Alex (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 9)

by Lane Hart

  “What? Why do you say that?” I ask, reeling back in confusion.

  “Um, you did talk to her yesterday after you left, right?” he asks.

  “Well, yeah, of course we talked,” I answer with a grin, thinking of the times we weren’t talking. And waking up on top of her, naked except for her panties, those perfect tits right in front of my face…

  “Then you should’ve realized she was just screwing with you. I mean, do you really think Whitney’s the kind of girl to stick around with someone who doesn’t live in a mansion or can spend a fuck-ton of money on her?”

  “But I – ”

  “But nothing,” Senn cuts me off. “You seem like a nice guy and all; just don’t get too attached.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I mutter in disappointment before heading to the locker room.

  Chapter Ten

  Whitney

  “You look awful!” are my mother’s first words to me when I get home.

  “Thanks, so do you,” I tell her without even glancing in her direction as I start up the stairs.

  “What did you do to your head?” she gasps.

  “I fell and had to get a few stitches.”

  “Of all the times for you to be a klutz, now is the worst!” my mother says as she follows me into my room where I fall over on top of the bed. “How noticeable are they?”

  “I’m fine, just a concussion, thanks for asking,” I mutter into the comforter.

  “I can see that. What I want to know is if we can cover the stitches with makeup or not?” she huffs. “I’ll call Margaret and see if she can come do your hair and a cover-up.”

  With a sign of annoyance, I tell her, “It’s not a big deal, Vivian.”

  “Not a big deal? Tonight will decide our fate! If Kenneth doesn’t take an interest in you, then you’ll be signing your father’s death certificate.”

  At least I know who I get my dramatic flair from.

  “I need a nap,” I tell my mother. “Let me sleep a few hours, and then you can primp me and dress me however you like, and I promise to be nice to the old geezer.”

  Scoffing is my mother’s only reply before she thankfully leaves my room.

  I’m not sure what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, but I’m dreading meeting some random dude and having to flirt and act like I’m into him. It doesn’t matter what he looks like or how much money he has; I’m pretty sure the only thing on my mind will be Alex.

  …

  Alex

  “Hi, I was wondering if you’re hiring?”

  I force those horribly unpleasant words through my teeth when the manager of Anton’s comes over to the hostess stand to talk to me.

  “I could maybe use another server Thursday through Sunday nights,” the small, shrimp of a man tells me while patting his combover. “You got any experience?” he asks.

  “Ah, no,” I admit with a cringe. “But I can do some unpaid training, and I’m a fast learner.”

  “We’ll give you a try; but if it doesn’t work out, I’ll have to cut you loose,” he says. “I’m Wade. Come on back to the office to fill out an application. Can you start tonight?”

  “Tonight?” I repeat as I follow him past the rows of candlelit tables with pristine tablecloths and silverware lined up perfectly. Tonight I was hoping Whitney would come over to finish what we started yesterday. But based on what Senn said, if I want to impress a girl like Whitney, I’ll have to have some cash to take her out. Besides, I like my little apartment and don’t want to get kicked out. Eating something other than sandwiches would be a great change of pace too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alex

  A few hours later when I’m putting on the white dress shirt, green tie, black vest and slacks that constitutes the Anton’s uniform, I hear the apartment door open and close, telling me that Luke is home.

  When I walk into the living room, he’s already sacked out on the sofa.

  “Whoa, what’s with the penguin suit?” Luke asks.

  “New job. I already hate it,” I tell him. “Maybe you were right, that underground fighting is the way to go,” I admit. “You still got that guy’s number?”

  “Fuck no, I’m not giving you his number!” Luke exclaims. “Didn’t you see the news?”

  “No, why?” I ask.

  “A dead fighter washed up on the riverbank. His sister said he had an underground fight one night and never came home. She reported him missing, and they found him dead a few days later.”

  “Holy shit,” I mutter. “That’s awful. Did you know him?”

