Shane Briggs

  An Obsessed Alpha BBW Romance Short Read

  Lynette Wilson

  © Copyright 2019 - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Shane Briggs

  Table of Contents

  The First Interview

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  The Second Interview

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  The Third Interview

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Before you go…

  The Obsessed Alpha Series Books

  The

  First

  Interview

  Chapter 1

  Shane

  I take a breath and the lights fade around him, my target. The sweat in my sight, the bruising around my right eye from his hook, the noise from the audience surrounding the ring drop into a blackness that mutes what it consumes. I lift my fists, my gloves shiny at the bottom of my vision. I step forward, and my opponent, Geoffrey Tate, hops on his feet. I grin. He doesn’t retreat. The one good swing he landed has made him confident. It’s an old tactic I picked up as a kid on the streets. Let them land one good one once they’re tired. They’ll grow confident, but their body can’t cash the check their ego writes.

  I make another step in towards him and he launches his attack. A wide left hook. Clever use of his non-dominant. Still erratic. I drop down, his arm swings over my head, and three gut punches send him stumbling back. I rise back up and send my right fist straight into his nose. A burst of blood, a look of shock, then his eyes close and his face hits the mat.

  Knockout.

  The ref lifts my hand into the air and I banish the darkness to allow the audience, their shouting back into my world. I revel in my victory. A chant rises. Shane Briggs, Shane Briggs, Shane Briggs!

  I allow a small grin to curl the corners of my mouth. Let them worship, but never be their god. Gods fall. A true contender always stays on his feet.

  Amidst the revelry, I make my way back through the stadium, into the hallway, towards my room where they’ve provided all manner of fringe benefits for the reigning heavyweight champ. Alcohol, though I don’t drink, treats, though I don’t eat them, other knick knacks and assorted trash I ignore. My life is regimented, and I keep it tight. I don’t need excess, it clouds the mind. I don’t even partake in the groupies that collect at the doorway, having my manager and bodyguards form a barrier that keeps them at a distance. Women cloud the mind worse than alcohol, worse than junk food, worse than anything. I’ve always done everything solo, and it’s gotten me wealth, fame, and acclaim. My career is more valuable than the things it could buy me.

  Frankly, I want to just shower and get home, a penthouse, my sole extravagance. Living in the slums developed a desire for escape to the nicer side of town. I promised myself when I was a kid I would buy a spot in one of the luxury high rises if I ever made it. Now I own the top floor. But I keep a picture of my childhood home taped to my floor to ceiling window, so everytime I look out I’m not tempted to feel above the world. I know where I came from.

  I can’t go home just yet, however. There’s an interview scheduled. I’m told the interviewer is a rookie. This is going to be painful.

  Chapter 2

  Evelyn

  The tension I feel in my body is tremendous as I wait in this plush backroom of the stadium where Shane Briggs, the heavyweight champion of the world, just trounced his opponent, Geoffrey Tate, before an audience of twenty thousand spectators and countless millions on pay-per-view.

  And before tonight, I couldn’t have been less interested.

  I went to school to become a reporter, but my interests lie in the political. I dream of breaking huge stories about foreign affairs, domestic scandals, corporate misdeeds. When I got the job at a prominent New York blog, Urbanity, I couldn’t have been more excited. I moved from my home in suburban Pennsylvania to the Big Apple to start my career. But when my boss, a sharp woman by the name of Katie Benning, handed out assignments, I was forlorn to discover I’d been given the sports beat. When I asked why, she replied, “To put you out of your comfort zone.” Secretly, I think it’s because she doesn’t like me. Everyone who works for Urbanity is hip, sexy, and cool. I’m a bookish, curvy girl from a conservative hometown. Simply being a self-described liberal was enough to be provocative there. For contrast, in Urbanity’s office, I looked like a dweeb. But I couldn’t tell Katie no. This was my first job, it supported my new life in New York, a place so wildly expensive, I probably couldn’t afford a box on the street without a cushy, new media job. So, when Katie told me to go outside my comfort zone, I smiled and graciously accepted the position.

  Well, here I am, far out of my comfort zone, about to interview a man I’d barely heard of before tonight, and could barely see from the second rate press pen in the nose bleed section. When the two little figures exchanged punches, I couldn’t make sense of who was who. After the match, I was whisked away by event organizers to Shane’s quarters, a very nice green room where I awaited him on a couch situated between two tables of elaborate food trays and goodie bags for a man who presumably already had everything he could ever want. My research had taught me Shane Briggs was exorbitantly wealthy, highly precise in the ring, and an eligible bachelor, despite a strikingly handsome facade. I’ll admit it, I found him attractive when I pulled up an image search. But so what? Handsome and rich always mean prick. With my pen and pad placed within my lap, I’m preparing myself for a painful interview experience with a man I assume I’ll detest. Boxing is primitive, I can’t possibly begin to understand why anyone would enjoy watching--

  The door swings open, two men in suits press the, against the walls to permit his entrance. Shane Briggs. Shirtless, sweaty, hulking, massive. The fluorescent light catches in the curves of his bulging muscles, outlining with white lines each individually sculpted piece of his physique. My eyes trace his body upward until they find his blue eyes barrelling into me and I find it difficult to breathe. Good lord, get ahold of yourself, Evelyn. He’s a fighter. A hot fighter.

