“And you, too,” I said quickly. Then I cringed. Foot in mouth, once again. “I mean, not like that. I don’t mean I love you, just that I had fun with you, too.”
His smirk was full of satisfaction. “You love me. I’m flattered, April.”
I scoffed, rolled my eyes and tripped over his foot—all at the same time. It wasn’t just a slip, either. I was about to wipe out, but Mason’s hands found my waist and pulled me upright.
Miss Dee Dee was giving me the evil eye, shaking her head with disgust. Clearly, she didn’t understand how anyone could be this uncoordinated.
“I get it,” Mason said, his hand returning to the small of my back. “I’ve literally swept you off your feet.”
“Not exactly,” I muttered.
“Your cheeks get flushed when you’re mad at me,” he said. “I like it.”
I didn’t respond, knowing I’d only talk myself into another hole. In truth, it wasn’t just anger at Mason that made me flush. It was being near him, hearing his voice, the smell of his light, masculine cologne . . . pretty much just being in his presence did it to me.
In my head I knew he was a player only thinking about his next conquest. But my heart couldn’t seem to get the message. His occasional bursts of sweetness only blurred the lines even more.
We danced in silence after that. I didn’t fall again. And when the lesson came to a close, Mason pulled me in a little closer to him.
“Hey . . .” He sighed, the creases in his forehead making him look serious. “I have to go on a business trip. I’ll be gone a couple weeks. So I’ll miss a couple of dance nights in the next two weeks.”
My stomach dropped with disappointment. I didn’t hate dancing with him. Actually, I kind of . . . more than didn’t hate it. But I wasn’t about to let him know that.
“That’s fine,” I said, waving dismissively. “It’s only a six week session and we’ve already done two weeks, right? That’s got to be enough to placate Ivy.”
“No, I don’t mean . . .” He ran a hand through his dark hair, almost looking uncomfortable. That was rare. “What I mean is, I wish I could be here. And I’d like it if you didn’t dance with someone else while I’m gone. We can practice more when I get back.”
“You . . . ?” I couldn’t help it—I gaped. This was a perfect out, but he wasn’t taking it. And his desire to keep such a lousy dance partner made me feel warm and maybe even a little bit giddy.
“Okay, we’ll catch up when you get back,” I finally managed. “Hope you have a good trip.”
One corner of his mouth curved into a smile, but then he took a deep breath, the serious expression returning. He loosened his hold on me, and I reluctantly stepped back.
“Can I have your number?” he asked.
I swallowed hard, fighting my urge to laugh nervously. “My phone number?”
“No, your social security number.”
Our eyes met and the nervous laughter escaped my lips.
“Yes, your phone number,” he said. “If I keep waiting for you to text me first, I’ll be waiting a long damn time.”
“Oh.” He wanted me to text him? I bit back a sarcastic question about what a mousy woman could possibly have to say. “Sure.”
He took out his phone and I gave him my cell number. As he was adding it to his phone, Noah ran up to us, wrapping his arms around Mason’s legs.
“Uncle Mason, did you see me? Did you see me dancing?”
“Yeah, I saw you. You’ve got some moves, my man.”
Noah swung himself out from behind Mason’s legs and took off toward Miss Dee Dee.
My eyes were drawn back to Mason’s. The nervousness was gone. Now I just felt warmth, both from his caramel eyes and from my own reaction to them.
He looked as if he was about to say something when Ivy and Reed approached.
“Looking good, guys,” Ivy said.
I rolled my eyes. “More like looking less bad.”
“Oh, stop. I was watching you guys, and you did great. Let’s go get dinner at the diner.”
“You comin’, Mason?” Reed asked as he wrapped an arm around Ivy’s waist.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I can’t go,” I said. “I’m helping Erica with her homework, and she’s got a ton.”
Ivy gave me a grateful look. “How’s she doing in school?”
“Hanging in there. But she struggles with math.”
