Fighting Chance

by Lynn Rider

  “Are you going to get another job at a gentleman’s club?”

  I almost spit out my water, but swallow it down through a choke. Chance takes the few short steps to me and claps me on the back a few times. “Sorry,” he says, looking down apologetically. When our eyes meet, my breath catches with the flutter swarming around my chest. I force my eyes to fall and take a step away from his warmth to regain my senses.

  “No, it would be pointless,” I say, more to convince myself. I can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. After all, Jimmy had said there were at least a dozen competitors in his area. But, if one were dumb enough to hire me, I still couldn’t make enough to pay Paul off, even if I sold my body behind those dark curtains like so many do.

  My mind is made up. I will drive away from it all tomorrow and probably end up watching my back in fear the rest of my life, but at least I’ll be living. If you can call that living.

  “You could get better, you were already showing improvement,” he says with a grin, making him look younger.

  A flush of embarrassment heats my face. “I don’t think you realize how mortified I am to be standing here discussing my very brief tenure as a stripper with you or that you’ve seen me practically naked.”

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about…” When his eyes drop the length of my body, I should feel violated, but my body heats and mind flusters, liking the brief attention. “In fact, you should be proud and the fact you only lasted a week is a compliment that you’re not like most of those women. You’re better.”

  “I didn’t feel better, that’s for sure.” I laugh without humor, tilting the glass toward my lips to hide from his assessing gaze.

  “What made you get up there?” he asks, as if he already knows there was something that did. I guess everyone has a story to what brought them up there for the first time and probably another about what keeps them going back. I never took the time to hear anyone’s but Brittany’s. The others weren’t exactly pulling out their welcome banners, so I kept to myself.

  “Life,” I answer simply.

  “I remember my first street fight. It was life that put me there too. Some guy wanted my shoes.”

  “How old were you?” I feel the pinch of my face, trying to imagine a grown man wanting to fight another over shoes.

  “Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen? Were you walking home and someone wanted to beat you up for your shoes?”

  “No, I was asleep behind a dumpster and he tried to take them off my feet.” When Chance’s eyes drop, I sense this isn’t something he’s told many people. A dizzying sense of compassion overcomes me and squeezes at my chest.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” I admit honestly. Part of me wants to console him, but it’d be too little, too late. He has to be at least a decade past that by now.

  “I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sorry for me. I’ve come a long way since then.” His eyes align to mine. Behind the confident mask of the rugged man standing before me, there’s a boyish vulnerability in his green eyes that silently plead for me to not show pity for him.

  I smile softly. “Why did you tell me that Chance? It seems like something you don’t tell many.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re the second to know.”

  “Why?” I ask again.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. There’s something about you. Last night on that stage…then in the parking lot…” He shakes his head. “I just want to get to know you, Mia.”

  My heart squeezes again, not with pity, but longing. Call me crazy, I want that too, but I’m out of time. Paul missed me today, but he’ll catch up to me eventually. Chance watches me closely and I force my thoughts of Paul away, worried that in those long glances, he’ll somehow be able to read my mind. “You said when we walked in, you wanted to ask me something.”

  A few seconds go by before he smiles, shaking his head and I’m suddenly wishing I had the ability to read minds. “What is it?” I laugh, nervously.

  “Go out with me?”

  “What?”

  “Go out with me. Be my girlfriend. Whatever people call it when they spend time together and learn about one another. I want that with you.” He smiles.

  “When?”

  “Now, tomorrow, any day. Just say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  17

  Chance

  The winds have picked up, the sky an ominous shade of grey as the winter storm moves toward our area. Mia agreed to my date, but practically kicked me out afterward, telling me to return tomorrow to pick her up for lunch. Smiling on the way to my truck, I think of all the things I want to do with her. And I mean that in more ways than just sexual.

