by Vi Keeland
Copyright © 2014 by Vi Keeland
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Worth the Chance
Edited by: Warneke Reading
Cover model: Micah Truitt, Wilhelmina Models
Photographer: Domonick Gravine
domgravinephotography.com
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“Sometimes, life gives you a second chance because, just maybe, you weren’t ready the first time around.”
-Unknown
For Chris.
Without whom, I’d be lost.
Table of Contents
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
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
EPILOGUE
Chapter 1
Vince
The pounding in my head rises from a dull base drum playing in the background to a full snare drumroll just beneath my eyelids. I’m afraid to crack one eye open, for fear that the drum playing inside my head will escape and follow me around for the rest of my life. But the god damn noise coming from that phone is too painful to ignore.
I trace the horrible music to the other side of the room in the darkness, desperate to make it stop. It’s not hard to locate the intruder; it’s flashing and buzzing and jumping around like a Mexican jumping bean. I pick it up and look at the picture of some girl I don’t know smiling at me from the caller ID. She looks fucking annoying. It takes a few seconds for it to register that it’s not my phone. Hitting REJECT on the screen, I toss the thing back on the dresser and make my way to the bathroom and back without turning on any lights. Light makes the pounding worse. I know from experience.
Ignoring the jackhammer that replaced the snare the minute my head went from horizontal to vertical, I crawl into bed, shut my eyes, and begin to drift back to sleep. Until another god damn phone starts ringing. This time it’s coming from the night stand within my reach, and the ringtone is familiar. My screen flashes Elle’s name and, just as I’m about to hit REJECT again, I catch sight of the time. Fuck! Nico’s going to kill me this time.
“Hello.” I answer trying to hide the grogginess in my voice that would give away I just woke up. I’m not too successful at it.
“Did I just wake you?” Elle’s voice is full of concern. She knows Nico is looking for a reason to kick my ass out of training. Again.
“No, I’m on my way now…I got caught in traffic,” I lie.
“Good, because he’s already downstairs waiting for you not to show.”
“I’ll be there.” I hang up, heave my phone across the room, and groan when I hear it hit the wall and shatter. Another fucking four hundred bucks down the toilet.
“What’s the matter?” The woman’s voice startles me as I’m about to get out of bed. I have ten minutes to shower and get to the gym or I’m going to be out on my ass without a trainer again. I feel a hand reach for my naked ass and pieces of last night come flooding back to me. Krissy. Shit.
“Get up. I need to be out of here in two minutes.” I don’t even try to be nice. I’m pissed off at myself that I brought her here. Broke my own no groupie golden rule last night because I was too drunk to shake her off.
You see, I’m a fighter. A pretty damn good one. And good ones have groupies. We call them GIMPs. Short for Groupie I Might Pound. Yeah, I know. It’s not nice. But who said I was nice anyway? If a woman wants to follow me around and let me fuck her doggie style in the bathroom of a bar, who am I to say no? I’m not a dick to them. I take care of them. See to their needs before my own. Most nights, anyway. I just don’t bring them home with me. Bringing them home gives them false expectations. Plus, then they know where I live.
***
Nico’s at the entrance when I walk in. “You’re late.” I ignore his comment and take my place in front of the class.
Yeah, I’m late, but less than ten minutes, thanks to his wife’s call. Today is my day to volunteer at the Women’s Center. Yeah, right, volunteer. Like anyone could ever tell Nico Hunter no. Even if I weren’t already one fuck up away from him dropping me as my trainer, I still wouldn’t be able to get out of this. If you want to train with Nico, you do what he wants…even if he poses what he wants to you as a question. You don’t really have a choice in your answer.
My stint volunteering at the Women’s Center is part of my penance. Nico thinks I need to build more character, learn to respect women more. Sure, everyone should be pussy-whipped like him. He thinks I don’t remember how he was before he met Elle, but I do. A different woman took the walk of shame almost every morning out the back door of the gym. I was only thirteen, but I remember. Mostly because they were all pretty fucking hot. Tits sticking out and short little skirts, who could forget seeing that shit each morning when you’re thirteen? Some mornings I had to run on the treadmill with a damn hard-on. Then he met Elle and everything changed.
Don’t get me wrong, Elle is the coolest chick I know. She runs interference between me and Nico when things get too heated. But this volunteer crap is their gig, not mine. Yet here I am at 10AM on a Saturday about to teach self-defense to a room full of women.
I take a quick look around the packed room and give them my best smile. The one that always helps me get away with shit when I’m in trouble. Well, at least when the trouble I’m in is with the ladies.
