Savor (5 page)

Victorious. A feeling I’m very familiar with, but one that without everyone else around basically feels empty.

You know, I thought for years that every win felt as fucking fantastic as it did because it meant the world knew I was the shit. Because there were thousands of dollars that fell into my pocket. Because watching me in the ring became the best aphrodisiac known to women. After tonight’s massacre, I’m starting to think otherwise.

“That was amazing,” LC gushes beside me as we walk down the back hallway with Bruce, one of the security guards, on our tail. “I mean, I haven’t seen anything like it! Ever! You barely got touched.”

Using the towel draped around my neck to wipe away the sweat on my forehead, I reply, “I don’t like to get hit.”

She smirks and types away something on her phone. “Well, obviously that’s not a problem for you, is it? God, your speed and movements, then the raw look of it all on your face. It was just…so…hot.”

Do you hear that? Those sound like alarm bells. I’m not stupid. She might as well be holding a giant ‘Fuck Me Please’ sign with a neon flashing arrow pointed at her. Not gonna happen.

“LC—”

“Jake says he would rather you not go out for the night if possible.” she reads the text message off her phone. “Now if you would like to—”

“I wouldn’t.” I quickly inform her as we get into one of the private elevators that will take us to the resort side of the hotel.

Am I fucking sick? I’m in Vegas, home of the legal…everything, post winning my first fight in the pros and I don’t wanna go out. No I don’t fucking drink, but I love a good party. At least I used to love a good party. What the fuck is wrong with me? Wanna check my temperature? No…not that way. Though keep looking at me like that and I might just take yours…

“You sure?” LC asks typing away on her phone again.

“I’m sure. I wanna go up to my room, take a long fucking shower, and call it a night.”

Maybe have phone sex again with my girl. You’re damn right we’ve been having phone sex. Text sex. Skype sex. Now, if only we could have fucking virtual sex. Then…and only then would my boys below the belt start singing something other than the blues.

“Before you call it a night, we need to go over your itinerary,” she insists as the elevator dings open to my floor. My head snaps to give her an annoyed expression and she innocently shrugs. “Requirement from Jake. You need to know what is expected on a post-fight morning. Different city means slightly different routine. And just because fight one is down, doesn’t mean we get a break. You’ve got another one in about three and a half weeks. Double in pay.”

Ya know I used to be skeptical when they would say shit like ‘Money Talks’ because frankly pussy talks louder, but right now…money is screaming.

“Alright.” I let her swipe my key card to open the door before handing it to me.

Should I be wondering if she has her own copy?

Entering my room, I immediately eye the bed ready to just flop onto it right away. It’s a luxury suite, decorated in some sort of weird shapes and patterns.

Feels like an art snob threw up in here.

“Go ahead and shower off.” LC drops down on the edge of my bed pulling her phone to her ear. “I have to make a quick phone call anyway.”

Walking past her to the bathroom, I shut myself inside. It looks incredible from the whirlpool bubble bath tub to the glass shower, the heated floors and toilet seat.

If this place has the feeling of being in a fucking palace then why don’t I feel like a king? Why is it the only thing I can see when I look into this overly bright, giant ass mirror is how much I wish it were Maxx waiting on that bed on the other side of the door? Have I always been this totally and utterly pussy whipped? You know what. Don’t answer that.

“I mean it, Dean.” I point a stern finger at him. “Straight to the hotel. A shower. And changed.”

“Got it,” he answers his tongue sliding out of his mouth while his head tilts to the side, a girl in a short mini skirt now having all his attention.

Look familiar?

Snapping my fingers in front of his face, he moves his head back and his eyes fall on me. “Dean—”

“I promise.” He grins mischievously.

“And yet I don’t find that comforting.”

Miranda speaks up, “I will make sure he makes it safely all the way to the hotel room without magically getting lost.” Dean starts to pout then gives her body a once over, raising his eyebrows like he’s alright with the decision. She shakes her head and sighs, “Not even if you were legal.” I stifle a giggle and she finishes with, “Now, let’s go.”

After a short wave, I turn my attention back to Jake who’s actually cocking a smile.

It’s weird. It’s almost like he’s human and not just a soul sucker for the devil.

“Shall we?” I nod in response, and we start towards a set of private doors blocked by security. Jake merely opens his gray suit jacket briefly to flash his badge and they let us right through. When the doors shut behind us, he says, “You know, Maxx, I’m not as terrible as you think I am.”

