I want to be happy. I just refuse for it to be siphoned from those I love.
The feeling that I’m drowning on land evades me when Sloane gabbers out, “Five minutes.” When I peer at her, stunned by the sudden flip in our conversation, she winks, then rolls off my bed. “Five minutes of wallowing, then you’ll need to pop your headphones on. The sun is rising, and I’ve only orgasmed three times. It’s time to add some bass to the tingles in my pussy.”
While doing the worst Beyoncé booty shake I’ve ever seen, she shimmies out the door, closing it behind her. Although I’m in desperate need of a shower, I roll onto my side, hug my pillow, then shut my eyes, where I spend the next four hours pretending I can have both my crush and a life without misery.
6
Maddox
I wake up startled when the buzz of my cell phone vibrates across the coffee table of my friend’s crash pad. He’s out of town, and I promised to water his plants. I wasn’t meant to fall asleep. When I’m dog tired, I usually pass out for a solid eight hours. Since I didn’t have eight hours to burn between ‘dates’ with Demi, I put Diehard on Netflix, pumped up the volume, then guzzled down three cans of energy drinks like they don’t have the ability to kill me.
That should have kept me awake until next Thanksgiving.
As luck would have it, my brain is far more brilliant than me. I not only got four hours of sleep, but I also dreamed about Demi the entire time.
It’s been an awesome twenty-plus hours.
While scrubbing a hand over my eyes, I use the other to snatch up my cell phone from the coffee table. I’m not shocked when I unearth the identity of my caller. Justine snoops into her brothers’ lives as much as we interfere in hers.
Justine: Caidyn said you didn’t come home last night. Is there something you need to share?
As I pace toward the shower, I type out a reply.
Me: Depends? How high do dirty dishes rate on your naughty scale?
I add a heap of horned devil emojis to my message.
Her reply arrives at the same time I reach the bathroom.
Justine: Aww… you washed dishes for her. Mom will be so proud!
The rest of my message screen is filled with sickening heart emojis.
Even while giving myself a mental pat on the back, I roll my eyes like we’re talking in real-time instead of over the phone.
Me: I’m about to have a shower. Need to wash the stickiness off my skin. I’ll buzz you later.
As three dots trickle across the screen, I remove my gym shorts, t-shirt, and trunks.
Just as I flick on the faucet for the shower, Justine’s next message pops up.
Justine: Way TMI… but I still expect to be updated on all the deets later.
I hit the thumbs up button before sliding into the shower, praying like fuck I’ll have more to share than an innocent peck on my cheek after a second date.
My bristle-covered jaw is drenched with cologne, my outfit is more suitable for a man planning to dine at a high-priced restaurant, and my hair is combed back from my face. I don’t give a fuck what Caidyn says, my suaveness smashed it out of the park this morning.
After hooking a leg over my bike, I push out the kickstart lever. I’m about to fire her up, but a snarky voice stops me in my tracks. “You should stick with the brooding act. She seemed to favor it over the college jock you played yesterday.”
Agent Arrow Moses steps out of the shadow of an apartment building’s low-hanging frontage. He’s dressed like we’re not in winter. I guess his moody FBI demeanor makes a coat unnecessary, so I won’t mention the fact he’s peeved as fuck I was a no-show to my fight last night.
“You know what they say, Ox, the good guys always come last.”
“I wasn’t playing,” I respond, even with my head demanding for me to keep my mouth shut. “Not with her and not when I tell you if you keep following me like you fucking own me, I’ll be forced to show you otherwise with more than words.” I ball my hands into fists in case the snarl of my words didn’t get my point across.
Agent Moses whips his sunglasses off his face to ensure I can’t miss the disdain in his slit gaze. “You’re threatening me? A federal agent. I could have you put away for life.”
“I’m not threatening you.” I smirk when he can’t hold back the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I’m telling you how it is. That’s all you ask of me, isn’t it, Agent Moses? My brutal honesty.”
Those were the words he used when he encouraged me to accept an underworld associate’s invitation to fight in an illegal circuit. He said I’d have a chance to clean up the streets I grew up on and that women like Demi and my sister wouldn’t have to constantly look over their shoulders when they go out dancing with their girlfriends. Since that’s all Demi does day and night—the looking over her shoulder part of my comment, not the dancing part—I jumped at the opportunity to do some good.
All I’ve done the past seven months is triple Agent Moses’s investment each fight night. We haven’t schmoozed the men who organize the events without the Florida State Athletics Commission’s approval, nor have we accepted their offer to double our involvement in their organization. I turn up, fight, win, then go home with a measly share of the prize money.
The first couple of months, I let the money side of our arrangement brush off my concern. I was making enough coin to pay my college tuition, which removed the burden from my parents, and had plenty left over for the fun and finer things in life—like taking a beautiful raven-haired woman to an exorbitantly priced Latin restaurant for lunch.
I would have continued ignoring the obvious if Agent Moses hadn’t started riding my ass. He doesn’t just want to control what I do in the ring, he wants to govern all aspects of my life. He spoke to the Dean at my college about shortening my classes so I can slot in more hours at the gym, shifted my study schedule without seeking permission, and he even rocked up at my family home unannounced last week like we’re best mates.
In all honesty, I can’t stand the prick. He’s arrogant, temperamental, and when things don’t go his way, he chucks a hissy fit worse than any tantrum Justine has ever pulled. He’s a loose-fucking-cannon, and I’m done putting up with his shit.
“I don’t think I can make next week’s fight, either. I need to wash my hair or some shit.” While fighting the urge not to farewell him with a two-finger salute, I dip my chin, mentally flip him off, then kick over my bike’s engine. My father didn’t just teach us how to protect ourselves, he taught us values as well, and Agent Moses isn’t enough of a man for me to lose my morals over.
The healthy revs of my custom Triumph Bobber should drown out Agent Moses. Unfortunately for me, he raises his voice to ensure it can’t. “Do you really think she arrived at that gym at the exact time she did for no reason?”
He doesn’t need to say Demi’s name for me to know who he’s talking about, and I don’t need to nibble at the bait he’s throwing out to announce that. Demi’s uncle owns the gym I work out at. I knew that when I drove the forty miles from my local gym to Stamina, and I knew it when I signed up for a year-long membership.