Cutie and the Beast: A Roommates to Lovers Single Dad Romance (Cipher Office Book 3)

by Smartypants Romance

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9899961.M_E_Carter

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  Find Smartypants Romance online:

  Website: www.smartypantsromance.com

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  Twitter: @smartypantsrom

  Instagram: @smartypantsromance

  Read on for:

  1. A Sneak Peek of Beef Cake, Book #4 in the Donner Bakery Series by Jiffy Kate

  2. M.E. Carter’s Booklist

  3. Smartypants Romance’s Booklist

  Sneak Peek: Beef Cake, Book #4 in the Donner Bakery Series

  Gunnar

  “Oh, yeah, that’s it!”

  You know when you’re somewhere between dreaming and waking up and you’re unsure what’s real or not?

  That’s where I am right now.

  “Right here,” he says, somewhat out of breath. “That’s perfect, baby. Stay still, though, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I can handle it.”

  I could’ve sworn I was having a sex dream but now, I’m not so sure.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  They’re going to break the fucking bed with the way the walls are shaking.

  “Shit, it’s still not going in all the way. Do it harder, Cage.”

  And, I’m awake.

  Hearing my oldest brother’s name being called out and told to do it harder is enough to kick me out of the deepest sleep.

  Guaranteed.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  “That’s it! Just a little more, babe. You’ve almost got it.”

  “I don’t want to break it,” Cage growls out in frustration.

  “One more stroke and you’re there.”

  My god. There aren’t enough pillows in the state of Tennessee to bury my head in to block out the sound of my brother and his girlfriend having sex.

  Also, is he trying to kill the poor girl? He’s twice her size and it sounds like he’s trying to plow her through the damn wall.

  BANG.

  “That’s it!” she exclaims, elation thick in her tone. “You did it!”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you, babe.” He sounds out of breath and it’s all I can do to keep last night’s dinner from spewing all over the bedroom. I could’ve lived another twenty-two years without being witness to this exhibition.

  “That stud was a nightmare to get the nail through.”

  Huh?

  “That’s why these old buildings are so great,” she says. “They were built to last, strong and sturdy, just like my Viking man.”

  Tempest’s voice just dropped.

  Why did her voice drop?

  Cage laughs, and his voice is deeper and . . . husky? And that’s my cue to get up and make it known I can hear everything going on before things really get going. It also might be time to move to the other side of the apartment.

  Or the fucking state.

  I’ve been here in Green Valley for a week and it’s been great so far, but I don’t want to cramp their style or make things uncomfortable. I also don’t want to inadvertently be a third wheel to their fuck-fest on a regular basis.

  That happened too many times back home with my other brothers and it’s a trend I don’t care to continue. If I had a job, I could move into my own place, but Cage is a fucking hardass and the training schedule has been brutal. Any employment outside of training for a fight and teaching classes is out of the question. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. That’s why I’m here—to train and be the best, and eventually, to be as good as him.

  By the time I’ve dressed, brushed my teeth, and opened my door, Cage has Tempest pushed up against the wall across from my room with his tongue down her throat, right next to the framed picture they obviously just hung.

  Tempest immediately pulls away and hides her face in his chest as she chuckles, but my brother can’t bother to even pretend to be embarrassed.

  “Just let me get to the kitchen before you two attack each other again, please,” I mutter, quickly walking past them, avoiding all eye contact.

  Tempest calls out, “Sorry!” But Cage follows up with, “No, we’re not,” before I hear a door slam closed.

  Quickly, I fix myself a protein shake and head downstairs to the studio to begin my morning workout. I’m not mad at the lovebirds upstairs, not in the least. I’m thrilled Cage has finally found his person and is in love. But I’ve just met Tempest and, although I think she’s great and perfect for my brother, I’m not comfortable seeing her being manhandled by the guy.

  I’m used to my brothers bringing random chicks to the studio and to the house we used to share, but I knew I’d most likely never see the women a second time. In this case, I’m pretty sure Tempest will become my sister-in-law, sooner rather than later, and I’d rather not know any intimate details about her, if you know what I mean.

