The Boxer (Modern Love Book 2) Page 2

  “It’s his brother.” A recurring nightmare I’ve had is that if my best friend marries Chase’s brother, I’ll have to continually see him at their wedding, their baby showers, their kid’s graduation…

  “Tahl.” She waits for me to give her my full attention. Once my eyes are on hers she continues, “Let’s not talk about Chase for one night.”

  “Deal,” I say. She unhooks her arm from around my shoulders and we try to catch up with Lennon as masses of people file in front of us.

  “This is that hot of a thing?” I ask, noticing it’s five guys to one girl waiting to get in.

  Lennon moseys back our way. “Shit, what a sausage fest.” She elbows me, thinking whenever sausage comes up in conversation she needs to point it out to me since my dad owns the biggest sausage company in North America.

  I nod, my eyes floating to the top of my eyelids. It’s easier to let the jokes go than to argue.

  “There are a lot of guys. I guess Cole had the right idea.” Whit and Lennon exchange a look and then glance at me. “You’re a shoe-in for a rebound tonight.” Whit elbows me.

  As I reach to rub the side of my ribs, it all makes sense. Whit also thinks I need to get over Chase by being with another guy. It’s not just crazy Lennon—the sensible one in our group, Whit, agrees.

  Lennon quickly cozies up to two guys with tattoos covering every inch of visible skin, including their neck. The two of them sandwich her between them and their eyes shine to one another with intrigue.

  “WHIT!” a male voice screams, and both of us rise to our tiptoes to peer over everyone.

  “Cole,” Whitney says, his name dripping with love as she falls to her heels, grabs my hand and starts walking us toward the gate.

  “Maybe I’ll see you inside, boys,” Lennon flirts as I grab her hand and tug her forward.

  We walk like we’re in grade school, linked like a chain. Upon our approach, Cole hands cash to the guy at the entrance.

  “Enjoy the fights,” the guy says, giving the three of us a once-over.

  “This one,” Cole says and picks up Whit, lifting her over the waist-height metal fence, “is taken, but they”—he points to Lennon and me—“are available.”

  The guy nods his head and stamps our hands, his gaze never leaving us.

  I smile politely and step on the metal fence. When I find myself stuck with one leg over the other side, Cole helps me the rest of the way over.

  “Hey, Tahl,” he says, and I smile. Ever since the wedding fiasco, Cole’s face always bears sympathy when he looks at me.

  If everything had gone right, Cole would be my brother-in-law, but sadly, his brother doesn’t believe in monogamy.

  “Hey, Cole. Come here often?” I ask coyly, and he laughs.

  “Lennon and Whit giving you pointers in the car?” He eyes Whit and that humor I had fades.

  Cole’s in on this too?

  As Cole busies to get Lennon to stop flirting with the guy at the door and actually enter whatever this makeshift underground fighting thing is, I look around.

  There are six rings staggered under a series of tents. I didn’t notice how far back the event goes from the taxi. It’s mostly guys walking around with Solo cups, and the smell of cigarettes lingers in the air.

  I plug my nose and wave my hand over my face when a guy blows out a stream of smoke as he walks by me.

  “Disgusting.” I stick my tongue out, and Whit agrees.

  Once Cole and Lennon join us, he grabs Whit’s hand and we all link together, follow-the-leader style, pushing through the crowd. Cole stops us at a table by the bar area.

  Three guys who look like they should be on a commercial for male-pattern baldness sit around the table. One with no hair, one with some, and one with the most.

  Lucky for me, I don’t recognize them as being anyone I’d ever met through Chase. That’s the thing with Cole, though, he hangs out with people not associated with his prestigious surname. Unlike his brother, who always used his name for clout and benefits, Cole’s almost embarrassed and tries to keep who his father is a secret.

  Cole sits down and pats his lap for Whit, since there are only two open chairs. Not like Whit minds. I’ve heard enough snippets of their sex life that she’s probably grinding on his already-hard dick right now.

  I sit while Lennon doesn’t.

