Uncaged Love #2: MMA New Adult Contemporary Romance Read online

  He isn’t quite as refined as Zero. His jeans have some bag to them, and his shirt is loose and wrinkled. I’m not sure why Zero is so against him.

  I turn away. I don’t glance back until I’m well down the block. Angel is still standing in front of the door. Two weeks ago I would have totally scoffed at that behavior.

  But now, I totally get it. You’re not supposed to hang on to the bad stuff, the struggles, the times you fail. Life is really about the parts you want to remember. The happy times. You should hang on to those even if there’s lots of hard stuff in between.

  Chapter 4

  My apartment feels empty when I get back, footsore and exhausted. Once again I haven’t eaten much of anything. I run my hands along my arms, taut and muscled from working at the gym. I guess I’ll lose all the strength I’ve gained.

  I might be able to find a job at another gym. But I don’t know. Even the clang of the weights would probably make me all teary-eyed.

  I’ll start searching tomorrow, some place far from Buster’s.

  My ramshackle room doesn’t have many diversions. The TV works, but without a cable box, nothing comes in. I have one of those cell phones you buy minutes for. But I haven’t been able to afford any in a while. And it doesn’t do Internet anyway, just calls and texts. Zero is irritated it’s not working, as the only way he can get me is by coming over.

  Anyone else I’ve ever talked to was tied to one job or another. We might see each other a while after I’m gone, but it never lasts.

  I try to imagine what my dad would tell me to do right now. It’s been twelve years since I heard his voice, that final good-bye before the oil-rig accident. Even when he was alive, he was gone for huge chunks of time. Maybe if he hadn’t worked offshore, our lives would have been different. He wouldn’t have died, for one. At least not that way. And he wouldn’t have felt like he had to marry someone just to give me a mother.

  My own mom ran off from the hospital the day after I was born. She was a wild child, Dad would say. Blew in and out like the wind.

  Most times I’m pretty sure my hurricanes come from her, those crazy bouts of power and rage that completely take me over.

  My grandmother helped raise me. Dad was her only child, since my grandfather died in Vietnam and she never remarried. And Dad was gone a lot working offshore on oil rigs. We had a pretty good time, Grandma and me. She was a hippie love child, on account of the war.

  Despite all those years of school, Grandma taught me the things I remember most. How to make a daisy chain. That singing to a strawberry plant was the best way to make the berries sweet. And that no matter what, nobody should ever hurt anybody else on purpose.

  When she got frail and could no longer watch me during my father’s absences, he felt pressure to put someone stable in my life. It’s the staple of every evil-stepmother story. Kind father marries a conniving woman, then goes off and dies.

  To his credit, my stepmother, Retta, was nice enough when he was around. She just didn’t know what to do with me when he wasn’t. And after the accident, she resented getting stuck with me.

  Then there was her son, another problem entirely.

  I don’t want to think about that, so I go to the kitchen to wash some plates. Anyone who knows me understands that if I’m cleaning house, stay far far away. I’m brooding over something.

  Zero knocks at the door with his usual pattern. I glance at the battered clock. Weird. He should be working.

  But when I fling it open, it’s not Zero.

  It’s Colt.

  My throat closes up. I can’t do anything but stare at him. It’s like he’s a ghost, except in jeans and a navy jacket.

  “Someone will steal your Harley” is all I can think to say.

  His brows move together, like he can’t believe that’s what I’d say first. “I’ll risk it.”

  “You knew Zero’s knock.”

  He leans against the door frame. His face has never looked more beautiful. I’m stupidly lost in it already.

  “He told me that’s the only way you’d answer.”

  “You met Zero?”

  “He saw the commotion outside and came over to the gym when he got a break.”

  “Does he know I got fired?”

  Colt nods. “I told him. He planned to cut his shift and come over, but I said I would.”

  I back into the room.

  Colt comes in and closes the door behind him. My heart races.