  My warm-up takes the usual thirty minutes or so and then I switch to my official workout. It’s seamless, one flowing into the other. It's like breathing to me: easy but necessary. I need to feel the burn of my muscles, the sweat rolling down my body, the tightening of my lungs every day. It helps to clear my mind and stay focused while getting me closer to my goal of being the top MMA fighter in my weight class.

  I’ve been going at it for a good hour when Cage finally waltzes in, his smile making it very clear he was going at it good too, but in a different way.

  Asshole.

  Between punches, I glance at him, giving him an intense glare just like I would an opponent. I swear if I wasn’t wearing boxing gloves, I’d flip him off just for being his smug self and silently rubbing his sexcapades in my face. It’s been way too long since I’ve been balls deep in anything besides my palm and I don’t appreciate being woken up with a resounding reminder that, once again, Cage gets everything he wants.

  And he’s the best at it.

  Fucker.

  He’s even good at retiring, even though it was forced upon him thanks to a career-ending injury. Regardless, he’s excelling at it, totally making it his bitch. This new gym is everything he ever wanted Erickson’s to be and more. It’s personal, one-on-one coaching. There isn’t any showboating. Everyone is treated equally.

  Sure, he doesn’t have many patrons yet, but he’s building a good, solid foundation. Besides, once I go pro, he’ll have all the publicity he can handle, and I’ll be doing for him what he spent his career doing for our family gym back home.

  “I’m sorry, man,” he finally says, breaking the silence with a laugh. When he sees I don’t believe his bullshit, he holds up his hands in surrender. “I am, I mean it.”

  Eventually, I hold my punches and face him straight on. “Look, I’m happy for you and Tempest, but I really don’t want to walk in on the two of you fucking. If I need to find another place to live, I will.”

  “Don’t be stupid, G. We’ve had this place to ourselves for months; you’ve been here a week. It’s an adjustment for all of us, but we’ll make it work.”

  A few beats pass before I give him a nod, sweat dripping off my hair and onto my forehead. After swiping the back of my covered hand over the damp skin, I continue hitting the bag in front of me. I know he’s right, and I’m damn thankful to be here. Without Cage and this opportunity, I’d have to tuck tail and go back to Dallas and get lost in the mix of Erickson MMA. With all the big names and bigger egos, that’s the last thing I want.

  Even though Green Valley, Tennessee is a culture shock, it’s already growing on me and it’s the perfect place to buckle down and focus on my end-goal—be the best, no distractions, make it to the top.

  I’m toweling off an hour later when I hear Cage call my name.

  “Yeah?” I holler back.

  “Can you give me a hand hanging this new bag?” he yells from the other side of the studio.

  Recently, he acquired an
other portion of the strip of old buildings the studio resides in. It’s a great set-up. He and Tempest have turned the upstairs into great living quarters, and everything below is nothing but mats and bags with mirrors lining most of the walls. Eventually, Cage plans to build a ring in the middle of the new building, amping up his arsenal of training equipment.

  Fuck, before he’s done, this place will be better equipped than Erickson’s. He’ll have enough space to host his own events. Being in the backwoods of Tennessee, there’s nothing like this for miles. You’d have to go into Knoxville to find something even close, but all of those gyms lack one thing.

  Cage Erickson.

  I might be biased seeing as how he’s my older brother and I’ve always looked up to him, putting him on a pedestal, but it’s true. Before his injury, he dominated the sport. Everyone wanted a piece of him even though they knew they couldn’t beat him. They just wanted the bragging rights: I fought Cage Erickson—The Fighting Viking.

  I want that.

  I want to be everything he was . . . but better. I’m going to fight smarter and be in it for the long haul. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Now that I’ve paid my penance and finished college—something Cage never did—I’m going for my real goals.

  “On my way,” I finally call back, tossing my towel down and jogging over to where he’s standing on a tall ladder, marking where to drill bolts into a beam that’s attached to the ceiling.

