by Leigh, Ember
“You heard me.”
“It hadn’t even occurred to me.” He paused. “Today.”
She sighed tersely, shaking her head. Maybe this had been a bad idea. She could see where it would lead. Not as bad as Harvey Weinstein, probably, but somewhere in the James Franco region. And if she couldn’t stand anybody, it was James Franco and his intolerable smirk.
“That was a joke,” Levi said, leaning over the table. When she didn’t return his gaze, he tapped her wrist. “Hey. I’m talking to you.”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
“I hired you because your work made my chest hurt. Like, in a bad way. But also a good way. I don’t know how to describe it.” He crossed his arms, chair creaking as he leaned back. “You’re an amazing photographer. That’s all. Your psychedelic booty does not enter into the equation.”
A laugh rocketed out of her. “My psychedelic booty?”
Another one of those heartbreaker grins crossed his face. The kind she’d fallen for in the past. The kind that spelled trouble.
“You’re an artist, Riley. I can’t just say you have a nice ass, okay? That’s a little too common for you.”
She struggled to fight the smile. Levi was a breath of fresh air that she didn’t want to admit needing. Somehow, he’d managed to compliment her without making the claws come out. That alone was a feat.
“That’s quaint. But please know—this is a job for me. You need to keep your hands to yourself.” She jabbed her index finger toward him for good measure. Made her feel like she was driving the point home. “Got it?”
Levi raised his palms in submission. “Never thought otherwise.”
A pleased smile crossed his face, and he interlaced his fingers across his torso. He tapped his thumbs against his chest for a minute, and then he said, “We friends now?”
She tilted her head as she looked him up and down. Friends seemed safe. Now that her boundaries were stated and hanging in the air between them, it might be time to give him an inch.
“Almost-friends,” she clarified. “Like, I’m not going to call you on the weekends.”
“But if you have an emergency, you’d call me then?”
She pursed her lips, considering it. “Yeah, you seem like you’d be good in a pinch.”
“What about Snapchat?”
She shrugged. “I’d add you.”
“And Facebook?”
This guy was a negotiator. If he added her on Facebook, she’d probably spend half her day stalking him. Maybe she wanted to do that, now that she thought about it. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Great.” He slapped the table just as Travis walked back in, holding three copies of the contract.
“You two behaving in here?” he asked as he distributed the contract.
“Yes, Dad.” Levi smirked, picking up his copy.
“Dude, I’m like, seven years older than you,” Travis said. “You can’t call me Dad.”
“I’ll call you what I wanna!” Levi reached out and smacked Travis’s ass. His cackle filled the room.
A laugh escaped Riley, and she hid her smile in her hand.
“I’d hit you if you didn’t need to look pretty for the cameras tomorrow,” Travis muttered, shaking his head.
“You’re gonna hit me anyway,” Levi taunted. “Don’t act like you train light, Trav.”
“That’s some truth right there.” He smiled, knocking his knuckles against the table. “Oh yeah, that reminds me. Tomorrow. You free, Riley? That’ll be one of Levi’s big practices before the match.”
She scrambled to get out her phone but couldn’t ignore the way Levi swiveled back and forth in his chair. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. But it wasn’t because she disliked the attention.
“Yeah, I’m good tomorrow.” Her work calendar was embarrassingly empty. At least now she had Levi’s dates to fill in—and the weekly paychecks that would save her ass for as long as he stayed qualified in the league. She hated to admit it, but the man was a godsend. His ego would have loved to hear it, which meant that she must never, never say it out loud.
They laid out the rest of the dates, which Riley tapped into her phone. The agreement was that they’d schedule on a weekly basis, based on the outcome of each match. Levi and Travis both oozed confidence that he’d be competing until the very end. They spoke so seriously about it that by the end of the meeting, Riley had blocked out the next four months in her phone for intermittent practice sessions and the monthly fights.
