Wildcard (Stacked Deck Book 1)

by Emilia Finn

  An hour and a half into tonight’s session, Reid calls time and chuckles when one of us ends up with their head in a bucket. It’s almost winter break again, and the snow sticks to the grass outside, but in here, my hair sticks to my face and neck, and my chest struggles to work through the humidity in the air.

  Bent over and resting my hands on my knees, I heave for breath and laugh when a bottle of water is dumped over my head.

  “Wake up, Curls. Don’t be such a wuss.”

  “Up yours.” I stand taller, and accept the towel Reid passes. Wiping it over my face and neck, I peek up at this man – because that’s what he is now, a man – and grin. “That session was shit.”

  His chest bounces with muted laughter. “Made you sweat so much your hair curled. I call that a win.”

  My lungs continue to heave. “I didn’t complain about the squats. Why do you have to punish us all?”

  Shrugging, he accepts the towel back and dives in for a fast kiss. His lips press to mine, his tongue slides over my bottom lip for just half a second, and then he pulls back and grins as though proud of himself.

  “Mm. Sweaty.”

  Yeah… that…

  Reid and I started dating about a year ago. I like him. A lot. He’s good to me, he’s funny and charming, he’s an amazing trainer, and when I constantly rebuff and tell him I’m not ready to have sex, he shrugs it off like it’s not a big deal, and reassures me that if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.

  Someday, he says. Someday, when I’m ready, I’ll come to him, and that’s the day we’ll seal what we have together. But in the meantime, he takes his sexual frustrations out in training, and when he’s feeling extra needy, he’ll call me once we make it back to our dorms, and he’ll ask me to talk to him while he does naughty things to himself.

  I want to sleep with him. It’s not like I’m not a twenty-one-year-old woman with a healthy appetite and a hot boyfriend that kind of adores me, but every time we come close, someone else’s face pops into my mind. Someone else’s eyes stare from the backs of my eyelids.

  When Reid takes things a little far and begins touching, I don’t see him anymore. I see candles in jam jars. I see blankets, and the streetlights from the small town I grew up in.

  I refuse to sleep with Reid if I’m thinking about Ben. I can’t lower myself to be that person, because if I did, it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Reid deserves all of me, and Ben deserves none.

  Ben has moved on just as surely as I have, and though he tried his damnedest to call me after the fight on the lawn, and then again leading up to that Christmas, the calls stopped after I stopped coming home. I couldn’t bear to see him, and when I didn’t, it’s like he finally took the hint.

  Despite the fact he promised he never would.

  We lay under those blankets when I was seventeen, and he made promises that he would never ever let go. He laughed about how he knew I was the most stubborn woman on the planet, but that he knew that about me, and he knew how to handle me. He promised that there was nothing I could do that would make him let go, but in the end, it wasn’t about something I would do, and everything about what he would do.

  He found a new best friend, and I was basically… out of sight, out of mind.

  My family comes to me during the holidays now. They fly over for Thanksgiving, and we get dinner at a local restaurant. I go to the pro fights that Ben isn’t at, and we see each other over Fourth of July when they take a vacation somewhere nice and tell me to fly in and meet them.

  It’s not that I’m unwilling to travel for them. I just don’t travel back there.

  I have six months left in my degree, then I’ll be free and clear to go home again and reclaim my place in my family’s gym.

  Which is another reason I’ve not given into Reid’s wishes for sex; I’m not interested in another long-distance relationship when I leave this place, and I’m not staying here just for a college romance.

  I like Reid Baker a lot, but I don’t love him. And that, right there, is the difference.

  I loved Ben like I’ve loved no other, and we couldn’t even make it work, so there’s no chance in hell I’ll try that crap with a guy I only like. Reid is a sweetheart, he cherishes every step I take, and he’s one of the best trainers I know – and I know a lot – but he doesn’t make my heart skip a beat when he smiles. He doesn’t make me consider changing my very core just to please him.

