Logan (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel)

by Lane Hart

  It’s been more than twenty years since I was in love with a woman or in a serious relationship. Even after what happened with Holly and getting my heart stomped on, I still haven’t given up on the idea of spending the rest of my life with one woman. So what if I struck out the first time? That doesn’t mean I’m doomed to fail at it again. I just haven’t found anyone who I’ve been willing to take the plunge for.

  Or, maybe I’m more damaged than I think, and I’m the problem. My walls could be built higher than I originally thought, and over time, I’ve likely added more height to it, not taking them down for fear of getting hurt again.

  Is that the real reason that I pushed Riley away?

  I know Sara’s opinion on her now more than before, and I’m certain that Sara would have nothing to do with me if she found out that I had already slept with Riley. Trying to have a more serious commitment would no doubt come between me and my daughter, damaging our relationship until it’s beyond reparable.

  So, no, it’s not just my fear that made me end things with Riley before.

  I wasn’t there for Sara during her childhood, so she deserves to have me in her life now, even if she doesn’t make it easy for me to be close to her. First and foremost, I’m a father. That’s not negotiable for anyone, not even Riley.

  Chapter Twenty

  Riley

  The four-hour drive to Topsail Island flies by. In fact, I get there way too fast, before I’m ready to face Brody again after the last seven or eight weeks apart.

  His studio is at the end of a small strip mall with three other businesses. There are several cars in the lot, including his nautical blue Toyota 4Runner.

  I park my old car a few spots away from him and toss my keys in my purse before I walk up to the studio. The front has full glass windows covered in thick horizontal blinds, giving bystanders a teasing glimpse of what’s inside. A small “OPEN” sign hangs on the door, so, taking a deep breath, I pull on the door handle and step inside.

  A tinkling bell announces my arrival.

  The front of the studio has a few chairs for waiting clients, and the majority of the two opposite walls are practically covered in framed photos. Cool air from the air conditioner is a welcome treat on my sweaty skin after roasting in my car most of the way here. The damn AC has been broken for months, and I’ve been too cheap to fix it. Every dollar of my student loan is sacred and the little bit leftover is about to run out.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Brody’s deep voice calls out, causing my heart rate to skyrocket into tachycardia levels.

  I’m not able to reply, or move my feet yet, so I just cling to the shoulder strap of my Target purse and glance around the open space at the photos. The length of the longest wall to my left is full of images of nature. On the opposite side, there’s a section of pictures with couples and children, and the final section is of women in white dresses and men in tuxes – brides and grooms on their wedding day. All of the photos are beautiful, but the ocean stills are by far my favorite.

  “Hey, can I- Oh. Hey, Riley,” Brody says when he comes out of one of the back rooms and stops abruptly, a thick black strap hanging around his neck, a camera in his right hand.

  “Hi,” I say, drinking him in like he’s a cool glass of lemonade.

  After seeing him dressed so casually our week of vacation in tees and shorts, I’m not expecting him to look like this. Wearing a royal blue dress shirt rolled up to reveal his tan, muscular forearms, and dark slacks that hug his long legs, he looks much more sophisticated, intimidating, and…edible.

  Brody doesn’t say anything for several long seconds, and I realize it’s because he’s eyeing me up and down the same way I am him. And I can’t imagine he’s impressed with my now wrinkled, sleeveless white summer dress. Any make-up I applied this morning before I left the apartment has long since melted off my face, thanks to the August heat. My hair is likely one long, massive, frizzy mess, and reaching for a strand, I suddenly wish I had stopped at a rest area to change and freshen up before I came in here. What the hell was I thinking?

  “You look…hot,” Brody finally says, causing both of my eyebrows to raise. “I mean, temperature wise,” he amends.

  “Yeah, it’s really humid out,” I agree, and I sound so stupid, I instantly want to take the words back.

  “Well, do you want to go on to the house and start getting settled in or do you want to sit in on this shoot I’m finishing up?” he asks.

