Will be available wherever books are sold! The Bolo Dance, is a standalone sports romance series. Here’s an excerpt if you’re curious.

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Chapter One:

“Michelle, what do you think about before a fight?” A reporter asked, shoving a microphone in my face. My manager failing miserably at keeping a handful of the local media back.

“When I stepped in the ring, I’m sitting across from my murderer. She wants me dead, and I like me alive. I’m fighting to live. I’m fighting to win.”

“You heard the lady. Step back. You need room to prepare for true greatness,” Gideon spouted, like an Evangelical preacher.

Every time I stepped into this place they swarmed me like bees attracted to the queen. Except one wrong word would turn these stingers against me. So I was always glad when my trainer, Farmer, pushed me safely into my changing room. I wasn’t surprised at all that my manager, Gideon Botile, had stayed outside the door to entertain the masses.

It irked me to no end when people tapped me on the back wanting me to wax poetic about rearranging women’s faces. I think about the money and fame was never an acceptable answer. Except in my case, the truth was closer to, I think about the money and my family obligations. That answer was worse than the first one.

And unlike other opponents who traveled with an entourage. I needed my team to travel light. This wasn’t no picnic. If anything I really was attending my funeral. So usually during these things it was just me, Farmer, and my cutman Keith.

It was only fitting that my career would begin or end here, in local 399. The place where I started my amateur boxing career. From the outside, it looks like a fancy real estate office. However, the inside was all brawn. A permanent layer of dust on the floor from construction workers coming and going. It was so thick it would give anyone asthma. But in here, the back room. The smell of blood, sweat, and hard work reigned. It was stifling, like tear gas.

My first time here, I was 19, and out of place in a preppy ponytail and skinny jeans. But this time the place was just as apart of me as my bone marrow. In the same way that I was apart of it because of all my spent tears and strength. I was in the thick of it and coming out fine like the hulk. Local 399 had since upgraded some of there creature comforts. I like to think it was because of the money my shows were bringing in. One of the few things I had to be proud of. This changing room was state of the art luxury.

But boxing wasn’t my main priority. My son Owen was and he was at school waiting for me to make an appearance. After changing into my long red shorts that fell to my knees, and a simple white tank top, I hopped on top of my table.

“Farmer, don’t let me forget to go to my son’s debate tonight. It’s his first one,” I said to my trainer as he wrapped my hands with boxing tape.

“You just focus on the fight ahead.”

I shouldn’t have expected anything else from Farmer. He was like a father to me. Not that my real father was dead. He was most likely in V.I.P. enjoying the spoils with my boyfriend and champ, Darren Taylor. His last, but most recent fight, would ensure that he would have his own paparazzi snapping photos of him and his entourage. I would be surprised if my father wasn’t hugged up with him in every one of those photos. He was never backstage with me helping me get ready, but he was the loudest man in the place.

It wouldn’t usually bother me, but today I had made a promise to be at Owen’s first debate. I didn’t want to let him down. This fight would only typically last 15 minutes, so that wasn’t the problem. I still had to go home, shower, ice my wounds, and change before hustling out the door. Just so that I could look like a regular PTA parent, but it was worth it for Owen.

“I’m as ready for this fight as I’ll ever be. No contest. But I got shit to do. We just need to go.”

“Cool it, Michelle,” Farmer spouted tugging some red boxing gloves onto my hands. Farmer was about the same age as my father at 52, but their countenance was like night and day. It was the only reason I heeded his command. Smiling up at his rapidly growing grey beard and wondering how many of those hairs had my name on it. His brown syrupy eyes were stoic and serious. He tapped the gloves as a signal for me to test them before adding, “But yes, I’ll remind you.”

He hit my hands together and tested out the fitting of the gloves. I hopped down from the table and threw some jabs to Keith, who was holding up some boxing mitts. He had on a t-shirt with the name of our gym, Ever Fit, in the corner in red lettering. The noisiness from the hallway drifted into the small room as the door opened and Gideon entered.

“This is the first match of the rest of your life, and there’s only six more after this before you’re wearing the championship belt,” he told me, sounding positively giddy. Or as giddy as greedy could sound.

I forced my concerns about making it to Owen’s event out of my mind and focused on the fight ahead. My jet black hair was already pulled back into a ponytail. The tail breaded.

“She’s got the best team backing me. All she needs now is to concentrate on her elbow parry.” The force behind Farmer’s words alerted me to the fact that Gideon wasn’t the only one looking for a guaranteed win tonight.

Gideon just grinned. “You’re going to make us a lot of money, Michelle. Don’t forget to get out there and smile for the cameras. Sell yourself.”

I beckoned for Keith to put some headphones on my ears. Farmer came up behind me to help me into my red Ever Fit robe. I bounced up and down in place to get my heart rate up. Transitioning into the mindset of a killer. Walking out with my team behind me, listening too, Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi.

Pausing as I caught sight of my dad off to the side in the strands. He leaned over the barrier and yelled over the chaos. A beer in his hand. “Hit her like a man.”

I laughed and returned the headphones to my head. With or without the headphones, I felt the audience’s energy in my blood. There faces angry and demanding with unmet expectations. My gaze trained on the loser in the ring. Her hair braided in cornrows as she hopped around in white shorts. Let’s see how much blood I could get on them.

The crowd was in an uproar by the time I entered the ring. They were all die-hard fans who knew how this would end. There was no need to pay attention to the announcer rattling off my opponent’s attributes when they could chant, second to none. Hightailing it out of the way to make room for the referee who demanded a false showing of showmanship.

A sugar high of kool-aid proportions hit me as soon as the bell rang. My training like second nature. An easy one, two, three. This woman was still calculating her moves like an overdue homework assignment. Fighting wasn’t just about skill though. It was equally about talent. And this woman was fighting scared.

