The bleachers were hard and many of the spectators had brought cushions to sit on. I’d probably be wishing I had one of those before too long.

Asher and his team gathered around their coach. They each wore a white gi, belted at the waist, with the gym logo on the back. Levi and Logan were there too, looking more alike than usual with their matching serious expressions. Gavin was with them but dressed in street clothes; he had a minor injury and wouldn’t be able to compete today.

According to Asher, he’d fought the coach so hard on that point, he’d almost been temporarily suspended from the team. Fortunately, Asher had talked some sense into him before he got himself into too much trouble.

I watched while Asher led his teammates in a warm-up. He looked calm, totally in his element. His eyes swept the crowd a few times while he stretched, finally finding mine. He gave me a quick wink, sending a tingle of excitement fluttering through my tummy.

Our transition from friends to lovers had been fast, but seamless. Like it had been inevitable all along. And now that we were dating, I didn’t have to hide the way I looked at him. I could watch him with undisguised desire, knowing that man out there was mine.

It was a heady thought. I chewed my bottom lip while little sparks of arousal warmed me from the inside.

Asher had warned me there was a lot of waiting at tournaments, and he wasn’t wrong. But eventually the mats cleared, and a man in a button-down shirt welcomed the crowd and announced the start of the tournament. The matches began with the lightest weight classes; Asher would be a while.

Even though I didn’t know who most of the competitors were, the initial matches were fascinating. Jiujitsu didn’t involve striking moves, like punching or kicking. Asher trained in that kind of fighting too, but today was all grappling. Competitors won either by scoring points for executing moves or by putting their opponent in a submission hold.

I was glad this was just grappling, not MMA fighting. I’d seen Asher after sparring at his gym, and he’d come away with cuts and bruises more than once. He’d always shrugged off the injuries as minor, but I didn’t particularly want to watch someone trying to punch him.

Still, the submissions looked painful.

I could have sworn one guy was about to dislocate his opponent’s shoulder. Another got caught in a choke hold that had his entire face turning purple before he tapped out. I found myself caught up in the excitement of the competition, cheering for Asher’s teammates when it was their turn. Shouting encouragement and clapping at the end, regardless of the winner.

In between matches, I scanned the other teams, wondering who’d be going up against Asher. There were quite a few men who appeared similar in size. One paced back and forth on the other side of the gym, his eyes locked on Asher. His head was buzzed and even though he wore a dark blue gi, there was no mistaking the muscle underneath.

Asher watched him too, like a wolf tracking a potential rival. There was no hostility in his gaze. Just focus. He exuded composure—a confidence that, to me, seemed far more intimidating than the intense glares he was getting from the guy in blue.

Levi won his first match in less than thirty seconds, earning an enthusiastic response from the crowd. Logan grappled after him, and although his match lasted longer, he made his opponent tap out. Both returned to the sidelines to high fives and pats on the backs from their teammates.

Finally, it was Asher’s first match. His first opponent was a man in a black gi from a gym in a neighboring town, not the guy in blue. It was over almost before it began. One minute the ref was blowing the whistle and both men were on their feet. The next, Asher had him on the ground, twisted into a position that looked like it hurt. The guy in black tapped out, the whistle blew again, and it was over.

Asher helped the other guy to his feet, and they shook hands. Then the ref raised Asher’s arm, declaring him the winner. I jumped up, clapping and cheering for him. A few people shot me annoyed looks, but I didn’t care. I was going to cheer for my man.

The wait for his second match wasn’t long. This one went the full round, and by the end, my heart was hammering in my chest and I’d left fingernail prints in my palms from clenching my fists so hard. I didn’t understand exactly how the scoring worked, but Asher had won on points. The ref lifted his arm and I cheered my heart out again.

He stayed with his teammates, but met my eyes often, offering a wink or a half-smile. When Levi and Logan were up, he helped coach each of them through their next matches. Both won, moving on to the next round.

So did the guy in dark blue.

The tension in the gym grew as the afternoon went on and more competitors were eliminated. My butt hurt from the hard bleachers, but as Asher walked out onto the mat for his final match, all thoughts of discomfort fled.

Because of course he was up against the guy in dark blue.

They nodded to each other with what looked like respect. I didn’t know who he was, but I had a feeling he and Asher had competed against each other before. They were similar in height and build—both tall and athletic—and both moved with a similar confident grace.

My eyes were locked on them, my heart in my throat. They shook hands, stepped back, and the ref blew the whistle.

I watched in awe as the two men fought to take each other down. Within seconds it was clear they were evenly matched. This wouldn’t be an easy win for either of them.

Asher moved with stunning power and speed, finally gaining the upper hand. He hooked his opponent’s leg and the next thing I knew, they were on the mat.

From there, it was hard to tell who was winning. My heart raced and I clenched my fists, leaning forward as I watched the battle. Asher strained against his opponent, his face intense. I was close enough to hear his low grunts as they fought—and my god, it was ridiculously arousing.

I’d never seen this side of Asher before. He was so focused and there was so much ferocity in the way he moved. He was powerful and strong, with a hint of anger in his expression and danger in his dark eyes.

If I hadn’t known him so well, it might have scared me a little.

His brothers shouted encouragement from the sideline and his coach barked instructions. The crowd cheered, the noise thick around me. Sweat dripped down Asher’s temples and his opponent’s face was flushed bright red.

“Come on, Asher!” I had no idea if he could hear me, but I yelled a steady stream of encouragement as the two men fought for dominance.

The guy in blue got Asher on his back and I gasped. But Asher locked his legs around him, pulled him down closer, and hooked a leg across his neck. Suddenly, he had his opponent’s head and one arm trapped with his legs.

Asher’s jaw clenched tight as he held the position. The other guy tried to break free, but his already red face quickly deepened to a dark purple. A few seconds later, he tapped Asher’s leg with his free hand.

It was over. Asher had won.

I shot to my feet, clapping like a crazy person. The guy in blue stood first and reached a hand down to help Asher up. They spoke and I could see the mutual respect as they shook hands again.

Then the ref lifted Asher’s arm and the crowd cheered.

My cheeks felt flushed and my heart beat fast. Asher came straight for me, and I scrambled down from the bleachers to meet him. I launched myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck. He picked me up off my feet and squeezed me tight.