  I want a shower and a redo of this meeting with you, I think to myself. But I came here to learn and I’m pretty sure my deodorant is still holding up for the time being, so I tell him, “I’d like to stay.”

  “Great! Then come on back,” he says with a jerk of his head toward the room he just came from.

  I follow him down the hall, expecting to see a family or a couple having a photo session. Instead, there’s a tall, leggy blonde in a black skirt suit who looks like she fell off the pages of a magazine and into his studio. Awesome.

  “Maryanne, this is Riley…” Brody pauses in his introduction because he doesn’t know my last name. Wow.

  “Yates,” I inform him.

  “Riley Yates,” he repeats. “She went to school with my daughter back at Madison, and she’s going to be my assistant for the next few months.”

  “Hi,” I say in greeting, staying back out of the way so I don’t block the light.

  “Nice to meet you,” the woman replies, flashing me a perfect, Colgate grin, so prim and proper. “If you’re in the market for a house or an apartment while you’re here, you should call me.” Going over to her black leather purse that’s sitting in a chair off to the side, she reaches inside and pulls out a small, white business card, handing it to me.

  “Maryanne is a real estate agent,” Brody explains.

  “Oh, okay. Thanks,” I tell her as I study the card that includes her photo on it. And of course the headshot is freaking perfect. “Guess the market must be tough with all the recent break-ins in the area,” I say, just to be a Debbie Downer on Miss America’s parade.

  “Break-ins?” she repeats with a crinkled forehead, and I’m glad to see that there’s at least one wrinkle on her perfect face. “There haven’t been any break-ins. Topsail Island is one of the safest places to live in the state. In fact, the entire island is nearly crime-free, other than a few DWIs.”

  “Oh,” I mutter in confusion, now showing off a few of my own wrinkles. So then why did Brody say there had been burglaries…

  “We should probably get you back on the mark and finish this up,” Brody says to prevent further conversation.

  Miss Universe goes back to her place underneath the florescent lamps positioned around the white backdrop screen and smiles like the proper queen she thinks she is. Ugh.

  A few shifts and poses later, Brody says, “Okay, I think we’ve got it. I should have some proofs for you to look over on Monday afternoon.”

  “Great, should I come by here, or just go to the house?” Miss Thing asks, causing my hackles to rise.

  “Here. You should just come here. Say, three o’clock?” he asks.

  “Sure. I’ll check my appointment calendar and call you if I need to change it,” she says, as she shoulders her expensive-looking leather purse and heads for Brody. “Thanks again, darling.” She’s so tall that she doesn’t have to even stretch to kiss his cheek, doing it so familiarly that it makes me want to vomit.

  “See ya,” Brody says as she leaves, his green eyes following her out the door.

  Once we’re alone and I hear the door jingle with her departure, I tell him, “Well, she was…friendly.”

  “Ah, yeah,” he says, eyes lowered to the back of his camera, avoiding my gaze. “We’re sort of dating.”

  “Really?” I reply in surprise. Although, why that’s surprising, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe because he seemed so eager for me to come down here that I just assumed he wasn’t seeing anyone. Boy, does that make an ass out of me.

  “Yeah,
for a few weeks now,” he adds, still scrolling through pics of her on the camera or whatever the hell he’s doing.

  “Oh,” I mutter. “So, maybe I shouldn’t stay at your house after all.” There is no fucking way I’m going to sit around there and listen to him fucking Miss Universe. Screw that. “And with the break-ins apparently under control, I should be fine on my own.”

  Looking up at me through narrowed eyes, Brody grits out, “No, Riley, you’re staying with me. End of discussion,” pulling his protective bullshit on me when he no longer has the right.

  “I can’t do that, Brody,” I tell him flat out. “And since you’re not my father or my lover, just my temporary boss, I would appreciate it if you cooled it with the demands, unless they’re work-related.”