I came out of the corner, bobbing and weaving. Leading with a flurry of straights with my left hand. I favor my right, but Keith has been having me practice more with the left. Just so I could throw off an unsuspecting opponent and it definitely showed in her eyes. Panic was taking hold. She decided to counter my attacks with a flurry of her own. None of which landed.

The trick to any bout, no matter the round, was not to act like I had already won. Even if it was clear that I had. Every underdog was that serial killer in the bushes waiting to catch me unaware. In Farmer’s words, every fight should be fought as if it were still round one.

No one becomes “second to none” by skating by. I fight for that title every second. Which is why when the fifth and final bell rung, she wasn’t my opponent anymore, but the grim reaper. Skeletal fingers that with a single touch would send me to the great beyond.

I couldn’t let her touch me. Farmer pointed out to me that her hits were wild and unfocused. I used that to my advantage. My jabs sending her retreating into the corner, giving me the courage to lay into her. Pure white lightning that would send the grim reaper into hiding. Only to have the referee break up my onslaught.

I’m almost positive that she’s feeling the pain. She doesn’t get off another shot the whole round. Stumbling to the point that it would be easy to knock her down. But they don’t give out points for mercy. So I throw a one-two combo and send her kissing the mat. She gets up at the count of five, but the bout is over. We go to our neutral corners, where Keith was waiting to fix me up.

The announcer eventually came and stood in the middle of the ring and announced, “Michelle “second to none” Nunn is the winner by unanimous decision.”

I stood up and the referee sauntered over and held up my hand. Pleasantly surprised, when my opponent came over to shake my hand without any fanfare.

My friend and the only other woman under Gideon’s roster Brooke Bowe stood on the corner ropes and waved and whistled. The only woman I knew that I could commiserate with on the harshness of the industry. She also sported a scary straight shot, displaying a power that even I dreaded going up against. But thanks to Gideon’s maneuvering, all we were able to be was each other’s biggest fan instead of rivals. I kissed two fingers and flashed them at her. Appreciating the love.

My least favorite part of winning was the media. The crowds loud whistling almost drowned out there questions. Questions they demanded even if my body was falling apart. Farmer helped me into my robe. His arm lingering around my waist, and I mouthed thank you. Leaning all my weight against him. The fact that he knew I needed strength right now was why I respected him.

Gideon was oblivious, standing to my right, already plugging the next fight. However, the attention of most reporters was short and they were already on to a better story. So they needed to get through this quick. After all, it was a Friday night in Chicago.

“Michelle, Michelle, what are your thoughts on the match?” The lone reporter who hadn’t left asked, directing the attention away from Gideon.

“All the fools who didn’t think I was a contender, start worrying!” I tasted the blood from my busted lip and spit it out unceremoniously on the mat.

Making my way through the condensed crowd to my boyfriend who was entertaining some reporters on his win. Half of them were supposed to be here for me. How could I not be angry that even my win was about him? Like clockwork, he saw me and the sea parted for him. Until he stopped and lifted me into the air, spinning me around. None of which was doing my headaches any favor.

“My baby’s a winner just like me.”

I tapped him lightly on the shoulder and signaled for him to put me down. Grinning through the aches and pains as he planted a kiss on my cheek. The whole world watching. “It’s undeniable that we’re winners. And I’ll be the champion next.”

Before we said anything else, Gideon stepped in to put in the final word. Like a wallpaper backdrop, I smooched Darren on the lips. Smiling at the flashing lights as we parted.

“You did good kid. Next time go for the KO,” my dad said, pulling me into a surprising hug. His dirty gray hair like popcorn balls on his scalp. A permanent tan from so many years working outside without sunscreen. He only stepped aside to allow Keith to hand me a towel. After he freed me from my boxing gloves, I wiped my mouth and soaked up some of the sweat pooling on the back of my neck.

“Let’s get out of here,” Darren whispered into my ear. His arm went around my shoulder, but instead of feeling loved, I felt bought and sold.

Quietly allowing him to lead us out of the ring. He pulled open the second and top rope to allow me through. Yet, he managed to lead the charge with my dad in front. I just shook my head and used the moment to interact with some of the fans in the stands. Shaking hands with as many as I could as we made our way back to the changing room.

Feeling crazy for noticing two hot guys at the end of the rows. One was a preppy looking blond, but the other was a tall glass of dark and handsome. I tried to chastise myself for even noticing. Chalking it up to my hormones escaping me.

Darren was twice as sexy as either of them. He even made the cover of GQ twice. A natural blond with the body of a sculpted Zeus. If any woman were to claim that he wasn’t her type, I’d be inclined to think her crazy. Then again, maybe she just knew Darren as well as I did.

It occurred to me that some light flirting might actually throw Darren for a loop. I stopped and handed tall dark and dazzling my towel. “Keep it. You’re going to want something of the future women’s champion.”

He looked surprised but took the towel. His warm fingers brushing across mine. I’m instantly rewarded with a warm smile that reached his amber eyes. He appeared to be around the same age as me and apparently was a huge fan of boxing. We already had nothing in common.

“We got to go,” Farmer said from behind me.

I nodded to the two gentlemen and continued on. Stopping when I heard the end of the friend’s conversation.

“…women’s boxing is complete crap.”

“What did you say?” I asked storming back.

It was like he reached in my chest and pulled out my heart. So I pulled back my right hand and punched Mr. Dark and Dazzling in the face. My fist connecting with his jaw. It was Keith who pulled me back. Farmer giving me his best, what the fuck look. I merely turned to Gideon and said, “How is that for some personality?”

The guy held up his nose. “I think I’m bleeding?”

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