by A. Rivers
“Actually,” I say, “I work for Bolton & Symes Public Relations. My name is Lena. I’ve already heard Jase’s side of the story, and I’d like to hear yours.”
Her expression sours, her lips flattening and her eyes narrowing. “You work for Jase.”
“No, I work for Mr. Bolton and Ms. Symes,” I correct, sitting on a chair and indicating she should take the one beside me. “Why don’t you tell me what went down, Erin?”
“I thought you were a reporter,” she says, not moving. She doesn’t want to join me, and it rubs me the wrong way that she was so willing to speak to a journalist but doesn’t want anything to do with me. Perhaps she thinks I’m trying to sweep her problem under the carpet.
“I’m not. But I am someone who’d really like to hear what you have to say. Why don’t you sit and start at the beginning?” I wave a hand at the seat. “I promise, I’m not here to harass you. Just to learn the truth.”
Reluctantly, she sinks into it, giving me the side-eye as though I’ve tricked her, and crosses her legs, her miniskirt riding up.
“Jase hit me,” she says with a shrug of one shoulder, studying the lining of the chair. “What else is there to say?”
I take my notebook and pen from my purse. “Was it just once, or was it a pattern?”
She shrugs again. “Just once.” Looking up, she catches my eye. “It was terrifying.”
I make a note of her answer. “Did he often lose his temper with you?”
“Oh yes, all the time.” She’s warming to the questions now, a smile flitting at the corner of her lips.
“And when he did, what would happen?”
“He’d yell, swear, sometimes throw things.” She licks her lips like she has a particularly scandalous tidbit to share and leans toward me. “Once, he punched a hole in a wall.”
I picture the massive, leanly muscled guy from the gym smashing a wall in a fit of rage and shiver. It’s a frightening image. But it also doesn’t gel with what I’ve seen of him. He’s cocky and mouthy, but though he’s certainly pouted plenty, he hasn’t laid a finger on me in any way that’s given me a legitimate reason for concern.
“That must have scared you,” I say, to keep her talking.
Her eyes widen, then she winces, and I feel a pang of sympathy. “You have no idea.”
I duck my head closer to hers, inviting her confidence. I get the impression she’s a born storyteller, and loves having an audience. “Why did you stay with him?”
“Well… I…” She flounders, and I push away the urge to help her. I can’t baby this woman if I want to get to the bottom of things. “I guess…” She gives an awkward laugh. “He’s so fucking hot, you know? And he’s not always a bad guy. Sometimes he was nice to me.”
He’s hot? That’s her first response?
This is Vegas. There are thousands of hot guys out there if that’s all that matters to her. Her answer doesn’t ring true, and I want to poke it and see how she unravels.
“What happened the day he hit you?”
“We were dancing at a club. Flashlight—you might have heard of it.” Her voice is strong and sure now; she’s back on familiar ground. How many times has she told this exact same story? The words sound rehearsed, like they’ve been repeated over and over. I suppose she would have told whichever news outlet she originally spoke to, and probably her friends and colleagues, too. Still, something about her seems too… polished. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was bragging by name-dropping the hottest new club in town, which is next to impossible to get into.
“I’ve heard of it,” I confirm.
Her face drops in disappointment, and I wonder if she was hoping I’d be more impressed by her glamorous lifestyle. “It’s like, the place to be,” she continues. “I was so freaking excited when he asked me to go with him. We had a few shots, and he went to the bathroom.” At this point, it occurs to me that Jase told me he doesn’t drink during fight camps, and I’m inclined to believe him. I wonder if it’s a slip of the tongue, or if Erin just lied. I don’t interrupt though, I want to see where she’s going with this.