  Chapter 3

  Shane

  The men close the doors behind me and the screeching sound of the fans in the hallway dims to a low volume only seeping through. I lift my eyes to discover a woman awaiting me - she catches me off-guard. I had expected a boy, probably geeky, definitely dull. Or, if a woman, someone thin and glossy, like a vapid model, the type online publications hire now to attract an illiterate audience more interested in thirty second clips than text. Instead...something very different.

  First, I notice her eyes, big, brown eyes, hiding behind black rimmed glasses, wide upon meeting my gaze. Set in a round face with plump, red lips, her brunette hair dangles around her shocked expression, framing it with chestnut locks. Then I notice her body as she stands to greet me. It’s not the type that are usually found milling about, waiting for me after matches. Not the kind people assume a man of my status beds every night. Not the type I’m disinterested in. She’s pale, a milky white skin that glows where it’s shown, around her neckline, along her silky, shimmering thighs in the tight black dress she tugs self-consciously at. She’s thicker, ample breasts showcasing cleavage in a deep V, hips bulging out to her sides, an ass behind them I can only imagine right now as I step up towards her, automatically inhaling her scent. Floral, mixed with citrus. Something inside me, something primal, clicks on. I haven’t been in the presence of a woman who did this to me in--have I ever been so immediately taken aback by a woman?

  She’s young, her inexperience apparent in her pretty eyes wide like a deer’s before headlights. I don’t want to spoil this experience for her, it must be a big get for her budding career. Stay professional, Shane. I extend my hand, which she gawks at a moment before shaking her head and placing her own hand in mine. I shake it, taking in the subtle sensation of her skin against my own. Soft, warm, hard to release, but I do, in an effort to stay on course. Get through the interview, then get home for a much earned rest.

  “Mr. Briggs, I’m Evelyn Lamb from Urbanity, it’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

  I grin at her nervous introduction, the wavering in her voice. “Likewise,” I tell her. I take the towel hanging from my shoulders and wipe my face, a fresh sheen of sweat having formed since I entered. My heart rate holds up, I tell myself it’s from the match still, even as I can’t help myself spying her legs beneath me. I clear my throat. “Shall we sit?” I suggest.

  She turns her head back to the couch, then back to me. “Oh, of course, Mr. Briggs.” She turns to seat herself, and I see for the first time what a package she really is. Her hips roll over to her backside when she pivots, a round pair of buttocks squeezed into her black dress. She picks up her pen and pad then seats herself, staring up at me.

  I shuffle over to the other end of the couch and drop into its cushion. “Shane, please,” I tell her.

  Chap

ter 4

  Evelyn

  “Shane,” I repeat. It’s short, simple. Rugged. Reminiscent of the old west, like some swaggering cowboy, dust-covered, waltzing into town to stir up trouble. I can feel something stirring in me when he sits down on the same couch, his breaths heaving his massive chest, a display of brawn I’ve never seen in person before. I watch a stray bead of sweat tumble between his pecs, ride over the hills and valleys of his abs to absorb itself into the band of his shorts. He tousles his sweat drenched, dirty blonde hair and I feel my heart flutter. He’s a fighter, I remind myself. A brute. And rich. Nothing worse than that combo, though as I observe the little grin curling the corner of his mouth, I think to myself he’s smarter than that. There’s a coy mind at play behind that face. I suppose I’ll find out.

  “I’d like to start out by asking you about fighting,” I say, and immediately feel dumb.

  Shane gives a chuckle, though it isn’t mean-spirited. It sounds amused. I pray it’s amusement. “Honestly, that’s refreshing. You’d think it’s counterintuitive, but most of the time, they ask about something unrelated. Celebrity bullshit, you know?”

  This time I give a good-natured chuckle. “I prefer to strike at the core of a subject.”

  “Let’s see then,” he says, draping his glistening, sculpted arm over the back of the couch. “What’s your first question, Evelyn?”

  I clear my throat and peer down at my pad of paper. There rests my first question, seated, atop the rest like its throne. I really hope I don’t blow this. “For you, what does fighting mean?”

  His eyes narrow, his head tilts back, but his blue eyes hold their stare on me and I feel all manner of things under their gaze. Worried, hot, naked, vulnerable, warm. I think I unconsciously bite my bottom lip while waiting for his answer. Then I catch him doing the same. Wait, is he checking me out? “That’s an interesting question,” he finally replies. “Strikes at the philosophy of fighting. Well,” I feel the meat of his answer coming and quickly lift my pen to the ready, “fighting has meant different things for me in my life. Early on, it meant something animalistic. Other kids would pick on me for being quiet, that would escalate into a physical altercation. Like in animal packs, I’d have to defend my position. Prove myself to the self-proclaimed alphas. When I managed to clear my head of emotion, I started to beat them. I became the alpha.” I’m genuinely surprised by the eloquence of his answer. It’s actually reflective and I find myself starry eyed, watching his lips as they deliver it. “Later, fighting meant survival. I was poor, grew up without any money. But I’d become good at fighting. Without many other options, I started fighting in underground rings for cash. If I didn’t fight, and if I didn’t win, that meant I didn’t get paid. I didn’t eat. So I won. Over and over again. Desperation is a hell of a teacher.”