  Ben changed me in very important ways in our time together; he showed me what not to do. He taught me to never change myself to make a guy happy. He showed me that I was able to be alone and thrive. He showed me that even though something hurts so bad I can barely breathe, my lungs still do their job, even when I’d rather die. He showed me how to be strong and independent, and though it might have been my most painful lesson in life, I’m in debt to him in a way, for throwing me into the deep end of heartbreak.

  It took me a year of bitterness and crying to come to that conclusion about him.

  Before that, I hated him. I hated every breath he was able to take when I wasn’t around, and I hated every handsome smile he ever gifted me with.

  But then Reid talked me into getting dinner with him. As most adults do, he went for the goodbye kiss at the door, and when I didn’t invite him in, despite his heavy hints, I didn’t feel bad about setting up my boundaries.

  Ben taught me that boundaries are okay, and that pleasing a guy isn’t the secret to happiness.

  “Wanna get some dinner tonight?” Reid stands beside me, completely unaware of where my thoughts have wandered, and places my training bag on my shoulder so we can walk out again. He turns toward the stairs in silent direction, so I chug my water and begin walking. “We could head up to the pizza place and carb up.”

  I lower my water and brace myself for the cold air as we step outside of the gym doors. It’s freezing out here, and stifling in there, so I have to prepare each time.

  I tuck my arm in his so our hips brush as we walk. “No dinner tonight. I’m going straight to bed. I have a test tomorrow, so…” I shrug.

  I think he knows I’m lying. It’s not like he doesn’t know who my ex is, and it’s not like Ben’s fight hasn’t been promoted on every channel all over the country for months.

  Reid doesn’t say anything about my thinly hidden omissions, but he firms his lips like he thinks that will change my mind. In my time at college, in the lonely time after Ben, I learned how to be me again. I learned how to be the smartass little girl that shoved bully boys over when they shoved me. I learned how to speak my mind, and not make myself uncomfortable just because a guy smiles and crooks a finger. So when I don’t relent on my plans, Reid throws his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in until I grunt.

  “Okay, well…” I know it bothers him that I refuse to budge on this sort of stuff. “Kyle’s hosting a Christmas party at his house by the lake. Wanna be my date?”

  Happy he’s off the dinner thing, I curl into his side to fight off the chill. “Sure. What day is it?”

  “On the twenty-first. It’s a Friday night, so we can sleep in the next day or whatever.” He flashes a wide grin and presses a noisy kiss to my temple. “I’ll take you out for a greasy breakfast the next morning, and then two days after that, we fly out, right?”

  I nod. “Right. And sure, I’ll come to Kyle’s party. Sounds fun.”

  “Are you excited to be going home again?”

  “I am.” I fight off the memory of Ben’s blue eyes when I think of home. He haunts me. He challenges me to face him again. To square up and not back down. “It’s been a while since I saw everyone, so I’m psyched to be going back.” We step onto the street and cross over. “Are you excited?”

  He scoffs. “Is that a real question? I’m invited to Christmas dinner with Kincaid royalty. I think I might shit my pants from nerves.”

  “Ew,” I laugh. “Please don’t do that. My mom’s chairs are fabric, and I don’t want to scrub them clean again.”

  “Thanks
for the connect, Curls. Seriously.” We slow as we approach the front entrance of my building. “I know it took guts for you to make the call, so I’m really thankful.”

  “It’s okay. Though I still don’t think they’ll change their minds. My family is pretty clean-cut about the fight industry; you go pro through the proper channels, or you don’t go pro at all. I doubt you’re gonna get the answers you want, but–”

  “But it’s worth a try, right?” He pulls me around when he knows I’m inclined to slip out of his hold and keep walking inside. He rests a hand on my shoulders and doesn’t stop pulling until our chests touch. He’s taller than me by almost a whole foot, so I have to fold my neck back to keep him in my sight. “I just wanna say thank you.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “For everything. For coming back to me. For giving us a chance. For being such a cool person.”

  “Aww, shit.” I playfully bat his chest. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

  He chuckles and runs his thumbs down my arms and over my wrists. He holds both of my hands, and runs his thumbs from the bottom knuckles and up to the top. He’s never once asked about the ring I wear on my right hand. Not once, not even during one of the thousand times he’s touched it. “Thank you for being so awesome, babe. My days are better now because I get to walk to class with you.”

