by James Tate
Irritation simmered within me at his description of me, but it wasn't worth the effort. I'd already decided to make his whole evening as infuriating as possible, and I took a gamble on where to start.
Jerking my arm out of his grip, I said nothing, just walked away to where Kody and Steele were waiting farther down the parking lot.
"Madison Kate," Archer barked after me, and the gravel crunched under his boots as he followed. He caught up to me just as I reached the other guys and, once again, grabbed my arm like some kind of fucking Neanderthal. "Did you hear me? This is important."
Keeping my calm, I peeled his fingers off my arm one at a time, then shoved his hand away before tilting my chin up and meeting his eyes.
"For starters, of course I heard you, Archer. I'm not deaf. Secondly, if I wanted to be told what to do with my life, I'd call my father. Lastly, if you're concerned with people knowing who I am, I'd probably recommend not yelling my name across the parking lot. Just a thought." With another hair flip, I strutted my shit away. Where the fuck I was going, I had no idea. I just headed in the same direction Kody and Steele had generally been heading, knowing that one of them would catch up before I got lost.
Boots crunched gravel again, and I sighed at the predictability.
Except this time instead of Archer grabbing me like I was a disobedient dog, it was Steele who caught up and walked beside me.
"Drew the short straw?" I asked in a voice as dry as the desert. I'd give him shit, but of the three of them, Steele was easily the most tolerable. Even after that stunt earlier with my failed date.
He shot me a lopsided smile. "Taking one for the team."
The other two passed us, their long legs eating the distance twice as fast as I could walk in my high heels, but Kody tossed a wink over his shoulder at me like we were in on some kind of joke together.
"They've got work to do," Steele explained when I said nothing more. "I'm just here for the entertainment. So I get to babysit our new troublemaker all night."
I rolled my eyes, but followed along anyway. What else was I going to do? Walk my ass back to Shadow Grove? Also, the mention that there would be a fight tonight had sparked my excitement and curiosity. Was Archer fighting? He hadn't really dressed for it, wearing dark denim jeans, leather boots, and a black T-shirt, but he could be getting changed.
Questions sat on the tip of my tongue, but to ask Steele everything I wanted to know would be to engage him in an actual conversation. My skin prickled at the idea of being friendly to someone I hated so much, so I kept my mouth shut and just used my own powers of observation to figure shit out.
The event, so to speak, was held within one of the few buildings on the showgrounds. Most of it was just flat open grass, and I silently thanked all that was holy for the fact that it was, in fact, empty grass. I didn't think my brain could have handled more abandoned amusement park rides like at the Laughing Clown.
"You want a drink?" Steele asked me as we entered the clubhouse and made our way through throngs of people. They were all dressed pretty casually—ripped jeans, flannel shirts, a handful of miniskirts and heels. Surprisingly, Archer had been right about my hair not giving me away; I spotted at least two other girls rocking different shades of pink, along with a few purple and even one blue. The colors were on both guys and girls, and it gave me warm fuzzies to see. Maybe their hair choices had absolutely nothing to do with me, but it went a long way toward making me feel less conspicuous.
"I thought I wasn't allowed to drink?" I replied with a sarcastic eye roll, following him through the crowd to the makeshift bar. It was essentially just a couple of iceboxes full of cans and a couple of kegs, but despite what Archer thought, I wasn't fussy. Beer was never going to be my first choice, but if that's all there was, I'd take it.
Steele handed me an ice-cold can—unopened—then grabbed one for himself before straightening up. "No, Arch told you not to get drunk. Big gap between a drink and drunk, is there not?"
I grinned and cracked the top of my drink. Quietly, I appreciated that he'd given me an unopened can and not poured me one from the keg. You could never be too careful in the modern age of drink spiking and date rape. What a depressing thought.
"Come on," Steele said, taking my hand in his and leading me back through the crowd of party people, "let's grab a seat with a view."
