Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series) Page 2

  “Great news, babe.” I study her expression. Everything about her body language says she wants to go home with me, but something in her eyes puts my alcohol-flooded mind on alert. “You ready?” I press her, testing.

  “Yeah, just let me hit the ladies room and make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

  She pushes up on her tiptoes, going for my lips.

  I turn my head, taking her kiss on the cheek. “Phone call? Let me guess, husband?”

  She recoils, her eyebrows pinching together. “No.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” She looks around then leans into my ear. “I have to call my sitter. Let her know I’ll be late.”

  This shit ain’t happening. “Whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hand. I don’t need any more information than that. “No.”

  “No?” Her mouth hangs open.

  “Um, more like hell no.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Sorry, babe. You’re good looking, but I’ve got to send you packing.”

  She gasps and pulls her hand from my back pocket. “I… I…”

  “Yo, Baywatch,” I call out to the new guy, motioning for him to come over. He’s what I would think most girls would find attractive. A little too pretty, but muscled enough to look straight.

  “What’s up, Blake?” He eyes the young mother who’s still standing there stiff and offended.

  “I want to introduce you to…” I’m not hiding the fact that I don’t know her name. I swing my gaze to her and wait.

  She glares at me. “Alana.”

  “This is Baywatch.” I put pressure on her lower back, pushing her to him.

  Baywatch looks pleased with his gift. “Hey, it’s nice to meet—”

  Alana jerks her head around. “You’re a dick.”

  I shrug.

  The blonde at my side watches me brush off her friend. “Alana, are you okay?”

  Nothing will kill my buzz faster than a nasty chick fight. It’s not personal. Hell, I’m probably doing the girl a favor. I’m definitely doing her kid a favor. Girl with a mouth to feed doesn’t need to be paying a babysitter overtime so she can go home with a dude that’ll fuck her and never call her again.

  I murmur a quick “Be right back” and move to the opposite side of the bar, where Rex and the boys are hanging out. Baywatch isn’t far behind me. Apparently, chick fights aren’t his thing either. Maybe he deserves more credit than I gave him.

  “What happened, B? You strike out?” Rex says.

  He’s teasing. He knows I never go home alone on a holiday.

  “Biding my time, Rex. Night’s still young and full of possibility.”

  “I don’t get it.” Baywatch’s voice is laced with disapproval. “Those chicks were hot. And you just… walked away.”

  “Blake’s got selective taste. He’s always blowing off the hot ones for the hotter ones.” Rex laughs and takes a pull off his beer. The groupies at his side seem to have taken on a sudden interest in our conversation.

  “What’s your secret?” New guy steps up, genuine curiosity in his eyes. But fuck, what’s his name?

  “You want to know my secret, Baywatch?” I’m totally fucking with this guy. There is no secret.

  Truth is, I have no clue why nailing chicks is easy. It might have something to do with the fact that I only go for the ones who may as well have a bright green “Enter” sign hanging from their belt loops. I don’t like a challenge. The easier, the better. Taking a chick out on a date and investing time in getting to know her is not how I operate. Sure, even some of the easier girls can get clingy, but I make it clear it’s only about the sex. If they hold on to ideas about having a future with me, that’s their problem.

  Fact is, a decent looking guy who can’t get any play is probably humping up the wrong tree.

  “Fuck, yeah.” Baywatch nods and—is he taking notes?

  Caleb laughs. “This shit ought to be good.”

  “Okay.” I flag down the bartender for a beer and turn to my eager student. “When you come to a place like this, what’re you looking for?”

  He slides his gaze to a group of girls at the bar. “Meet girls.”

  “Ah-ha.” I point in his face. “There it is. To meet girls.” Shaking my head, I lean back against the bar. “That’s your problem.”

  Baywatch drops his shoulders. “That’s it? That doesn’t even make sense.” He throws his arms out. “Every guy here is out to meet girls.”

  “No, that’s where you’re wrong. Me? I’m here to find a chick… or two… who I can take home and bang until I pass out from dehydration.”

  His eyebrows pinch together. “What’s the difference?”

