“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.
The hair is mine.
The ladies love it.
“You really look like a fucking Viking now,” I muse, lifting my legs up onto the bed and reclining back. If I’m going to be here a while, I might as well make myself comfortable.
Cage gives me a smirk. “You’re just jealous of my manliness.”
I laugh at that and then wince. “Shut the fuck up.”
A few seconds later, the curtain pulls back and my heart stutters. Not from fear or anxiety, but from . . . attraction—pure, unadulterated attraction.
The woman standing at the foot of the bed staring at me has the most gorgeous brown eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re dark and intense, standing out against her pale skin.
She’s completely feminine without being overtly so. Her short hair gives her an edge I find alluring . . . I literally can’t take my eyes off her.
“Mr. . . . uh, Erickson,” she questions, eyes flitting from my brother to the chart and then up to me.
That’s when the creamy skin of her cheeks turns a light shade of pink.
Clearing her throat, she immediately looks back down at the paper. “I . . . I’m . . .” She stumbles over her words for a brief second before she straightens her spine and clears her throat, obviously gaining full composure before looking back up at me. “I’m Frankie.”
Her voice is a bit raspy and low for someone as small as she is. The majority of the population seems small in comparison to Cage, or even to me, but she’s maybe a smidge over five feet and couldn’t weigh more than a buck-twenty-five soaking wet.
“I’m Cage,” my brother says, rising from his seat to shake her hand. “This is my brother Gunnar.”
Apparently, I’ve forgotten my good manners and have been reduced to a heap of blood and bones, just staring at her, because Cage walks over and gives my leg a nudge.
“Uh, let me get you a gown. I’ll be right back.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But it’s obviously not nothing because he continues to smirk, shaking his head.
“Did I say something?”
Barking out another laugh, he turns to me. “No, dipshit. You didn’t say anything. Actually, I was wondering if perhaps the injury is worse than I thought and we should have your head examined.” He leans over the bed, putting himself right in my line of sight. “What’s my name? What day is it? How many fingers am I holding up?”
He flips me off and I swat it down.
“Here.” Frankie is back with a hospital gown that she tosses into my lap. “Put that on and let’s get a good look at what we’re dealing with.”
Glancing down to the gown I realize, for the first time, I’m not wearing a shirt.
So, that’s why she blushed. Mentally I give myself a fist bump. I’ve worked damn hard on this eight pack I tote around and I’m not ashamed of it or any other part of my body, for that matter. And this chick has elicited more of a visceral reaction out of me than any girl has in a long time, if ever, so I’m glad to know I have an effect on her as well.
Smirking down at the flimsy piece of fabric, I pick it up and set it at the end of the bed as I pull myself into a sitting position and toss my legs off the edge, bringing my body closer to hers and getting my first up-close encounter with Frankie.
Her scent is a bit sterile, like this hospital, but there’s also a hint of something citrusy under all of that. I’d love to go in for a closer inspection . . . right behind her ear, where her pulse point is—heart beating wildly, pumping blood to the surface—and inhale.
“Let’s just get to work,” I tell her with a wink, hoping my dick stays put and doesn’t make this even more uncomfortable than it already is . . . for her, of course.
“Lie back,” she snaps, her eyes darting up to mine. A new no-nonsense air floats around her, walls of steel firmly in place, as her gaze turns cold and aloof. “This is probably going to hurt.”
Have I mentioned I’m a perfectionist? When I get something—or someone—in my sights, I can’t stop until I reach the top.
Ace the test.
Make the grade.
Get the degree.
Graduate with honors.
Win all the rounds.
Be the best.
And in this case, get the girl.
** End Sneak Peek**
Beef Cake is Available Now!
Other Books by Jiffy Kate
Finding Focus Series:
Finding Focus
Chasing Castles
Fighting Fire
Taming Trouble
French Quarter Collection:
Turn of Fate
Blue Bayou
Come Again
Neutral Grounds
Good Times
Table 10 Novella Series:
Table 10 part 1
Table 10 part 2
Table 10 part 3
New Orleans Revelers:
The Rookie and The Rockstar
The Ace and The Assistant
The Setup and The Substitute
Smartypants Romance:
Stud Muffin (Fighting For Love, Book 1)
Beef Cake (Fighting For Love, Book 2)
Eye Candy (Fighting For Love, Book 3)
Standalones:
Watch and See
No Strings Attached
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Fix
Molly McAdams
I’m a lot of things.
