Wanted: A Bad Boy Romance (15 page)

For a brief moment Saturday
morning, I feel normal with Titan.

We’re seated at a quaint coffee
shop down the street from his apartment, and aside from the fact that his face
is a little bruised up, it’s a peaceful kind of morning. He’s wearing khakis
and
a polo
. His hair is washed and combed. He smells
like a fresh shower and shave.

We look like a couple.

And shit. We feel like one too.

“I didn’t think you’d lose last
night,” I say, taking a sip of my caramel macchiato. “I thought you were
undefeated?”

“It was fixed,” he grunts,
glaring out the window. Even when he’s angry, he’s impossibly handsome. His jaw
sets and shifts, and I imagine he’s grinding his teeth. “Kyle came at me last
minute and told me to throw the fight. Money was going to be the same either
way, so I did it.”

My hand flies to my mouth.
“Scandalous.”

I find it funny, though I’m not
sure why. Guess corruption is everywhere, all the time, and at all levels.

“That sarcastic, Jordana?” His
gaze snaps to me. He obviously doesn’t think it’s as funny as I do.

My jaw hangs. I don’t have a
response, not one that he’d probably appreciate.

“Didn’t want to do it,” he says.
“Didn’t have a choice.”

“I won’t pretend to understand
the complex makings of an underground fighting ring.” I turn my cup, tracing my
fingertip along the misspelled “Jordanna” written across the side in black
Sharpie.

“Good.” His shoulders slump
forward, and he wears the face of a man deep in thought. I get the impression
he didn’t take throwing the fight too lightly.

“Maybe you’re not as rough and
tumble as you think you are?” I tease, throwing him a wink for good measure.

“Why the hell would you say
that?” His eyes darken.

I slink a shoulder up to my ear
and stave off a smirk. “I saw some of your old scrapbooks. It was before you
were released. Before I met you. I was curious about you I guess.”

My eyes fall to the table. His
stare burns into me.

“You were a good kid, Titan. Good
grades. Homecoming king. Track star.” I dare myself to meet his gaze again. His
jaw is clenched tight, his eyes narrowed.

“So you want me to go back to
that? To what you think I was?” he seethes. “I told you, Jordana. I’m different
now. There’s no going back. I’m never going to be that guy. And I don’t fucking
appreciate you digging up my past.”

“I-
I’m
sorry.” I smile, a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. “I thought the
scrapbooks were cute. I found them in your old closet. I…”

Nothing I can say will fix this
moment.

“I wasn’t trying to be nosy or
anything…” My excuses rattle off my tongue one after another. “I don’t think
you need to change. I-I just
think
…”

“What?” He rises, and my heart
falls. Titan turns, slamming his half-full coffee cup into a nearby trash bin.
“You think I need to walk down some straight and narrow path again? So I can be
good enough for you?”

“No. Not at all.” I swallow a
lump in my throat, and my cheeks flush as I feel the little old ladies at a
nearby table watching us.

“You don’t know me, Jordana. And
you never fucking will.”

With that, he’s gone.

***

I’ve never been one to drink my
sorrows away, but tonight I’m making an exception.

I’m seated at the last stool on
the left at a bar called Shooter’s in the newer part of town where the yuppies
and recent college graduates hang out every weekend.

This entire weekend has been a
bust.

I found out nothing at the
fights. No leads. No suspicions confirmed. I tried chatting with some of the
guys sitting around me but they seemed like a bunch of airheaded grunts
who
truly come to the fights because they’ve got nothing
better to do on a Friday night.

Besides, it’s not like anyone
would tell me if they knew anything about a serial killer who beats up people
outside of bars every once in a while.

Titan was right. But at least I
tried.

And shit. Titan won’t speak to
me. I thought we were having a lovely little chat over coffee and donuts and he
went and took my comment out of context. I don’t think he should change. I just
don’t think he should ignore the light parts of himself in favor of the dark.

I take a swig of my appletini,
kicking myself for stumbling over my words with Titan that morning. Had I been
able to compose my thoughts a little better, I might be lying in his arms
between rumpled sheets right now.

“Hey, girl!” I swivel on my
barstool, my best friend from high school, Naomi Rivera, coming at me with open
arms and a smile wider than her made up face. “I’m so glad you called me
tonight! I’d been wanting to hang out with you again ever since I heard you
were back in town.”

Naomi’s the kind of friend I can
still have a good time with no matter how much time passes between visits. We
always pick up right where we left off. I love her dearly, and she’s the
closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had.

“How’s the internship going?” she
asks, taking the seat next to me.

“Good, good. How’s the jewelry
store?”

“Oh, you know.” She rolls her
eyes, batting her hand where the glimmer of a diamond ring catches my eye. It’s
on her right hand, a symbol that means she doesn’t need a man. She’s committed
to herself and utterly and completely in love with herself.