  When I first stepped into her little house, it felt more like a home than any place I’d ever been. There was nothing fancy about it. Hell, she wasn’t lying about not owning much, not even a TV, but with the scattering of throw pillows, pictures and little trinkets everywhere, there was love and warmth hanging on every wall and sitting on every end table. If she could achieve that in such a small space, I can only imagine what she can do with mine.

  I step to the curb waiting for a large power truck to go by, but it stops at Mia’s driveway. The passenger hops down from the cab, putting on a pair of thick work gloves as he walks up Mia’s driveway. I watch, curiously as he rounds the side of the house until I realize what he’s doing. Shutting off her power.

  My feet are in motion, fists curling in anger as the rage sets in before I think better of it. “What are you doing?” I ask the guy as he’s opening the meter box.

  “Do you live here?” he asks, looking around the open panel door.

  “No, my girlfriend does,” I lie. Mia specifically said we’d go on one date and that you can’t be someone’s boyfriend without dating first. I agreed, not knowing the first thing about dating. I’ve never been on one. My dates never required dinner before I fucked them in some random bathroom or the back of a bar.

  “Maybe your girlfriend should have paid her bill.”

  “Can I pay it now?” I reach for my wallet.

  “Sorry pal, we don’t take payments. You’d have to talk to the office.”

  I slide my phone from my back pocket. “What’s their number?” I ask, prepared to dial.

  He shakes his head. “They’re closed. We’re running behind because of the winds,” he mutters the last.

  “What kind of asshole are you to come out after hours and shut off someone’s electricity, knowing a storm is coming?”

  “Just doing my job, man.” This seems to be the excuse everyone uses when they’re doing something shitty to a person. Maybe if I kicked his ass right here behind these bushes, being a professional fighter, I could say I was just doing my job.

  “Could I pay you something to forget this address until Monday?” I ask, opening my wallet.

  “Man, I have benefits and retirement with this job. Do you know how uncommon that is in today’s world? I’m not taking a bribe at the risk of losing all that.” He shakes his head in disgust.

  “Isn’t there some rule about doing this with a storm coming?”

  “I get the work order and do my part, asshole,” he mutters the last under his breath as he flips something and the heating unit that was humming falls silent. My fist ball up, the idea of doing my job returning, but I take a deep breath, thinking of the boys, that endorsement contract with all those digits. An idea sparks in my mind and I quickly walk to the front of the house, realizing this may work in my favor.

  Mia is stepping onto her porch, her eyes focused on the power truck that sits at the edge of her driveway as I come from the side. The power company guy is a few steps behind, but keeps walking to his truck.

  Her eyes shift to mine, a pink tinge of embarrassment sweeps over her beautiful face. I climb the few steps, walking her back inside and closing the door.

  “Pack a bag. You’re coming home with me.”

  “Chance, it’s okay. I’ll call the power co
mpany and get it straightened out. My check must still be in the mail.”

  “That asshole told me the office is closed. It’s already less than forty degrees out there. It’ll be that cold in here by nightfall and well below freezing by morning. Pack a bag.” I stand firm. If she thinks I’m letting her stay in this freezing ass house, she’s out of her fucking mind.

  “But Chance, my stove is gas. I can use that to heat—”

  “Mia, I’m not saying this again. I may have let you in, showing you a side of me that no one sees, but don’t mistake that for weakness. I’m not leaving you here to heat your house with a gas stove.”

  Her gaze drops sheepishly before she nods and disappears to the corner to where her bed sits. She pulls a bag out from under the bed and throws it on the mattress, avoiding eye contact as I study her every move. She’s cute as hell as she rummages nervously through her drawers and I have to fight myself from going over, running my fingers through her hair and kissing the hell out of her.

  “You better pack enough for a few days,” I say. She stops mid-step and her eyes meet mine. I shrug. “You never know what this weather is gonna do.” Pink fills her cheeks before she turns toward the dresser, flinging more clothes out and tossing them in her bag. Remind me to never have her pack for me.

  She disappears into the only room with walls and I miss watching her. She’s intriguing to me, in all the ways that are rare and dangerous.