“You don’t know the kind of boxer this guy is,” Travis said as he stood, gathering his papers. “It’s insane. I can’t wait to see what sort of pictures you get.”
“Aw, Dad,” Levi teased.
“Swear to God—” Travis started.
“He’s in his mid-thirties so we have to give him crap,” Levi said to her, as if Travis wasn’t standing a few feet away.
Travis sighed. “I’m not in my mid-thirties.”
“You’re thirty-two!” Levi accused, scooping up his contract. “You’re practically a grandpa.”
Travis wet his bottom lip as he shook his head. “You know what? I am gonna pop you good tomorrow.”
Riley snickered. However long she’d be tasked with taking pictures of Levi, it was sure to be interesting. Because one thing was clear—the man made sure everyone around him left with smiles on their faces. It was a quality that made her curious to learn more…even though she wished she didn’t wonder.
It was the wondering which led to more.
Levi’s cinnamon gaze settled on her. He held the door open for her after Travis passed through, his grin like a caress against her arm.
“See you tomorrow,” he murmured. “My almost-friend.”
His words rang in her ears as she drifted out of the gym. His face haunted her thoughts all the way back to her studio in the mid-day traffic.
And that, right there, was all the sign she needed.
No matter how badly she’d been burnt the last time around, if she gave her heart an inch, it would take a mile.
Levi wouldn’t even get a millimeter.
Chapter 4
Levi paced the far edge of the gym, tapping his taped knuckles together.
On the other end, throngs of people milled around. Conversations and laughter echoed through the spacious training camp, but it all receded to a dull roar as Levi tried to amp himself up.
It was just a practice, but he treated it like the real thing.
If he had to create a pie chart of his life, he knew what the breakdown would look like. Home and eating: 25%. Fighting or preparing to fight: 60%. Having sex or thinking about sex: 15%.
This practice was a sliver of the 60%. Fighting consumed his life, and it was one of the three things he required in order to function. Though recently, the sex percentage rang in a little low. He’d need to start eating less to bump that sex number up. Because fighting wasn’t going anywhere.
He glanced over at the double doors as Riley walked in. His belly cinched, like a knot being pulled tight, and he damn near tripped over himself.
He kept up his pacing, but he couldn’t rip his gaze off her. She swept in, pure moodiness and art in her studded black jean shorts and combat boots, camera bag slung over her shoulder.
The girl messed him up. Her looks were one thing, but the stuff that came out of her was another. The day he’d met her, he’d pegged her as a challenge. The type of girl he could aim to win over within a day or two, if he worked hard. But once he’d seen the stuff that poured out of her—the heartache and the loss and the inexplicable sense of optimism buried in her haunting images—he’d realized she was in a different category altogether.
Levi wanted her. God, he wanted her. But maybe too much.
He had fantasies galore about how he’d bend her over a chair in front of that creamy white backdrop and fuck her while the camera clicked with automatic shots. Sizzling visions of sex backed up against the gym wall, sweaty after a fight.
Yeah. She more th
an messed him up. He’d known her less than a week, and the only name in his mind was Riley.
But he knew how to solve it. The same way all pressure was dealt with.
Fucking, getting into trouble, and moving on.
“Almost time.” Lex jerked his head toward the octagon at the center of the gym. Riley stood off to the side, snapping pictures of the gathering crowd. It was mostly MMA enthusiasts and gym patrons who came to these informal matches. Excitement pulsed in the air; the anticipation of seeing expert punches and mesmerizing footwork. Riley didn’t know what she was getting into—she’d been right about that. But Levi suspected she’d like it. She drifted toward Travis, who was conferring with Cobra about something.
Travis was a good guy. One of the best trainers to cross his path since he’d decided to make fighting his profession at the young age of twenty. Levi needed to make him proud. There weren’t a whole lot of people left in Levi’s inner circle—beyond his little brother, at least. Travis had been hesitant to take him on initially, because Levi had an unpredictable streak, and he didn’t hide it.