She and I both know better. If a
man paid her any attention, she’d be at his feet in two seconds flat. I
appreciate and admire her intentions though.

“I still think it’s cool that
you’re a manager at twenty-two,” I say.

“It helps when your grandparents
own the store.” She smiles, turning to the bartender to order a gin and tonic.
Naomi turns back to me, placing her hand on my arm. “So, girl, how you been?
How’s your Mama?”

“She’s doing okay,” I say. “We’re
all hanging in there. She’s dating a surgeon right now, so we’re living at a lake
house on Blue Pond Road.”

“Nice.”

“They’re talking about getting
married soon,” I say. “But I think they’re content to play house for a bit
longer.”

“You like him?”

“He’s good for her. Mostly. Gives
her a new sense of purpose I think.”

“She still teaching?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “Somehow.”

It’s a miracle Mama manages to
pull herself together enough to teach at the college. She took a ten-month
sabbatical after Jerome died, but her therapist thought it would be good for
her to get back into the swing of things as soon as she was ready.

I glance around the bar. More
people are beginning to filter in. My gaze hones in on a guy in a khaki jacket
and dark jeans standing by a high top table in the back of the space.

“No fucking way.” I shove my
drink.

“What?” Naomi asks, attempting to
follow my gaze.

“Just someone I know from my
internship.”

I stare at Thad, who’s nursing a
beer and chatting up a group of people our age. Out of all the bars and all the
nights and all the odds, we end up at the same place at the same time. Standing
behind him is another familiar face, though it takes a while for that smirky
smile to register.

It’s the guy from the fights last
night – the one clinging onto Titan the entire time. I think Titan said
his name was Kyle. Interesting that they travel in the same circle. Guess this
town is smaller than I thought.

I keep my back toward Thad. If
luck is on my side tonight, he’ll scamper off to another bar and neglect to
notice me here. I can only hope they’re
bar-hopping
tonight.

“Those guys are kind of cute.”
Naomi smirks, her hazel eyes flashing in the dark. “You know them, you said?”

“Ugh.” My eyes roll back into my
head. “Ignore them. Trust me.”

“Oh, they’re harmless.” Naomi
swats at me. “Maybe they’ll buy us a round?”

Before I have a chance to
protest, she hops off her stool and struts across the room to strike up a
conversation with them.

Mama always said bad things come
in threes. This would be the third bad thing happening in my shitty weekend.

I finish my drink quietly, all
alone, and bide my time until the inevitable happens.

“Look who it is.” A man’s voice
jerks my attention a few moments later. I spin to see Kyle. He cleans up well,
I’ll admit. A person would never know he operates an underground fighting ring
in a seedy bar basement. “Your boyfriend know you’re out on the town tonight?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” God, I
sound like a middle-schooler.

“Ah, so you’re single.” He takes
a mouthful of beer, his eyes dropping to my cleavage.

“Don’t bother with this one.”
Thad comes up from behind Kyle, his gaze punishing and locked with mine. “Pretty
sure she’s not into men.”

My jaw falls. “Seriously, Thad?”

“Oh, she’s into dudes,” Kyle
says. He speaks to Thad, but he looks at me. “She’s fucking a buddy of mine
actually.”

“Oh, yeah? That so?” Thad’s face
morphs, subtly twisting like a territorial dog about to guard something he
believes is his. “Who’s she fucking, cuz?”

Ah, the two of them are cousins.
I squint. I guess I could see it. They both have thin brown hair, long faces,
mischievous
blue eyes. Same lean build.

“It’s none of your business,
Thad.” I fire a response before Kyle has a chance to.

“Name’s Titan,” Kyle answers with
an evil leer. “Titan Blackstone. He’s a convicted felon too. Guess she likes
‘em bad. I’d say you’re not her type, Chief.”

Thad’s face falls before
transforming before my very eyes. His expression lightens. He’s happy.
Too happy.

“Titan Blackstone, you said?”
Thad asks.

I don’t answer.

“I know him,” Thad says. “He’s on
my caseload. Gabriela’s really. But he’s definitely on paper and definitely
off-limits, Jordana.”

I swallow a lump in my throat,
but it comes right back. Thad’s blue eyes penetrate me. I’m not sure what he’s
going to do with that information, but I don’t trust him.

At all.

I push past the guys and bump
into Naomi on my way out. I give her a quick excuse about not feeling well and
burst through the doors to hail a cab.

A sick thickness swirls in my
belly, as if all my secrets have just been exposed. Bad things are coming. I
know it.

I
feel
it.

“Saw your girl out Saturday
night.” Kyle struts across the garage Monday morning wearing the kind of
swagger in his step that tells me he probably got laid over the weekend.