Tingling sparks of thrill zapped through me, and I didn't pull my hand away. I let Steele guide me with those long, strong fingers of his intertwined with mine, and I told myself over and over that I was just excited to see this fight... whoever it was. That the way my pulse sped up had nothing to do with Steele holding my hand, because his actions were just sensible in a crowded room.
"Here," Steele said when we reached the next room. It was a much larger area, one that was used for placing bets, if the shoulder-height, windowed counters labeled "betting" were any indication.
He set his drink down on one of the betting window countertops, then wrapped his hands around my waist to boost me up to sit beside his beer. When I was seated, he did a stupidly hot push up thing to get himself up beside me, and I had a hard time tearing my eyes away from his arms.
"Hey, Madison Kate," he said, a teasing smile pulling at his lips, "quit looking at me like a piece of meat. And hand me my drink, would you?"
Heat flooded my face, and I quickly passed over his beer, wiping the condensation off my hands on my jeans while searching my suddenly blank brain for a change of subject.
"So, who's fighting tonight?" I finally asked, sipping my beer and peering out across the room. A very crude octagon had been laid out not far from us, and our elevated position gave us a prime view. One thing was for fucking sure. This was no official UFC sanctioned event.
Right as that thought passed through my mind, a rat scurried across the floor, weaving between people’s feet, and I choked on my beer as I laughed.
"Not the worst venue we've been to," Steele commented with a grin, watching the rat disappear out the door. "And to answer the question you're really asking, it's not Arch. We're just here for research."
I huffed, but didn't bother trying to deny it. That was what I'd really wanted to know. I just took a long gulp of my beer instead, cringing at the watery-yeast taste.
"So, we're just going to sit here in silence all night?" Steele asked, bumping me with his shoulder. "That's cool if we are. Just checking so I can stop wasting my breath making conversation."
I turned my face to give him a look—one that said, yeah man, I don't want to be your friend—but he wasn't getting the message. Or he was choosing not to get it. I suspected option two.
"I just thought you might have things you want to know, you know? Now's a great time to ask." He shot me a winning grin. "Promise not to tell anyone that you willingly conversed for something other than threats and insults. I wouldn't risk your tough-girl image like that."
His gray eyes were twinkling with mischief, and I wanted to hit him. Or... something. The warmth inside me was just from the beer, I was pretty sure.
Denial was also not just a river in Egypt.
I drained the rest of my can and placed the empty beside me on the counter top, the side that didn't have a tall, toned, gray-eyed mystery sitting on it.
"I need another drink," I muttered, mostly to myself. Also sort of praying some magical drink fairy would deliver something to my hand so we didn't have to give up our prime position for the fight. More and more people had filtered through from the other room, and I spotted Archer and Kody standing near the doorway, chatting with a guy in a ball cap.
"Here," Steele bumped me with his elbow, holding out a flask. "I brought backup. Don't tell, okay?"
Unable to help myself, I grinned. "Thanks."
I raised the flask to my lips and took a long sip, not even checking what was in it first. It didn't matter, so long as it was stronger than beer. Fire burned a path down my throat, pooling in my belly, and I licked my lips to savor the rich, caramel taste of rum.
He snorted a laugh, looking away from me as he took his own sip from the flask. His pierced tongue clicked against the metal, making me all kinds of squirmy. Even without his eyes on me, I could still feel the heat. The intensity. Some crazy part of me wanted to toss all my hatred aside and give in to that feeling. Kiss him. Or... more.
Clearing my throat, I took the flask back and gulped another mouthful of rum.
Across the room, two tough-looking guys stripped down to their shorts and started taping their knuckles up.
"Oh good," I murmured. "They're starting."
Steele chuckled, and it was one of the hottest fucking things I'd ever heard.
Damn hormones.
16
The fighters were good, I'd give them that. Evenly matched and well-trained, it seemed like they might go the full five rounds. Steele and I watched in silence for the first round, with Kody drifting over to hand us more beers during the one-minute rest period.
He lingered for part of the next round, leaning his back against the counter beside me, but at a nod from Archer across the room, he left us alone again.