  “Nah, but I don’t think you should even consider getting involved with that seedy shit.”

  “Guess I’ll be waiting tables. Much safer.”

  “Definitely,” Luke agrees.

  “So, are you gonna be around tonight?” I ask him.

  “Yeah, unfortunately. Meg left this morning taking Lennox to Phoenix to see her aunt for a week.”

  “Oh, well, sorry they’re gone, but that’s sort of good for me,” I tell him. “If Whitney stops by, will you just tell her I had to work? And I mean, if she wants to wait, that would be awesome, but if not that’s okay too.”

  I heard the two of them talking this morning and realized that Luke’s best friend is actually Abby, Whitney’s sister. Small world.

  “Wow, you like her, don’t you?” he asks.

  “What? No. I mean, she just mentioned possibly coming back over, I think, so I wanted her to know I didn’t just skip out but had to work.”

  “Right,” Luke drawls. “Look, man, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re Whitney’s type, if you know what I mean.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask in annoyance, hating having this same conversation again.

  “I mean, I’m not saying she’s a gold digger, but she doesn’t really mess with any broke…fighters.”

  “I’m not broke,” I assure him. “Actually, I’m the furthest thing from it.”

  Holding his hands up in front of him, he says, “I’m not judging, and I don’t know shit about your bank account, but you own a freaking flip phone, don’t have a car, and you’re apparently going to be waiting tables. From what I know about her, Whitney has expensive tastes and certain…expectations from the guys she dates.”

  “We spent the whole night together last night, and yeah, I’m sure she’s a little spoiled, but I think she cares about more than material things,” I tell him.

  “Hey, man, suit yourself,” he replies, sinking further into the sofa with the remote in his hands. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  On the way out the door, I can’t let my frustration go. That’s twice in one day that I’ve been warned about Whitney. How can such a small, innocent looking girl have such a reputation?

  Even so, I really want to see her again, and soon. In fact, last night was the most fun I’ve ever had while sober. I don’t think anyone has made me laugh as much as Whitney. And every time I’ve thought about her today I felt this enormous smile stretch across my face.

  And while I want to say that I don’t care if Whitney prefers a man with bankrolls since I’ll have plenty in a few months, the truth is, I do care. Sure, I could tell her about my trust fund, but then I would never know how she actually feels about me.

  So, I decide that I’m going to keep my mouth shut. Either she’ll want to see me for who I am, poor boy and all, or she won’t.

  My goal is to do my best at this shit job so that I can pay my bills and have a little extra to try to convince Whitney that she doesn’t need a rich man to make her happy. I’m confident that, with a little time, I can make her fall for me without my dad’s money. And if not, well, then I’ll go back to my life in Maryland in six months and do whatever the hell I want with a shitload of cash.

  Chapter Twelve

  Whitney

  “So, Whitney, your mother tells me you love the beach. I have a house down in Hilton Head if you ever want to get away,” Kenneth informs me.

&n
bsp; We’ve shared one meal together, and he’s inviting me on vacation! And, yeah, he’s not hideous to look at. Some may even call him attractive since he’s tall and lean with a close-cut beard. The custom, navy blue three-piece suit he’s rocking fits him perfectly, screaming money for sure. But for whatever reason, I’m not attracted to him.

  “That’s good to know, Kenneth. Thank you for the offer. I may have to take you up on it,” I reply rather than be a bitch to him since my dad is sitting just across the hall in the den. He seemed so hopeful that Kenneth agreed to come over for dinner that I didn’t blow off the slightly cheesy man within the first five seconds of meeting him. While he’s not repulsive, Kenneth’s just not my type. At least he hasn’t put me to sleep like Ryan always did. But he doesn’t make me laugh like Alex, and I bet he wouldn’t kiss me as if he needs air from my lungs to survive either.

