Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (106 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 
Kya

I
let the crowd push me along out of the arena and into the casino. I did not put
up a fight we moved towards the slot machines and bars, instead of the door
that lead to my hotel. Instead, I drifted along and eavesdropped on the fans as
they discussed the fight.

"Peretti
fights dirty, that's the only explanation," a short man said.

"I've never
seen Fenton Morris slip. How could he not see that hit coming?" The short
man's bald friend threw his hands up in the air. "Something had to be
wrong."

"It's all
over already, they’re calling it the surprise upset of the year," an older
woman with bottle red hair announced as she studied her phone.

"Bet Morris
is the most surprised," her husband said, "he's never lost yet."

"Best he did
it now so he won't in the title fight," the man next to them in the crowd
said.

Upset
,
I thought,
is the right word for it
.
My stomach heaved as the image of Fenton falling to the mats flashed through my
head again. I was just as surprised as everyone else, more so since I had been
close to Fenton and felt his strength. He had seemed invincible until tonight.

And, it was all my
fault.

"I heard he
was out at the strip clubs last night, probably why he wasn't up to the fight
tonight," the short man continued.

"I believe
it. He looks like the kind of man that comes to Vegas for the strippers,"
the young man closest to me said.

"I saw him
there," an older man in a garish cowboy shirt said. "Me and my
buddies were down near Fremont Street and saw him head into one of them
gentleman's clubs."

"A night out
drinking at the strip clubs could be enough to throw anyone off their game, eh,
Ed?" his friend said.

"Yeah, but it
was worth it," Ed agreed.

I swallowed hard
and slipped out of the crowd. I took refuge from the wave of people in a small
gift shop and tried to stop my spinning thoughts.

The look on
Fenton's face when I walked into that strip club was the same he gave me
seconds before Mario Peretti knocked him out. I was interfering and it was
wrong. Fenton Morris did not need anyone's help, much less mine. He did not
want me. I was just getting in his way.

My phone rang and
in the relative quiet of the gift shop, I had no reason not to answer it.
"It's not a good time, James," I said.

"Just tell me
if you found him last night or not," my boss said.

"I did, but
we didn't talk, it was a huge mess. He was at a strip club, all surrounded by
women. I kinda just turned around and ran," I said.

"So, you
kicked him out, slammed the door in his face, then found him with a bunch of
strippers but didn't say anything? No wonder he was shocked to see you at the
fight," James said.

"You're
kidding, right? Do you really think that's why he got knocked out? Everyone
thinks something was wrong. He was distracted. He looked right at me and didn't
even see the hit coming." I picked up and twisted a Vegas keychain tight
around my finger.

"Jesus,
honey, I was joking, but really? He looked at you right before?" he asked.
"I mean, you turn heads, darling, don't get me wrong, but now you're
taking down fighters just by being in the audience?"

"It's not
funny, James. I've ruined everything. The vitamin supplement people are not
going to want him anymore, not that Fenton would ever sign with me." I let
my finger turn purple before untwisting the key chain and returning it to the
rack.

"Oh, now
there is where you are wrong," my boss said.

"Great,
everything is backwards," I said. "You're supposed to tell me there
is no way I caused Fenton to lose the fight, and of course, I've lost the
account and can just come home. I think I hate Vegas, or maybe it hates
me."

"Sweet
cheeks, you're the one that's going to have to figure out if you distracted
Fenton from the fight. And, who knows, maybe you did and that means good things
for you and your bad boy," James said. "All I know is that a comeback
campaign is even better than a seamless rise to the top. You are still on the
account and can make a killing if you sign him now and then help him win the
title fight."

"Sign him and
help him win the title fight? Sure, yeah, that totally sounds like something I
can handle, considering how well I've done here so far," I said.

"You're going
to do it, I know you are," my boss said. "Oh, and Kya?"

"What?"

"Always bet
on black." James hung up.

I bought the Vegas
keychain, considering that I had bent it out of shape, and wished the purchase
had taken a whole lot longer. The only thing for me to do was find Fenton and
face him right away. I cringed at the thought, but finally left the gift shop
and fought my way upstream against the crowd. Access to Fenton's floor was
restricted, but one security guard was letting up gaggles of short-skirted
women.

"You too,
honey?" the guard asked me. "Now, I know why he took that hit. I'd let
Peretti bash my head in too, if I knew it'd get me all this sexy
sympathy."

He let me in the
elevator where the women were all adding a layer of lipstick, adjusting their
cleavage, or fluffing up their hair in the mirrored walls. I glanced at myself
briefly and wondered if he would see the guilt on me right away. It felt like a
weight on my shoulders, but I straightened them and strutted my way into his
suite with the rest of the women.

Club music
vibrated the walls of Fenton's penthouse suite and the crowd was thick inside.
Most of the women made a beeline for the dance floor, where every stick of
furniture had been removed from the sunken living room. I turned and went
straight for the bar and a straight shot of bourbon.

