The Boxer (Modern Love Book 2)

by Piper Rayne

  The Boxer

  (Modern Love #2)

  Piper Rayne

  Contents

  The Boxer

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2017 by Piper Rayne

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover design: Djordje Grbic

  Line Editor: RJ Locksley

  Proof Reader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer

  The Boxer

  “Who knew a bad boy could mend a broken heart."

  What does a girl do after she discovers her fiancé is a cheating bastard?

  In my case, I performed the ritual implosion of all scorned women. I drowned my sorrows in cases of white wine, wallowed in gallons of ice cream, and ignited a bonfire to burn away every damn remnant of his existence. Six months later, the only result was a permanent impression of my ass on the couch.

  Adventure Dating my friends dared.

  A new and exciting opportunity they said.

  I thought they were crazy, but I’m not one to back down from a challenge, so I signed up for the entire four-week deal.

  That’s where I saw HIM. Lucas Cummings. He isn’t the classic rich boy I usually end up with. The one whose idea of working up a sweat is waiting for his margarita to be served beachside. Nope. He’s a rough and tough bad boy that all fathers warn their daughters about. You know the type. Cocky swagger, chiseled jaw—the ‘V’.

  SOLD, I said to myself, until I discovered he was so much more than just a BOXER.

  Left Hook.

  Right to the heart.

  Dedicated to all our faithful Unicorns!

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  THE BRUSH-OFF

  The Prequel to The Bartender

  1

  My purse topples over the edge of my kitchen table, and my tube of lipstick rolls to my feet as the bags of appetizers drop on the table. I scramble to pick all the items up and place each one in their designated place. Ever since I canceled my wedding to my cheating bastard of a fiancé, my life has lost its usual order.

  I glance at the microwave clock, noticing I have five minutes before my two best friends, Whitney and Lennon, will arrive. Wishing I could cancel and plop my ass on my couch to eat all the appetizers I purchased by myself, I pick up my phone, playing the lecture they’d give me in my head.

  What am I, crazy? They’ll knock down my door.

  They have a constant obsession with my happiness since I left Chase, said cheating bastard, at the altar. Actually, we didn’t quite make it there. I never did slip into the white Vera Wang dress. I did love that dress. There’s another giant check mark on the long list of things Chase fucked up for me.

  The doorbell rings and I slip off my heels, scoop them up, and walk to the door.

  Lennon barrels through before I have a chance to open it completely, brown paper bags hanging off her arms. Great, another sex toy she wants us to try out. My friend and her dreams of owning a sex toy company, God help her.

  “Don’t look so pouty. I bear gifts that will erase the douche.”

  “I’m not pouty, I’m tired,” I say, walking toward my bedroom door.

  “Tahl, I hate to break it to you, but you’ve gotten lazy after the douchecanoe debacle. You used to have enough energy for five of me.”

  “I’m lazy? This from a girl who thinks cleaning her floors is sliding around with paper towels under her feet.” I grip my door handle, ready to escape to my bedroom with the hope tonight’s halfway over before I emerge. Not because I don’t love my friends, but because they’ve grown tired of my wallowing. With them gone I can stick a spoon in my pint of Ben and Jerry’s and watch the Hallmark channel all night long.

  “Don’t knock it. That shit actually works,” Lennon says and drops her brown paper bags onto my kitchen chair.

  “I don’t care what you do at your apartment, just don’t call me lazy.” I step into my room.

  “That’s why you always keep your shoes and coat on when you visit me, isn’t it? That’s the reason we always have to come over here. You’re a control freak, Tahl.” Her over-eyelinered eyes widen, taunting me to retaliate, but I’m not in the mood to argue over my obsessive-compulsive ways. There’s nothing wrong with organization and cleanliness.

  The doorbell rings again, and Lennon’s feet are already moving toward the door, so I sneak into my bedroom to change.

  My friends. I love them, but I wish they’d leave me the hell alone.

  Two minutes later, Lennon’s fist bangs on my door. “Get out here, Tahl.”

  “Give me a second, Jeez.” I open the door, and Lennon looks me up and down like we’re thirteen and I’m wearing the cat sweater Grandma gave me for Christmas.

  “We’ve given you six months.” She shakes her head, continuing to be displeased with my attire, and grabs my elbow, escorting me to the couch.

  “You look comfy,” Whit says, a smile on her face. Of course she’s smiling. She found a man who treats her with respect. She’s with the respectable Webber brother who doesn’t believe in cheating. Right now I wonder if that’s even possible, a man who doesn’t want to have his cake and eat it too. I should warn Whit before the knife pierces her back.

  What the hell am I thinking? I’ve seen the way Cole looks at her. Chase never once gazed at me like that.

  I look down to my pajama pants and oversized t-shirt. “Thank you, I am.”

  Whitney nods, her usual permanent smile plastered to her face.