  She steps out a few minutes later, tossing a small bag into the larger one and zips it up. She tugs at the handle and I race the ten steps it takes to carry it for her. She looks up, those fucking light brown eyes dancing, assessing mine before she smiles bashfully. My eyes fall to her pink lips and I have to fight—really fucking hard—against the urge to pull her close and kiss her right now.

  “Is this all you need?” I ask, lifting the bag, knowing we’re not there…yet.

  “I need to get something from the kitchen.” She looks at me longer than necessary and I feel that tug in my chest that I felt last night in that parking lot and again this morning when she stepped onto the cold front porch. She’s so vulnerable, but so fucking strong at the same time. She finally steps away and I follow. She opens a drawer and grabs a small pouch of pills.

  “What are those?” I ask, hoping she’s not some sort of junkie. Edward warned me of that, but not once did I peg her as one. She’s always clear and focused, and given my upbringing, I can usually spot a junkie a mile away.

  “Birth control.”

  I feel my shoulders relax, but my dick jumps, stirring to life. “Plan on getting lucky?” I smirk and instead of getting embarrassed, she graces me with a beautiful laugh, smacking my abs softly with the back of her hand. Her breath catches, her face falling at the contact and I don’t know if she can’t believe she touched me or liked what she felt when she did, but I’m making it my goal to get her to touch me again. She turns, slipping into her coat as she walks toward the door and I follow. I wait for her on the small front porch while she locks up.

  When she steps toward her car, I shake my head and point to my truck. “You’re riding with me.” She opens her mouth, like she’s going to argue, but then closes it.

  “Thank fuck,” I mumble, opening the door to my truck and waiting for her to climb in. Mia is tall, closer to six feet than five, but she has to use the handle to get up into my truck. I can’t say I hate the view of her tight ass flexing with the climb. In fact, I’ll take this view as incentive for her to never touch a door handle again.

  I toss her bag in the backseat and slide behind the wheel, crank up the heat, and set off toward my house.

  “I didn’t pay that bill Chance.” She looks over at me and her eyes hold an apology. For what? I don’t know.

  I reach over, taking her hand and entwining our fingers. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m sorry I lied about the check being in the mail. I was…I am embarrassed.”

  “You don’t need to be. You’re talking to a guy who lived on the streets, slept behind dumpsters until he started hustling fights in an illegal circuit. I’ll never judge you for what you don’t have.”

  She nods and looks out the side window.

  “That’s what brought me up there,” she says quietly, a few miles later.

  I glance over, just as her gaze shifts from the window.

  “You asked earlier what brought me onto Jimmy’s stage. It’s money. I’m having money problems. I haven’t always. Since my parents died, I’ve been frugal. I had to sell their house, my mother’s dance studio, but living off my pay was okay, but something came up recently that’s put me behind and that’s why I had to do it. Believe me, it was a last resort. There’s nothing wrong with someone who does that…it’s just not me. I’m not like most of them.”

  “I know you’re not.” I say, forcing myself to stop at that. I don’t know much about her, but there’s something about her that has me wanting to make every bit of her mine.

  18

  Mia

  It’s dark by the time Chance’s truck slows, turning into a driveway. Concrete columns with flickering gas lamps on either side of the drive suspend a large wrought iron gate. He presses a button on his overhead dash and the gate creeps open.

  “You okay?” he asks and I nod.

  Physically I am okay, much better than I’d be if I were back home in my cold and dark cottage. But emotionally, that’s a different story. My nerves are a jittery mess. I haven’t figured out what Chance wants from me, I’ve spent the entire thirty-minute drive trying to figure it out. I know his reputation, but not once has he shown me that guy.

  When he asked to take me out earlier, it was unpolished. Obviously, it was spilling from his mouth without preparation, but there was something so honest in those unpracticed words, despite the absurdity he was proposing, that I found them absolutely adorable.