How exactly was I
going to say sorry for getting him knocked out? I stopped cold and ordered a
double. Even worse, what if I apologized and it turned out he had not even seen
me? Either way, I was sure to make an ass out of myself. I had no idea how to
turn that into a comeback campaign pitch.

"Well, hello,
pretty lady," a voice said.

I turned around
and sipped my bourbon to hide a grimace. "Hello, Mr. Casey."

"Please, call
me Kev. I plan on calling you Kya, at least, until we come up with a more
intimate nickname," he said.

"I'm afraid I'm
not here for intimacy, I'm here on business," I said.

"Could have
fooled me. I saw you in the crowd tonight. Pretty sure our boy did, too,"
Kev said.

"That's
impossible, there were hundreds of people there," I said.

Kev slipped an arm
around my shoulders. "Don't feel bad, Kya. I mean, you are a delicious
distraction, but our boy's been off his game since before you got to
Vegas."

"Maybe Fenton
doesn't like it here, either." I slipped out from under Kev's arm.

"What's not
to like? You just need to come out with me. I can show you the real fun of
Vegas," he said.

I dodged Kev's
other arm as it snaked around my waist. I was about to dive onto the dance
floor to escape him when I spotted the strange man from the MGM gym.

"Do you know
that man?" I asked Kev as he reeled me back in.

"Now that you
mention it, I have seen him talking with Fenton lately. Wonder if he knows
what's bothering our boy," Kev said.

"I did hear
him delivering some kind of news Fenton did not really want to hear the other
day," I said.

We started across
the party together and though I despised working with Kev Casey, I hoped the
plain looking man might be to blame for upsetting Fenton instead of me.

"How did we
lose him? He was right here," Kev said. He was so annoyed he unhooked his
hand from my waist and turned all around. The man with the average build and
medium brown hair had disappeared. "That was weird, right?"

"Yes," I
agreed.

Before we could
think anymore about the nondescript man and what messages he might be bringing
Fenton, there was a wave of cheers. The party erupted outside the master suite
as Fenton himself appeared. He had a muscular arm around two blonde women that
on first look appeared to be twins. A second glance, though, showed me one had
black roots under her blonde hair, while the other had bleached out her mousy
brown hair. They were dressed in identical, silver mini skirts with pink
halter-tops. Fenton had not bothered to put on a shirt and showed off an angry
bruise under his ribs proudly.

The girls
alternately held up tall drinks with straws and I could tell from the gold
liquid that Fenton was drinking tequila.

"Everyone
grab a drink – it’s time to get knocked out!" he roared.

The crowd cheered
again and the DJ turned up the club music. Fenton strode through the suite, his
hands roving all over his companions as he shouted obscenities over Peretti's
fighting style.

"A lucky
punch," Fenton said. "I let my mind drift for one moment, otherwise
Peretti would never have landed that hit."

"People are
saying you were out all night at a strip club before the big fight? Is that the
reason you were distracted?" an interviewer threw a microphone into
Fenton's face.

"I might have
broke curfew, pissed off my coach, and had a little too much fun, but this is
Vegas, baby. What else is a man supposed to do?" Fenton declared.

The crowd cheered
again. More barely clad women surrounded him and they all posed for the
flashing cameras.

"Well, what
do you say to Mario Peretti? He now thinks he'll be up against Maxwell Lewis in
the title fight instead of you. Do you think that's possible?" the
interviewer asked.

Fenton took a long
drink of tequila and nipped a lime wedge right out of a woman's mouth.
"Let Peretti think whatever he wants. One lucky punch is not going to get
him the title."

"So, you're
not worried?"

"Worried?
I've got nothing to worry about except hotel security shutting down this party
before we have enough fun!" Fenton yelled.

The crowd roared
again and surged around him. The entire suite was one giant dance floor. I slipped
away from Kev's insistent arms and fought my way towards Fenton. He was
surrounded by a briar patch of stiletto heels and sharp elbows, but I managed
to wiggle my way through.

Somehow, he saw me
coming, and his blue eyes locked on mine. A thrill of fear and attraction spear
through me as he pushed his arms wide, knocking back a swath of sparkling
women, and pulled me towards him. He yanked me hard against his bare chest and
his blue eyes blazed.

"Surprised to
see you," he said. "Again."

"I'm
sorry," I said. "I don't mean to keep popping up at the wrong time in
the wrong places."

"You don't
get it," Fenton said. "I don't need your endorsement deal, I don't
need your advice, and I certainly don't need your help getting myself in
trouble."

"How about
getting out of trouble?" I asked. I pushed off his hard chest and arched
back even as we kept swaying and dancing together. "You can't tell me this
is what you really want."