  He looks around. I see the room through his eyes. Cracked walls. Rumpled carpet. A sagging sofa by an armchair half destroyed by a previous tenant’s cat.

  “It’s not much,” I finally say. “But I don’t need much.”

  In two big steps, he’s got me. I’m crushed against his chest. I don’t know what it is, pity or what, but I decide not to fight it. Not yet.

  He smells of outdoors and a little bit of exhaust. It’s masculine, and I breathe it in. His arms squeeze me even tighter. I relax into him, although inside, a tingle has begun to thread its way through my body. This isn’t the gym with other people around. It’s just us.

  He presses his lips into my hair. “I talked with Brittany,” he said. “She’s spinning it. A crazed fan trying to break my comeback.” He huffs a rueful little laugh. “She’s good at that.”

  “Do they know who I am?”

  “Nobody even knows your name but Buster, and he’s not talking.” Colt pulls back, and the entire front of me shivers at the loss of heat. “They’re calling you the Kettle Belle.”

  I snort. “That’s the most ridiculous name ever.”

  He rests his hands on my hips. “I kind of like it.”

  I’m having a hard time breathing. If he knew I’d spent the day mooning over him, I’d die of embarrassment. “So, what’s going to happen to Kettle Belle?”

  “She’ll get her fifteen minutes of fame.” He’s looking down at me like he can’t get enough of my face. I feel a flame licking inside me.

  “And then?”

  “Everyone will forget about her.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Everyone except me.” He grins, and I see that his dimples are lopsided. One is deeper than the other. I resist the urge to touch them.

  “Should I hide for a while?”

  He shrugs. “Your hair was down and kind of wild.” He tilts his head. “You haven’t seen the pictures?”

  “No.” I leave out that I don’t have a computer or a working phone.

  He tugs his cell from his pocket. “I’ve made my own private gallery of them.” He’s smiling, as if those images didn’t just make a huge mess of his career.

  He angles the phone toward me. The first one is the almost-kiss. I look so small next to Colt. We’re staring at each other, just inches apart. But it’s true about my hair. It’s everywhere, and since it’s a profile shot, I’m not super visible.

  He flips to a quick collage of others. Me peeking around the brick wall. My wide eyes, hair all a whirl. There are a couple of Colt carrying me. Still, I’m barely recognizable to myself. Even the ones that show my face have hair half covering me.

  “Buster came out and threatened the lot of them. Let’s just say a few lenses got cracked.”

  “Oh. Wow.” I can’t see Buster even raising his voice.

  “He’s hiring a security guy for outside. On my tab.” He puts the phone away.

  I sink onto one of the chairs. “Do you have to deal with this all the time?”

  He sits down on the sofa. “Not really. I’m not Brad Pitt or anything. They’ll show up when my manager calls them, but no, they don’t really follow me on a day-to-day basis.”

  “But now?”

  He leans back, clasping his arms behind his head. “A few with nothing better to do might tail me for a day or two. Nothing I can’t manage.”

  I glance at the window, suddenly paranoid someone might spring out to take a shot.

  He sees me and laughs. “I made sure no one followed me here.”

  I
realize I haven’t offered him anything. “I have water. And maybe some crackers.” I jump up from the chair. “You want something?”

  “Maybe you could sit over here?”

  I hesitate.

  “This is the only thing I’ve wanted all day,” he says. “To get here.”

  The comment warms me over. But I still don’t move. “What made you think you would find me?”

  “I planned to worm it out of Buster. I got lucky with Zero.”

  We watch each other across the room. “Sure I can’t get you some water?”

  “I guess the mountain will have to come to Mohammed.” He stands up, smooth and easy despite the sunken cushions. Before I can figure out his next move, he’s in front of me and holding out his hand. “How can I get you to sit next to me?” he asks.

  I take a step back. “Answer some questions, for real this time.”

  He lowers his arm. “Fair enough.”

  “Is your engagement fake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  He sinks back onto the sofa. “Brittany and I have been friends for years. Never a relationship. I sort of discovered her. She was training, and man, she was fierce.”