Nico watches from the doorway as I lead the class through a few minutes of warm up stretches. I’m relieved when he eventually disappears and I can stop pretending I’m happy to be at the head of the class this morning. I’d much rather still be in bed, lying flat on my back, getting head. I weave my way through the students as they begin their leg kicks. Some I help with their form, others I pass and smile at as I check them out in their skimpy, tight clothing. I’m sizing up the class, looking for my next assistant. If I have to demonstrate on someone, they might as well be worth touching, right?
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a woman in the back row. She’s t
urned around, but I already know she’s going to be my assistant just from the sight of that ass. It’s shaped like a perfect heart and, as she reaches up to tie her hair into a ponytail, I’m treated to a glimpse of porcelain skin beneath her shirt that I get the urge to sink my teeth into.
I walk towards her, thinking maybe this morning’s gig won’t be so bad after all. Hell, if the front looks half as good as the back, this class may even go long today. I make my way up the aisle to reach her, ready to turn on my charm, just as she turns my way. What I see stops me dead in my tracks. Can it really be her?
Chapter 2
Liv
James Hawthorne is a total sleezeball. Two minutes ago I caught him pinching his secretary’s ass and now, as I graciously bend down to pick up the papers that dropped from his desk, I catch him looking down my shirt. He probably pushed them off on purpose. He doesn’t even have the decency to pretend he wasn’t looking. Instead, he actually smiles at me when I catch him peering over his desk. Total sleezeball.
I return the smile as I take my seat in front of his desk anyway, even though it physically pains me. I want the job that badly. Bad enough to put up with his crap for another seven weeks of my internship.
Sleezeball loses interest in me the moment my competition walks in. Summer Langley. She’s tall, model thin, and her long, bleached blonde hair contrasts starkly with her olive skin. She’s pretty, I don’t blame him for drooling over her. But we’re not in a beauty competition, we’re competing for a job. And not just any job, one of the most coveted jobs in all of Chicago. And it’s down to just the two of us. My only alternative position is located in New York, almost a thousand miles from my family and friends.
My resume speaks for itself. A 4.0 in college and grad school, editor of my college newspaper, and TA to a renowned English professor while working on my Masters. Summer, on the other hand, has a resume with a slight edge. She has two things I can’t compete with. Her father sits on the board of the Daily Sun Times and she has no problem flirting with the boss.
But I’ve wanted this job since high school, so I force myself to believe that the best candidate, the one who does the best work, will actually get the job when this internship is over in seven weeks. Eleven hundred people applied for these two spots. Now it’s down to just the two of us. I’m so close I can taste it.
I’ve wanted to be a writer at the Daily Sun Times as long as I can remember. Writers here earn Pulitzers and chair literary guilds. I smile at Summer as she takes her seat next to me and we both wait for our new assignment from Sleezeball. She’s not qualified for the job. The reality is she wouldn’t even be here if her daddy didn’t sit on the Board. But there’s a sinking feeling in my stomach as we both receive our assignments. Summer will be interviewing a young up-and-coming entrepreneur, one who is about to take his cutting-edge internet marketing firm public. I, on the other hand, am being sent to the warehouse district to interview some troubled mixed martial arts fighter who beats the crap out of people for a living.
I smile at Sleezeball as I take the assignment sheet from his hand, pretending to not be affected by his giving Summer the better story to write.
“Thank you, James. Sounds like it could make for a very interesting story.” Yeah, right. Someone shoot me now and put me out of my misery.
James smiles back at me politely, but his attention is quickly refocused on Summer. He tells her to stay so they can talk about the angle she is going to write the story from. He asks me to close the door as I leave. He falls short of telling me not to let it hit me on the ass on the way out. Barely. I wonder if he even notices the steam coming from my ears as I walk out his door.
***
Some quick research revealed that the fighter volunteers to teach a self-defense class for women. Maybe I can work a good guy side of a bad boy fighter angle to this story, keep people from falling asleep before they reach the end of the article.
I get lost downtown and barely make it to the gym before the class I’m scheduled to attend starts. I was hoping to get to class early to speak to the instructor and set up an appointment to interview him for my article. But I’m late and the full class is already starting. So instead I slip into the back, toss my bag behind me, and quickly tie my long auburn hair back from my face.
I hear the instructor’s voice getting louder as he walks through the room in search of a volunteer to help him demonstrate moves. His voice is distracting, sexy with an edge to it, almost gravelly, like he’s been yelling all night and now he’s straining to have his deep voice heard. Then suddenly the voice goes quiet in mid-sentence. Finishing tying up my hair, I turn, curious to see what’s quieted the sexy voice. I almost fall when all of the air in my lungs is violently sucked out of my body by the vision of the man I find standing in front of me.