“She’s not my girl,” I say,
grabbing a drill and getting to work.

“Funny,” Kyle says. “That’s
exactly what she said Saturday night.”

My insides burn.

The thought of Kyle touching
Jordana…

The thought of Jordana letting
Kyle touch her…

I blew up at her at the café last
Saturday. I couldn’t help it. I’d been stewing all morning and it was only a
matter of time before I boiled over. A man doesn’t exactly appreciate someone
digging in their past, and I knew where she was going.

I know I’m not good enough to be
with her, but I don’t fucking need to be reminded. Everything she didn’t say
was everything I already knew. The old me, that preppy jock, the one with his
whole future ahead of him,
is
the kind of guy better
suited for a girl like her.

Not me.

Not a convicted felon with a
permanent chip on his shoulder and a vendetta against the world for ruining the
good thing he had.

“Don’t go acting like you got
with Jordana,” I snap at Kyle. “I know her better than you. She’d never go home
with your kind.”

“Aren’t we the same kind?” Kyle
says. “You and me?”

“Hardly.”

“That’s true, I guess. I ain’t
never damn near killed a man before.”

KJ passes between us, looking
like he’s working when I know damn well he’s listening to our conversation.

“Did you fuck her or not, Kyle?”
My voice booms. I don’t have time for these bullshit fucking games, and I won’t
spend the rest of my eight hour day with the mental image of Jordana’s perfect,
fawn tits bouncing as she rides Kyle’s pencil dick.

He laughs, as if he’s entertained
by all of this. Kyle takes his sweet ass time before answering.

“Nope,” he says, hanging his
head. “Not yet anyway.”

I drop my drill and walk up to
him, getting in his face. His cheap cologne fills my lungs as I tower over him.

“Don’t fucking go near her. You
got that?” I say through gritted teeth.

“Whoa, whoa. Guys.” KJ comes
between us, his skinny fingers splayed across our chests. “Drop it. Let’s get
to work. Not worth it.”

I give Kyle one last warning in
the shape of a pointed stare before returning to my bay. I won’t speak to him
the rest of the day. He’s officially on my shit list.

I need to get out of here. Find a
new job. I can’t put up with this day after day. I need something more,
something better. Lubes and filters and fighting
isn’t
what I want. It isn’t me.

I’m two seconds from snapping.

Kyle struts off, locking himself
in his dad’s office where he likes to watch T.V. before his dad comes in.

“Don’t worry about him,” KJ says.
“He likes to think he’s got game, but we all know ain’t no women are trying to
get with him.”

“Your brother better watch
himself,” I spit. “Not playing around.”

“What, you going to hurt him?” KJ
chuckles. “Get yourself sent back to prison over some stupid girl?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Not trying
to go back there.”

“What would happen if you hurt
someone?” KJ asks. His question is random, but then again, so is KJ. “Would you
go back to prison?”

“Yep. Why do you ask?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t know how
probation worked.”

“It’s parole.”

“See. I didn’t know there was a
difference.” KJ scratches his ears that stick out a
half inch
too far. He reminds me of Dopey, the seventh dwarf. Scrappy. Scrawny. Skinny.
Goofy. “What was it like on the inside?”

“You don’t want to know, and I’m
not particularly interested in reliving those times for you.” I step over an
orange extension cord. “I suggest you watch a documentary if you’re that
curious.”

“Oh.” KJ hangs his head, and for
a second I feel sorry for him.

But I disengage from the
conversation. I just want to put in my hours and clock out. I’m calling Jordana
the second I get home. If I owe anyone an apology or an ounce of my undivided
attention, it’s her.

***

The knock on my door at eight
that night sends a sharp zing across my chest and a pulse to my cock.

She came.

I wasn’t sure for a while.

She tried to resist it, tried to
make excuses.

Then she finished the
conversation with a non-committal response and hung up on me.

I yank the door open, trying not
to show my cards with a goofy-ass grin when I see her standing
there
trying to look mad at me.

“Get your fine ass in here.” I
pull her by the arm and back her against the wall, pressing my body against
hers.

Jordana’s dark eyes rise into
mine and she bites the corner of her full bottom lip.

“Sorry about Saturday,” I say.

If I were her boyfriend, I’d have
a dozen red roses waiting for her, but we’re not like that. We’re just a man
and a woman, and I’m just trying to do the right thing since it’s the least I
can do.

“I didn’t mean it the way it came
out,” she says, her
voice barely whisper
.

I lean down, silencing her with a
hard kiss.

“Shh,” I say. “I didn’t invite
you here to talk about it.”

Her head tilts, and I taste her
lips again.

Spearmint and cherry lip balm.

“Kyle bother you on Saturday?” I
ask.