“Mason’s a math genius,” Reed said. “If you ever need help.”
I looked at Mason, half-expecting him to bust out laughing at Reed’s joke.
“You are?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
Erica was in remedial Geometry, so I was fully capable of tutoring her, but I wanted to know more about this unexpected talent of Mason’s.
“Like . . . advanced Calc?” I asked.
He smiled. “Sure. Or linear algebra. Multivariable calc. Anything, really.”
“Seriously?” As a Chemistry major, I knew those classes were only for truly brilliant math students. I’d never gotten that far, and I was good at math.
Mason nodded. “I was a Math major. If you ever need help, let me know.”
“Yeah,” I said, still processing what he’d said. “Okay, I will.”
Ivy and Reed said goodbye to me and headed over to get Noah who was chatting with Miss Dee Dee.
“So . . . have a good trip,” I said to Mason.
“Thanks.”
I gave him an awkward wave and turned to the door. The whole walk out to my car I thought about how unfair this development was. He was sexy and absurdly smart? Tall, athletic and able to solve proofs in his sleep? That had been the one thing I had on him. I might be klutzy and dorky, but I was smarter than the women he liked taking to bed. But it turned out he was smarter than me. And he wasn’t even cocky about it, which annoyed me all the more.
Good thing he was leaving town for a couple weeks. I needed to get him out of my system. The more I got to know him, the less he seemed like the shallow manwhore I’d dismissed him as on my first day here. Which made it all the more disappointing to know I wasn’t the kind of woman who could capture his interest for more than maybe one night. And even that was a big maybe.
I FOUND MY SEAT, stowed my laptop bag and sat down to check my messages before takeoff. It was so damn good to be going back to Boston. A month away from the club was way too long.
“Mason, we’ve missed you,” a female voice said. I looked up from my phone and saw a familiar flight attendant approaching. A quick glance at her nametag jogged my memory.
“Hi Julia,” I said. I always flew the same airline to Boston, and the same flight attendants worked that route and they often recognized me.
Julia was a blonde who went on and on about how much she loved nuts when she’d drop off my bag of complimentary peanuts during the flight. She wasn’t subtle in the least. As opposed to April who was, apparently, going to make me chase her like a lovesick schoolboy. I looked back at my phone and typed out a message to her.
Me: Hey Ginger, how’s it going?
She wrote back quickly.
April: Things are good. How’s your trip?
Me: My flight’s taking off in a few minutes.
April: Where are you going?
I stared at the screen for a few seconds. I couldn’t remember anyone ever asking me that. I traveled so much that I often didn’t even tell my family I was going. And I deliberately kept my trips to Boston to myself. But what was the harm in telling her where I was headed?
Me: Boston. You want a souvenir?
April: Like what? A cream pie?
My cock sprang to life in my pants. Did she know her words were loaded with innuendo? Such a brazen response was the last thing I’d expected from her. I was still trying to think of a response when another message from her popped up, followed immediately by two more.
April: OMG. I didn’t mean that.
April: I mean, I did, but I didn’t think about w
hat I was writing.
April: This is embarrassing. Let’s forget I said that.
I smiled at the screen, picturing her cheeks flushing as she texted me. It didn’t help my hard-on situation at all.
Me: I’d much rather not forget it. Didn’t know you liked dirty talk, Ginger. Have to say I’m intrigued.
April: I’m sure you’re fluent in dirty talk.
A flight attendant announced it was time to shut off electronics and I groaned. Nice fucking timing.
Me: Would you like to find out? I really, really want to continue this convo but I have to turn off my phone. Can I text you later?
April: Yes. Safe travels.
Me: Talk to you soon.
I took one last look at her final text before powering my phone down. Yes. Damn, did I like hearing that word from her. Though what I really wanted was to hear it from her lips.
When the plane started moving, I laid my head back against my seat and forced my thoughts away from April and onto work. I had to fit in some phone calls while I was in Boston, but most of my attention would be focused elsewhere for the first few days of the trip.