"So, you're in the mood to answer some questions, huh?" I finally broke the silence with Steele when the tension between us got too much for me to handle. He hadn't done anything, but I could fucking feel his eyes on me while I watched the fight. It was dizzying, and the rum only contributed to part of it.
Our fingers brushed when I handed the flask back, and I desperately tried to ignore how badly I wanted to touch him more than that. Apparently almost a year of celibacy had broken something in my brain.
Steele shrugged, screwing the cap back on the flask and returning it to his jacket pocket. "Maybe. Depends what your questions are."
Typical. I tucked some hair behind my ear and opened the fresh beer Kody had brought over.
"Okay..." I took a sip, thinking. "Why did you run off my date tonight? Honestly."
Steele made a thoughtful noise himself, and I couldn't help looking over at him. I should have been watching the fight, but despite how good the combatants were... they weren't Archer. And that prick had ruined MMA for me now.
"Your date?" Steele replied, arching a brow at me over those beautiful gray eyes of his. "Bark... he was overheard saying some less than flattering things in the SGU locker room earlier today. It might have seemed like a douche-y controlling move, but it was for your own good."
I snorted a bitter laugh and rolled my eyes. "For my own good," I repeated. "That's such a fucking cop-out. You have no clue how capable I am of protecting myself."
Steele gave a small nod of acknowledgement. "That's true." He didn't push the subject any further, not even to defend his own actions. "What else have you got, MK?"
My shoulders tightened at his use of my nickname. "Don't call me that," I snapped. "Only my friends call me that."
"Which we are not," he murmured, blowing out a breath.
"Why are you guys living in my father's house?" I asked, changing the subject.
The corner of his mouth tilted up in a half smile, and my pulse raced. Fuck.
"Because it's convenient," he replied. "Because Cherry wanted her son close by and the three of us have lived together since high school, so it wasn't even a question for all of us to move in. Because we heard that the princess of the household was coming home and some of us let our curiosity win over logic and reason. Pick your answer, gorgeous. They're all true in some way."
I had nothing to say to that, and I was too tipsy already to dissect his games. So I turned my attention back to the fight and let myself get sucked back into the action until the bell rang again for the end of the round.
Steele seemed totally comfortable sitting in silence, but his fingers tapped the countertop beside him in that same complicated rhythm as he'd done in the car.
It reminded me of another question. "Why weren't you allowed to play video games the other night?"
"Oh, so you actually want to know something about me?" He was teasing. I thought.
I shot him a glare that clearly said I wasn't going to stroke his ego, and he grinned. Damn he had a nice smile.
"So, I take it you never tried to look any deeper into my social media profiles, then?" He didn't look too concerned... just curious.
I'd actually totally forgotten about that discussion we'd had. Between starting university in my hometown, dealing with all the whispers and gossip behind my back, and plotting my revenge on Archer for the juice incident... "Uh, no. I haven't. You said they're all bullshit anyway, didn't you?"
"True," he agreed. "But it would have given you a hint."
Steele pulled his phone from his pocket and used his thumb to unlock it and open Instagram. Once on his own profile, he scrolled the whole way down the feed until he reached some of the very first images posted, then handed the phone to me.
I frowned at the image he'd selected. It was an artistic sort of black-and-white image of Steele's hands—I knew they were his, don't ask me how—lying gently on...
"A piano?" I asked, uncertain if that's what the image was actually of. It had sharp shadows and highlights, but the more I looked, the more certain I became. "You're a pianist?"
He gave a rolling shrug, like it made him a bit uncomfortable. "I was. Am. I dunno. My parents had plans to make me into a concert pianist, but it doesn't really gel with... me. I guess." He sort of mumbled his answer, then took a long gulp of his beer.
I frowned. "But wait. Why are video games banned but working on cars is okay? I doubt you're constantly covered in grease just ‘cause it makes you look hot."
He gave me a sly grin. "You think I'm hot, Hellcat?"