  “Hold the ladder,” he instructs when I walk in. “This thing is shaky as fuck and if I don’t get this in, I’m going to Hulk smash this place.” He mutters continuously as he positions the bolt and begins to drill.

  Hanging bags is something my brothers and I have done together for years and we usually make quick work of it. This time, though, is proving to be more difficult.

  Cage has managed to strip a couple of bolts trying to drill them into the old steel beam and he’s getting more pissed by the second.

  Meanwhile, I’m trying not to laugh and piss him off even more.

  “You got a good grip on the bag?” he asks when he finally gets the bolt in and attaches the hook.

  “Got it,” I tell him, ready to get this shit over with so we can go back to training.

  As I’m holding the bag, I feel the tension give way. Instinctively, I look up just in time to see the chain whip through the air.

  I try to drop the bag and guard my face, but I’m not fast enough. The impact of the chain hitting my face knocks me off balance and I fall to the floor with a thud.

  “Oh, shit, man! Are you okay?” I hear Cage jump down off the ladder and the next second he’s kneeling down beside me, hovering. “Let me look at your face.”

  “I’m all right, just a little stunned.” I hiss, pressing my hand to the skin and feeling a sting. “I might have a shiner, but those are a dime a dozen around here.” Sitting up slowly, I try to get my bearings.

  Cage curses under his breath before rushing off. Seconds later, he tosses a towel at me with instructions to hold it to my cheek then grabs his phone and calls Tempest.

  “Hey, baby. Look, we’ve had a bit of an accident in the studio and I have to take Gunnar to the ER.” His eyes grow concerned and he draws his brows together when I bring the towel away from my face and we both see all the blood. “No, I’m sure he’ll be fine, but I’d rather a professional check him out just to be safe.”

  My stomach rolls as I register how the once-white towel is now bright fucking red. You’d think being a fighter, I would be good with blood, but this is more than I’m used to. Besides that, typically when I see blood, it’s usually coming from someone else. Not to be overly cocky, but I'm a damn good fighter.

  “Keep that towel on your face, dammit,” Cage orders.

  “Where the fuck is it coming from?”

  Come to think of it, my face feels a little numb.

  Cage grabs me by the arm and helps me stand, then quickly guides me outside to his truck.

  Once I’m seated and buckled in, he jumps behind the wheel and takes off, tires screeching as we leave.

  “You have to talk to me, man. What’s going on?” I’m practically begging for answers because all I know is my face is bleeding and we’re headed to a hospital somewhere. My brother’s silence, while probably soothing for him, is only causing more panic to rise in me.

  “I think the chain that hit you must’ve had a jagged edge because it sliced the shit out of your cheek. I’m sorry, man . . . that’s on me.”

  Hearing the worry in his voice is concerning.

  I’ve always looked up to Cage, idolized him probably more than I should, but he’s always taken care of me. I can see it all over his face that he feels like he’s failed me somehow because of a stupid accident that could’ve happened to anyone.

  “Shit, bro. I know you hate me being better looking than you, but you didn’t have to fuck my face up,” I say, trying to diffuse the tension with some humor. When he takes his eyes off the road for a second to look at me, I give him a wink and the best grin I can manage, but he doesn’t take the bait.

  “It’s not funny, G. You could’ve been seriously hurt. It could’ve sliced your fucking eye or something . . .”

  I hear the unspoken truth. It could’ve sliced my eye and taken me out of the ring—and ended my career before it ever got started. But it didn’t.

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” I joke, quoting our favorite Monty Python movie. This gets a smirk out of him and I see his shoulders relax some.

  “Where the hell is this hospital you’re taking me to?” I ask as Green Valley fades into the rearview mirror and nothing but trees frame the road.

  “The closest hospital is in Maryville, about thirty minutes away.” He glances over once more, giving me a furtive stare. “Keep that towel pressed on your face . . . we don’t need you losing too much blood.”