Mmm…debatable.

“I never said I thought you were terrible.”

“They call me Jake the Snake, and you’re honestly gonna tell me you think that sounds like I’m not a bad guy?”

“Well, there is that,” I agree.

He shrugs and runs his fingers across his gelled blonde hair. “It’s not personal. It’s just business. The rumors and legendary stories have been based off truth, but like everything in the entertainment business, they’ve been fabricated beyond my wildest imagination.” We continue down the dimly lit hallway towards a set of elevators. “Like I said, I’m not as bad as my rep. I do expect only the best, because I recruit only the best. But make no mistake on how I treat them once they’re with me. Kellar’s under good care. I know you’re worried.”

The elevator doors open and we stroll inside.

Okay, maybe just a little. I mean aside from wondering if our now technology based sex life is actually enough to tie him over while he’s on the road, I do wonder how he is doing with everything else. I mean…when his nightmares hit. Is he actually sleeping? I’m sure he’s on some strict diet, but sneaking him a bite or two of something naughty makes him feel better. Reminds him he’s human. That it’s okay not to be perfect.

“I’ve done everything I can for Kellar. Best trainers. Best and freshest meals. Best massages. Best stylists. Best doctors. Everything in those departments. But there’s one thing I can’t give him, Maxx, and that’s you.”

Confused, I ask, “Excuse me?”

“Look, Maxx. It’s my job to know what makes my fighters tick. From the way they prefer their eggs to how often they need their dick touched.”

Scrambled and every day. Yeah I know these things about Logan, too. Hell you’ve spent enough time around him. You could’ve definitely guessed the last one.

“When I first met Kellar, it was obvious. Then when he kissed you in a crowd full of people, it verified my thoughts. But having him out here, hundreds of miles away from you for weeks…is killing him.”

Concerned, I quickly ask, “Is he not fighting as well?”

“He fights fine. You saw that yourself tonight. But he fights hollow without you. No heart. And I know how some would see that as a great thing, but honestly, it’s not. I already have two fighters that fight for the wrong reasons. One fights for money. One fights for women. Kellar used to fight for his family. For that kid. For you. I need back the fighter that signed that contract, because he was something special. He was something worth watching. Because he could stand his ground when the industry came knocking to mold him into something else. He needs you, Maxx, which means I need you.”

That sounds…creepy.

Bluntly, he demands, “Move to SoCal.”

“What?” I shriek.

“I want you and the kid to move to SoCal.” Before I have the chance to process his request, or lack thereof really, he continues, “I’ll get you a bigger apartment. We can get the kid enrolled in a great school. Whatever you guys want. Kellar is a one in a million fighter, and I will be damned if I let him get away.”

The doors open again and he hands me a key card not getting off. “His room is 678, go right. Very end of the hall.” I take the card from him and he adjusts his jacket before stating in a more business like rather than compassionate voice, “Think about it.”

I watch the door shut and his face disappear.

Did that really just fucking happen? Did he just tell me to move here? That he would move us here? I mean…I can’t. I have a life back home. And friends. And family. And…and I miss Logan enough to consider it. It would be a clean break from Dean’s past. We wouldn’t have to be away from him so long. The baby…God the baby. One issue at a time, right? Let’s start with that.

Following the instructions to get to Logan’s room, I let the butterflies fill my stomach.

Do me a favor. Don’t let me have sex with him right away. I know that sounds crazy, but as horny as I am and the way I’m on edge about everything, I am tempted to pull a Logan move and just fuck away my problems. Oh God. Did I just say that?

I swipe the key card and the door unlocks. The second I step foot inside I feel those butterflies die, and an unmistakable rage skyrockets into my throat. Slamming the door behind me I snap, “Who the fuck are you?”

The blonde, who’s wearing an unbuttoned white shirt, a red bra exposed, no bottoms but a matching red thong, and a pair of heels tosses me a challenging look. “Who the fuck are you?”

A door, that I’m assuming is the bathroom, opens and Logan walks out with a look of panic on his face, a white towel barely wrapped around his waist.

He’s either washing off the evidence or washing up for round two. Either way, he looks damn good all wet in that towel. No. Wait! Cheating! Cheating bastard!

“Maxx?” his voice breathlessly says.

“Well at least you remember my name in the presence of your home wrecker.”

“What?” he sounds baffled and looks at little miss tramp stamp and sighs, “It’s not what it looks like.”

