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 space, 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 shirt 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 shift, but right now she’s wearing my shirt, 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-bitch 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 balls 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 competitive as a fighter, and I’ll be dipped in dog shit 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 crushing 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. “Fucking, Peter Pan.” He’s sweating and grinning down at me.
“Since when did I get the stupid fucking 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. “Shit.” I slam the bar back on the rack. “You trying to kill me?”
“Not with three hundred. Stop being a pussy.”
The door to the weight room swings open. “Where’s my welcome home party, motherfuckers?”
“Holy shit.” 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 hell are you doing here?”
He shrugs then moves in for a fist bump. “Cut the honeymoon short. Jack got sick and Layla lost her shit, thinking he had some island fever or some crap. Came home to find out the kid had a cold. Now he’s healthy as a horse.”
“That’s too bad.” I run a towel over my sweaty forehead. “I know how much chicks dig honeymoons.”
He flashes a crooked grin. “Every day is a honeymoon in my bed, Baywatch. My woman isn’t missin’ shit, trust me.”
Rex slaps Blake on the back. “You got here just in time for sparring.” He jerks his head to me. “Baywatch is all primed for an ass-kicking. Need to knock his little-bitch ass outta the clouds.”
“Is that right?” Blake cracks his knuckles and rolls his head on his shoulders. “Fuckin’ A, I’m ready.”
Great.
“Fuck, old man.” I dodge Blake’s left hook. “Fatherhood made you lazy.” He lunges for my legs. I jump back, just out of reach.
“Lazy’s still kickin’ your ass.” He steps in and lands a body shot.
“Baywatch, concentrate!” Rex’s command is laced with irritation.