t taken over. I’m a workaholic, see, and the long hours of overtime soon stopped me from continuing with evening activities. All I have time for these days is a quick run around Hyde Park twice a week, just to keep, at the bare minimum, in some sort of shape. I’m naturally muscular anyway, so I’m lucky - as Hunter delights in telling me.

      But yeah, I’m short on free time, and don’t do much other than work. I think that’s the reason I haven’t had a boyfriend in over a year, too. I’m in a relationship with my job. And I’d never cheat.

      Hunter, though, has been going through something of a crisis lately. Hunter’s gay, too, and he seems to go through boyfriends like they’re going out of style. His most recent partner just dumped him. Apparently Hunter is too unreliable. That’s something I can believe. I can barely believe he turned up on time this evening.

      Hunter has been doing all the the things that spurned lovers do - getting his deep black hair cut short and spiky, getting (another) piercing, and finally he’s taken up this martial arts class. I assume that’s what spurned lovers do, anyway. I’ve never let myself fall for anyone enough to let myself be hurt by them.

      Avoid pain at all costs. I don’t have a tattoo, of course, but if I was to get one, that would be it. In big letters. Across my forehead.

      So, against my better instincts, I agreed to go to this kickboxing class with Hunter, until he feels confident enough to go on his own. Then I can get back to my own life, having done a good deed for a friend. Hopefully, it will only take a couple of weeks for Hunter to get his swagger back, and he’ll be back to his fun and flirtatious self in no time.

      ‘The problem is,’ he tells me, as we head for the address on the kickboxing leaflet, ‘is that everyone always tells me to grow up, that I’m too wild.’ His green eyes glint under a street-lamp. ‘But I don’t wanna fucking grow up. Grown-ups are boring. I want to drink and I want to fuck and I want to have fun.’

      And that’s why me and Hunter could never be an item.

      I nod occasionally, letting Hunter rant and release all that bitterness, knowing it will do him good. Really though, I’m only really half-listening. Instead, I’ve got this strange, fluttering feeling inside me. As I say, I’m no pushover. I’m not used to feeling - what is this? Nerves? Anxiety? Yep, that’s how I am feeling now. It’s like I’m reliving my first day at school, wondering what everyone is gonna be like, if I’m gonna fit in, if I’m going to be able to keep up.

      I watch my legs striding forwards. It’s a warm summer’s evening in West Kilburn, so I’ve got my shorts on. But I don’t really feel as though I’m wearing the right gear for a martial arts class. I’m wearing a tight Asics, t-shirt which I normally use for running. It clings to my lean, muscular torso. All of a sudden, I think that maybe I should have chosen a hoodie, or something less revealing. Damn, I can even seen my nipples, hard against the fabric. I suddenly feel even more self-conscious than I did before. I hope Hunter doesn’t tease me. I’m gonna be the campest, most effeminate guy at this class, I just know it. I’m like something out of a Jane Fonda exercise video, for fuck’s sake.

      I have a horrible feeling this place is going to be chock-full of meat-head guys. Don’t get me wrong, I like a well built guy as much as the next man. But there’s something so specifically showy about the gym crowd. Hunter can be a little like that sometimes, but he’s so down to earth I forgive him.

      Some gay guys seem straight. Hunter’s like that. I, on the other hand, just scream gay, straight away. Everyone always knows. And I could do without snide comments about my masculinity and sexuality. Maybe that’s what I’m scared of, more than anything else.

      ‘This must be it,’ says Hunter, holding up the flyer and re-reading the address. The flyer, which Hunter got from

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