Annoyed I croak, “Really? You’re in a fucking towel and she looks like she’s waiting to be fucked. What should I assume was about to happen here? A game of checkers? Duck, Duck Goose?”

Don’t judge my choice of games right now.

“You shouldn’t fucking assume anything!” he yells back. “That’s what threw a fucking wrench in our relationship the first time!” Taken back by his tone, I move my body slightly away from the door.

He has a point. But his point seems invalid when there’s a girl barely dressed in front of my own eyes. Ugh. And her push up bra needs more push, less pad.

“LC, get dressed and the get the hell out,” Logan snaps leaning against the doorframe.

She doesn’t say anything as she pulls up her skirt and buttons her top. Once she looks safe to exit the room she tilts her head at me. “For the record, nothing happened between us. Nothing has ever happened between us. I’ve been offering myself since he got here, and he hasn’t taken the bait once. Now I know you must be why.”

I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.

LC stomps her body out of the room shutting the door loudly behind her. My head turns to face Logan who looks desperate for me to believe what she said. The pained expression on his face weakens me almost immediately.

“Maximus…”

“Don’t Maximus me,” my voice is shaky, there are tears on the horizon.

Fucking hormones.

“I wanna believe what she said, Logan—”

“Then do.”

“But—”

“No fucking buts, Maxx.” his voice snaps. “I didn’t do anything wrong here. LC is my personal assistant—”

“And what else does Malibu Barbie assist you with— in and outside of the toy store?”

Anger creeps into his eyes and he glares. “I wasn’t about to fuck her. I have never fucked her. I have no desire to fuck her, Maxx. When the hell are you gonna have a little fucking faith in me?!”

“When I can walk into a fucking room to tell you I’m pregnant and not be worried that I’m gonna find a Stripper Barbie fresh from the factory waiting to be bent over like the bought and paid for toy she is!”

“You’re what?!”

Hm. Yeah. That was probably
not
the best way to tell him that.

When I don’t answer, he raises his voice again, “You’re what?”

“Pregnant.” The word tastes as bad as I’m currently starting to feel.

“Like pregnant, pregnant?”

Why do people keep saying that? Is there another kind of pregnant? Did I miss that definition in the dictionary?

“Like, in the next 6 months I’m gonna look like I’ve stuffed a beach ball in my yoga pants.”

Logan folds his arms across his chest. “And it’s mine?”

My jaw hits the ground.

He did not really just ask me that, did he? Tell me I imagined it. Tell me my hearing is distorted from that fight being so goddamn loud. Tell me I am wrong before I go to jail in Vegas for cutting off the balls of a prized fighter.

When I don’t answer, he takes it upon himself to repeat, “And it’s mine?”

Seething, I snap, “Well, it’s nice to know after I opened my legs for the first time in four years to be another notch on your bedpost that you think you hit some sort of magical slut button inside of me that kills my willpower and turns me into a walking whore.” Logan opens his mouth to fight, and I scream, “Yes, it’s fucking yours!”

I stare back at him as he tries to settle his breathing. His chest rises and falls in a way that scares me.

This is what he gets like when he feels like he’s been backed into a corner. This is what he looks like he when he’s about to throw an unexpected punch.

“I can’t believe you got yourself knocked up to make sure that I had to come back to you for the rest of my life. That’s low, Maxx.”

Hit. Taken.

More irate than I have ever been in my entire life, I put a hand on the door handle. “Yup. Climbed on top of myself and got pregnant so that
you had
to come back to me for the rest of your life. Well, don’t worry about coming back to me, Logan. Ever. We’re done.” After a long pause, I shake my head. “We’re fucking done.”

“Maxx—”

The door shuts, and I rush toward the elevators determined to get the hell out of his hotel, his way, his fucking life. Quickly, I exit the building, hail a taxi, and head towards the hotel we’re staying at, the entire time holding back tears.

How crazy of us was it to expect his reaction to be any other way?

I pay the driver, and hop out rushing to my room as fast as I rushed from his. When I finally open the door to our room, Dean is strolling out of the bathroom in a pair of jeans, black t-shirt, and grinning from ear to ear. He looks identical to the one person who never fails to break my heart. Thrusting my back against the door, I sink slowly, tears streaming down my face.

Dean scrambles over, falling to my side and asks, “Mom, what’s wrong?”

The sound of the word makes me cry harder as he wraps his arms around me, attempting to shield me from my own sobs. Through muffled tears I manage to say, “We’re going home tonight.”