  “The difference, young Hasselhoff, is that meeting girls implies time. Buying her a drink, asking her about her fucking job, learning that she has a sister in Chicago she hasn’t seen since Christmas, and having to listen to her talk about her ex-boyfriend and how he broke her innocent little heart.”

  “So what you’re saying is I should just walk up to a girl and tell her I’m interested in meaningless sex for one night? That works?”

  “Dude, have you been listening to a single word I’ve said?” I slug back half my fresh beer. I’m giving this guy valuable information, and he’s only picking up on the outline. “No, you compliment her. Make her feel like the sexiest woman in the room. Don’t ask her about her life. You don’t really care, and women are smart as shit. They pick up on your insincerity. Give her the fantasy.”

  I give the novice a second to absorb the chick-getting info-bomb I dropped in his lap. Rex, Caleb, and the other guys from the band all watch—Mason! That’s his name.

  “And that works?” His face is screwed tight.

  “No. After you give her the fantasy, then you tell her you want to take her home and do things to her body that will make her scream so loud she’ll lose her voice.”

  The guys all bust up laughing, but a few girls in the groupie-huddle inch closer to me. My eyes lock on a hot redhead. Her shy smile is a total front. She’s down for a good time.

  I take her in from her fuck-me heels to her fake tits. She’ll do. I motion for her to come closer, and she complies. Damn, I dig a woman who’ll obey.

  “Your tricks won’t work on me,” she purrs, sliding her cocktail straw between her lips.

  “My tricks, huh? I only play games in one place, and that’s by invitation only.”

  She runs her teeth along her lower lip. Yeah, she wants the invite. In the mood to have a little fun, I decide I’m going to make her beg for it. I turn my back on her, happy to see another girl, this one with blond hair and long legs.

  “Damn, you’re fucking gorgeous,” I say, making sure to keep my eyes locked on hers.

  She ducks her chin and smiles. “Thank you.”

  Easy. This girl clearly isn’t used to being complimented.

  I run my finger along her arm from shoulder to wrist and smile at her responding shiver. “What’s your name?”

  “Faye.” She smiles, flashing the silver from a tongue piercing, and takes a pull from her cocktail straw.

  “Well, fuck me.” Literally. “What’s a girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?”

  She bursts into laughter, and I tug her to me.

  Bitches in a barrel.

  I turn back and see Mason with his mouth wide open and his arms hanging at his sides. Rex, Caleb, and the guys are all nodding and laughing.

  Happy New Year to me, motherfuckers.

  ~*~

  I’m hot, and my body feels heavy and pinned down. I squint into the bright light and slam my eyes shut. Ouch. My head throbs and rolls. A sharp twist in my stomach has me moaning. Fuck.

  I try again, opening one eye slowly, then the other. Holy shit.

  I’m in my room, on my bed, and my legs are immobile. I look down the length of my body, which isn’t even covered by a sheet. A tangle of bodies covers my king-sized bed. I drop my head back and close my eyes, p
raying like hell I can remember what went on here last night.

  Damn, I shouldn’t have kept drinking. I remember leaving the club and jumping in a cab with some girls. Two, right? I pinch the bridge of my nose. Ah, shit. Three. All three girls from last night.

  Pushing up to my elbows, I count the legs to make sure. All of them are long, slender, toned, and hairless. Except one. Oh shit. Please—I wiggle my toes, and the toes on the hairy leg wiggle. Thank God. I drop back to the bed, my heart racing. I rub my eyes with my fists, which only intensifies my headache and steals my breath.

  I’m never drinking again.

  A sleepy, feminine groan sounds from around my hip, then another from near my stomach. And with that, the entire girl-pile comes to life, arms and legs detangling from the human dream catcher.

  I hear a small gasp, and one of the girls hops up. I watch through one eye as the blonde races around the bed, picking up pieces of clothing and throwing them back to the ground. It’s funny, but when my lips curve into a smile—fucking hell—it quickly fades. All the booze I drank last night continues to torture me.

  My phone explodes in a violent ring from my bedside table. Ouch! Shit. The sound gets the girls moving and sitting up.