  “We’ll deal with your wardrobe in a second.” Lennon touches my shoulder and quickly retracts her hand. Holding her finger up in the air, she glances over at Whitney, her dark brows drawn. “What is this?”

  “Chocolate sauce. I made myself a chocolate malt last night. I forgot this should go in the wash.” I scramble to stand up, but Lennon’s hand lands on my thigh.

  “No, we can burn them later.” She peers up and down at me—again.

  “You’re being bitchy,” I say, annoyed. Neither of them has to be here. I’ll manage fine by myself.

  “Would you prefer me to coddle you?” she says in a sugary-sweet voice.

  “Lennon,” Whitney warns, and it’s clear to me now that they’ve had conversations about me.

  “No, I’d rather Whit cuddle me,” I say.

  Lennon stands, huffing as she walks over to the table. “Tahlia, you’ve lost it,” she says, walking back with her arms full of the vibrators she’s pulled from the bags she brought. I can see now that she has packaging for her product so she must be making some strides with her fledgling business.

  “Lennon,
” Whitney warns her again, but Lennon’s not one to shy away from communicating her thoughts.

  Understatement of the century.

  “No, Whit. We’ve done it your way for the past six months.” Lennon shoots her a look. “We’ve been dealing with her using a light touch as though she’s a hairline fracture away from shattering. She needs a flogger now. Let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?”

  “Are we playing poker?” I ask, and Lennon’s mouth hangs open.

  “Look at you, Tahlia.” Her hand moves up and down my body.

  I don’t see the problem.

  “You’re wearing pajamas that are about five sizes too big and have more stains on them than the blue dress Monica Lewinski wore. You don’t answer our phone calls half the time, and you never come out with us. And guess what I found in your sink?” She rushes over and holds up a spoon.

  “A spoon?” Whitney asks, and snickers. “And Tahlia’s the one losing it,” she says, leaning back in her chair, with her cute jeans and t-shirt, looking totally put together.

  “When is the last time Tahlia has ever left something in the sink?”

  I stand up, beeline it to her and pluck it out of her hand, placing it in the dishwasher.

  “I was running late,” I say, as my skin itches realizing I forgot to turn the dishwasher on before I left for work this morning.

  “Tahl.” Lennon’s voice lowers and she places her arm around my shoulder, guiding me to the couch again. “Whitney and I have bought you a gift.”

  “A gift?” My eyes veer to a smiley Whitney bouncing with anticipation in her seat. Could her lips spread any wider?

  Lennon drops me on the couch and heads over to her purse, grabbing out a white piece of paper.

  I try to ignore the niggling inside of me that tells me a lot of what Lennon says is on point, but it’s becoming harder and harder.

  “Whit?” I whisper, narrowing my eyes. “Have I really lost myself?”

  The crinkling of paper signals that Lennon is approaching.

  “No,” Whit tries to lie, but her diverted eyes speak the truth.

  A printed-out receipt floats into my lap and I pick it up, noticing my chipped manicure. So they do have a point.

  “Your gift, courtesy of Whitney and I.” My couch cushion rises when Lennon throws herself down next to me.

  “Thanks. Did you know that paper is the traditional gift for your first anniversary? I have Chase’s gift stashed in the closet. Hey.” I stand and run into my bedroom, an idea sparking in my head.

  I pull out the plastic bin that contains all the gifts I purchase ahead of time, finding the cufflinks and tie clip as well as the printed lyrics of John Legend’s All of Me on paper.

  “What is that?” Whitney asks, sitting down next to me in my walk-in closet.

  I hand her the small black box.

  Lennon plops on my bed in front of us, blowing out a long breath of air. “Did you buy him a stamp that says ‘I’m an asshole?’” She slides down the edge of my bed and crawls over until she’s between Whitney and me.

  Whitney slowly opens it, and then her eyes veer to me, handing the box to Lennon.

  “Oh, Tahl. You were way too good for him.” She reaches over, putting her arms around me in a tight hug.

  The slamming of the box echoes in my room, and Lennon springs up to her feet. “What else do you have?” she asks, searching my room.

  “What?” I ask, standing up.

  “Of him. What are you hiding? We had that bonfire a month after and you failed to give us this. I know you’re hiding something else.” She opens drawers, rifling through all my stuff, and I follow her around closing them and re-organizing them as fast as she’s tearing them apart.

  “I have nothing. I forgot I even bought those. Take them, I don’t care. I’m over Chase Webber.” My voice rises the more she circles like an F-5 tornado in my room.

  She slides her thin body under my bed. “Do you have a box under here filled with letters or some shit? Though Chase doesn’t scream ‘sentimental guy.’ He couldn’t even give you a decent orgasm, for Christ’s sake.” She comes out the other side and Whitney is there waiting for her, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Enough, Lennon,” she says, but Lennon throws her hands up in the air.

  “You know what? Give me the shirt.” She makes a beeline right for me, and I jump on the bed to escape her.

  “Len,” Whitney says, half laughing, half trying to be the sensible one.