I rolled my eyes. "You know you are."
He barked a laugh. "Yeah, I do." Reaching over, he swiped the screen so it scrolled up to more recent images. Modeling shoots of him, Kody, and Archer in nothing but jeans and a whole lot of sweat. Sweet. Baby. Jesus. "Part-time male model, remember? But I'm just verifying the fact that you think I'm hot. Totally different thing."
"Shut up and answer the question, Max." I deliberately used his first name and was rewarded with his slight cringe.
"Which is it, Hellcat? Shut up or answer the question?" He raised his brows at me, taking another sip of his drink without breaking eye contact. Fucking hell. Ugh, I'd be lucky to make it back to the house with my dignity intact if he kept that up.
I narrowed my eyes, and he smirked.
"Working on cars is not okay, exactly. Neither is sparring with Kody and Arch. But Jase—our manager—has given up trying to stop me from doing shit that I love. The video games, though?" He wrinkled his nose, looking a bit ashamed. "Four years ago we had a hardcore gaming session for an entire weekend when a new game got released. Somehow, uh, I broke a bone in here." He extended his left hand to me, pointing at a small scar at the base of his thumb, near his wrist. "Then a couple of weeks later, while I was in a cast, the expansion pack got released. So we had another gaming session, and I re-broke the same healing bone."
I winced sympathetically, and he laughed.
"It wasn't that bad, really. Except I missed my audition for Julliard and my parents threatened to sue the console manufacturers. After that, video games were banned." He sighed wistfully, and I almost wanted to smile. Almost.
"How is that still a thing?" I asked instead. "You're, what, twenty-one? Who gives a shit about what your parents say?"
"Uh, yeah. They can take a flying leap off a tall building for all I care. But until I decide whether I'm actually done with piano or not, the guys and Jase are holding me to it." He finished his beer, then pulled out the flask again.
I nodded, having nothing more to say about his situation. It was interesting, though,
and totally unexpected from this tattooed, grease-covered bad boy. Oh fuck, fine, who was I kidding? It was sexy as hell, and I couldn't stop my mind from whirling on how good he must be with his fingers...
I switched my attention to the fight once more, having totally lost track of what round they were on. Four? Five? Why was it suddenly so fucking hard to focus?
My beer was gone, but Steele handed me the flask of rum again. Like more alcohol would help me keep my sanity. Hah.
"Can I ask you a question, Hellcat?" he asked after a moment of tense silence between us. The crowd was loud, roaring and cheering for the fighters in the ring, but I barely even noticed. It was like the two of us existed inside a bubble.
I gulped rum again, shuddering as it scorched my throat. "Sure."
He shuffled closer to me on the countertop, his leg brushing mine as he leaned in close. "Watching MMA fights turns you on, doesn't it?"
I sucked in a sharp breath, my shoulders tense. It was an observation that I couldn't deny for the most part, except tonight. Tonight... my dizzy state of arousal had nothing to do with the fighters grappling in the octagon and everything to do with my drinking buddy.
Raising the flask back to my lips to buy a moment, I risked a quick glance at Steele. Or it was meant to be a quick glance, had his gaze not captured and held mine.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, my voice husky and low. I took a sip of rum, and he broke eye contact to watch my lips on the flask. Against my better judgment, after I lowered the flask, my tongue swiped the excess spirit from my lips.
Steele's eyes flashed with unmistakable desire, and he raised his hand to my face. His thumb swiped over my lower lip, then he placed it in his own mouth, sucking the flavor from it.
"I think I found my new favorite drink," he commented in a rough, lust-filled voice.
Fuck. Me.
My whole being was aware of his nearness, and all it'd take was a couple of inches to close the gap between us. It'd be so easy... so fucking easy to just give in to desire and forget all the ill will between us. But then where did that leave me? Without my hatred and resentment toward the three boys I'd met on Riot Night, I didn't even know who I'd be. I'd totally lost myself in the past year, and it scared me too much to just let it go.