Sucker Punched (2 page)

When he makes contact with my nipple, I gasp, breaking the kiss. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, my head swimming. It takes me a good second to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth and come to my senses. “What about Jamie?” 

Last time I checked, they were still together. And last time I checked, she would straight-up
murder
me if she knew her boyfriend was feeling me up on his couch.

He tugs at the button of my jeans with one hand, trying to work them open. “Jamie fucked Chris Belzar last weekend, so she can’t say shit to me.” 

The bitterness in his voice is all I need to read between the lines and
God
, do I feel stupid for not seeing it sooner. 

I mean honestly, what the hell did I think was happening? That Nick was so enamored with me that he was willing to cheat on his gorgeous girlfriend? Please. I’ve gone to school with him for three and a half years, and not once has he spoken to me before today. The sudden interest alone should’ve been my first clue that something wasn’t right, but I was too hung up on this romanticized version of Nick that I’ve created.

Now that I know the real Nick, I don’t want him anywhere near me. 

Shoving him away, I sit up. I can’t hide how much this fucking hurts, so I don’t even try. “You’re trying to get back at her by hooking up with me.”
The girl she despises more than anything.

The confused look on his face tells me he doesn’t see the problem with this. “Don’t you want to get back at her, too? She’s such a fucking bitch to you. Just think how pissed she’ll be when she finds out you fucked her boyfriend.”

My eyes sting as I get up and grab my bag. “I’m not losing my virginity for something as petty as revenge.”

Nick rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Why are the ugly ones always such prudes?”

I rush out of his house as the first tear falls, painfully aware that I was right—I’ll never forget this day for as long as I live.

Just my fucking luck.

I want to scowl when I see Christa standing on the street corner in front of my dad’s brown three-decker, but instead I force a smile and nod hello. She’s got a cigarette in one hand and the other’s wrapped around the kid on her hip. Girl’s wearing more makeup than clothes, and it’s fucking October. 

Her cig burns bright as she takes a long puff. “Blake, baby, long time no see. Whatcha been up to?” she asks, blowing smoke from the side of her mouth.

“Not much. Just working.”

“You should come by and see me sometime. I’ll make it worth your while.” Her eyes dip down my body while her baby just stares at me. 

Normally I’ve got no problem with MILFs, but this is one mother I
don’t
want to fuck. Christa’s the kind of girl you could tell used to be pretty, but drugs have not been kind to her. There’s not enough booze in the world to make me go near that.

“Yeah, maybe.” I might not be interested, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a dick about it. “I need to get these inside, so. . .” I shift the bags of groceries in my arms, hoping she takes the hint.

Slipping past her, I climb the steps to the porch and ring the buzzer for my dad’s ground-floor apartment. He pulls the curtains back a second later, then unlocks the door and opens it wide.

I step inside and head for his kitchen. “Got you some groceries.”

He closes the door and follows me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“No?” I set the bags on the counter and start unloading things. “When’s the last time you went to the store, old man? When’s the last time you bought something to put in your fridge besides beer?”

“There’s a pack of lunch meat in there, smartass.”

Smahtass.

I’ve lived in Boston for ten years now, and the accent still trips me out.

I pull out two loaves of bread and set them next to the milk I just put on the counter. “Yeah, and I bet it’s the same one from the last time I was here. Shit’s probably got stuff growing on it by now.” I toss him a new package of sliced ham.

He rolls his eyes and sticks it in the fridge, then pulls out his wallet. “What do I owe you?”

Scowling, I pull out a stack of frozen dinners. “Put your fuckin’ money away.”

He slips it back into his pocket and crosses his arms, watching me. “How’s your brother?”

What he’s really asking is “Has your brother changed his mind about seeing me?” and every single time, the answer’s the same: no.

I wish Declan would get off his high horse and make amends already, before it’s too late. Dad’s liver is shot to hell after a lifetime of drinking. Doctors say he’s running out of time, and despite what Declan says, I know he’ll never forgive himself if Dad passes before they can bury the hatchet. He might not have been father of the year, but he’s still our dad and he’s still family, damn it. 

That’s got to count for something.

Sighing, I fold the brown paper bags flat. “He’s good. Got himself a girl now.”

Dad laughs. “No shit?” He sounds about as surprised as I was. “Well, I’ll be damned. What’s she like?”

I grab two slices of bread and start to make him a sandwich. “She’s a feisty one. Real ball-buster. Declan’s gonna have his hands full with her.” 

Not only is Savannah his “Kitten”—pussy-whipped much?—but she’s also an employee at his gym. His
only
employee. 

Seems like a dumb fucking idea to hire someone you want to see naked on the reg, but what do I know? I don’t run a business; I’m just a lowly mechanic. 

“What about you?” he asks. I can practically
feel
his eyes narrowing on me. “You meet a girl that calls you on your shit yet?”

I grin. “What shit?”

“What shit?”
He waves off my comment. “Get outta here with that.”

I set the sandwich on a plate and hand it to him. My dad’s a grown-ass man, but he takes care of himself about as well as a child. He’d live off liquor if he could, and he’s been trying awfully fucking hard these last few years.

I can’t blame him too much. He lost his wife and both his parents in the span of nine years. That kind of shit would take a toll on anyone. 

Leaning against the counter, I watch him take a seat at the small kitchen table. “You know my offer still stands, right?”