Chapter 3
Liv – 7 ½ years earlier
He walks into the library and, unconsciously, I hold my breath. I watch as he looks around the room, knowing he is looking for me. We’ve been meeting here at the same time every Thursday for the last five weeks. For a second I let myself pretend he scans the room for me because he’s mine. Not because Mr. Hunter is paying me to tutor him. He looks so different from the other boys, and it’s not just because he’s taller and wider. No, it’s definitely more than that. Something about the way he carries himself sets him apart. It’s hard to put into words what it is…he just has it. Strong, confident, unaffected by the normal high school stuff going on all around him.
I watch from a distance as he spots me and smiles in my direction. The way his dimples dip deep into his beautiful tan skin sends my mind racing. He makes me forget where I am. Hell, he makes me forget who I am with that smile. Vinny walks with purpose directly to the table I’m sitting at, completely unaware of the girls stopping in their tracks to watch him pass by.
“You okay, Liv?” I can see in his face he’s concerned, but I’m not sure why.
I don’t answer, but not because I don’t want to. Suddenly, I physically can’t respond. I’m lightheaded, the room begins to spin, and I feel as though I might pass out any second.
“Liv?” Vinny repeats himself, his voice louder, more urgent this time. It snaps me out of my daze and I realize I’m not breathing. A strong rush of air whooshes out of my lungs and I gasp to take my next breath. But the deep inhale after depriving my lungs of oxygen burns my throat, sending me into a coughing fit and I can’t seem to stop myself from coughing uncontrollably. The whole library is looking at me now and I want to climb under the table and hide. Vinny is holding my hand and hovering over me. He looks genuinely concerned.
It takes me a minute, but I finally catch my breath and my coughing fit slows enough to squeak out an answer. “I’m fine. I just choked on a cough drop,” I lie. I can’t tell him he steals my breath away and I forget to breathe sometimes when he’s around me. I’m sure he already thinks I’m a weirdo.
Vinny grabs a chair and turns it backwards to sit, his forearms leaning on the top of the chair back as he straddles it. Such a boy way to sit. “Jesus, Liv. I thought I was going to have to perform the Heimlich on you there for a minute. I was worried I might break you, you’re so tiny.” He leans in and whispers as he teases me with a devilish smile that makes my heart pound loudly in my chest.
“I’m fine.” Luckily, my face is still red from my coughing fit, so he can’t see that I’m heated from just feeling his breath on my neck as he speaks. “We better get started. We have a lot to cover today if you want to pass the English midterm next week.” That, and my heart just might explode if we don’t get back on track. I can’t think around this boy. He makes my brain turn to mush so that I forget to breathe. Who forgets to breathe? I’m such a dork.
The librarian shushes us and Vinny throws his hands up in playful surrender and smiles at her. Her angry face changes when she’s on the receiving end of his smile. His charm knows no age boundaries.
Eventually we fall back into our roll of student and tutor and I’m a
ble to refocus on the reason I get to spend so much time with Vinny Stonetti. Although he’s a senior and two years older, he’s a year behind in English and I’m a year advanced, so we’re both in the same English class. And he’s in danger of failing this year. Again. Most likely it’s because he doesn’t spend much time in our actual class. He seems to be either out sick or suspended for fighting most of the time.
Six weeks ago when my dad told his friend that his daughter would tutor a boy who was struggling in English, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. Not until I found out the boy was the same one I’ve had a major crush on since seventh grade. I spent three long years watching him from a distance, secretly obsessing over the way he walks, the way he sits, and even the way his full lips move as he chews when I steal glances of him in the cafeteria.
And now, here I sit. Up close and personal for three hours each week with the boy who visited my dreams on more nights than I can count. I expected him to be something very different, although I’m not sure what it was that I thought he’d be. But he’s even better than I’d made up in my head. He’s smart, a fast learner, and funny too. We actually have a good time while we work through the material, and I’m surprised that we’ve almost caught up on the full semester’s work already.
“Did you figure out what comes after Juliet tells her mother about the wedding in the courtyard? I’m wondering when we’re getting to the good stuff…the wedding night?” Vinny wiggles his eyebrows playfully.
I still can’t believe I told him about my little geeky hobby. Ever since I was old enough to read, I’ve been a sucker for tragic romances. Devouring every word, I sometimes cry through the tragic beauty that sweeps me away. Then, when I’m done, I just can’t help myself. I rewrite the ending. Every story deserves a happy ending in my mind.