  “I hate seeing you like this. I want my anal-retentive friend back. The one who put her spoon in the dishwasher. The boss babe who handled her shit. The one who wore laundered clothes!” She hops on the bed, and I pick up a pillow, throwing it at her.

  She hits me in the face with it. Hard.

  “Give it up, Tahl.”

  “You want my shirt? Fine!” I strip off the dirty Stanford t-shirt that I stole from Chase the first time I ever slept over at his condo. A small part of my heart shrivels up and dies as I hand her the final remnant of my life with him.

  “Thank you.” She tosses the shirt over her shoulder, and it falls at Whitney’s cute ankle boots. “Put it in the bag, Whit,” Lennon orders, her eyes still square on me.

  “Bag?” I ask.

  “Don’t forget the cufflinks.” Lennon ignores my question and Whitney snatches the black box up and then pinches my t-shirt with her thumb and forefinger, carrying it out of the room.

  Unable to continue the fight, I fall to my mattress and Lennon falls right next to me.

  “I’m sorry, but you need some tough love.” Her voice is soft now.

  I glance over at her, and there’s a small smile on her face. My friends are everything to me, but I’ve never been the one who needed help. I’m the one who has the high-profile job, the one who exercises six days a week. I have a savings account with some actual money in it, a 401K, an apartment in the heart of the city. We all have a role in our circle of friends and mine is to be the organized one who has her life documented in planners and her shit together.

  “I don’t remember signing up for the military,” I joke, starting to appreciate the friends I have.

  “You gotta get out of the funk,” Lennon says.

  “Literally,” Whitney says, the mattress dipping with her addition on the other side of me.

  The three of us lie on the bed shoulder to shoulder like sardines. “When did I become so pathetic?” My voice cracks and each of them grab hold of one hand, squeezing tight.

  “I would say when your braces cut Jimmy Twendle’s lips when you played seven minutes in heaven in the closet?” Whit jokes and we all laugh.

  This is so not me. I’m not one to wallow in my self-pity. I start shimmying Chase’s old sweatpants off my body, leaving me in my panties and bra. Thankfully, I haven’t lost my matching undergarments obsession.

  “Um, I get that it’s been six months, but use the vibrator I gave you. I’m over my experimentation phase,” Lennon says and scoots away from me. “And for the love of God have your legs waxed.”

  I roll my eyes. “Put these in the bag.” I toss them to her, and she smiles.

  “There’s our Tahl,” Whit says.

  We all sit up on my bed. “Great, we’re going out,” Lennon adds.

  “Yeah, we are,” I say, rushing over to my closet.

  “Let’s go dancing,” Lennon says, meeting me and flipping through my hangers.

  “Can Cole meet us?” Whitney asks and Lennon sighs.

  “Cole can stay home.” She eyes me and pretends she’s annoyed, but we all love Cole.

  “I’m going to call him,” Whitney says and leaves the room, ignoring Lennon.

  She walks in five minutes later, biting her lip.

  “Um, are you guys up for something a little different?” Whitney leans her shoulder on the doorframe. I’ve known Whitney since grade school, and she’s worried whatever she has to ask, we’re not going to like.

  “I thrive on different,” Lennon says. “Hey,
does Cole have connections into the Regent Bar? Because I’m dying to go there.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “Just trust me. I think this is exactly what Tahlia needs.” She bites her lower lip as her mouth forms a smile. Then she spins on her heels and walks back into my family room.

  Lennon and I share a look. My stomach rumbles with uneasiness wondering what ‘different’ might mean, while Lennon grins like she can’t wait to find out.

  2

  The taxi stops on the side of the street outside San Francisco, and I peer out the window to a huge parking lot with a giant tent set up in the middle, bodies spilling out every open side. What appears to be a rented fence surrounds the parking lot and further back I think I spy a building of some sort.

  “What is this?” I ask as Whitney pays the taxi driver, opening her door to exit.

  “Excitement, that’s what.” Lennon hip-checks me until I start sliding out and when we’re both finally standing on the pavement, she shuts the door to the taxi and it speeds off.

  Whitney pulls out her phone and starts texting Cole, I presume.

  Lennon bolts toward the excitement as a kid to a carnival. Whit and I follow and soon Whit tucks her phone in her back pocket.

  “Cole’s waiting at the gate for us,” she says, without any explanation of where we are.

  “What is this?” I ask, glancing down at my Capri pants and sandals. I’m not sure what I’m wearing is appropriate.

  “It’s an amateur boxing fight night. Cole comes here with his friends on occasion.” She finally answers my question, and I wish she hadn’t.

  My throat dries and she must notice my reaction.

  “Not Chase.” She swings her arm around my shoulders, pulling me into her small frame. “Cole understands that Chase is never to be around me.”

  I curl further into my friend’s security. “What about when you get married?”

  She draws back so I can see how serious she is. “We’ll elope, or forget to mail his invitation. Cole still has to propose, anyway. First things first.”