“I was dancing by myself and this other guy started hitting on me. I didn’t lead him on,” she says, tossing her perfect blonde hair in such a way that makes me think that’s exactly what she did. “But when Jase got back, he went totally nuts. Like, more angry than I’d ever seen him before.” Her lips twist in a smirk. “I guess he didn’t like seeing someone else’s hands on me. So he shoved the guy away, and it was such an alpha move”—at this point, she sighs dreamily—“so hot, and I just wanted to jump him, so we took a taxi home but he was in a crappy mood and when we were alone, he hit me and told me never to flirt with anyone else again. Then he got drunk, and he’s a mean drunk, so I packed a bag and snuck out.”
My brows shoot up. “You were living with him?”
This was a fact no one had mentioned.
“Ah, no.” She colors, and drops her eyes. “I just left a few things there. Changes of clothes, you know.”
“Stuff that you were worried enough about to go and collect when your boyfriend with an anger problem had just hit you?”
As someone who’s been in that situation, I can attest that my personal belongings were the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to get somewhere safe and be held by someone who cared about me. I know that everyone reacts to situations differently, but this whole conversation seems off to me.
Erin is flustered now. The flush has spread over her entire face and her movements have become jerky. She shakes her head. “He was starting to calm down. I wasn’t in any danger—”
“But you said he was a mean drunk,” I point out.
Like someone slipping on a mask, Erin’s expression changes. Her lips curl, her eyes become icy, and her hands still. The effect is like being doused with cold water. Forget innocent victim, the person in front of me is a straight-up mean girl.
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I’ve had enough of this conversation. I’m going to tell anyone who’ll listen what he did, and I’ll probably have him arrested. Nothing you do or say will stop me.” She stands, her back ramrod straight. “If Jase wants to talk to me, he can come here himself rather than sending his little messenger.” Her sneer could have been taken directly from my high school nightmares. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. You can see yourself to the door.”
My temper flares and I get to my feet. “What’s your play? You want him to come here so someone can take his picture and slam him all through the tabloids again? Because it won’t work. I’m going to keep him far, far away from you.” If it’s the last goddamn thing I do.
She looks up at me because I’m taller than her, which is the only satisfactory thing about this situation. “As if you could.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She steps closer, her hands on her hips, not the slightest bit intimidated by my height. “Jase is mine, bitch. You’re just some girl on his payroll, so don’t go thinking you actually mean anything to him. Desperation is not a pretty look on you.”
All snappy comebacks desert me, and I gape at her. Is she for real?
“I don’t want him,” I tell her. “And even if I did, why the hell would you after what you’ve supposedly been through?”
She cocks her head. “I forgive him. That’s what love is about.”
“You forgive him, but you’re planning to have him arrested?” This woman is deluded. Completely fucking nuts. And I’m beginning to think I got Jase all wrong. However it might appear, I’m not so sure Erin is the victim in this bizarre scenario.
“He needs a push.” She bares her teeth. “Now get your skanky ginger ass out of my salon.”
7
Jase
I meet Lena for dinner at a salad bar. She’s waiting at a table, sipping from a glass of water when I arrive. Her lips leave a scarlet ring on the rim of the glass and I can’t help but think they’d leave a similar mark on my cock. She’s in the
same outfit she wore earlier, whereas I’ve showered and changed into jeans and a t-shirt—the type that’s tight over my shoulders and abs. This isn’t a date, but damned if it doesn’t feel like one. I can’t even remember the last time I sat down for a meal with a woman who wasn’t dating one of my brothers. Well, except Sydney, Gabe’s best friend, who’s a hell of a girl and an honorary member of the team. We all know if any of us so much as looked at Sydney sideways, Gabe would rip our throats out.
Lena, on the other hand, I can look at as much as I please. And fuck yeah, I look. My eyes practically feast on her. She’s crazy sexy, and it’s been a couple of months since I was with a girl so I’m suffering the effects of the attraction because of my self-induced dry spell. I don’t have many superstitions, but having a woman in my bed during a training camp is bad mojo, and that’s a fact. Tried and tested.
“Stop eye-fucking me and sit down,” she says, with no heat behind the words. “I’m starving. I want to eat.”