  “Mmm-ello?”

  Faye is up and shoving her arm in a balled-up piece of black fabric. Nope, wrong shirt. She tosses it on the bed and searches the floor. A grin tugs at my lips.

  “Dude, you better be up, fuckface,” Jonah growls from the other end of the phone.

  I lower the volume to save myself from the crippling pain. “Shit, it’s New Year’s day. I’m sleeping in. And so should you.”

  “I’m pulling up to your place now. Remember, we’re going to the New Year’s picnic at Raven’s Nest.”

  “That’s not ’til one.”

  I’m sidetracked as I watch the girls exchange clothes along with awkward glances.

  “It’s twelve-thirty.”

  Fuckin’ hell.

  “Get’chur ass up. Raven and I’ll be up in a minute.” He disconnects the call before I have a chance to reply.

  I toss my phone on the empty pillow next to me. Placing my arms behind my head, I enjoy the view of the room full of naked women as they sort through their clothes, stumble over their shoes, and get dressed.

  What I’m sure is an evil smile dances across my face. “Ladies, take your time. I could watch this all day.”

  The blonde—Sara or Sandra—giggles, and the brunette drops to all fours looking under the bed.

  After a quick call for a cab to escort last night’s entertainment home, I get up and throw on my boxers. Better unlock the front door for Jonah or the asshole will break it down. I did promise him I’d be at the party today. It means a lot to Raven, and after everything that girl’s been through these last few months, Jonah would kill anyone who got in the way of her happiness.

  I take a quick leak then head down the hallway. Ginger, the brunette with legs that go on forever, is jiggling the knob of a locked door.

  “You lost?”

  Her eyes find mine, and I watch her once confident demeanor fall into an embarrassed frown.

  “What do you need, babe?” I lean my shoulder against the wall just shy of the doorframe.

  “Oh, I thought it might be a bathroom.” She studies the door for a moment then swings her gaze to mine. “Do you have a roommate?”

  “Nope.”

  She studies the door again then drops her eyebrows in confusion. “Wait, then what’s in there?”

  I wag my finger and shake my head. “Top secret.” I step into her space, gliding my fingertips along her cheek and down the side of her neck. “If I told you, I’d have to punish you.”

  She shivers, and a smile that screams anxious anticipation cuts through her earlier embarrassment. It’s obvious what she’s thinking. She’s experienced my kinky nature first hand. But I’ll never open that room up to anyone. Mainly because it’s none of their business, but also because I’m ashamed.

  “Bathroom’s down the hall to your left.” I kiss her cheek and head to the front door.

  “So, you like to play?” Her voice carries the sound of intrigue and lust.

  I freeze mid-step, not turning around to face her. “More than anything.” Next to fighting, the room is the only thing that helps me decompress. If I didn’t have my career and my passion, I’d end up like him.

  A loud banging shakes me from my standstill. “Chill the fuck out. I’m coming.” That’s what she said, multiple times. I smile at how quickly my memory of last night washes away the haunting thoughts associated with the room.

  I swing open the door to see Jonah and his wife, Raven, hand in hand.

  Jonah hooks her shoulder, pulling her body to his side. “Come on, Blake. You knew I was with my girl. Get some clothes on before you scare her.”

  “I ain’t got nothing she hasn’t seen before. Although…” I smirk in her direction. “Mine’s bigger.”

  Her cheeks flame to match her bright pink, long-sleeved shirt. She laughs, making Jonah scowl so hard I can feel it.

  A laugh bursts from my throat. Damn, I’m still drunk. “Fuck, man. Calm down.”

  Jonah pushes past me with Raven in tow. They stop in the foyer, and the sound of Raven clearing her throat fills the quiet.

  After shutting the door, I turn and see why. Two of the three girls from last night face off with my friends. “Oh, um… Faye, and…”—I’m feeling lucky, so I take a guess—“Sara, these are my friends, Jonah and Raven.”

  The girls stare at Jonah like I just introduced them to Channing Tatum. Raven moves closer to his side and wraps her arm around his waist in an act of possession.