  “You don’t even go to those classes,” I roll my eyes in an effort to deflect. “You literally skip your own sessions for mine.”

  “Which is why I’m graduating a year later than I should,” he laughs and reaches up to slide a dangling curl away from my eyes. “I spent too long in the wrong classes in my quest to impress you.”

  “Which was really dumb, by the way. I’m out of this shithole the second I walk that stage. I have no clue why you’d hang around for an extra year.”

  “Probably so I can spend that year with my girl.” He leans in again and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. It’s slow, soft, and follows with his tongue tapping at my bottom lip. Open up. That’s what he’s saying. Open up and let me in.

  Deep in my heart, I think he wants me to open my emotions to him, because we both know he only gets fragments. He doesn’t get what Ben got, because it’s impossible. Ben took those parts, and he never gave them back.

  I have no clue how to reclaim them, so I open in the literal sense, and smile when Reid groans and dives in. His tongue plays with mine, and his hands slide back up to squeeze my shoulders with such strength, it reminds me of his plans to go pro. He’s worked for it. He’s trained for this for years.

  He just needs someone – he needs Kincaid ‘royalty’ – to hear him out.

  Warmth trickles through my blood and slides right down to my toes; he makes it so I can’t breathe, he makes it so my head turns dizzy, so I take a step back and break our kiss.

  I don’t do the public display stuff that a seventeen-year-old running toward her fighter once did. I don’t do romance or courtship – or candles and dates in the back of a truck. I do gym time when I’m not drowning in school work, and when he walks me home at the end of the night, I let him pull me close.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I refocus on his dark eyes and the salty sheen of sweat on his skin. Reid trains us, but he still trains with us to make sure he’s the best.

  “Do you realize, if your family likes my plan, then maybe I’ll be living in your town?” He presses another kiss to the corner of my lips. “No long-distance relationships for us. We’d be right there, together, and happy.”

  “I know.” I paste on a convincing smile and take a step back. “I’m really excited to introduce you to my family.” I lift a hand, then drop it again. “Kinda nervous, to be honest. I’ve never brought a guy home before.”

  “That makes this special.” He reaches out and snags my hand one last time. “Sleep well, okay? I’ll come down and walk you to class tomorrow?”

  “Okay.” I back away, and let his hand fall. “Goodnight. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Wish I could call you tonight,” he smiles. “You could talk to me until I fall asleep.”

  “Ha.” I force a laugh and continue backing away. “I don’t think I could do that. I’d never get to sleep, then I’ll fail my classes more than I already am.” I fuss with the strap of my training bag and work hard to maintain eye contact. “This is my second to last semester. I’m not screwing this up.” I turn when we’re about twenty feet apart. “Talk to you tomorrow, Reid.”

  “Goodnight, beautiful.” He waves and watches me jog up the steps.

  I know he’s waiting for me to turn back and blow a kiss, or some such relationship-y thing, and if it were any other night, I might do it. I’m not normally so… detached. But it’s fight night, and I have twenty minutes to shower and dive into my bed.

  I sprint up the stairs and race into my room. Five seconds later, I race out again with a towel and my soap caddy, then I race to the bathroom and wash my hair in record time. Hot water scalds me until my skin feels like it’s going to melt straight off the bones, but I’m in and out in minutes, I finger-comb my hair to avoid frizz, then I race back to my room in sleep shorts and a sports bra – my typical sleepwear.

  I slam the door closed and toss my shit onto the bed that once belonged to Clair.

  No one moved in again after my second year, but that could have something to do with the donation I begged my parents to make to the school. If I was going to be stuck in this hell, I wanted my own room. I didn’t want to sneak around under Clair’s annoying glare anymore. I didn’t want to have to tiptoe and pray that she wouldn’t growl at me. I wasn’t in the right emotional space to smack her down and tell her to shut the fuck up with her attitude, so I did what every princess does; I asked my parents to buy my way out of a shitty situation.