Sliding into the chair opposite, I give her a slow, lazy grin. “I like a girl with an appetite.”
She rolls her eyes. “Do you flirt every time you breathe?”
“Only with you, cutie pie.” I don’t need to check the menu because this place is one of my regulars. I eat free here three times a week, and in return I wear their logo and talk them up on social media. I gesture around the room. “What do you think? Surprised a meathead like me would choose a salad bar?”
“Not at all.” She takes another drink, leaving more of her lipstick on the glass. “I know how well MMA fighters need to eat. My ex was one.”
Huh. That takes the wind out of my sails. She looks at me like she expects me to ask about the ex, but frankly, I don’t want to know. The thought of her being with another guy leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“Speaking of exes.” She sets the glass down and wipes her lipstick off with a napkin. “I talked to yours.”
A lump forms in my throat, my mouth goes dry and I grab her glass and gulp the water, desperately wanting to know how her conversation with Erin went while also dreading the answer with every fiber of my being.
Her forehead furrows with annoyance, and her nose crinkles. “Get your own.”
It feels strangely intimate sharing her drink. I have no regrets. “Yours tastes better. Is your lipstick flavored?”
She crosses her arms and glares at me. “It’s cherry. Now can I have my water back?”
I shove it over to her, and under her careful watch, pour from the table pitcher into an empty glass. “You were saying?”
She huffs, and it’s so cute I want to eat her up. God, I like it when she’s flustered, and I like it even more when she gives me lip. Is anything about Lena not appealing?
“As I was saying, I had a chat with Erin.” Her cheeks flame, and I wish I could see what’s running through her mind. “She’s a piece of work. What did you ever see in her?” I start to reply, but she holds a hand up. “Wait, I don’t want to know. I can probably guess.”
There’s that snarkiness again. I wonder what she and Erin discussed. Did they talk about me? Whatever it is, it seems to have ruffled her feathers. I want to ask if she’s jealous, because if she were anyone else, I’d think she resented Erin, one female to another, but I don’t dare raise the question. At least, not yet.
“And?” I prompt.
“And,” she continues dutifully, “I may have misjudged you. I’m sorry for that.”
“You… what?” She’s apologizing to me? “Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Are you punking me, Lena?”
She scowls. “No. I’m trying to behave like an adult. I seem to revert to teenage levels of maturity around you, but I want to do better. I made a mistake, and I’m not afraid to admit it. You’re not the loser I thought you were.”
Her admission is music to my ears. I wish I’d recorded it, to replay again and again. I never expected her to be so honest with me. If I’m being real, I thought she was too snooty for that, but perhaps she’s not the only one of us guilty of misjudging the other.
“Thank you,” I reply, letting her hear my sincerity. There’s a time for being a dick and now isn’t it. “That means more to me than you know.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugs self-consciously. “No one is perfect.”
Her lips press together, and fuck, I want to kiss them. The table is narrow, and if I lean across it, I could easily touch my mouth to hers. But if I did, it wouldn’t be enough. I’d want to haul her onto my lap and grind myself into her ass. Would she ride me? Let her tongue tangle with mine and kiss me back with all that pent up fire inside her?
“Jase.” Her voice is low and cautious. “Stop looking at me like you’re hungry, and I’m dinner.”
“I am hungry,” I confess. “And not just for dinner. You look better than anything on the menu.”
She wets her lips, and a breath escapes between them. Her eyes are dark, the blue just a pale ring around her enlarged pupils. Reaching over, I touch her hand, but she snatches it away. A shiver runs through her body, and I harden, imagining how hot it would feel to be inside her.
“You want me, too,” I murmur, watching her try to pull herself together.
Her voice is raspy when she says, “We need to focus on work.”
Sitting back, I let her change the topic, noticing she hasn’t told me I’m wrong.
