“Are we doing this or what?” Tom holds up his black-rubber-gloved hands. “I’ve got another appointment waiting.”
“Yes, let’s do it—”
The sound of a beaded curtain being thrown aside calls my attention, and the last thing I see is Killian’s back as he stomps from the room.
“Looks like someone’s jealous.” Tom positions himself in front of me with clamps in hand.
Jealous? No way. Killer has had plenty of opportunities to accept my pathetic attempts to throw myself at him, and he’s always played dumb. He’s smart, talented, and lining up to be the next Universal Fighting League superstar. The last thing he needs is an average girl with average intelligence and zero goals in life hanging on his arm.
“Let’s get this over with.” I open my mouth and squeeze my eyes closed, wishing like hell I had Killian there to hold my hand.
Since the moment my life fell apart, he’s been there for me. I’ve depended on him so much I don’t think I can go through more than a headache without him. I don’t want to admit to myself that his disapproval is giving me second thoughts about the piercing. It’s time I thought on my own, made my own choices and my own mistakes, rather than sitting back and paying for everyone else’s.
I stick my tongue out and the cold metal of the clamp declares its intention. I scrunch my eyes and squeal as the sharp sting of a needle pierces my flesh. A quick rush of adrenaline and power races through me.
There’s no way Clifford won’t fall all over me now.
Two
Killian
“I swear if I didn’t know better I’d think you were juicing.” Blake glares at me through the mirror while I crank out a few more curls to finish my set.
“You know I’m clean.” I drop the dumbbells on the rack while frustration and guilt war in my chest.
I upped my weight, grinding the hell out of my body to blow off the shit with Axelle. What the hell is she thinking? As much as I wanted to slap her silly for getting her sexy-as-shit tongue speared through, I can’t deny the little flick of her tongue with that pink ball she flashed me when she walked out of the piercing room had all the blood collecting between my legs. If Blake only knew the reason for my all-out workout tonight…he’d fucking kill me. He’ll find out soon enough, and then he’ll fucking kill me for allowing it to happen.
All for that fuck-wad Clifford.
The only thing that brought me a little peace of mind was the moment the aftercare instructions were explained. No kissing or oral sex for two weeks. I had to hold back from doing a victory dance right there in the piercing place, but I didn’t hold back my laughter.
So much for Clifford’s epic birthday present. That greaseball fucker can’t even kiss her now. At least…not on her lips. Motherfucker!
“We know you’re clean.” Jonah pops up from the bench next to mine, dropping his weights to the mat and wiping a towel over his face. “But your gains are impressive.”
Six days a week in the gym, two-a-days on Saturday, times that by three years…what the fuck did they expect? They dangle UFL dreams in front of me. I’m not the kind of guy to brush that shit off. Hell, I’ve been the UFL’s biggest fan since I was sneaking in my living room to watch the fights from behind my dad’s La-Z-Boy.
“Thanks…?” I move to the heavy bar and drop down beneath it, bracing my hands for the optimal position.
“He’s been holding his own with Rex lately too,” Blake says to Jonah, like I’m not even here.
I blow out three quick breaths then push the bar off the rack.
“No shit. And Cam said Kill’s ready for a fight.”
My arms wobble. A fight?
“Heard Webb is ready.”
I drop the weight to my chest and push it back up, all while eavesdropping pathetically on Jonah and Blake’s conversation.
“Kill would destroy that cocky asshole.”
“Cam said by the end of…”
The rest of his words are mumbled, and I lean to grab even a hint of what he’s saying, which sends the bar careening to the side.
“Oh shit!” Jonah’s closest and jumps up to spot me. “You okay?”
I grunt and accept his assistance in getting the bar back to the rack. “I’m good, just”—I’m breathing heavy, excitement and exertion squeezing my lungs—“fatigued.”
“No fuckin’ way.” The sarcasm in Blake’s voice is more than obvious. He shoves my legs aside, and I sit up on the bench, staring into his overly surprised expression. “Can’t imagine why you’d be fatigued.”
I shake my head and move to grab a swig of water before hitting the treadmill.
