“With blue balls to boot.”
Rolling my eyes, I huff. “Yeah, okay, fine, the bluest of blue balls, but that’s not my biggest concern.”
That title goes to Frankie Reeves.
What the fuck is going on with her, or happened to her, that she’s so unwilling to let me in?
“You should just cut your losses, man. Walk away.”
This makes me jerk around and look at him like he’s lost his damn mind, but that doesn’t stop Cage. He keeps rattling off bullshit.
“I’ve known girls like Frankie Reeves and they’re more trouble than they’re worth. If she was into you, you’d know by now. Maybe she’s stringing you along for the fun of it. You know, there are chicks out there who get a kick out of shit like that. Like this one girl I hooked up with for a while back home—one day, she’d act like I was her favorite person. The next day, she would pretend like she wasn’t interested. Come to find out, she was playing fucking games. She’d been burned so much, leading men on was her way to get revenge.”
He says that last part with air quotes and I feel a fire ignite in my stomach. Frankie is nothing like that. I know people. I read people. And no matter how she acted last night—or any time before that—one thing I know for sure is Frankie isn’t out to hurt me. If anything, she’s trying to keep herself from being hurt . . . and maybe me too.
“Cut your losses,” he reiterates. “You don’t need that kind of distraction in your life right now.”
The fury must be written all over my face as we lock eyes. Cage lets his words simmer and I try not to lose my shit. The protector in me wants to pound his face in for even speaking about Frankie like that. I want to rage. He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. But then I see the shift in his demeanor, the slight change of features—going from stern to understanding.
He recognizes something in me, like a reflection in a mirror.
“Unless . . .” he starts, pausing. “Unless there’s something more there. Then I’d say fight for what you want. But don’t let her come between you and the progress we’re making here. If this is still what you want . . .”
If this is still what I want.
It is, right?
I want this.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted, what brought me to Green Valley.
But now, I want something else too—Frankie Reeves. She’s worked her way under my skin and into every fiber of my being.
“A piece of advice,” Cage says, letting me think and not asking me for anything. That’s my big brother. “She might need you to put it all out on the line for her. Some people need that. They need to know if they fall, someone will be there to catch them.”
I can’t let things end like this, not without putting it all out on the table first.
Thankfully, since I drove Frankie home last night and then picked her up this morning to take her back to Maryville, I now know where she lives. So, after my training session is over, I run upstairs and shower and throw on an old pair of jeans and an Erickson MMA t-shirt. It’s old, and a little small, but since it’s been washed a million times and stuck with me through high school and college, it’s my favorite. I always find myself wearing it when I need a little comfort.
Yes, even big, tough MMA fighters need comfort from time to time.
This is one of those times.
Shoving my wallet in my back pocket, I grab my phone and head down the stairs. It’s not until I’m in the truck that I realize it’s still relatively early and I have no clue how long Frankie stays with her mom on Thursdays.
To buy myself a little more time and keep my mind from going off-course, I stop by Daisy’s Nut House for some donuts. It never hurts to come bearing gifts; anything to help break the ice around Frankie’s heart.
When I pull up in the parking lot, I see a few bikes parked side by side and I immediately get a rush of adrenaline and my head feels a little lighter, like it does before a fight. Brushing my hair back, I grab a rubber band from my pocket and tie it back. It’s a nervous habit and probably why I don’t cut too much off.
These could be any bikes . . . any bikers. But thanks to my conversation with Cole and what little I now know about the Iron Wraiths, I’m on edge.
Walking into the diner, I let my eyes roam until they land on a table full of guys in leather. I don’t recognize any of them from the night they had Frankie cornered in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot, but that doesn’t mean anything. It was dark and I was more focused on her than them.
An unfamiliar face is at the counter when I place my order, but that’s probably because I’ve never been in here at this time of day. “Four jelly-filled donuts, if you’ve still got some.”
“You’re in luck,” the girl says. “We normally don’t, but it was an unusually slow morning.”
She grins at me as she goes to grab my donuts and I offer a polite smile in return, but then quickly focus my attention back to the table of bikers. When one turns in my direction, I don’t avert my gaze. If he recognizes me, I want him to know I’m not scared of him.
He squints and I can’t tell if he has trouble seeing or if it’s supposed to warn me off. Whatever is the case, I still don’t look away.
A few seconds later, he turns back to the other two sitting at the table with him and they begin to discuss something quietly, but never look back at me.
“Four jelly-filled donuts,” the chipper girl says, handing me a bag.
“Thanks,” I say, pulling out cash to pay.
She catches my line of sight and looks over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about those guys. They’re pretty harmless.”
“You know them?”
Shrugging, she says, “Everyone does, but I don’t let them get to me.”
“Iron Wraiths?” I ask. Her eyebrows shoot up.
“Yeah, but I like to pretend they’re just regular ol’ nobodies.”
Smirking, I nod. “Good thinking.”
Regular ol’ nobodies who have something to do with my girl. Yeah, my girl. Frankie is mine until she point-blank tells me to go jump off a cliff. I know there is something between us. I can feel it. I can read between her lines. I’m starting to learn her nuances and I want to know more. I want to know everything, including what those fuckers have to do with her, what they want with her.
Giving them one last scathing look, I turn back to the girl. “Thanks,” I say, holding up the bag and not missing the way she looks at me and then back to the table of bikers. There’s a warning in her glance that says, “Don’t poke those bears.”
I’m not planning on it, but I also want them to know there’s someone new in Frankie’s life and he’s not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway.
When I pull into Frankie’s drive, her car isn’t there. Taking out one of the jelly-filled donuts, I eat my feelings while I wait.
It’s over an hour before I see her Mustang turn at the corner and then move slowly up to her drive. If her approach is any indication, she’s not happy to see me here.
Reluctant, at best.
Stepping out of the truck, I shut the door behind me and wait for her to get out of her car. She takes her time and that’s fine. I’m willing to take this as slow as she wants, as long as she allows me to stay.