  I’m not proud of my weakness, but having the room all to myself totally makes it worth it.

  Clair’s bed has become a dumping ground for all of my shit, including the dreaded Econ books I want to make a bonfire out of, but I ignore the mess now as I snatch up my laptop and hit the power button while I dive into bed.

  My hair is still wet, dripping onto my back, but I’m not getting up to dry it off. As soon as my laptop powers up, I exit out of the paper I was writing this morning, and navigate to my emails to find the pay-per-view I ordered a few days ago.

  I hit the links and enter the password, and within seconds, my screen transforms from a fuzzy gray to the inside of the arena I know so well.

  The noise levels are already ear-splitting, but then Ben’s opponent comes down the tunnel amid screams of delight and boos of disdain. Ben is the fight-world sweetheart right now. Every fighter wants to be him, and every girl wants to be with him. He gives off this wholesome look when, every time his hand is lifted in victory, the only women that join him in the octagon since that first time are his mother, or his grandmother.

  He makes the country’s women swoon when he presses a celebratory kiss to Ma’s saggy cheek, or tosses his mother into the air and chest bumps Oz and the rest of the guys. By never bringing a date to his fights, Ben makes it that much more coveted. Exclusive, and if the women try hard enough, buyable.

  I was at Ben’s first victory, and Nora was at his second. But ever since then, his mother has been his constant, as though he has a point to prove.

  To me? Or to the world? Perhaps to Nora.

  I don’t know if Ben and Nora are together. Maybe they are, and she’s unable to come to such events after the first one, because of her history and trauma. Maybe that’s why he takes no one else besides family, because Nora is at home waiting, and he’s hopelessly devoted to her the way he was supposed to be to me.

  The grocery store shelves boast gossip magazines full of speculation every single time I walk through, so much so that I’ve trained myself to skip the magazine aisle so I don’t risk another winter blowout in the ice-cream aisle, like that first time.

  The weeks and months after Ben and I broke up were… messy, and absolutely not something I’d
like to repeat, so every time Bean tries to bring him up while we chat, I cut her off and tell her to stop. I don’t want to know. I can’t bear to know, because Ben stole a teen’s heart, and whether intentional or not, he crushed it in his fighter hands and couldn’t make it better again.

  He still graces my shit list – his was the first name on it, and I suspect he’ll never make his way off.

  Ben’s opponent takes his five minutes to show off and circle the cage to hype up the crowd. He’s pretty young, early twenties, and weighs almost exactly the same as Ben. He’s tall, and has an impressive fight record leading into tonight, but when the lights flick off, and the crowd goes wild, my heart races with adrenaline.

  Ben is the reason the people pay for tickets. He’s the handsome fighter they all want to touch at least once.

  I hold my breath while the lights remain out. I prepare myself; I practice my deep breathing – or some such mantra my gym’s yoga instructor has tried over the years to instill in the “meatheads” – her words.

  But it’s all for naught, because when the lights come on again, I find myself frozen in place while Ben’s eyes stare straight into the cameras and into my damn soul. Bright blue eyes just like his mom’s, with specks of black and silver that I seem to know even after all this time. Ben stares so hard that I feel the heat prickle beneath my skin, and when I get a little dizzy, I let my breath out again on a powerful gust.

  But his eyes – they hold me down.

  He does the same thing every single time he fights. He stares so hard that I swear I can feel his fingers on my spine. I feel tingles in my belly. This routine, this silent promise he seems to make every single fight; this is why I run to the shower and dive into bed. Because he’s going to stare soon, and it’s the only connection I have to him now.

  He’s probably doing the stare for Nora, or maybe even his sister or mom, but I still take it for me. I make sure I’m settled in and waiting for it, and right now, for the minute it lasts, I hold on and pretend it’s all mine.

  Yes, I’m a horrible person. I’m dating Reid, and though it’s been a few years since I last spoke to Ben, I still pretend we have this long-distance thing going, and hope that he thinks of me at least a fraction as much as I think of him.