“Go home, kid.” Jonah crosses to me with Blake on his heels.
“Fuck that. It’s Friday night. Go have a beer, get laid, then go home.” Blake grins.
“Can’t.” I hop on the closest treadmill. “I wanna fight. I wanna be the best.” I have to be.
Jonah tilts his head, studying me. “Not a doubt in my mind you won’t get that, but that doesn’t mean you can never take a break.”
I turn up the speed on the treadmill to a jog. “I’m good.”
“When Jonah and I were your age, we went out almost every night after training, and it didn’t hurt our game one fuckin’ bit.” Blake leans over my treadmill and pulls the emergency stop.
“Oh, come on—”
“Go!” Blake points to the door. “Boss’s orders.”
“You’re not my boss.” But he knows I’d never argue with him or Jonah or any of the guys here. I owe them everything.
“Alright, how ’bout this…” Jonah checks the time on the wall. “It’s eight o’clock at night, which means Sadie’s been put to sleep. It’s Friday night, and my wife always has a couple glasses of wine in front of the TV on Friday night, so I’d like to go home and take advantage of that.”
Blake raises a hand. “I second that.”
Jonah shoves him. “Fuck you.”
“Not your wife, asshole! Mine.”
“Alright!” I swear if I didn’t break them up they’d continue bickering for hours. “I got it. I’ll call it a night.” I step off the machine and grab my gym bag. My stomach rumbles. Damn, I need to eat.
“And we don’t want to see your face here tomorrow,” Blake says from behind me.
“But—”
He holds up a hand. “No buts. One day off. Eat the shit out of tomorrow, rest, come back refreshed. Understand?”
“Yeah.” I sling my duffle higher on my shoulder.
“Good.” Jonah slaps me on my bicep. “Now go act your age, for fuck’s sake! Go have some fun.”
Right. There’s only one place I can go, but it’ll be far from fun. At least if I show my face at the party, I’ll have evidence I went out, and it’ll get these guys and Ryder off my ass.
Two birds, one stone, and the love of my life in the arms of someone else.
Yay.
~*~
Axelle
The music at this party is painful. Not in a so-bad-it-hurts-my-inner-music-critic kind of way, but in an actual rubbing-my-temples-and-begging-for-mercy kind of way.
I get it. It’s screamo, which as far as I understand means it’s emotional screaming—as if there’s any other kind—but to me, it’s just a lot of whining and screaming. It’s like, if hell had a sound, it would be screamo.
I try to ignore it and focus on downing my drink so I can tolerate my roommate Mindy as she gives me the play-by-play of her most recent hookup. A football player, or was it baseball? I wasn’t really paying attention, but there were balls involved, mostly in Mindy’s mouth.
“…do I call him, or wait to see if he calls me?” Her eyebrows pop above her light brown eyes.
I squint one eye and lean in. “The music… I can’t…” I point to my ears and strain with what little hearing I have left. “Say again?”
She rolls her eyes and hooks my elbow so we’re walking arm in arm as she drags me through the living room. We move in front of the large
flat screen TV and get heckled by the guys lined up on the couch as they play some stupid war game.
I stumble on my heels to keep up, amazed that her shoes are twice as tall as mine and she walks like she’s in Nikes. I bump into a few people playing beer pong and pass through a cloud of marijuana smoke before I’m finally tugged to a stop outside on the patio.
The crisp desert air is heaven, and although the death metal can still be heard out here, it’s much more manageable.
Mindy scans the dozen plus people that litter the patio and, once satisfied, turns her eyes back to me. “The short story is that we hooked up, had the best sex of my entire life, but when I left, he didn’t say he’d call me.” She runs one hand through the front of her blond hair, holding it off her face with a huff. “I mean this is stupid, right? I should just call him.”
“I guess.” I shrug. “I think it’s better to be forward about what you want.”
Not that I know shit about shit. My relationship history goes a little something like this.
Girl meets boy.
Girl falls for boy.
Girl lies down and becomes doormat for boy.
Boy wears her out and moves on.
