Below The Belt [Story Preview]

Chapter 1: Ethan

I was fucking exhausted. Every limb, every fiber in my body felt overused. Even taking a shower had felt like work. I'd been going a hundred miles an hour, every day, every week for the past six months. I wanted, needed, a goddamn break. But legends didn't get breaks as my dad would say. Breaks were for average people, and Grable's were anything but average.

I fell onto my sheets, the cool silk feeling good against my overheated skin from the steam shower. I had tonight off which usually meant making a PR appearance before heading to a club, followed by an after party or two. I mean, who was I to complain? This was the life. I had it all, and then some. But if only I could just have a few hours of sleep...

"Ethan!" I sat up bolt straight at the sound of my name. "Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Get dressed. The car is picking us up in thirty." My best friend and tour manager, Christian, leaned against the hotel bedroom doorway, typing away on his phone.

"Shit, what time is it?"

"Almost nine. We have a VIP booth at Ultra, Afrojack set. I'll make you a roadie." Christian walked over to the kitchen in my suite and I could hear him pulling out glass and liquor bottles. God, I'd sound like such a fucking loser if I asked to stay in. Somehow my life had become about everyone else even though it was my coattails they were all riding. Ethan Grable, next fighting superstar. Ethan Grable, international playboy. Ethan Grable, son of legendary quarterback Michael Grable. Right now I was just, Ethan, fucking exhausted twenty-five-year-old dude. I swung my sore legs over the side of the bed, my back wincing slightly as I stood. Didn't matter if you were in the best shape humanly possibly, that shit in the ring took a toll on you. Especially when you pulled the stunts and complex combinations that not only had me securing wins but also a massive fanbase. I pulled on a dark pair of jeans and threw on a collared shirt, buttoning it up as I made my way into the kitchen.

"Alexa's in town, you want me to invite her?" Christian glanced up at me as he handed me a drink. God, Alexa just wouldn't quit. We'd broken up six months ago and yet she still managed to find me on tour. There'd been a widespread rumor that I'd cheated on her, which like many other rumors about me, wasn't true. But I hadn't tried too hard to convince her otherwise. Life was easier without a steady girl anyway. Too much fucking drama.

"Whatever," I shrugged and took a healthy drink, needing the buzz of alcohol to get me energized for this night out, "up to her."

"Dude, only you could be so cavalier about one of the hottest girls on the planet. She wants you bad, like hella bad." I rolled my eyes at Christian. The guy was loud and charismatic but he was about half my size. Still, he managed to get his fair share of women.

"I have an early rehab session tomorrow so we can't be out too late." I ran my hand through my hair, downing the rest of the drink and holding out the empty cup towards Christian for a refill.

"Alright, we will be back by 2:00 AM at the latest, grandpa." I stifled a groan at his response but didn't object. Christian didn't deal with anywhere near the same physical toll as I did, but the guy was still a manic workaholic. I honestly didn't know how he managed it all, between my tour and press schedule as well as the nightlife he relentlessly pursued for us.

***

A few hours into the club and I was feeling better. Feeling like the legendary Ethan Grable that everyone expected me to be. The music was loud, drowning out the need for unnecessary conversation. Christian was doing shots with Afrojack's road crew when I felt a soft hand on my arm.

"Hi," a whisper of hot breath too close to my ear, "I'm Emilia." I glanced over, a blurry mixture of blue eyes and blonde hair coming into view. I was two stops past drunk, slouched deeply into the leather booth, my head resting back. Who said you couldn't party and relax at the same time?
"Hi, I'm Ethan," I grinned at her, already forgetting her name.

"I know," she giggled, moving in closer, "you're Ethan freaking Grable."

"That's what they tell me." I raised my forefinger, getting the attention of the VIP hostess and holding out my empty glass for another.

"You're funny," Blurry Blonde dragged her palm over my denim clad thigh.

"I'm really not. That guy over there," I pointed at Christian, "he's your funny guy."

"I think I'll stick with you. My friends all came to this club tonight just to see you, but I was the only one admitted to VIP." Her whiny voice was dripping with pride.

"Lucky you," I smiled again, grateful when the hostess brought me back a fresh drink.

"Yes, lucky me." The girl practically purred next to me and I kept myself from rolling my eyes. "So, where are you staying tonight?"

"Look," I cleared my throat, the room spinning, "I, uh--"

"Yo! Ethan, let's bounce. After party with Afrojack's crew. At Calliope." Christian clapped his hands excitedly, clearly drunk off his ass. "You coming with us blondie?" I looked over and her blue eyes practically lit up. Jesus, Christian would invite any chick with a pulse.

"Um, yes! Let me just text my friends to tell them I'm leaving."
"Hell, the more the merrier! Well, if they're hot," Christian's expression turned comically serious as he addressed Blurry Blonde, "are they in fact hot?" She giggled again, the sound a bit nauseating.

"Look man, I think I may just go back to the hotel--"

"Oh shit, I get it! My bad, my bad." Christian started to back away, his palms raised as he gave us the look and I rolled my head against the leather headrest in frustration.

"Alone," I started to stand, a bit wobbly on my feet. "Call me a car." I started to move away from the booth and toward what I thought was the exit.

"Oh shit," Christian walked over to catch up with me, "you're serious? You're not taking that blonde with you? She's a fucking dime."

"You think everyone's a dime, Christian."

"Well, yes, women are fucking amazing. You're just the spoiled badass pretty boy who gets so much ass he doesn't even know what to do with it all."

"Car. Call me one. Now." I'd lost my patience, a pounding headache brewing at the back of my skull.

"Fine, boss. If you want to be a wet blanket, I won't stand in your way." Christian pulled out his phone and led me out through the back. Apparently too many paparazzi out front. No doubt they were waiting for another drunken picture of me. Weren't they as sick of this same song and dance as I was?

The black Escalade pulled to a stop, a few stray photographers flashing photos as I climbed into the back. I didn't even bother with a seatbelt, sprawling myself out flat and dozing off along the way. Somehow this was the life of a legend. The life anyone would've killed for.