  Brody pulls the camera off from around his neck and sets it on a nearby desk, crossing his arms over his thick chest, nearly causing buttons to start popping off his shirt. “Well, in that case, I don’t want you working for me unless you’re staying where I can make sure you’re taken care of.”

  Oh. My. God.

  “Why are you being a dick about this?” I yell at him, furious that he’s not only trying to manipulate me, but that he’s using phrases like “take care of me” that sound a whole hell of a lot like sexual innuendo.

  “Because I missed you, okay!” he shouts back. Then, his green eyes softening, he quietly adds, “And I want you back in my bed.”

  “Oh, fuck this!” I exclaim indignantly at his handsome, frustrating face. “This is not what I signed up for! And you’re dating someone else! So, thanks for making me waste the gas to drive all the way down here and back home in one day.” I rush past him and start down the hallway for the door. I’m angry and disappointed and, most of all, confused. Damn him!

  “Riley, wait. The truth is, I lied. Maryanne ended things with me, and there haven’t been any break-ins, all right?” Brody says from behind me, but I don’t stop, not until one of his thick arms bands around my waist and picks me up, dragging me kicking and screaming back into the room I just left.

  “Put me down! You can’t hold me hostage!” I yell at him as I as try to pry his arm off of me. It doesn’t work.

  I end up with my face inches from a wall, Brody’s big, warm body pressed against my back.

  “Tell me you didn’t miss me and I’ll let you go,” he whispers into the back of my hair.

  I open my mouth to tell him just that, only with more colorful words, but I can’t. It would be a blatant lie. So I go with the truth instead.

  “It doesn’t matter if I missed you or not! Don’t you get that, Brody? You made a decision and I’m the one who had to deal with it.”

  “And I regret that decision every damn day,” he says, making me want to cry and scream all at the same time.

  Cheryl was right. This was a horrible decision. Being near him in any way is still too hard. I thought that enough time had passed that I could resist. But I was wrong and I can’t possibly handle his rejection again.

  “Please let me go,” I whisper, meaning it in every sense of the phrase, not just the physical touch.

  “Give me another chance,” he replies. “Work with me. Be with me. Let’s see if whatever this is between us could be something more. And if it is…”

  “If it is, then what? You’ll pick me over your daughter?” I snap over my shoulder at him. “That’s never going to happen!”

  “If we could be more, then I’ll talk to Sara. I’ll tell her how much you mean to me and hope she’ll understand.”

  I nearly snort at how preposterous that notion is. Sara is the least reasonable person I know. She won’t ever be convinced.

  “And if she doesn’t?” I ask him.

  “Then…” he starts, but can’t finish the sentence. So, I do it for him.

  “Then I’ll be tossed out on my ass again, with my heart shredded.”

  “With you here, working for me, maybe Sara could get used to the idea,” Brody says. “I could tell her how amazing you are as my assistant, and then the two of us together won’t come as such a shock.”

  God, I hate him. I hate him for filling my head with this bullshit when I told myself not to cave, not to believe any of his delusions.

  “Come on, Riley. We’ll take things slow, see what happens,” he cajoles sweetly, in that deep raspy voice that’s nearly impossible to resist.

  But I have to resist. There’s no other choice.

  “I already know what will happen,” I mutter. “And I can’t let you snap my heart in two again.”

  Finally, Brody’s arm falls away from me and I reluctantly turn around to face him. His fingers are in his hair that’s even longer on top than weeks ago, tugging on a handful. It makes me miss running my fingers through it.

  “I fucking hate this!” he eventually says through gritted teeth. “Either way, I lose someone and there’s no compromise.”

  “No, there’s not,” I agree sadly. “Unless you want to hide me in the closet whenever Sara comes around,” I joke, but Brody’s eyebrows lift suddenly.

  “That might work,” he says, while I look at him like he’s an idiot. “Not in the closet, but if, after these next few months, we decide that we’re serious about each other, then Sara doesn’t have to know. She rarely visits, and when she does, you could stay somewhere else. Just for a few days. Or you could stay around, and I’ll tell her you’re still working for me…” he rambles.