“Hm…” She chews her lip. “You’re right. I should just call him.”
“Yeah, why not?” The backdoor slides open, and a group of female co-eds comes stumbling out.
“Where is Clifford tonight?” the tall blonde with the killer body and face that would make an angel weep says.
She’s not the only one wondering. It’s his damn birthday party at his own freakin’ house and yet he’s MIA. My tongue throbs, reminding me of my surprise that will, no doubt, end badly. Happy birthday! No blowjobs or kissing for two weeks!
“Axelle, did you hear me?” Mindy follows my gaze to the group of girls.
“No guy can rock a pair of skinny jeans like Cliff. His ass is like…” The blonde makes the shape of his ass with her hands, and I have to agree. He’s got a nice ass—small, perfect for the rocker/emo thing he has going on, but firm.
Mindy’s eyes widen. “They’re talking about Clifford.” She whisper-spits his name like it’s a dirty word.
“Yeah, so? He’s mine. They can talk all they want.” I force as much confidence as I can muster, when inside I’m on the verge of tears and I have the vodka to thank for that.
I can fake confidence like a champ. Hell, I learned from the best. My mom put on one hell of a show my entire life up until a few years ago. Then she found her safe place to fall, the shelter of the love of a great man where she can finally be herself.
I’m not there yet.
Not even close.
“…fingers are so long.”
“…seen the bulge in his jeans? His dick is huge!”
“…get too drunk to leave and crash here.”
Mindy snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Hello?”
I rip my attention away from the gossipy girls and focus on my friend. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”
“Those bitches are after your man.”
I shake my head and wave her off with a huff. “I’m not worried about them.” I am. I so am. “Come on. Let’s grab a drink.” And hunt down Clifford before they do. I grip her hand and lead her to the kitchen, weaving around the giggling girls as we go.
The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is modest, but a decent size. The rental is close to campus, so the owners must know it’s going to get trashed, and everything is cheap and easily replaceable.
Ryder and a few of his friends are standing around a bar—or more accurately a stack of Solo cups, various bottles of booze, and a few liters of soda and fruit punch.
I give Ry a hug and stumble a little. His eyes go wide on my feet. “Hot shoes.”
“Thanks. When did you get here?”
His gaze slides from my peep-toe heels, up my jeggings, to my translucent black long-sleeved shirt, which I’ve paired with nothing but a black push up bra. His mouth twists and his eyebrows pinch together. Mumbled words fall from his lips, but I don’t catch them.
I lean in. “What?”
“Nothing.” The way he continues to scowl at my clothes makes me think he doesn’t approve of what I’m wearing.
Self-consciousness crawls over me, making me want to cover up with my arms, but then I look around. Mindy’s in a similar outfit, but her jeans are high-waisted, and she’s paired them with a barely there crop top. Some of the co-eds outside had on micro-minis and stilettos. What I’m wearing is modest in comparison.
“What’re you drinking?” Ryder motions to the booze.
“Vodka and fruit punch.” Mindy answers for me.
Ryder’s mouth pulls up on one side. “Long time, Min.”
Her cheeks flash pink, and she gives him a sultry grin. “Too long.”
I practically roll my eyes. These two have been fuck buddies for months, and every time they see each other it’s like the flame that flickers between them gets doused with gasoline.
She squeezes in close to talk with Ryder, and I scan the kitchen, looking for Clifford.
Ry hands me a drink, and I take a long pull of the puckery-sweet liquid.
“So, Axelle, how’s this semester treating you?” Theo, Ryder’s friend and band mate, pushes back his shaggy hair to reveal his piercing blue eyes.
“Great. You were right about History of World Religions. It’s a lot more entertaining than I thought it’d be.” Theo told me last semester that Professor Conway had a sexual analogy for everything. He wasn’t kidding.
He laughs. “Because the emergence of Eastern Religion was like gently prying open the dew-soaked petals of a flower, like…”
“Foreplay!” We say in unison.
“Shots!” Mindy hands me another Solo cup, this one filled with clear liquid that burns my nose.