When we landed, I grabbed my bag, left the plane and quickly found the driver holding up a sign with my name on it.
We drove in silence for about half an hour. As soon as the gray stone of the building’s exterior came into view, I felt a surge of excitement. I’d missed this place.
The legal name was Club Bellator, LLC, but we just called it Bellator. It was certainly unconventional for seven guys to form an LLC for the purpose of hosting fights, but we’d needed to do so for legal reasons.
Specifically, liability. A few times fighters had been seriously injured during the five years of Bellator’s existence. And the seven of us who were owner-partners had to protect our personal bank accounts.
We required everyone to sign waivers, especially since the club had a reputation for hosting dirty fights. Hell, sometimes the winners ended up in the emergency room right beside the losers, getting gashes stitched up and broken bones set.
As soon as I walked in the front door, the scents of sweat and leather made my pulse kick up a notch in anticipation of my first fight. This was the place I could take off the mask and just be me.
“Hey Lockhart,” a voice called. I turned to see Colin Hanks, one of the original seven partners in the club. We sold memberships to others by invitation, but only the seven of us controlled the club.
“Hanks.” We greeted each other with a one-armed hug.
“Where the fuck you been?”
“Just busy,” I said. “Bet my standing’s down to shit.”
He arched a brow with amusement. “It is. A lot of us have been coming every weekend lately.”
“Andi doesn’t mind?” His girlfriend was cool, but not that cool.
“We broke up,” Hanks said with a shrug. His somber expression told me it wasn’t his doing. I decided not to press further.
I looked out at the three practice rings, where guys were sparring. The only sounds in the big room were of punches being landed, followed by the occasional grunt.
“Any new blood out here?” I asked Hanks.
“That guy in Ring Two got invited downstairs last weekend. He broke Ballinger’s nose.”
“No shit? The bald guy?”
“Yep. I think he needs the money. That drives guys to fight hard.”
I nodded. “He coming back down this weekend?”
“Yeah. I think you’re going up against him in Round One, actually.
“Good,” I said. “I need some competition.”
Hanks glared at me. “Fuck you, motherfucker. You caught me off guard last time and I couldn’t get my momentum back.”
“When’s dinner?” I said, too hungry and tired for any more verbal sparring.
“Six. We’re going to the steakhouse.”
“I’m gonna go check into my hotel. I’ll meet you there.”
He nodded and I left the club, walking to my hotel right across the street. My primal side wanted to fight right now, against any guy who’d take me on. But I needed to conserve my strength for tomorrow, when I’d have three fights.
I checked in, slept and lifted weights at the hotel’s gym. I caught a cab to the steakhouse for dinner and spent a couple hours catching up with the guys. Other than my brothers, the Bellator guys were my closest friends. I sometimes felt like I lived in two different worlds, and these guys were part of the secret I couldn’t share with my family.
If my family knew how much money I’d sunk into Bellator, they’d be shocked and disappointed. My mom raised money for Lovely’s hospital foundation, and she’d be thinking about how many benches and fountains and new equipment that money could’ve bought. I gave money to the foundation, but I was sure that wouldn’t make things square in my parents’ eyes.
The Lockhart family was a model of benevolence. Kyle volunteered his time doing surgery in third-world countries every summer and Reed was starting a non-profit to provide legal aid to the needy.
And then there was me, who’d helped fund a place for guys to beat the shit out of each other for fun. Not to mention the post-fight activities in our lounge. It wasn’t just a place for a few drinks after fights were done for the day. The guys could get a blowjob or sex from the handful of women we allowed in.
“How’s business, Lockhart?” Hanks asked me as we left the steakhouse.
“Not bad. You?”
He shrugged. “Can’t complain. I’m still interested in getting together to talk about what you’re working on.”
Hanks was an investor who was always looking for something good to buy into. But I didn’t need funding for my work and I liked not having investors to answer to.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, hailing a passing cab. It stopped and I clapped Hanks on the shoulder. “See you in the morning, man.”
