Blindsided (The Fighter Series Book 1) (2 page)

Now we’re back home, stuffed to the gills, and have settled into the living room. He’s sprawled out on the couch and I’m curled up on the love seat watching the highlights on ESPN, wishing I could change the channel. Back in high school, Blain was a fullback and had scouts from all over the place begging him to join their college teams. I know in my heart he could have gone pro, but his love for animals outweighed his passion for football. He decided not to pursue it, becoming a veterinarian assistant instead. As I brought up my curiosity throughout the years, he’s assured me he made the right decision. He says concussions, cramps, torn ACLs, and vigorous dieting regimens don’t appeal to him. I have to agree.

Let me clear one thing up for you—we only live together, nothing more. We’ve lived together since we graduated high school five years ago. It’s worked out so far. I like having a man in the house, although some of the girls he likes to bring around stir my interest of living single. I wish a woman would come into his life and settle him down. He’s a great guy and needs a great girl. But, whatever…I’ll just have to sit back and wait…impatiently.

Although we live together, he stays in the basement. I know that sounds crazy when I say it, but it’s very nice. It has everything the top floor has except a kitchen. It even includes a front door; however, he’s become accustomed to barging in mine. I enjoy the fact we have two separate living areas. I don’t have to share my space other than the kitchen, and he can decorate his part with all his manly crap never interfering with my more feminine features.

The most annoying chirp a phone can make interrupts my thoughts. Blain sits up and grabs it off the table. Almost instantly his lips curl as he looks up apologetically. “I’ve got company coming.”

“Great,” I dead pan. “Which one this time?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then her name spills from his mouth. “Leslie.”

He’s such a man-whore!
“She’s so damn annoying, Blain. You can do so much better.”

“Not in the sack,” he responds quickly.

“Ewww! Gross! I don’t need that image in my mind.”

He chuckles leaning back into the couch and focuses again on the TV. I’m not naïve, though. His wheels are turning.

“She’s really nice though. You’ve never given her a chance.”

Told you he was pondering something.

“Um, hello? The first time I met her I walked in on her giving you a BJ. I can’t look at her anymore without seeing her cheeks full.” I puff out my cheeks mimicking a full mouth.

Blain jerks up slapping his knee. “I wish you could have seen your face!”

“I’m trying to forget yours!” I squeal but not without a chuckle.

I swear it’s taken ten minutes to finally catch our breaths, when he stands wiping his tears of laughter from under his eyes. “Well, I’m heading to the bottom. Love ya, sis.”

“Love ya too,” I say fumbling to capture the remote he precisely tossed at my chest. Good thing I caught it before it hit me. I playfully glare at him, silently reminding him it wasn’t a football.

He chuckles then quietly shuts the door behind him.

Chapter 2

Bacon. It’s what makes my eyes bolt open. The smell wraps around my sleep-induced brain and pulls me out of the bed. I pad down the hallway and enter the kitchen where Blain has ear buds in, his head bouncing to the music as he cooks. He’s in a pair of blue gym shorts and no shirt. He’s built like a brick shit house with a kickass personality. Add that to good looks, and he can bring home all the girls he wants.

It’s not unusual to see him cooking breakfast. It’s his favorite meal of the day and since he doesn’t have a kitchen, he has to share his beloved meal with me. When I grab my mug and pour my coffee, he smiles tenderly but doesn’t remove the music in his ears and turns his attention back to scrambling the eggs. I flop into the chair at the table, and take a sip of the soothing hot liquid. I slept like shit. That damn dog. I wrestled with sleep last night, worrying about how the poor thing had to learn to do things with one less leg.

Blain slides a plate of bacon, eggs and sausage in front of me, ripping me away from my heartbreaking thought of the poor pup. Dropping down across from me, he pops his ear buds out and begins devouring his heaping pile. I think a shovel would serve him better.

“Doubles tonight?” he mumbles with a mouthful.

“Yeah. Jim isn’t letting me off Fridays and Saturdays for a little while. He says since I’m his best, he wants his best to have his best. So, don’t wait up for me.” I shrug then point my fork at him. “And don’t talk with food in your mouth. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

He smirks popping another piece of bacon into his mouth. I tilt my head to the side and give him a tight smile with matching eyes. There…that will teach him.

“Oh. My. God. Paige!” Holly freezes in her tracks grabbing my elbow.

“What?” I ask, half caring what has her attention at the front of the restaurant. She gets excited if the trees blow the right way.

“It’s him. It’s the hottie from yesterday,” she quietly squeals in delight.

She looks starstruck with her head titled slightly to the side and her thin lips parted. Any minute drool will start dripping down her chin if she doesn’t come back to reality. It’s probably some man who resembles Brad Pitt. The young Brad Pitt was hot, now he’s…eh—age hasn’t helped him at all and she likes the “old” Brad.

“He’s in your section. Can I have that table? Please,” she begs putting her hands together as if she’s praying. “I’ll give you tips from two tables. Please, please, let me have this one.”

Ok, now she has me quite interested. I follow her animated stare to my section and instantly my heart skips a beat.