He couldn’t hide it, not even if he tried. His arrests and drama always ended up surfacing, whether it was in the police beat or the local newspapers. That was in Chicago, at least. But out here, who knew? He wanted to hit the big-name tabloids. Featured alongside the tired articles about Angelina Jolie secretly reuniting with Brad Pitt in New Orleans, or the “news” about Ariana Grande’s latest love interest. Levi could get there. He would get there. He’d be that name that could conjure interest and gasps.
He just needed to cause a big enough ruckus that heads would turn.
Travis signaled for him to join the others at the octagon. Levi jogged over with a pep in his step, practically skipping like a kid arriving at the sandbox for the day. This was his sandbox. Where he let loose and played.
“You’re going against Cobra first,” Travis informed him once he’d weaved through the first few rows of people gathered around the octagon.
“Poor guy,” Levi said, loud enough for Cobra to hear. Cobra often volunteered himself for these mock matches. The guy fought well, but he wasn’t at competition level. That was according to plan though—it meant Levi could try out his new moves without tipping Cobra off.
“Hey, don’t kill me, okay? I’m taking Gen out tonight.” Cobra smirked as Travis taped his hands. “She’d be pretty pissed if I show up dead.”
“I’ll let you live,” Levi said, rolling his head in a slow circle. “But I can’t promise you’ll look pretty.”
“Goddamn, that’s music to my ears,” Cobra said.
Levi heard the quiet clicks of the camera behind him. He twisted to see Riley snapping pictures from behind the mesh caging of the octagon.
“Hey, Riley,” he called out, hopping from foot to foot. “You know what they say about photographers?”
She lowered her camera slowly, a look that said Oh God on her face. “What?”
“They tend to flash people. But keep your clothes on with all these people here, okay?”
He sent her the cheesiest grin he could muster before he joined Cobra in the octagon. The time was now. Travis cupped his hands around his mouth to shout out the pre-fight rules—no groin attacks, no strikes to the back of the head or spine, no eye gouging, and so on—and then he called out, “Fight!”
Levi and Cobra circled each other for a little bit. The two of them had a similar fighting backstory—no real formal training until their early twenties, which meant they were both underdeveloped in some ways, compared to more trained fighters like Travis.
Levi had been busting ass for the past six years, since age twenty, to catch up in all the ways he was lacking. Because that was when his entire life had changed. When it became not only necessary but critical for him to figure out a life path and stick with it. For entirely different reasons than everyone else in his age group.
Cobra struck first, which Levi sidestepped. He feigned a punch and then swung in from the side. They sparred heavily, punches raining quick and loud. All his thoughts dissolved under the microscopic attention span of a live fight. His movements became fluid and frictionless. No thought required—just falling back on the years of training and his gut.
Cobra put up a good fight, but Levi ultimately scored a takedown and fully mounted him, pinning his knees to his sides. Cobra did his best to defend himself, even scoring a few punches, but Levi won the round. Shouts erupted, and Levi hopped to his feet, offering a hand. Cobra begrudgingly took it.
“I never know what you’re gonna fucking hit me with,” he grumbled.
“That’s the game plan, brother.” Levi pinched his deltoids. “Good fighting, though.”
Levi grabbed his water bottle sitting off to the side. He met Riley’s gaze through the wide netting of the cage.
“Hey,” she said, hooking a finger through the netting. “This is ruining my pictures.”
He tossed back a swig of water. “Can you make it work?”
“I need a perch.”
Levi laughed, looking around. “You want me to build you a nest over there?”
“Actually, yeah.”
He nodded. She sounded serious. “Okay. I’ll see what we can do.”
Levi returned for another round with Cobra. Time flew once he was in the zone, and after Cobra was done, another fighter joined him, and then another. He’d fought five men by the time the makeshift match was done. Cheek swollen, lip bleeding, and his entire mid-section sore as hell. Just another day on the job.