The youngest Dixon. Town handyman. Best you’ll ever have . . . you’re welcome.
One thing I’m not? The guy who falls in love.
When Rae Jacobs enters my town with her ever-present laptop and caffeine addiction, she offers me a fleeting glance and a simple demand:
Don’t fall in love with her.
Bold.
Assuming.
Laughable, considering she isn’t exactly my type.
Wasn’t.
But she inadvertently shook up my life with her alluring, carefree spirit until I wanted more.
Until I made her mine.
She’s a habit I can’t quit. A fix I can’t get enough of.
Each day brings me closer to saying the three words I’ve always mocked.
But with one call, the piled-high secrets she’s kept start unraveling around her, and I have a feeling the demand that first day wasn’t so simple.
Copyright © 2019 Molly McAdams
Published by Jester Creations, LLC.
First Edition
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the publisher.
Please protect this art form by not pirating.
Molly McAdams
www.mollysmcadams.com
Cover Design by RBA Designs
Photo by © Samantha Weaver Photography
Illustrations by © Oleksandr Babich
Editing by Shannon Andrew
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Print ISBN: 9781950048915
eBook ISBN: 9781950048908
Prologue
Rae
I moved through the bedroom on the balls of my feet, collecting my discarded clothes and shoes from the night before on the way to the dresser drawers. Peeking over my shoulder at where he lay unaware, I pulled on the top drawer, my face scrunching when it made too much noise in the otherwise silent room. When he rolled over in the large bed, I held my breath, dread filling me as I waited to see if he would wake.
I’m sorry.
Five seconds passed . . .
I have to go.
Ten . . .
I know you don’t understand.
Thirty . . .
Nothing.
I let out a slow, relieved breath, then turned to the top drawer where I kept some clothes for the nights I stayed over. With one sweep, I had every article of clothing out of the drawer, and then I was racing toward the bathroom to grab my extra set of toiletries.
Once my hands were overflowing, I tiptoed soundlessly to the living room and shoved everything into my large purse . . . only pausing to pull on some clothes and throw my long hair haphazardly into a bun.
My gaze caught on the foreign object on my finger as I lowered my hands. On the diamond that was equally beautiful and horrific.
On the ring that made my stomach drop and my breaths turn shallow.
I wondered how I had let it get that far as I crept to the bedroom and up to his nightstand. I wondered if the sight of a ring on that finger would always leave me lightheaded and restless.
I hadn’t even said yes . . .
Yet, somehow, with dread filling me and shock silencing me, that ring had made it onto my hand the night before.
He’d kissed me as if I’d screamed my acceptance, brought me back to his place, and revered me as though I’d given him the greatest gift. All the while, lifelong insecurities had nearly suffocated me until I had the overwhelming urge to do what I did best.
Run.
It was what I’d done for as long as I could remember.
Run from relationships. Run from commitment. Run from those three seemingly innocent words that made me cringe . . .
I usually had a better sense of when the relationship had progre
ssed too far. I usually disappeared long before the guy ever got it in his mind to buy a ring—let alone propose—but I’d let myself get distracted.
I vowed to never let it happen again as I studied his face one last time, unbelievably handsome even in sleep.
“I told you not to fall in love with me,” I whispered, the ache in my voice nearly sounding like an accusation as I slipped the ring from my finger and placed it on the nightstand.
Then I ran.
Chapter 1
Rae
I kept my head slightly lowered and fingers flying across the keys of my laptop, letting only my gaze move from person to person in the café. Sitting alone, sitting in pairs or groups, mingling by the counter . . . it didn’t matter, they were all studying me the way I was them. Only difference: I wasn’t so shameless in my study.
I, at least, had the decency to pretend I wasn’t staring like a horde of creepy bots who’d just noticed an anomaly in their town.
The sight of their unwavering gazes bordered on unnerving, and I wondered—as I so often had over the last two hours—if I was dreaming all of this. If someone had kidnapped and stashed me in the trunk of their car and at any second, I would wake up in their basement, bound to a chair.
That last gas station I stopped at around two this morning that had been in the middle of nowhere? The one in that ghost town with the squeaky windmills with the sinister-looking old man? Yeah, that one . . .
If, in fact, I was kidnapped, I bet that’s where I was taken from.
Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set Page 136