8
Lena
I didn’t realize it was possible to get so turned on just from hearing a growly alpha male make crude comments across the table in a salad bar. The fact there are people all around us—including children—barely registers. All I know is that he wants me, and I want him, and my single-minded vagina is throbbing between my thighs, begging for attention. Squeezing my legs together, I try to stop my thoughts from veering into the dangerous territory of wondering how Jase’s stubble would feel against my skin.
Ugh, it must be morally wrong for me to be this horny in public. I’m already wet and ready for him, and all he’s done is touch my hand. I’m not even sure I like the guy, even if he’s not the violent asshole I initially believed.
“Lena?” His cocky grin widens, showing his teeth. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, the dick.
“Work,” I say out loud. “Questions.” Yes, that’s it. “Will you answer more of my questions now?”
He sighs, and runs a hand over his damp hair. “There are things I’d rather do, but shoot.”
Resorting to my notepad, I’m about to read the first item when a waitress comes to take our order. I choose a chicken salad tortilla, but Jase orders three separate meals without checking the menu.
“You come here often?” I ask when the waitress leaves.
“Yeah, they sponsor me, so I get free meals.”
“Sweet deal.”
He nods to my list. “What do you wanna know?”
A flock of pigeons take up residence in my belly. Now that I know Jase more, asking these questions feels personal. “You must earn a reasonable amount.” I looked up his net worth earlier. Even if the estimate I found is a little off, it’s impressive. “What do you do with your money?”
The question seems to bore him. He takes a drink from my glass again, even though his own is full. “I bought a house. I pay the bills and the mortgage. I see a physio and a massage therapist every week.”
Nothing surprising there. “You mentioned yesterday that you contribute to charity.”
“Yeah.” He clams up. “Not much to say as far as that goes.”
“Really?” I cock my head. “Are we back to one-word answers and evasion?”
He sighs, and rolls his neck from side to side. Finally, he speaks. “Most of my money goes to King’s Sports Grants. I’m one of their major donors.”
Because I’m a sadistic bitch who enjoys his discomfort, I ask, “Is there a particular reason for that?”
His neck cracks, and he rubs it, but his slate gray eyes catch on mine. There’s something dark and unfathomable in their depths
, and I can’t look away. “If not for those grants, I’d probably be in jail by now.”
Oh. This man gets more fascinating with every tidbit I tease out of him. “Why?”
He shrugs those massive shoulders, and glances behind me. A moment later, the waitress deposits a number of bowls in front of us. Each of Jase’s meals is twice the size of mine, but I’m not surprised he can tuck away food like no one’s business. He must burn through thousands of calories each day, and maintaining that muscle mass can’t be easy. He grabs a fork and shovels lean beef and quinoa into his mouth while I wait patiently for him to answer.
“I grew up dirt poor,” he mutters, looking like he’d rather be having any other conversation. He’s much more confident when he’s on the offensive, especially if that involves suggestive comments and glances hot enough to burn. “Went through the foster system. Never stayed anywhere long, but one of my foster fathers ran an MMA gym, and I picked it up easy. Got one of those grants so I could carry on after I moved. At my second fight, I met Seth, who runs Crown MMA. He was a big name at the time, and he took me under his wing. When I aged out of the system, I lived with him until I could afford my own place.” He looks up and stares at me, as though daring me to look away. I don’t. “There you have it. The sad story of Jase Rawlins.”
“Not so sad,” I say, taking a bite of chicken. “It’s a rags to riches success story. America’s favorite.” When his eyes narrow, I add, “I’m sorry for how you grew up, though. That can’t have been easy. For some reason, I pictured you as a spoiled rich kid.”
This time, he laughs, and breaks away from our stare-down. “You probably saw me that way because it suited you.”
I can’t disagree, and for a while, we eat in companionable silence. When he finishes his beef salad, he takes a break before moving onto the next bowl.
“So what about you? What’s your story, Lena?”
The way he says my name like a caress drives me crazy, and I resist the urge to shiver. “We’re not talking about me.”