  Speaking of Alex, why hasn’t he called, dammit? So many times today I’ve barely stopped myself from calling Abby and asking her for Luke’s number to see if Alex has asked him for my number. It’s so pathetic and childish, making me feel like I’m in junior high school again.

  “So, do you like Italian?” Kenneth interrupts, and I answer in the affirmative before I realize where the conversation is going. “How would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  “Ah, tomorrow?” I repeat to buy me some time to think. Of course, I want to keep my options open for Alex, but at the same time, I need to jump on this opportunity with the man who can single-handedly save my father’s health and company, including the hundred or so people’s jobs who work there.

  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  “Well, I would love to have dinner with you, but Sundays are out, you know, because of church,” I lie to Kenneth, placing my hand on his forearm to lessen the sting of my rejection.

  “Church? I didn’t think your parents were very religious,” he says in disbelief.

  “Oh, they’re not. But I am. Sundays and Wednesdays I’m there,” I say. If I have to pretend to date this man, I want to avoid a few nights a week to hopefully spend with a guy of my own choosing. Thinking fast, I add, “And Fridays. Youth fellowship night.”

  “So you’re only free Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays?” Kenneth asks with a suspiciously arched eyebrow.

  “Right. My belief is very important to me,” I tell him.

  “Okay, then Monday night?”

  Out of excuses and knowing I need to accept, I flash him a fake smile and say, “Sure. I would love to.”

  “Great, so I’ll pick you up around seven?”

  “Seven works.” The earlier, the better to free up my nights. Not that I’m getting my hopes up about Alex; but if I had to guess, I would say that, like me, he probably wouldn’t mind finishing what we started yesterday.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alex

  “People are assholes,” I tell Luke when I come home and sack out on the opposite side of the sofa. The first thing I do is undo my tie. I’ve never liked those fuckers very much. So not only do my feet hurt from running around in circles for ten hours while listening to customer complaints, the tie made it feel like I was being choked to death slowly the whole time.

  “Rough night at work?” Luke asks, offering me the remote that I decline. All I want to do is sit here long enough to gather the strength it will take to haul my tired ass to bed. Training in the gym a few hours a day is child’s play compared to waiting tables.

  “Those uppity bastards are so damn rude and picky. But I haven’t gotten fired yet after a week, so I guess there’s that.”

  “How’s the money? Any decent tips?” Luke asks.

  “Actually, yeah. The rich fuckers aren’t stingy,” I admit, pulling out the wad of cash from my pocket and thumbing through it. Another hundred to add to what I brought home the previous four nights I’ve worked since I was off a few days at the beginning of the week. In total, I think I’ve made about six hundred dollars. That means that, in another week of this slave labor, I’ll have more than enough for my half of the rent, utilities, and groceries with enough left over to finally ask out Whitney.

  “So,” I start. “Do you by chance have Whitney’s phone number?”

  “Thank fuck!” Luke grumbles. “I didn’t want to get involved or anything, but Abby said Whitney’s been asking her all week if you’ve asked me for her number.”

  “Seriously?” I reply with a grin. Hearing that is definitely the highlight of my miserable week. “I needed some cash, you know, to take her out or whatever,” I admit to him.

  While I’ve been kissing customers' asses, hauling armloads of fancy dishes and putting up with a million grievances, I’ve been thinking about Whitney and my plan. In fact, to make it more challenging, I’ve decided to play up the whole broke deal. That way I’ll know if she actually wants to hang out with me or not. So what if my current financial status runs her off and I don’t get laid? I survived this long without being with a woman.

  “You ready?” Luke asks when he reaches for his phone.

  “Yeah,” I reply anxiously as I pull my own pre-paid piece of shit out from my pocket. “Hit me.”

  He calls out the seven digits that I save in my contacts, and then I find the strength to get to my feet, making my way to the bedroom for a little privacy as I hold the flip phone up to my ear and listen to it start to ring.

  “Hello?” the sweet voice I instantly recognize as Whitney’s answers.

