He was enticing in every way. The way his body moved swiftly around the ring as I watched him from behind the bar. He was the best. And the best never loses.
When Blake Anderson gets a job as a bartender at the local fight club, Chargers, she meets...
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The first night I saw him, I was shocked.
Shocked by the way he moved so swiftly, shocked by his instinct to adjust to any situation, but most of all I was shocked by his ability to utterly and completely destroy his target. Whatever he touched, he seemed to shatter into pieces. He upheld his reputation with pride. I stood behind the bar, the very first night on my new job, watching this man inside a ring splattered with blood.
The entire crowd was cheering like they had never cheered before. They screamed for the man that just won one of many fights. He was the man that everyone knew of. He was Harry Styles, and Harry Styles knew exactly how to win.
He stepped from the ring and into the crowd, women swarmed him. He accepted it humbly, never once greedily. The cheers of his success rained through the club and over the now loud music.
Chargers is the most popular fight club in Southern California. Being a bartender wasn't exactly what I had imagined my nineteen year old, college self, to be doing. I was struggling to get by, and used sixty percent of my job money to my college fund. I listened to a man shouting his order at me, taking it to memory and adding it to the list of others. Vodka, bourbon, beer. They all were alcohol and they all did the same thing. I moved around the bar like he moved around the ring. Swiftly, and always in control.
I moved from order to order, accepting payments and trading the drinks for money, everything I was supposed to be doing. My coworker, Kadence, was impressed with my abilities as a first time bartender. She had been working here since her sophomore year of college, so two years ago. I was a sophomore myself with a late birthday in July.
"Hey Blake! I need 3 vodka crans!" She shouted at me from the other end of the bar. I added it to my mental list and kept going. Glasses after glasses were filled with the intoxicating liquids, each and every customer satisfied. Until, one wasn't.
I saw him out of the corner of my eye, sliding into one of the seats, with his wrapped hands and wrists in white bandages, resting on the table as he tapped his long fingers subconsciously. His fingers were covered in multiple rings except for two fingers on his right hand. His hair was wet and his white t-shirt was clean. The tattoos that littered his arms stood out along the white, but blended in with the club lighting.
Harry Styles was known for his fighting, he was one of the main fighters here at Chargers, and I had heard about him before I had even applied. His reputation as a fighter, his reputation as a person, and his reputation with women. He definitely had a memorable reputation.
His opponents were always obliterated, no matter the size, he won. He fought like his life depended on it, never once losing a fight. It seemed as if he needed to win in order to survive. He stepped out of the ring each time with a glorified grin on his face, leaving the destroyed opponent behind him on the floor of the ring.
People from around the Southern California region came to watch him. He was the entertainment factor for the adrenaline junkies. His fights brought in people like concerts, the bar and fight club always packed to a full.