  “Her record is terrible.”

  He frowns. “Yeah, in the ring, she’s a mess.” He sweeps a hand through his hair. I realize that this is his nervous gesture. “She caught the eye of this cosmetic company, though. It was a dream deal for her.”

  Bah. A makeup model. I sit down opposite him again. “That sounds like my worst nightmare.”

  This makes him smile. “I bet so. But they wouldn’t sign off on her, since she was doing so badly.”

  “But she never got any better.”

  “I know. So she changed her style. Went the pretty route instead of tough. Changed her nickname to ‘Bombshell.’ Started doing silly things in the ring for attention and press.”

  “I bet that didn’t go over well with the serious fighters.”

  “Yeah, at first they lined up to kick her ass.”

  “So, how does the engagement come in?”

  “She ran out of people willing to get in the ring with her. I’ve been getting her fights. Our relationship means managers are willing to make trades. I do this match if she gets that one.”

  “But you haven’t been fighting.”

  He pauses, looking at me, and I know he’s realizing I’ve checked up on him. “No. Not since — not for a while. So, this was a last-ditch thing. Planning a big fancy wedding gets attention. She’s really close to getting the deal. She’s trying to show that she can get publicity.”

  That’s what she meant in the back room with that Greg guy then. The contract.

  “So, what happens now?”

  “She’ll keep spinning what happened. Divert the press by going dress shopping.”

  “But you two stay engaged.”

  “Until the deal is signed, yes.”

  I lean back in the chair. “Meanwhile, I’m out of a job.”

  He looks over my head, probably at the water stains. “Jo, what do you want? I can get you anything.”

  I jump up from my chair. “I don’t want anybody’s charity.”

  “You took the last job I got you.”

  He has me there. “It’s different now.” And it is.

  He stands up. “Because I’ve kissed you?”

  I walk behind the chair. I want something between us. “Maybe.”

  He moves toward me, and my heart is hammering like it’s going to bust out of my chest.

  “Jo,” he says, and my name sounds different than before. He says it so softly. “Come here.”

  His always-changing eyes are almost pure green right now, just the tiniest bit of brown around the rim. He’s close enough that I can smell him again. His hands cover mine where they are gripping the back of the chair. His sleeve shifts, and I see something black on his wrist.

  It’s my ponytail holder. He’s put it on his arm. My heart squeezes.

  When I still don’t move, he lifts my hand, examining my fingers. “You doing okay after the fight?”

  I nod.

  “Brittany’s face is pretty banged up. You have to be hurting from that blow.”

  And from half an hour of smacking the bags, I think, but I still don’t answer.

  He begins kissing my knuckles, and the heat bolts straight from my fingers to my heart. No one has ever kissed my hand. That fairy-tale feeling comes over me for the second time that day.

  “Why aren’t you married?” I blurt out, trying to stay in control.

  He looks up. “A lot of fighters are single,” he says. His lips return to my hand.

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s hard to watch someone get the pulp beaten out of them, over and over.”

  “I kinda liked watching Brittany lose.”

  He smiles over my fingers, his eyes sparkling. I know I’ve lost the battle. Everything in me is warm and loose. He lifts my hand and leads me around the chair like it’s a dance. And I go, like I’m a partner being turned in a circle.

  He pulls me close. “That’s better,” he says against my forehead. And, same as that morning, he pulls at my ponytail to free my hair.

  “Now they’ll know who I am,” I whisper.

  “Nobody’s going to see you like this but me,” he says.

  My head is on his chest. I think his heartbeat may be the one I’ve heard the most in my life. And this after knowing him only a few weeks. I can’t remember being small, although I have impressions of my grandma rocking me. Perhaps I once knew her heartbeat just as well.

  He keeps it easy. His fingers flow through my hair, then massage my neck. He touches my shoulders, feeling the muscle there, making his way down my arms. “You’ve come so far so fast.”