  “Hey. It’s Alex,” I tell her.

  The phone is silent several long seconds before she says, “Who?”

  “Alex. Stiles? From Havoc? Maybe the amnesia my toilet bowl gave you is kicking in again,” I tease, hoping she actually does remember me but is pulling my dick.

  Her tickling laugh is my answer.

  “Oh, right,” she says. “Now I remember.”

  “So, um, I’ve been busy this week but was wondering if I could see you again, maybe tomorrow?” I jump right in and ask while taking a seat on the edge of my mattress.

  “I can’t tomorrow. But how about…Wednesday?” she offers, bumming me out that I can’t see her tomorrow or Tuesday, but Wednesday is better than nothing.

  “Wednesday is great,” I quickly tell her. “Since I don’t have a car and all, would you want to come here? I could cook,” I offer.

  “You cook?” she asks skeptically.

  “Sure,” I reply. Not that I have ever done more than boxed meals before, but how hard could it be, right? Stir some ingredients together, throw them in the oven, and boom…dinner.

  “Okay, then I guess I’ll see you Wednesday night,” Whitney tells me.

  “Awesome! See you then,” I say before I end the call.

  Now I have three days to figure out how to cook. Maybe Luke will let me borrow his computer to search for some easy recipes.

  …

  Whitney

  The butterflies in my stomach feel like they’re doing cartwheels as I drive over to Alex’s.

  I’ve never been this excited about a date, which I take to be a great sign.

  Kenneth and I have been out four times, and the only emotion he stirs up inside of me is dread. Sure, he’s a nice guy, and he has great taste in food based on the kickass restaurants we’ve been to, but at no point during my day do I find myself actually wanting to spend more time with him when we’re not together. And each night we’ve been out, I’ve mentally counted down the minutes until I could call an end to the date without being rude. Then, I have to duck and dodge Kenneth’s attempts to lay a goodnight kiss on me.

  Now, though, on my way to see Alex, I find myself desperately wanting to kiss him again. It’s only been a week and a half since the night I stayed over, and I haven’t been able to forget it. Now, I find myself getting lost in the memories of Alex several times a day. Well, not the part where I was bleeding and unconscious, but the rest, mostly after we went back to his apartment.

  Parking in the complex’s lot, I glance up and find Alex s
tanding in the doorway of his lower level apartment dressed in khakis and a light green button up that I bet will bring out the color in his eyes.

  Aw, how sweet. He couldn’t wait to see me.

  As soon as I step out of the car, the smell hits me, and then I see the gray clouds of smoke.

  “Smells delicious,” I tease Alex when I’m within earshot.

  With his patented grin, he says, “So maybe I can’t cook all that well. Do I at least get credit for trying?”

  “I suppose,” I tell him as I stroll up to him in my gray sweater dress and tall, black leather boots, slowly closing the distance between us. “But only if you have a backup plan in mind because I am starving.”

  Leaning down to place a soft kiss on my cheek, he asks, “How do you feel about fast food?”

  Pulling back from him with my eyebrows raised in surprise, I say, “What, like, burgers and fries?”

  “Well, yeah,” he answers, still grinning. “You can have whatever you like, even the large fry. And of course a sundae for dessert too.”

  “Sold,” I tell him since I can’t remember the last time I’ve had greasy food. “And I guess I’m driving?”

  “If you don’t mind?” he replies. “Otherwise it would be a long walk.”

  “Is your car in the shop or something?” I ask him curiously.

  “Nope. I’m too poor for a car,” he says, almost sounding proud of the fact rather than embarrassed.

  “Saving up for one?” I inquire.

  “Something like that,” he replies vaguely before stepping back into the smoky apartment. “Let me clean up and make sure the fire’s out before we leave.”

  “Sure,” I say as I follow him, waving a hand in front of my face to clear away the dark billowing clouds. “What exactly were you trying to make anyway?” I ask.