  He pauses, and the trance breaks. I realize I haven’t jotted any of this down. I quickly turn my head to the pad beneath me and squeeze in as much as I can beneath the question.

  Chapter 5

  Shane

  I watch her scribble down my words and I think for a moment I hope I’ve given a good answer, which is a first for me. I’ve never cared what interviewers made of my answers before, but something about Evelyn makes me want to impress. It’s not just her body that’s enraptured me, it’s her. Beyond the looks, I’m engaged by her mind.

  Her eyes rise up from her notes, framed in the glasses I can’t help but find cute. “What does fighting mean to you now?” she asks as follow up.

  I feel my arm stretch across the the back of the couch towards her. I feel the urge to touch her, to take her into my arms and see how she swoons. There’s a star in her right eye sparkling for me, or, at least, I hope it does, and I want to speak to it, tell it to bring her to me. But that would betray my ethics. Despite my first cravings for a woman in years, I have to maintain course. It’s the only thing that separates me from the pack, puts me ahead of it. “Fighting, now? I suppose today it means breathing. I couldn’t exist without it.”

  “The outlet?” she suggests.

  I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. I’m not angry, I don’t have energy I need to release. I’ve been mocked for this before, but fighting is much like art. It’s expression. Everybody has to express. I’m a fighter to my bones, so boxing becomes my medium.” She pauses on a word, her pen pressed against the page, leaking ink across it. I can tell I’ve caught her off guard. In the ring, she’d be stunned, providing me another opportunity. It’s my instinct to take it. “What about you?” I ask, turning the table. “How do you express?”

  She smiles, tilting her head just so, exposing her soft neck. She gives a little nervous chuckle, then rubs the section of neck my eyes landed on. “Express?” she repeats. “Well, you’re a fighter, right? So that’s your medium. I’m inquisitive, so I guess questions are mine. I ask them of people, of institutions, of assumptions. I question everything. Then I take my findings and put them down in an article. That’s my expression, I guess.”

  “Interesting,” I reply, and I mean it, truly. She’s young, but she’s not dumb, nor dull. Evelyn seems to be years beyond where most people her age tend to be. “So tell me,” I say, leaning my upper body towards her end of the couch. “How’s the findings tonight, Evelyn?”

  She bites her lower lip, a gesture I’d caught earlier when I held on her first question. Each time she does it, I feel my body ramping up a little more. I’m losing sight of the restraint I told myself I’d retain. But I don’t care. I have to lean into this. I have to go the rounds.

  “My findings are...different than expected,” she says with a nod and a smile.

  “What were your expectations?”

  “I honestly didn’t expect you to be as thoughtful as you apparently are.”

  I grin. “Can I be honest with you?” I speak in a nearly conspiratorial whisper.

  Her eyes widen a little bit from fear. Just a small dose. “I suppose,” she says.

  Chapter 6

  Evelyn

  I can’t tell if Shane is flirting with me, or if I’ve completely let myself fall into wild assumption. He’s rich, handsome, and ripped. Extremely ripped. My vision cascades over his body like water clinging to rocks and I find muscles I’d never known existed before. Shane is huge, and powerful, and with dirty blonde hair that dangles bangs over his forehead like some heartthrob, I can’t imagine him ever going for a girl like me. Thick, pale, bespectacled. The word unassuming comes to mind. Yet, while I wait for his admission of honesty, his eyes play a game of seduction that’s working one over on me. I’m gradually melting beneath them.

  “I didn’t think you’d be thoughtful, either,” he finally tells. Is he saying he thinks I’m thoughtful, too? The suggestion of compliment is enough to stretch a wide grin across my face. What are you doing, Evelyn? Are you...are you swooning? I spy his arm on the back of the couch nearly overlapping my back. Has he moved in towards me? A voice previously lying quiet in the background of my thoughts emerges to the fore to shout its desire, Take me, Shane! Close the gap, slide me beneath you on this couch, and kiss me! Which I shake my head to silence and banish back to its position in the rear. I’m a professional, and I will finish this interview.

  “Thank you,” I speak graciously, resolving to hold steady and keep to the questions. But what if he is flirting with me? I watch as his eyes dip from mine to glide along my body in a slow, lengthy appraisal of my assets, with considerable lingering at my thighs and cleavage, before making a return to my face. Oh my god, he is into me. And that up and down look finished the job, I’m a puddle beneath him. And speaking of wetness--

  The door to the room opens and one of the gentlemen in suits steps in to break the moment. I realize now, as a third party’s presence fills the room, that our faces had grown closer to one another, gravitating like two celestial bodies colliding into one another. I can’t help but wax poetic about this situation, it’s making my inner creative writer bloom.

 

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