She jerks away, as if she’s
surprised I know. “Were you following me that night?”

“Of course not,” I say. “Kyle
walked in proud as a fucking peacock this morning, acting like he had you
Saturday night.”

Her jaw falls. “He did
not
have me Saturday night.”

“Good,” I growl, stealing another
kiss as my hands make themselves at home beneath the lace cups of her bra. Her
tits fill my palms, sending a quick hardening to my throbbing cock. “Because
you’re all fucking mine, Jordana…”

My hands rake down her sides,
then her hips, before dragging around to the back and cupping her cherry ass. I
lift her thighs around me, carrying her to my bed and dropping her in the
middle.

She smiles, her dark hair
splaying behind her. I unbuckle my belt as she unzips her jeans. It’s
mechanical, automatic. Fucking is so much more efficient when romance doesn’t
get in the way.

I climb on top of her, spreading
her legs wide as they’ll go and positioning the head of my cock at her tight
pussy. One thrust and I’m in. One thrust and she’s mine all over again. She
wriggles her hips as I find my rhythm, and we settle in together, losing
ourselves in whatever the fuck this is we’re doing.

Her fingers drag across my flesh
as I plunge deeper inside her, and the second our eyes
meet,
I find it difficult to fight the warm sensation creeping into the center of my
chest.

This isn’t love.

I’m not capable of loving.

But maybe…

Maybe it could be something.

My thoughts scatter in all
different directions, but my cock pleads for silence. I need to enjoy the
physicality of this and not get caught up in the psychobabble bullshit aspect.

I can’t attach meaning to this.

I…just can’t.

We fuck like rabbits the rest of
the night, and I fill my head with visions of her bouncing tits and revel in
the way her tight, wet pussy feels sliding up and down the length of my cock.
Her sweet moans fill the small space around us, and by the time we’re done, we
melt into the messy bed as our sweaty bodies evaporate into the cool night air.

A moment later, Jordana rolls to
her side, away from me. She’s never done that before.

“What’s wrong?” My voice sounds annoyed.
It kind of is. Leave it to a goddamn woman to ruin a sexy high by being all
closed off for no good reason.

“Nothing.”

I roll my eyes. It’s probably a
good thing she can’t see me.

“I know damn well when a woman
says that, she doesn’t mean it.” I roll closer to her, running my hand along
her bare arm.

I hear her sniffle, and a second
later she dabs at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.

“You’re crying?” I ask, sinking
back into the pillow.

She says nothing, and I reach for
her, rolling her into my arms though she’s stiff as a board.

“Talk to me,” I say.

Her eyes slowly drift into mine.
“I don’t know why I’m crying right now.”

“Yes you do.”

She shakes her head.

“You just don’t want to say it,”
I add.

She lifts a shoulder beneath my palm
and draws in a long breath. “I don’t know, Titan. I guess I just really enjoy
being with you. And I get the feeling that what I want and what you want are
two different things. And…and…”

“And what, Jordana?”

“We can’t keep doing this.”

My heart squeezes. Hard. Harder
than I ever thought it would.

“And why not?” I ask. “
It’s
just sex. Thought we agreed not to make it all
complicated.”

She pulls in another ragged
breath. “Saturday night, when I was out and I ran into Kyle, he was with his
cousin, Thad. I intern with Thad at the probation parole office.”

“Okay, so…?”

“Kyle told Thad I was sleeping
with a convict,” she says. “And he mentioned your name. Thad said you were one
of Gabriela’s clients.”

“Oh. Fuck.” It all makes sense. I
met with my parole officer, Gabriela Mercado, all of one time so far. Some
tawny-haired douchebag outfitted in head to toe Lands End sat in with her.
Never did catch his name.

“Yeah,” she says. “So…”

“He’s not going to rat you out,
is he?”

She nods. “He can if he wants
to.”

“What reason would he have?”

Her eyes fall to my chest, like
she doesn’t want to answer.

“Jordana, does he have something
on you?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not
like that.”

“Then what is it?”

“He’s upset that I wouldn’t go on
a date with him.”

“Psh,” I laugh. “He’ll get over
it. Shit, Jordana, you had me worried.”

Her almond-shaped eyes squint.
She opens her mouth to speak, but yawns instead. “I don’t want to talk about it
anymore. I just want to lay here. I want to be here, right now, with you. I
don’t want to think about tomorrow or the next day.”

“We’ll figure it out. Just have
to be more careful is all,” I say. “Nobody knows what we do here but you and
me.”

I pull her into my arms, and
within minutes she’s out cold. I watch her sleep for a bit, wanting to remember
what this moment feels like the rest of my life. A moment ago, this beautiful
woman was crying because she wanted to be with me.

She wants me, this girl.

And I think I want her too.