He waves me off again and takes a bite of his sandwich. “You don’t want me living with you.”

“Well I sure as hell don’t want you living in this shithole.” This neighborhood’s infested with cockroaches, and I don’t just mean the insect variety. Christa the Cokehead’s just the tip of the iceberg. 

Shrugging, he takes another bite. “It ain’t that bad. Besides, I got a thing goin’ on with the widow upstairs.”

“Oh, yeah?” My mouth turns down in surprise. “She ever cook for you?” 

I hate thinking about how long it’s been since he’s had a proper home-cooked meal. I come over every now and then to cook him dinner, but my kitchen skills are fairly limited. It’s nothing compared to what my mom used to cook. And despite what he says, greasy diner food doesn’t count as a proper meal.

“Well I’m sure as hell not with her for her looks,” he mumbles around his food. “So you can quit worrying about your old man. I’m fine.”

Yeah, but for how long?

“Quit dicking around and help me look for Savannah.”

Apparently my brother
had
a girl. Guess I spoke too soon today.

Ignoring his glare, I continue to scope out the party raging in the penthouse of the Dormandy Hotel. This place looks more like a club than a hotel room, and the
chicks
, man. . .

I lock eyes with the brunette walking past me as a flirty smile curls her full, cherry-red lips. Turning to check out her ass, I whistle low at her dress.

Goddamn. Thing looks like it’s been painted on. 

“Believe me, I’m looking.”

Declan smacks my arm. “
Fucking—hurry—up
.”

“Talking—like—this—isn’t—helping.”

Declan needs to calm his tits. It’s not like Savannah’s going anywhere. This is her party after all. The whole point of the evening is to introduce fighters for the women’s division of The Pit, and if she skips out early, that kinda defeats the purpose.

And Captain Fuckpants over here wouldn’t even
be
in this situation if he could learn to pull his head out of his ass and keep his dick in his pants. On top of diddling his employee, he had to go and run his mouth and be. . .well,
Declan
.

I know fuck-all about relationships, but I know my brother. My “I have the flexibility of steel, so it’s my way or the highway” brother.

He won’t tell me exactly what he did to piss her off, but I’m betting it had something to do with Savannah agreeing to fight in Boston’s biggest underground fight ring. Knowing my brother, he probably forbid her to do it. And knowing Savannah, she probably told him to fuck right off.

As I scan the room again, I can’t help but feel a twinge of regret for never having come to one of these swanky parties. Declan’s invited me in the past, since he fights in The Pit too, but I turned him down so much that he eventually stopped asking. 

I don’t know what’s worse: that letdown feeling I got when Declan gave up on me, or realizing I’ve been missing out on a pussy goldmine.

Eventually I spot Savannah near the bar, sitting on a giant-ass tufted bench that looks like it could double as a bed. And the douche canoe hitting on her right now looks like he’s imagining all the ways he can fuck her on it.

I turn to Declan, hoping to divert his attention to literally anything else, but it’s too late. He sees them. And based on his expression, he’s imagining all the ways he can kill the bastard. 

Fuck. Watching my brother commit murder was
not
how I envisioned this evening going down.

I put my hand on Declan’s chest when he takes a step in their direction. I’m a lover not a fighter, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own, and that damn sure doesn’t mean I can’t put my little brother in his place if need be. So he can glare at me all he wants, but I’m not budging. 

“Newsflash: I don’t see a ring on Savannah’s finger, and neither does any other asshole here. They don’t know she’s taken, so you need to calm the fuck down before you go over there and do something stupid. You’re here to get your girl back, not start shit with some punk-ass frat boy who hit on her. Get your priorities straight, bitch.”

The corner of Declan’s mouth curves as some of the tension leaves his body. “You’ve been watching too much
Breaking Bad
.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘too much’
Breaking Bad
. Now go.” I gesture in Savannah’s direction. “Kiss. Make up. I got better shit to do than stand here and hold your hand all night.”

He scoffs and starts to walk away. “No, you don’t.”

I smile at the waitress passing by. “Give me twenty minutes and I will.”

We meander through the crowd, my gaze ping-ponging from chick to chick. I haven’t seen a single girl here that I wouldn’t fuck.

Scratch that.

I do a double take as we pass a blonde Amazonian in a strapless dress.

Jesus, she’s almost as jacked as I am. 

She’s surrounded by a small group of guys who are no doubt trying to hit it, and that’s great and all—whatever tickles your pickle—but I don’t see the appeal in hooking up with a chick who’s got guns so big she could probably beat me in arm wrestling. And I damn sure wouldn’t want her anywhere near my dick with that kind of strength. Girl looks like she’d fuck me so hard she’d break it.

The thought makes me wince, and I reflexively shield my crotch. 

By the time Savannah’s in my line of sight again, there’s someone else sitting next to her. My eyes are drawn to this mystery girl, but not for the same reason I’ve been checking out chicks left and right since we got here.

Those girls are flashy, like peacocks. They try to get your attention with tight, revealing clothes and enough makeup that they look like a completely different person. And it works, for the most part. What straight man wouldn’t notice Kylie Jenner parading around in front of him?

But then there are girls like this one. Girls who prefer to leave their cleavage up to the imagination. Girls who are so stunning, they don’t need to hide behind five extra layers of makeup. Girls who are oblivious to the effect they have on all the guys around them. These are the kinds of girls you take home and introduce to your mother. These are the kinds of girls you marry.