May as well, I’m not driving. I throw back the shot, but it takes me three times to get it all down. I finish my punch and have one more while scanning the area, looking for Clifford. By the time I’m through with my second drink, I’m feeling a little foggy and a lot tired, and I have to pee.
“I’ll be right back!” I call to Mindy, who is curled up under Ryder’s arm. Guess she’s no longer worried about calling the football player.
I wander through the party to the bathroom, but there’s a line, so I search for a place to sit and rest. My ankles wobble with each step, and I use the narrow hallway walls to steady myself. I may have drunk too much. Again. I reach the end of the hallway when a sharp sting meets my ass.
“Ouch…” My response is delayed, but I rub the burn on my ass and look up into the hungry eyes of my boy—um…hookup, Clifford. “Hey, where’ve you been?”
He grips my hips and pulls me to him, and I have to tilt my head back to see his face. “You drunk yet?”
“Oh, yeah.” Stupid alcohol. “Happy Birthday.” I smirk and bat my eyelashes; although it doesn’t feel as sexy as I’d hoped. “I have a present for you.”
He hums and grips my backside hard enough to hurt, or I suppose it would hurt if I wasn’t numb. “Does it involve you naked and spread wide on my bed?”
“Umm…” I chew my lip.
He nuzzles my neck, and I get a whiff of what I’ve started calling his party smell. It’s not cigarettes or weed; it’s something else, like burning plastic.
I pull back and meet his eyes. “Where’ve you been?” He never did answer when I asked him before.
“Been partying, babe.” He jerks his head to get his bangs out of his eyes. “Where’ve you been?”
“Here.” God, I haven’t seen him all night, and now it’s like we’re interrogating each other. I frown.
“Let’s go make out.” He slides his tongue up my neck to my ear.
“Oh, um… I can’t.”
He stills and pulls back, his hold on me going slack. “What? Why not?”
“Happy Birthday.” I stick my tongue out to show him my piercing.
He narrows his eyes on it, and
my stomach plummets at his lack of immediate excitement. “Well fuck, guess you won’t be using your tongue on me tonight.” He studies it closer. “It’s swollen. You know you’re not supposed to drink while it’s healing, right?”
Oh shit. Did I know that?
He sighs. “Oh well, so no tongue action, but I can still get in here.” He cups me between my legs.
I pull his hand away, half embarrassed and mostly irritated he’d even grab me like that in public. “Actually, I can’t do that either.”
His eyes widen and he grins. “Clit piercing?”
“Period.”
“Well, fuck.” He drops his hold from me completely and steps back. “Happy Birthday to me.”
“I’m sorry. I thought…” I thought the piercing would be enough, but I was wrong. “Guess we could just hang out. I mean just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you need your dick sucked to have fun.”
“Ahh, that’s where you’re wrong, Elle.”
Elle. It’s the nickname I give people I don’t know well. My full name is something only my close friends call me. Clifford picked up on it once, called me Axelle, but I told him I hated the name and to please call me Elle. It was a lie. I love my name. But Elle helps me to remember there are still boundaries between us.
His gaze follows the group of co-eds from outside as they walk by, the gorgeous blonde sending the major come-fuck-me eyes to Clifford. “Plenty of girls here who’d suck my dick.”
Panic rises in my chest. An emptiness I bury deep in my heart flares and pushes to the surface. Don’t leave me. The whisper in my head is so soft and familiar I can basically ignore it, but my hands slide over his shoulders to lock around his neck anyway. As if my body can’t deny what my soul is screaming.
“Stay with me tonight.” I press a soft close-mouthed kiss on his lips. “Please.”
His bloodshot gray eyes search mine, and he cups my jaw. “Go wait for me in my room. I’ll be there in a minute.” He slaps my ass and leaves me alone, feeling cheap, weak, and empty.
I peer down at my clothes and I see what Ryder was seeing: the attempt of a desperate girl to win over a guy. I’d never get away with dressing like this if I lived at my mom’s house. My stepdad would lock me up for the rest of my life if he saw me in some of the shit I wear to parties.
Fighting Fate (Fighting #7) Page 3