He groaned as he hobbled out of the cage. Riley had tucked herself off to the side, near the padded gym walls, stowing her camera.
“So what’d you think?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, probably not even a fifth as casual as he was hoping for. His face had to look a wreck.
She eyed him before responding, “I think you know your stuff inside that octagon.”
He nodded, sniffing, looking back toward the cage. “Yeah, I sorta do.”
Riley zipped up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She offered a polite smile. “I’ll see you at the next practice.”
It didn’t register until she was a few steps away that she was actually leaving. Post-fight, when his pheromones were on overdrive. She could walk away, like he wasn’t glistening and half-naked and in his most primal, masculine state ever.
If this didn’t make her crack, nothing would.
“Where ya going?” he called out.
She stopped and turned on her heel. “Why does it matter?”
Her tone reminded him of her words in the conference room the day before, underscoring the implicit message: tread carefully. Barely a week knowing her, and already she was sick of him.
That wasn’t how things should be. And dammit, they wouldn’t be that way.
He worked his jaw back and forth, considering his options. He should go with the truth.
“I actually wanted to see the shots that you got. And maybe learn a little bit more about your process.” When she didn’t budge, he added, “I’m curious. I don’t know many artists. I mean, look at me. I beat guys up for a living.”
Riley softened. She bit at that plump red bottom lip, her gaze falling to the floor.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Get cleaned up and come over to the studio. I’ll be there, working on the pictures for a few hours. I’ll show you how I work.”
Relief flooded him, but not for the reasons he was accustomed to. This wasn’t about getting in her pants anymore. This was about getting Riley to tolerate him. To see him as the good guy that he believed he was.
Levi flashed her a thumbs up before she headed out of the gym. He watched her go, studying those sun-kissed legs and the sexy curve of her calves before they disappeared into the combat boots.
It wasn’t about getting into her pants anymore, but he sure wouldn’t mind if it happened.
Levi took his time in the locker room, cleaning himself up, getting back into str
eet clothes. His whole body ached. He wished he had a hot tub at his new apartment. He wished he could afford a hot tub.
Someday. He’d make enough money that he could take care of his little brother and be able to splurge on a hot tub.
Which meant keeping up the shenanigans. Making a name for himself. Getting in the news and staying there.
A vibration startled him, buzzing against metal. His cell phone. He swiped it from the top shelf of his locker. Gage.
“Yo, little brother!” Levi automatically smiled when he picked up the phone for Gage. It was part habit, part necessity. He’d never let his little brother see him down or questioning or struggling.
He couldn’t. Because their survival depended on Levi’s positivity. His wherewithal. His craftiness.
“Are you done training yet?” His brother’s voice was weak, but still held the teenage traces of so-over-it. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home for like, three days.”
Levi rested his forehead against the door of his locker. “Just finished. What’s up? All good at home?”
“Yeah, great actually. Levi, I wanna go for a walk.”
A cocktail of emotions seized him. Excitement first, because Gage never wanted to go for a walk. Strictly speaking, he couldn’t walk. Hadn’t been able to since he was ten years old. The type of muscular dystrophy he had took his mobility from when he was just old enough to be devastated by the loss.
So when Gage wanted to go for a walk, it meant he wanted to go out. See the world. Have Levi accompany him somewhere so he could be a sorta-regular handicapped teen for an afternoon. Gage had been cooped up and moody the past few days, the type of sixteen-year-old shit that sometimes made Levi want to punch through a window.
“Well, let’s go for a damn walk then.” Levi tapped his closed fist against the locker door. Even though I was supposed to be on my way to Riley’s.
“What about the ocean?”
Levi tutted. “Bro, that would take us an hour to get through traffic. You’d be asleep by then.”
“Fine. Let’s go to the park?”
“I’m on my way.” Levi shouldered his duffel bag, heading out of the locker room. If he booked it, he could hang with Gage and make it to Riley’s in time. “You better have your running shoes on when I get home.”