  “Grab me a beer, Tahl, I’ll be back.” She walks over to the nearest fighting ring, and I soon hear her cheering on red short guy. Literally, she’s saying, “Go, red short guy! Make him work for it!”

  “She’d fit in anywhere,” I comment.

  “Not the country club,” Whit jokes, because when we were in high school, I took Lennon to my parents’ country club and it was the first time I’ve ever seen her shut her mouth. Not a word the entire event until we left.

  “True.”

  We share a smile, and I’m reminded what great friends I have.

  “Okay, this is Tahlia.” Cole points over to me as he starts the introductions. His other hand stays firmly planted on his girlfriend’s ass. “Tahl, this is Derek, Sammie, and Todd.” He points to the three men who look oddly alike.

  “Hey,” they each say and wave.

  “Are you brothers?” I ask, and they look at each other as though they don’t know the answer.

  “Yeah,” Sammie says.

  “Nice.” I cross my legs and we all chit-chat for a bit before I glance at the bar. “I think I’m going to grab our drinks.”

  “I’ll get them.” Cole taps Whitney’s ass to move, and she’s squirming to stand when I hold my hand up in the air.

  “No, I’m good.” I position my purse crossways over my body and straighten my shoulders as I walk toward the bar.

  The line is moving, and it’s like Main Street in a small town with how many people are approaching others and asking them how they’re doing. I’m so enamored by the friendliness of this group, a group I’d usually have no contact with, that I don’t notice when a guy approaches me.

  “Hey, want in?” he asks.

  I glance behind me. He’s a smaller guy, with dark slicked-back hair and an unkempt beard.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask, pushing the strands of my blonde hair behind my ear.

  “The fight. The final one starts in about…” He glances at his Rolex watch. The guy must do well unless it’s a fake, but from the quick look I got, it’s not. I should know the difference, Chase owned two. “A half hour.” I notice a wad of cash in his pocket.

  “I’m sorry. This is my first time here. I don’t know the fighters.”

  His eyes zoom over my right shoulder and then back my way, a smile now teasing at his lips. “Want to meet one?” he asks, and instinctively I look to my right and left, waiting to see some guy with red or blue boxer shorts on, but there’s no one.

  “You going to give me a backstage pass or something?” I ask.

  He laughs, revealing a mouth full of capped teeth. “No, babe, I’m not. Listen, these are the rules. It’s Brock Hayes and Lucas Cummings tonight. This fight’s been expected for some time, and you have a fifty-fifty shot with either one.”

  Is this guy serious? He expects me just to bet on two guys when I have no idea who they are?

  The line moves forward, but every step I take, this guy matches.

  “What’s your name?” I ask the little gnat who doesn’t seem to want to leave me alone.

  “Shawn,” he answers.

  “Okay, Shawn. Here’s twenty.” I pull the bill from my wallet, discreetly covering my other cash.

  “Who you betting on?” he asks, grabbing a raffle ticket and poising his pen, waiting for my reply.

  “Um…” In my head I’m doing eenie, meenie, miney, mo.

  “I’d go for Brock,” a guy who’s suddenly appeared next to me chimes in.

  He has the most gorgeous green eyes. Seriously, like two emeralds lit up with a spotlight. My gaze moves down to his chiseled, scruffy jaw and pouty lips. My stomach flutters, my heartbeat
stammers, and heat builds between my thighs.

  Who is this man?

  “Why?” I ask, swallowing down the saliva pooling in my mouth.

  “Lucas is a newbie, and he’s the underdog.” He widens his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing black track pants and a t-shirt that’s faded as though it’s seen the inside of a washing machine a million times.

  “But Shawn says it’s a pretty even fight,” I argue and the guy looks at Shawn and then back to me.

  “He’s trying to take your money. Believe me, bet on Brock.” He nods and a girl comes over, handing him a water bottle.

  “Thanks.” She tiptoes up and kisses his cheek. “Tonight?” she asks and I understand her presumption.

  Excuse me while I swallow back the bile rising up my throat. Of course, the gorgeous guy is a man whore.