"It’s not
about what I want," Fenton said. "It's about what is best, and I'm
better off alone."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Fenton

I
did not tell her she was better off without me. It should have been obvious.
The party was getting out of control, but Kya did not leave. She bounced around
the dance floor, the wild fans and MMA fighter wannabes not letting her supple
hips and waist go by without pulling her into the rhythm the speakers pounded
out. I wanted to shove them all aside and let Kya go untouched, but I could not
reach her.

Shots of tequila
appeared in front of me along with women in tiny scraps of dresses with sour
lime wedges between sweet glossed lips lined up wherever I walked. The more I
drank, the easier it was to forget the feel of the mats against my face.
Peretti's gloved fist against my face had made me see red. The split second
played again and again, slowed only by the tequila.

Peretti's fist or
Kya's face – no wonder all I wanted in front of me was tits and tequila. I
called for more and the music got louder and the crowd got wilder. I wondered
if they all had the same volume button.

Let's
crank it up
, I thought.

When I saw Kya
leave, I let go. It was not long until the tequila spun the party into a dark
whirlpool. I let it swallow me. At least, I was going down alone.

#

The flat screen
television had three different stiletto heels sticking out of it. A spider web
of shattered screen surrounded a leopard print, black patent leather, and gold
high heel shoe. I wondered idly where the others were, but my head hurt too
much to look. I kept my aching head pressed into the pillow as I wriggled to
get a horizontal look at the rest of the room. One of the white sofas from the
sunken living room stood at the foot of the bed. At first, I thought it was a
white feathered headdress, one of those fifty pound Vegas showgirl
monstrosities. Then, I realized the sofa had been torn open, white down
feathers had exploded everywhere.

A trail of beer
cans, tequila bottles, and shriveled lime wedges trailed out the door of the
master suite and into a bigger disaster. Had the bouncers let in a pack of
circus lions? I remembered a group of performers, lithe women in tight
costumes. The memory flashed too bright, flaming hoops in front of the bar. It
could not have been real, but it might have explained the standing row of
circus rings, bull whip, and singed ceiling.

"Mr. Morris?
Everyone has been escorted out. It's time to go." A burly security guard
stood over my bed.

"Time to go?
This hangover is gonna need until at least noon," I said.

"The hotel
wants you out in the next ten minutes. Do it or the manager will call the
cops," the burly guard's equally big partner said.

"Oh, come on,
I'm sure worse has happened here." I sat up and forced the room to stay
right on its axis.

"Done by
guests that can afford to pay for the damages. You can't. You're out," the
first guard said.

"Your bags
will be sent to your manager's room," the second guard added.

"Can you at
least let me find a shirt?" I asked.

"You're
wearing one."

I looked down. I
was wearing a tight white women's shirt with a low v-neck. In rhinestones it
said “Vegas Can Kiss My A$$.”

"Yeah, I can
pull this off," I said. I dragged myself out of bed and yanked the tight
shirt down to meet the jeans and belt. "How do I look, boys?"

"I've seen
worse," the second guard said.

"Man, way to
kick a man when he's down," I said. I yanked my arms out of their massive
hands and marched towards the elevator on my own. At least, they stopped to let
me swerve into a pair of oxblood loafers I had left by the door.

"You're not
taking him out the lobby." Kya slipped in the door and planted her hands
on her hips. "Once he's out of the room, you can let me escort him out of
the back of the casino."

The towering
security guards eyed Kya's slender 5'5" frame and flashing green eyes.
They glanced at each other in a stratosphere far above her fierce chin thrust.

The first security
guard shrugged. "Just get him out before the cops come."

"Good luck
getting this one on a leash, lady." The second guard gave me a shove
towards Kya. I stumbled, and she caught me in both arms.

"Oh, God, did
you bathe in tequila after I left?" Kya asked. She held her breath as she
dragged me into the elevator and shut the door on the curious security guards.

"What's your
plan here, genius? This elevator goes to the main lobby, right across from the
front doors. Lots of action, lots of reporters by now," I said.

Kya rolled her
eyes and punched the button marked B1
 
–
 
Laundry. "We'll have to
take our chances. The maids down there might kill you after they've seen what
you did to the penthouse suite, but that has to be better than the crowd in the
lobby."

I leaned against
the mirrored walls of the elevator and closed my eyes. My stomach stayed on the
penthouse for a few floors before lurching sickly down to join the rest of me.

"Want some
coffee?" Kya asked.

I opened one eye.
She held out a paper cup from the fancy kiosk in the main lobby. I took it and
sipped gratefully.

"About the
strip club," I began.

"I know, I
know, I had no business showing up there. I don't know what I was
thinking," she said.

The doors opened
on the basement floor. I had no idea what to say, but I grabbed her arm,
anyway. "It wasn't what it looked like."

"It looked
like none of my business."