Holy hell, she’s right.

Pulling my shoulders back, I turn to her and give her a wicked smirk. “Get a grip. I’m not giving up my table. Eat your heart out,” I say feeling cocky and sauntering out toward the men.

My heart is pounding, brutally banging against my rib cage as I approach the two men. The man in the blue shirt curls the corner of his lips as his eyes wander up and down my body. His jet-black hair is styled into a faux hawk and a plain shirt is molded against his robust chest. Hell, fact of the matter is, he’s all muscles. My breath halts along with my feet when our eyes meet. I’m stuck frozen, locked in with the most mesmerizing, most extraordinary royal blues I’ve ever seen.

I force my eyes away from their death grip and smile. “Hey guys. I’m Paige. What can I get for you today?”

“Well hello, Paige, I’m Levi,” he says with a twist of arrogance, putting his hand out for me to shake.

I pause for a moment, stupefied by the attraction of his tattoos that wrap around his wrist, traveling upward, and disappearing underneath the stretched seams of his t-shirt. Nervously, I smile back putting my small hand into his. Immediately, I melt in the spot where I’m standing. Pins and needles run along my spine, shooting sparks down to my curled toes. My breath is all but gone as a thirst for him tugs an ache between my thighs that I haven’t felt in years.

Holy hell.

Like he’s felt the instant goo I’ve become, he chuckles and nods his head. “And this is Adam.”

Who?

I pull my hand from his and turn my attention to the other man. Adam’s brown eyes are tender with a touch of confident passion, and from the looks of his disheveled light brown hair, he partied way too hard last night. Or he didn’t care enough to brush it this morning.

I swallow hard and conceal a deep breath trying to compose myself. “What can I get for you two?” I repeat.

“Water and a turkey sandwich,” Levi says handing me the menu with a concrete stare. It’s like he’s studying me, watching my every move, enjoying every sensation my body is experiencing. I pray he isn’t seeing exactly what I’m feeling.

“I’ll take the same,” Adam says. It takes a moment for my brain to process what he says, but finally I peel my eyes away from Levi and nod.

“Great! I’ll be back,” I tell them. Although I might sound confident, I’m drowning in fear. Fear that my face is giving away all the awareness my body feels from him. Immediately, I turn on my heel and head for the kitchen, desperate to get myself in check.

“Hope so,” Levi’s charismatic voice cuts through the busy chatter of the restaurant.

You know that feeling you get when someone is watching you? Staring at you from across the room? It’s like a sixth sense. It’s a prickly sensation that runs along your skin, standing the hairs on your neck straight up, a tickle that runs along your spine. That feeling causes you to search the room to find the perpetrator and right now, I feel like I’m being eaten alive by it. I know perfectly who by.

Holly is glued to the corner when I come around to place their orders and make the drinks.

“He checked you out the whole way back,” she sighs pushing herself off the corner and turning to face me. I’m well aware there’s a tinge of jealousy there.

I puff out air and roll my eyes. “What douchebags.”

“I told you he’s hot.”

“Eh, he’s ok,” I lie straight through my teeth. He’s more than hot. He’s drop dead gorgeous, melt in your mouth, irresistible, and insanely attractive.

“Yeah? Your cheeks tell a different story,” she calls my bluff. “Stephanie said he specifically asked to be in your section. Lucky bitch,” she says enviously, like I had something to do with it.

I scrunch my face in disbelief. “No he didn’t.”

“Believe what you want. Just know you’re so freaking lucky,” she grumbles pulling her next order out of the cook’s window.

“Whatever. He probably didn’t like your white face and purple eye shadow drooling all over him,” I joke.

She turns, fighting a smile, and slits her eyes but remains silent.

“Oh so evil,” I retort flipping my ponytail and heading back out to the men with their drinks.

As I set the drinks on the table, Levi watches my every move like I’m a piece of meat dangling in front of a lion. I can feel his blue eyes fixed on me and that generates an explosion of nervousness. I’m his intended prey.

“How long have you worked here?” Levi asks casually. He’s done this too many times before. He’s up to no good. I know this type of guy. He’s trouble. A damn good looking bad boy and he knows it. He knows his looks are lethal and most likely uses them for his benefit.

“About a year. Are you new in town?” I ask with conviction in my tone.

Confidence ticks at the corners of his lips. “Passing through.”

“Well, you guys will enjoy it here.”

“I already do.”

Ugh. There it is.
The I-bet-I-can-hit-on-you-and-get-you-in-bed crappy thing men call flirting.

I glance over to Adam and flash a polite smile. His lips are tight and his eyes showing the laughter he’s holding back. They’re both douches.

I force myself not to roll my eyes in their faces and instead turn on my heel and walk away before my smart mouth gets me into trouble.

Do girls really fall for the cheesy pick-up lines? Was I supposed to fall into his arms and allow him to whisk me away to a faraway land? Seriously. Has any man gotten a date from a wolf-whistle? Then again, I’ve seen Blain bring home girls with incredibly cheesy lines just as shallow. What type of woman does that? Maybe because of Blain, I’m desensitized from the bullshit of men?