  “You want us to be, what? A long-term secret?” I ask in disbelief, my hands on my hips.

  “Yes,” he answers with a nod. “Sara’s not around enough to find out. You’re not close to her. Only your friend Cheryl is, and I think we can trust her, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, of course we can trust Cheryl, but I think you’re forgetting about how I would feel about sneaking around with you.”

  “We could be together, as a couple here. Everyone could know about us! All I’m asking you to do is to help me keep it from Sara. She doesn’t need to know who I’m with, or approve of them. But since being honest with her would likely drive a wedge between us, I think it’s best not to tell her. Not yet, anyway. Not until we can figure out a way to show her this is real.”

  This new little plan of his sounds almost too good to be true. And I can’t seem to think of all the pros and cons while looking at his gorgeous, scruffy face that I’ve missed so much.

  “I need to think about it,” I tell Brody.

  “Okay,” he agrees, studying my eyes. “Think about it. I know this could work, Riley, and I want you here in the studio with me and at home in my bed. And if I’m honest, I’m not sure I could be around you without wanting you.”

  “I’m…I’m gonna go get a hotel room tonight,” I tell him, rubbing my forehead where a Brody-sized migraine is forming.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I answer without delay. “You’re a little overwhelming, so I just need some time to myself to think about all this.”

  “If that’s what you need, then okay. I guess, just call me when you decide,” he says, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his dark slacks.

  “I will,” I tell him.

  Before I can escape past him, Brody leans forward, only touching his lips to mine, keeping his hands off me. I hesitate for a moment, furious at him for trying to distract me with his mouth, but then I taste his sweet, unique flavor. That’s all it takes to remember how good it was when we were together that one short week. And I give in.

  Reaching up to grab both sides of his face, I stroke my fingertips over the soft scruff of his neatly-trimmed beard and kiss him back, slipping him my tongue. Brody still doesn’t touch me, maybe trying to prove a point that he doesn’t have to lay a hand on me in order to cause that liquid heat to gather in my lower belly. All it takes is a kiss from him to have me begging for more.

  Finally, I force myself to pull my lips away and lower my hands from him.

  “It’s been so long, I thought you might need a little r
eminder of what you’re missing,” Brody says with a smug smile as he straightens, knowing the exact effect he has on me, as he stands there with his hands still casually in his pockets.

  Unable to argue with that, I just say, “Goodbye, Brody,” and finally make it down the hall and out the exit without giving in, going back into that room, and climbing him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brody

  Dammit.

  Why did Riley’s farewell have to sound so permanent, like she was telling me goodbye for the last time?

  After the weeks of our separation, I realize that my memories are poor substitutes for the real thing.

  When I first saw her in the lobby, all red-faced and rumpled from the heat in her sexy, form-fitting dress, my first thought was that’s how she used to look after I fucked her good and hard. Which, of course, made me want to strip her naked and take her right there in the middle of my lobby floor.

  She has to say yes to my compromise. I know it’s not ideal to ask her to get lost whenever Sara decides to visit, but that happens so infrequently that we can deal with it when the time comes. I could put Riley up in a nice hotel suite nearby and then sneak out to see her for however long Sara decides to stay. She probably won’t even come back until Christmas, or she may even decide to fly out to California and see Holly instead.

  Back at the house that night, I’m so nervous waiting to hear from Riley that I need a distraction, even if it’s only temporary. So, I pull my phone out and call my ex-wife. The two of us still talk regularly. Mostly, Holly tells me about what Sara is up to because I don’t usually get it straight from our daughter. We’ve remained great friends because our marriage ended on good terms, other than the fact that I lost everything. But I couldn’t blame that on Holly. She was only being honest with me and I loved her so much that I wanted her to be happy, even if that didn’t include being with me anymore.

  “Hi, Brody,” Holly answers after a few rings.

  “Did I catch you at bad time?” I ask as I flop down on the sofa up on the second floor.