She dragged me out
of the elevator and along a wide corridor. Maids pushing their heavy room
cleaning carts were not surprised as we went by – though a few gave my t-shirt
an extra glance. I flexed my muscles and got appreciative smiles in return.

I stopped when a
lovely, black-haired maid asked to take a picture with me. I put my arm around
her and smiled as she held up her camera phone. She squeezed my ass as the
camera flashed. Despite the hollow ache of the hangover, the TKO, party, and tossing
out had raised my notoriety to a new level.

Kya came back to
shepherd me along. "You got kicked out of here, remember? The manager is
about to call the police?"

I slipped both
hands around her waist and pulled her close. "I remember dancing with you
last night."

She slapped my
hands and twisted away. I pulled her back flush against my body. The curves of
her backside pressed against my jeans and a blast of heat burned off the rest
of the hangover. I held Kya's waist and slipped my other hand down the front of
her thigh.

"You left too
soon."

"Right after
you told me you're better off alone," she said. "Now, I'm thinking
you were right."

"Well, there
is something I can't do alone." I nuzzled my stubbly cheek along her neck
and whispered in her ear. "If you really want to help me…"

I thought about
begging. In fact, I would have begged. I needed Kya, wanted her more than
anything. She burned in me like a fever and my lips against the soft skin of
her neck were only a small part of the cure. If I had any hope of getting her
out of my system, I needed all of her.

Kya pried my hands
off and held me at arm's length. "I do want to help you, Fenton. The
vitamin supplements people are still interested. I can use my expense account,
get you a new room, a suite even."

Better
than a cold shower
, I thought. "Thanks for the coffee
and the detour, Ms. Allen. Now, if you don't mind, I need to face my public –
adoring or not. You know what they say about publicity."

#

"Yeah, I
didn't think you'd thank me. All I did was drag you out of a reporter's riot
and find you a new gym to train in. Gonna get you ready for your next fight and
get you back on track to the title, too. Yeah, no need to thank me,"
Aldous said.

I ignored my coach
and pummeled the punching bag he held. It was Peretti, over and over again, and
what I should have done to him.

"Oh, so now
you're focused," Aldous said.

"Yeah, now
I'm focused," I said. "You know I'm thankful for everything you do.
Best way to show it is to get that title."

"Best way to
do that is to get your life in balance," he said. He let go of the
punching bag and crossed his arms over his chest. "And, the first step is
to realize you can't keep everything separate and in tight little boxes. That's
not how life works."

"What am I
keeping separate?" I asked. "This is all I've got."

"This and
whatever is all over your face when that little blonde spitfire is
around," Aldous told me.

"I don't need
endorsements to succeed. You've always agreed with me on that." I ripped
off my gloves and headed to the weight machines.

"That's not
what I meant and you know it." He followed me and corrected the weight I
chose on the lat pull-down machine. "You get the same expression I wore
when I first met my Tia."

"It's not
like that. She's only after me for an endorsement deal." I pulled hard
against the heavy weight. "And, I'm not ready for anyone right now. No
love until the title is mine."

"I'd say
Peretti knocked you pretty good, but you've had this crazy notion in your head
for years now," Aldous said. "Life is not going to wait for you to
have everything lined up all neat. And, love certainly doesn't work that way.
Let me tell you about love. If you don't open the door when it comes knocking,
it’s just going to come crashing through anyway."

"Where's your
focus?" I asked. "I just told you Kya Allen is not interested in
anything but an endorsement deal. If it’s not on the dotted line, then she's
not interested. So what if I find her attractive? There are plenty of ways to
deal with that."

"Is that what
your little party last night was all about?" he asked. He threw me a
towel. "Might as well shower up and get some rest. You're a wreck."

I leaned my
forehead against the cool tile of the shower as the hot water kneaded my sore
muscles. Aldous was right about one thing– last night's party was meant to get
Kya off my mind. First, there were the fake twins with their matching shade of
blonde and tiny silver skirts. After Kya appeared on the dance floor, I ditched
them in favor of a tall woman with blue streaks in her black hair. She had the
most amazing hands, but when Kya left the party, all I did was drink.

I toweled off and
found the Army surplus cot Aldous had set out for me in a private corner of the
gym. I knew as soon as I shut my eyes, I would see Kya.

"Hello?"
I answered my phone on the first ring.

"So, I was
going to take you up on your offer, but I'm not so excited about sleeping in
the back room of a boxing gym," Dana Maria said.

"I'm sorry,
sis. I can explain," I said.

"No need to
explain; your story is all over the media. I think it’s safe to say I was
right. We don't know each other anymore and you don't owe me a thing," my
sister said.

I slumped back on
the hard cot. My reputation had skyrocketed my popularity over the past few
hours. I was now a trending topic. I could not change the way the world viewed
me, now. Too bad my sister and Kya had to see me that way, too.