  The logical Mia would have declined, sent him away, stayed holed up and packing her little cottage so she’d be on schedule to drive out of St. Louis tomorrow morning. The selfish Mia, the one I haven’t seen in so long that I’ve forgotten what she’s like, decided if I have to give up everything for what Audrey has done, I wanted one last experience that would be mine, one that I chose and not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

  Chance races up the long driveway. With the moon cloaked with clouds, it’s hard to see anything other than where his headlights shine, but I see the dark frame of a large house as he bypasses the front entrance and whips around to the side. He reaches up again, pressing another button and a garage door lifts. He drives in, kills the engine and presses the button to close the door.

  “Honey, we’re home,” he teases with a grin. I force a smile and he opens his door and hops down without skipping a beat. Chance races around the truck and is standing with the door open, ready to take my hand to help me out. My feet land on the concrete garage floor and I survey the wide space. The same dark colored SUV that sat in front of my house this morning is parked in the last bay, a motorcycle in the one next to it.

  “Have you ever been on a motorcycle?” Chance asks, grabbing my bag from the back seat.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Winter isn’t the right time for a ride, but when the spring comes, I’ll take you. You’ll love it,” he says confidently and a pang of disappointment tightens in my stomach. I won’t be here in the spring. It doesn’t matter how much we end up liking one another, I won’t be here the day after tomorrow.

  “Come on, I’ll show you around.” His warm hand grabs mine and leads me into the house. He sets my bag down in the mudroom and flips on every light in the living area with a single flick of a switch. Letting go of my hand, he urges me to look around.

  The kitchen, living, and dining room all share one space, easily six times the size of my small cottage. The living room boasts an oversized leather sectional, large wood and wrought iron end tables and a square leather-tufted coffee table. Dark hardwood floors line most of it, meeting lig
ht colored marble floors in the kitchen. High-end shiny stainless appliances nestle between rich dark wood cabinets with a long granite covered center island. Everything is pristine, as if it belongs on the pages of a home magazine.

  “I don’t cook much,” Chance says quietly stepping into the kitchen where I’m ogling his eight-burner gas stove. “I usually order pre-prepped meals from a service that delivers.”

  “That’s a shame. Your kitchen is beautiful. Surely a woman designed it.” I cringe, immediately wishing I hadn’t said that. “I’m sorry,” I immediately try to retract. Whether it is designed by a woman—his woman—isn’t any of my business. This thing between us can’t go anywhere.

  “I would normally laugh that off as a sexist joke, but to be clear, it was a male designer…” He grins and winks when our eyes connect. “But I think what you were really digging for was about the women in my life. I don’t have any, Mia. Never have.”

  “What about Gigi?” Seriously, Mia.

  “No, never her. I’ve never had a girlfriend. Never bought a woman dinner. Never been on a date. Other than my housekeeper who comes every other week, never had a woman in my house.”

  “Your mother?” His eyes drop and I already associate that gesture with hurt. “I’m sorry, Chance. I don’t know why I have diarrhea of the mouth. I’m nervous about being here. Agreeing to go on a date and having a sleep over are two entirely different things.”

  He takes a tentative step toward me, closing the distance between us. He reaches out cautiously and wraps his large hands around my shoulders. “Mia, I’m not going to ask you or make you do anything you’re not comfortable with, but having you here with me…feels good.” He smiles and I nod, silently begging for how good this feels to go away. It’ll only end badly to get caught up in another fantasy of my life with Chance McKnight in it. “My mother was not a good person,” Chance says softly. “She was a druggie who would sell her food stamps to buy drugs rather than feed her son and a prostitute when that, and the welfare checks, weren’t enough to support her habit.”

  “I’m so sorry, Chance.” Before I think better of it, I wrap my arms around his waist, resting my head on his chest and squeezing him tight. The sweet musk of his cologne and the heat of his skin fill my senses, soothing me in the process. I meant to comfort him, but when his arms slip around my shoulders, enveloping me under his large frame, I’m not so sure I’m the one doing the comforting.