  I pull away a little. “Is that why you’re like this? Because I have fighter potential?”

  He runs his thumb beneath my chin. “It’s the first thing I knew about you. I saw you cutting into that group of guys and thought, ‘This girl has got something like nobody else.’” His eyes are earnest as they gaze into mine. “And I’ve seen a lot of fighters.”

  I can barely swallow. His lips are so close, and I’m remembering what it felt like for them to kiss me. I want it again. I want it now.

  Colt knows. I can see that he knows. He leans forward, and there it is, that soft connection of our mouths. This time, though, everything rushes at me very fast. Heat blasts through my whole body. I realize that if the kiss is this incredible, the rest could be so much more.

  I refuse to be shy anymore. I’m not avoiding some jerk guy who makes me uncomfortable or afraid. This is different, and now I want to know what everyone else has always known. I press into him, hard, letting my tongue go to him first this time. He groans, and his arms come around and pull me in tight.

  We’re touching everywhere, our chests, our bellies. I realize that he’s erect against my hips. His legs are slightly bent so that we connect, and now he’s pressing into me. Even through his jeans I can feel all of him.

  I can’t breathe, so I break the kiss. He steps back to the sofa and sits down, taking me with him. I shift so that my knees are on either side of his thighs. His hands move beneath my hoodie to my waist. “You’re so impossibly tiny,” he says. His mouth moves to my neck, nudging away the collar.

  I want to move faster, to grind against him. But I hold back. I can’t seem more experienced than I am, or else it will happen too fast. I don’t know what I’m ready for. But this is bliss, pleasure erupting along my skin where his kisses fan around my neck. He encircles my waist, his hands almost connecting. I’m not tough Jo anymore, pushing obnoxious guys away, cutting off their crude comments. I’m Colt’s Jo, his Kettle Belle, and I want him. I need for him to be close.

  His thumbs graze the bottom of my bra, and I suck in a breath. For a moment I flash to a painful squeeze, a nipple pinch that made my eyes pop with tears. I refuse to let that memory come forward. I shove
it back. But I’ve stiffened a little, and Colt has noticed. He pulls his hands out from under the hoodie and just holds me tight, one hand in my hair.

  I’m both sad and relieved. I have to think this out. Let the memories of my stepbrother come forward, and then kick them back down. I realize I can do this now. I am safe enough to look objectively at what he did, and what I had to do to get away, to protect myself. I’m moving forward.

  Something pulls free, a heaviness lightened. I feel like I’m coming out of the ground, like a seed rather than a zombie. Colt pulls me back and looks me in the face. “There’s no rush here,” he says.

  I can only nod.

  His eyes are shining, like he’s happy. And I’m realizing, we are.

  His phone buzzes. His face switches to an annoyed frown.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “That would be Brittany,” he says.

  “Another problem?” Not like he could know. The phone is in his pocket.

  “No, I promised I’d bring you to see her.”

  “What the hell for?”

  He sighs. “I’m going to have to ask you to trust me again.”

  I can’t help but wonder, what now?

  Chapter 5

  I expect we’re going to meet Brittany at the gym, or maybe a restaurant. But Colt pulls up to a hair salon.

  “She can’t wait until after her hair appointment to bawl me out?” I ask as Colt locks the helmets to his handlebars. He brought one for me, so I know he and Brittany must have planned all of this ahead.

  He doesn’t comment. It’s late, and the salon is closed. Colt stands in front of the door for a moment, waiting.

  “Open, Sesame, maybe?” I say, a little more sarcastically than I intend.

  He smiles down at me, undeterred. “She’s assuming you’ll agree to her idea.”

  The door opens, and a petite Japanese woman steps aside to let us in. “Hello, Mr. Colt. Hello, Miss Jo,” she says. “Please come in.”

  The place is lavish. The only beauty parlor I’ve ever been in was my grandmother’s. There, they all had caps on their heads, lined up in a row. The only hair colors seemed to be white-blue, silver-blue, and gray-blue.