When I got back to my hotel, I took a shower, put on some boxer briefs and laid down in bed to text April. The ripple of excitement that passed through me topped how I’d been feeling all day about being back at Bellator.
I’D BEEN MAKING MYSELF the ‘one more chapter’ promise since coming to bed an hour ago. It was only nine-thirty, but my eyes kept drifting closed.
But the chapter I’d just finished couldn’t be the last chapter I’d read tonight. I was on the verge of a good part, I just knew it. I turned the page on my e-reader to dive into the last chapter I was reading tonight.
Probably.
Maybe.
It was completely dependent on what happened in this chapter.
My phone lit up and buzzed from its spot on my nightstand. I picked it up and looked at the screen.
Mason: So where were we? Something about you liking dirty talk?
I was alone, so no one could see my wide, goofy smile. I set my e-reader aside to write back.
Me: Did I say that? I’d be the most awkward ever at it. I can only hold my own in convos about Science or baking cookies.
Mason: Is ‘baking cookies’ a euphemism for sex? I could get into that.
Me: lol. There is nothing sexy about baking cookies.
Mason: It could be sexy.
Mason: I want to lick your beaters, baby.
Mason: Damn, I love the smell of your frosting.
Mason: Fuck yeah, baby, whip it good.
Me: I never should have doubted you.
Mason: Is your oven preheated yet, or should I keep going?
Me: Okay, that one was a little weird.
Mason: I should’ve quit while I was ahead. How’s it going?
Me: You know me. Just some wild and crazy reading happening here. How’s Boston?
Mason. The usual.
My thumb lingered over the ‘I’ on my phone’s touch keyboard. I wanted to text ‘I miss you’, but I stopped myself. This was just Mason’s way of passing some free time, not a sign that I meant something to him.
So instead, I signed off.
Me: So tired . . . I’m going to sleep.
Talk tomorrow?
Mason: I’ll text u then. Goodnight.
Me. Goodnight.
I’D NEVER BEEN THE type to keep my phone within reach at every moment. But I’d become that type since Mason and I had started texting. His messages, which had been coming in at random times throughout the day, always made me smile.
Just getting one made me smile, and that was before I’d even read it. I’d never been much good at flirting, and I’d also never had the attention of a man like Mason. It wasn’t just his tall, dark, masculine exterior that excited me. He was bold, with a swagger I found unexpectedly appealing.
The way he sometimes looked at me while we were dancing, his eyes full of intensity and longing, was enough to take my breath away. It gave me the same dizzy, happy flutter I got when we were texting each other. Had getting to know me better changed his impression of me as a frumpy bore? My ego hoped so.
I had confidence in myself, but not when it came to men. I’d never be able to forget what Mason had said to Reed about me on my first day here. But I felt slightly vindicated that maybe he was starting to find me less than repellent.
Thinking about Mason, I’d lost track of time while vacuuming. The living room carpet had gotten a very thorough cleaning, or three, as I daydreamed. When I switched the vacuum off, the sound of raised voices filtered in from the front yard.
Grabbing my phone from the coffee table, I went to the front door and opened it. Taylor stood on the porch, her arms crossed as she exchanged heated words with a man in a black leather jacket.
“You’re cheating on me,” she said. “I’m not an idiot, Colton. A female answers your phone in the middle of the night and Callie tells me she saw a woman come out of your bedroom wearing nothing but your t-shirt the other day?”
“Callie’s a cunt,” he said, his tone hard and unapologetic. When I looked at his dark eyes, I saw the same features there.
“I thought you loved me,” Taylor said, her face crumpling as she broke down crying.
“Don’t start this,” Colton said. He grabbed her around the wrist and held on. “Come home with me. Then you can keep an eye on me yourself.”
“I like it here.” Taylor’s voice was hardly audible. She was staring down at the porch.
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