  “Thanks for the water,” he says and ignores her question. She scurries away and his eyes focus back on me.

  Wanting to get these drinks and get back to my table, I dig into my wallet and grab a hundred-dollar bill. “Fine. One hundred on Lucas.” I hand my money to Shawn, and he scribbles something on my ticket, handing it over to me.

  “If Lucas should win”—he laughs like it’s impossible—“come see me over there after it’s over for your payout.” He points to a long table just past the makeshift bar we’re standing in front of, and I nod.

  “Sure thing.”

  The line moves forward, as does Shawn to the people behind me, but the hot guy is still right next to me.

  “You like the underdogs?” he asks, taking a sip of his water. I fixate on the way he’s licking his lips. Damn, I bet he’s one of those awesome kissers. Not that I’ve ever had a kiss that made my knees weak, but I bet this guy can do it.

  “I do.” The line disperses and I step up to the bar, ordering a pitcher of beer for the table and a glass of Moscato for myself.

  “Sorry. Beer, water, and wine coolers only,” the bartender says. I stare blankly at him.

  “Vodka?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Did I say vodka?” he snarls.

  “Well, no.”

  “Come on,” the guy behind me whines, and the hot guy shoots him a look that has him taking a step back.

  “Give her my stuff, Ted,” Muscles says.

  The bartender nods and moves into a cooler, grabbing a bottle of Grey Goose vodka. He pours it into a Solo cup and slides it my way.

  “I don’t suppose you have a lime?” I ask and the gruff silver-haired bartender stares at me with no expression on his face. He screws the top on the vodka and places it back in the cooler.

  Hot guy tugs my elbow and we slide to the opposite edge of the bar.

  “This isn’t exactly your type of place, huh?” he asks, taking another sip of his water.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, a little offended.

  A cocky grin reveals a mouth of perfectly white teeth. “Because you look like you’re about one second from crying your eyes out.”

  “No.” I inhale a breath. Who is this guy?

  I’m here.

  I’m dressed.

  I’m drinking.

  I just bet on a fight.

  I’m enjoying myself just fine.

  “Maybe I’ve never been here before, but I’m not upset, nor do I want to cry.” I grab the pitcher of beer and my straight vodka.

  He cups my elbow to stop me. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you. I just wondered why you’re here?”

  My shoulders fall. “My friends.” I point to the table where Whit’s tongue is halfway down Cole’s throat and two girls are flirting away with the brothers. Lennon is nowhere to be found.

  “You’re friends with the Mendles?”

  I shrug.

  “The Mendle brothers. They’re the ones who own the gym and host the boxing nights.”

  “Really?” I ask, looking back over to see their jeans-and-t-shirt-clad bodies. They own a boxing ring? “They’re friends with the guy who’s being resuscitated by my friend’s tongue.”

  He laughs, and our eyes lock for a beat longer than they should. “Do you give CPR like your friend over there?” He steps closer, and I don’t draw back. Maybe this guy isn’t as bad as I thought.

  “Not on the first meeting, no.”

  “First date?” he asks, the mint from his gum igniting my awareness.

  “I’m not looking for a date right now,” I say.

  “You’re not? How about a new friend?” He picks up my vodka glass and brings it to his lips. He peers at me over the rim of the glass.

  “I have a lot of friends.”

  “No one can ever have enough friends. Plus, I come with great benefits.” He tips the cup, and I lose sight of his eyes briefly until he swallows and places the cup down on the bar. I glance to the side to see he’s at least left me some of my drink.

  “What kind of benefits?” I ask, leaning into him more and wanting him to tell me everything he’d do to me.

  “Intrigued?” he asks.

  As embarrassed, as I am to admit it, I nod. That arrogant smirk widens. Maybe a rebound screw is what I need, and if I’m going to, I want this guy. This guy can give me what I need—a crazy sex fest where I can’t walk for days.

  He glances behind us into the crowd and back my way, grabbing his bottle of water from the edge.

  “How about you meet me after the fight, and I’ll show you the benefits I’ll bring to our budding friendship?”

