Part 15 (1/2)

”Mason, please.” Her words are rushed and panicked. ”I can walk, just . . . trust me. You need to put me down.”

”No f.u.c.king way.” I carry her back toward the curtain only to be met by Santos, who's grinning and cracking his knuckles.

He tilts his head. ”Hands off her.”

”Okay, never mind.” Trix's arms tighten around my neck. ”Don't put me down. Do not put me down.”

She's safe backstage and away from prying eyes. ”It's okay.” I kiss the top of her head.

”No, Mason. Don't.” Her hold gets tight, but gravity wins, and her legs drop to the floor. ”Oh s.h.i.+t. You shouldn't have done that.”

Her mumbled words are the last thing I hear before Santos hauls back and knocks me in the jaw.

Pain splinters through my face, and I brace my weight on my knees. ”Motherf.u.c.k!”

”Santos! You're such a bully!” Trix drops down to her knees to see my face, concern pinching her pretty forehead. ”Oh my G.o.d, are you okay?” She grimaces and sucks air through her teeth. ”I was trying to warn you.”

”Dammit to f.u.c.k, that hurt.” I rub my jaw and stand up to see a very satisfied Santos.

”Don't look at me.” He shrugs. ”House rules, man.”

Trix pops her hands on her hips, glaring. ”Great. And now they're going to ban you!” She throws her arms out to her sides, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bouncing with the force of it, totally unaware that she's practically bare-a.s.s naked. ”What were you thinking?”

I run a hand through my hair and breathe through the letdown of adrenaline. G.o.d, I stormed up on that stage like a d.a.m.n Neanderthal. ”I don't . . . I'm sorry.”

She steps in close and peers up at me, her violet eyes searching mine. She's so tiny now; barefoot, she only comes up to my chest. ”You can't do that. I could lose my job.”

The corner of my mouth lifts as I try to fight off the joy at the prospect of her no longer stripping. I rub the back of my neck and shrug. ”Would that be so bad?”

She thwacks me in the stomach. ”Stop it!”

”Put a s.h.i.+rt on. And some pants and . . . maybe I'll think about it.”

Her eyes widen, but a contagious grin curls her lips.

”Come on, man.” Santos throws a big meaty thumb over his shoulder. ”I gotta escort you out.”

”Santos, can you give us a second?” Trix turns her pleading eyes toward him, and his expression softens. ”Pleeeaaase?” She turns out her lower lip, and the guy is a goner. What guy wouldn't be?

”Fine. Five minutes, Trix.” He points a finger at me then two fingers at his own eyes. ”I'm watching you.”

”Creepy.”

Trix grabs my hand and pulls me deeper backstage into a dark corner. It's hard to focus on anything other than her perfect naked body.

”Here.” I reach behind me and pull my T-s.h.i.+rt over my head, leaving me in my unders.h.i.+rt. Shaking it out, I put it over her and smile as her glaring face pops through the neck hole.

”Really?” She slides her arms in but shakes her head.

”Yes.” I cross my arms over my chest, locking my hands beneath my biceps. ”Unless you want me to throw you up against this wall and do dirty things to that sweet little body, you need to cover up.”

Her breath hitches, and I smile inwardly at how affected she is by the simplest things I say. My fingers itch to run through her hair, to pull her to me and taste those lips that look as if they're dipped in candy. I want to pick her up, have her wrap her legs around my waist and beg me to take her away from all this.

”Mason, tomorrow night I think we need to talk.” She turns her head to see Santos standing off to the side, giving us s.p.a.ce, but not nearly enough.

Talk. Great, this is where she tells me she'd rather pull out all her own toenails than date a guy like me.

”Trix, hurry it up!”

”Hold on!” she yells at Santos and turns back to me. ”Tomorrow at seven, right?”

”Yeah. Tomorrow.”

”Okay, here . . .” She grips the hem of my s.h.i.+rt and starts to take it off.

I still her hand, and the heat and softness of her skin make me groan. ”No, keep it.” I lean in and place a long, lingering kiss on her forehead, staying away from her lips because if I allow myself that I'll never stop there. ”Tonight, watching you dance?” I press my forehead to hers. ”You took my breath away.”

And with that, I move toward the bouncer, grinning like an idiot. Yeah, I might be walking away, leaving her here to get naked for men for the remainder of her s.h.i.+ft, but right now she's wearing my s.h.i.+rt, and that screams victory. Even if only a minor one.

Fourteen.

Mason Not much could make this day any sweeter. After getting home last night and texting Drake that I ran his little-b.i.t.c.h errand, I pushed all thoughts of my brother's problems aside and thought about Trix.

After Santos escorted me out and explained that I'd usually be blackballed from ever returning but that Trix would have his b.a.l.l.s if he refused me, I felt like an Olympic champion.

I lay in bed all night, thinking about the talk we're going to have on our date. I'm sure she'll toss out a million reasons why she can't date me, but she's insane if she thinks I'll agree to any of them. There's not an athlete in the world that is as compet.i.tive as a fighter, and I'll be dipped in dog s.h.i.+t before I'll give her up.

I'll have to convince her to quit her job, which will be the hardest part. Hopefully, I can convince her I'm worth the risk rather than having to live through the crus.h.i.+ng jealousy of her exploiting her body-a body I'm determined to have as mine-for money.

”Come on, Baywatch, you still have to spar.” Rex knocks me in the back of the head, and I lie back down on the weight bench, bracing myself to lift the bar. ”f.u.c.king, Peter Pan.” He's sweating and grinning down at me.

”Since when did I get the stupid f.u.c.king nickname award?” I push up the weight and grind through a few reps.

”You earned it,” he says as if it's an easy connection to make.

I growl through a few more reps before my chest starts to burn and my arms quake. ”s.h.i.+t.” I slam the bar back on the rack. ”You trying to kill me?”

”Not with three hundred. Stop being a p.u.s.s.y.”

The door to the weight room swings open. ”Where's my welcome home party, motherf.u.c.kers?”

”Holy s.h.i.+t.” I sit up and stare as Blake struts into the room, now with a black band around his ring finger, and an obnoxious grin on his face. ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?”

He shrugs then moves in for a fist b.u.mp. ”Cut the honeymoon short. Jack got sick and Layla lost her s.h.i.+t, thinking he had some island fever or some c.r.a.p. Came home to find out the kid had a cold. Now he's healthy as a horse.”