  I hold open the front door. “They were just leaving, right girls?”

  With a few mumbled “nice-to-meet-you’s”, they scurry out the door. I give them each a parting kiss, thankful that my raging headache is holding back my libido.

  Closing the door behind them, I turn to Raven and Jonah, who are both watching me with a mix of amusement and disgust.

  “What?” I stretch my arms high and yawn. “I had to ring in the New Year properly.”

  “Hope you got it out of your system, bro. Training for your fight with ‘The Fade’ starts first thing tomorrow.”

  I rub my aching head. “Good. That’s about how long it’ll take me to sober up.” A grin tugs at my lips. “And recover from my extracurricular activities.”

  Jonah laughs humorlessly. “You better be careful, man, or your shit’ll fall off and—”

  The sound of a door slamming sends their gaze toward the hallway. Ginger strolls out and freezes at the sight of my guests.

  I do a quick introduction. “Jonah and Raven are here to pick me up.”

  Ginger takes her cue like a good little one-night stand. “Oh, right. Well, you guys have a happy New Year.”

  I open the door for her. “You too.”

  She mouths, “Call me,” and slips a piece of paper into my palm. After shutting the door, I take a peek at her handwritten note.

  If you’re looking for a playmate, I’m game.

  Her phone number’s there too, along with a fresh lipstick kiss. Nice. She’ll never get in the room, but I like that she’s open to play. I make a mental note to add her number to my phone for a rainy day.

  Only twelve hours into the new year and I’ve got a no-strings playmate at the ready, and the fight of my career to train for that will put me up for title contention.

  Yep, this year’s promising big things.

  And nothing short of a damn tsunami in the desert will get in my way.

  Two

  Layla

  New year, new career.

  I can do this.

  I shove my hand between two hangers in the tiny closet overflowing with my clothes. The apartment’s crap because I’m broke. But at least I brought a few nice things from my old life. Wearing designer clothes will be the perfect way to veil my poverty.

  I grab a pair of black pan
ts then toss them on the bed to look for a top. It’s colder in the desert than I thought it’d be. It’s nothing like a Seattle winter, but there’s a bite in the air that calls for long sleeves.

  Red silk blouse. Perfect. I’ll need a power color to make a strong impression.

  I slide my towel off my body and shiver from the chill in the room, or possibly my nerves. Slacks in hand, I sit on the edge of the bed to get—

  Black pants are for fat girls.

  The sound of his voice knocks around in my head as if he were standing two feet away. My stomach cramps then rolls. With the offending pants halfway up my leg, I shake my head.

  No. I won’t let him ruin this for me.

  I shove my other foot into the other pants leg—dammit. I gaze down at my body and feel my confidence drain. I’m 110 pounds, far from overweight. Although, I suppose I could lose a little around my waist. Maybe I should start doing a few more sit-ups before bed—no.

  I rip the pants off and toss them to the floor. He’s doing it again. He’s not even here, and I’m questioning myself. Baby steps. Today isn’t the day to tackle my black pants issue. I can’t show up at my new job feeling like a whipped dog.

  Without looking, I reach into the closet and grab an outfit. Anything will be better than wearing his memory.

  “Elle, ten minutes,” I shout towards the hallway while sliding on a cream-colored sweater dress.

  “Duh. I’ve been ready for the last ten,” she says from what sounds like the kitchen.

  Who knew raising a teenager would be so much fun? I don’t remember sassing my parents this badly at sixteen. Coming home pregnant, yes. Sass, not so much.

  I squint at my reflection in the murky glass of the old full-length mirror that came with the apartment. Business casual and fashion forward. After all, the Universal Fighting League isn’t some stuffy corporate establishment. From what I could tell from the pictures online, it seems like a pretty hip place.

  I yank my hair up into an extreme ponytail at the crown of my head then wrap it into a tight bun. It’s important that no pieces of hair escape, or I’ll end up twirling them obsessively, like I always do when I’m nervous. I finish by spraying a cloud of hairspray that’s so thick it makes me cough.