  The heat that was building ignites into a wildfire between my legs. I nod, unable to verbally convey my agreement.

  “There’s a spot on the north side of the tent. Meet me there about a half hour after.”

  I nod, and he leans in close, his breath tickling my skin.

  “I’ll need your verbal commitment before I bestow you with my benefits.”

  Then he backs away, winks one of his emerald eyes and turns on his heel.

  Holy shit, did I just agree to a one-night stand?

  3

  I place the pitcher of beer on the table, and one of the brothers starts pouring. You’d think since they’re the hosts tonight, they’d be buying me drinks. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do. Though Chase never went to the bar without getting me one. So maybe that’s not a good sign about being a gentleman. I’ll get my own drinks from now on.

  The one brother, Sammie, aka ‘some hair,’ tries to make conversation, asking me about my purse. Seriously, is that what Cosmo is telling men to talk about these days to get a woman interested? Get her talking about her accessories? No, thanks. Whit isn’t much of a distraction. She’s still on Cole’s lap even though there’s an open chair now. They’re in their new relationship bubble, and it’s about as annoying as the hangnail I’m picking at. I glance down at my chipped, plum nail polish, already calendaring a manicure for tomorrow.

  Lennon skips over to the table, beaming with mischief. The chaos of our surroundings only pulls out more of her quirky personality.

  She falls into the chair next to mine. “I just made out with a guy,” she whispers like we’re thirteen and Jimmy Twendle just flirted with her.

  “Great.” I take a sip of my drink, letting the burn numb me. Hopefully.

  “I heard this next fight is going to rock. The Brock guy is some huge son of a bitch who hasn’t lost a fight yet.”

  She continues to ramble on about his previous fights, so my eyes drift to the crowd, searching for my fellow vodka lover. Sadly, there are too many people to spot him.

  “Let’s go.” Lennon stands, grabs my arm and pulls me forward right to the bar line.

  “I already have my drink.” I raise my Solo cup, and she rolls her eyes.

  “Tonight is the night for you to let loose and alcohol is the only thing that brings out the less anal part of your personality. Speaking of…have you ever done anal?”

  My eyes widen for a second. “Have you?”

  “Um, yeah. Of course. You know that saying? ‘Once you go ana
l you know it’s not shameful.’” Her expression says ‘duh.’

  “I’ve never heard that saying,” I deadpan and move into line with her.

  Lennon shrugs. “What is that?” she asks, tiptoeing to look into my glass. “How did you score the hard stuff?” she asks.

  “A guy.” I shrug.

  “A guy,” she mimics, waiting for more information.

  I look around to make sure there aren’t any ears too close. “I met a guy at the bar, and he wants me to meet him after,” I say in a low voice so that no one will overhear. But it’s useless because she squeals so high every person in a ten-foot radius stops and stares. Lennon’s ability to not give a shit shows when she screams even louder the second time.

  “About fucking time. You’re going to get laid tonight.”

  My face warms and I change my stance, wishing a mini-sinkhole would swallow me up.

  “Shut up,” I bite out, and she rolls those gray eyes of hers.

  The line moves, and it’s like déjà vu all over again as I inch forward.

  “Shut up? You’re slutting up, and I love it. Where is he?” She’s searching as though the crowd is going to part and he’ll appear through the mist.

  “I don’t know. He said after.” I down another gulp of my drink. The thought of a one-night stand almost makes me itch from hives.

  “Awesome. And from the looks of things around here, any one of these guys can probably give you multiple orgasms.” My mouth hangs open, and she eventually looks over. “Come on, Tahl. I know Chase was a selfish lover.”

  I bite back a response that would protect Chase, but the truth is, he never really seduced me. Half the time, I brought myself to completion in the bathroom afterward. Heck, probably ninety percent of the time. I really need to stop giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  I shrug, not in the mood to talk about my ex-fiancé, since I still feel like I must not have been that great of a lover to him since he was getting laid all over the place while we were engaged. There’s nothing worse for the ego.

  Thinking about Chase, I down the remaining vodka and hold the cup in my hand.