  I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, but I quickly shut that shit down. The splitting pain from my face moving is enough to make my stomach roll again. The initial numbness I was feeling is fading and now, I have to admit, I’m kind of nervous.

  Put me in the ring with someone twice my size and I’m good.

  Stick me with a needle and I’m the biggest pussy you’ve ever seen.

  “Think I’m gonna need stitches?” I ask, sounding more like a kid than I’ve felt in years.

  Cage sighs, his right hand leaving the steering wheel and settling on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You’re going to be fine.”

  Just like always, I believe what Cage tells me—because in all my twenty-two years, he’s never steered me wrong. For my entire existence, he’s always been there to back me up and right my wrongs. When our other brothers would give me shit as a kid, Cage would come to my defense.

  Maybe it’s our difference in age? Him being seven years older than me might’ve put enough years between us that I didn’t annoy the shit out of him like I did Viggo, Vali, and Ozzi. Or maybe it’s our similarities? When I say I’ve always looked up to Cage, I mean it. It’s been from day one.

  My first memory of him is in a ring. I was probably four and we were watching one of his early fights. It was in a dingy, rundown gym and the kid he was fighting was taller and bigger, but my big brother didn’t let that scare him. He fought that giant with everything in him, leaving it all on the mat.

  I remember the roar of the small crowd when everyone cheered for him. It was the first time I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he was awesome and I wanted to be just like him.

  When we pull up at the hospital, Cage parks the truck in front of the emergency room. Walking inside, I see the lady at the window and watch as her eyes go wide at our approach. I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with my injury and everything to do with the beast at my side. Plus, I’m no small cookie.

  Together, we probably look very menacing. If you didn’t know Cage, you’d probably think he’s some kind of assassin. He’s a scary looking mother fucker. I’m not as big as he is, but we’re built the
same and look a lot alike—same ice blue eyes, same blond hair.

  “He’s got a nasty cut,” Cage offers. “We’re going to need to see a doctor right away.” His tone is direct, leaving no room for discussion.

  Her eyes snap from Cage to me and then back to Cage. “Yes, sir . . .”

  There’s a buzzing sound and the doors to our left open and she meets us there. “Follow me. You can fill out the paperwork while you wait for the doctor.”

  Once we’re in one of the curtained-off areas, I have a seat on the edge of the bed while Cage paces the small space, making it feel even smaller and making my anxiety spike.

  “Sit the fuck down,” I tell him once the lady leaves. “I told you, it’s a flesh wound . . . I’m fine.”

  He stops, turning and running a hand down his face. “Sorry . . . I’m just thinking of what Mom’s gonna say when she sees your face.”

  I roll my eyes. “Like she hasn’t seen worse.”

  Our mother is married to a fighter and has raised five boys who all spend time in the ring, if not professionally, then recreationally. She’s no stranger to injuries. Over the years, she’s seen us all beaten to a bloody pulp. That can’t be easy, which is why she’s probably so strong—hardened, even. She can’t help it. It’s the only way to survive living with people who throw themselves in front of a punch for the love of a sport. Definitely not for the faint of heart.

  Cage occupies himself with filling out the paperwork the lady brings back, which is helpful because the blood still hasn’t stopped flowing from my face. I’ve had my fair share of split lips and cheeks over the years, but nothing that’s bled quite this bad, which leads me to believe it’s deeper than I thought.

  After a few more minutes the lady from the front desk comes back and takes the paperwork and my insurance card and driver’s license. “Someone will be in shortly to take a look at that.” She winces when I pull the towel back. “Might want to keep that there until the nurse gets here.”

  As the minutes tick by, I feel Cage getting antsier and antsier.

  “What the fuck is taking so long?” he growls, running a hand through his hair, which is way longer than it’s ever been. So is the beard he’s sporting nowadays. I’ve always been the only one who kept my hair longer. I like the way it looks and it’s something that sets me apart from every other Erickson. In a family as large as mine, you’ve gotta work to find your niche.