“Zeke,” Missy says, curling up against me as her arm slides around my waist. I look down, happy to see flirtation and not affection in those big, baby-blues.
Yeah. She gets it.
“Missy.” I pull her to me, lifting my head for another sweep around the circle of women. “Ladies.” I nod. Some smile, some blush, and some respond with a high-pitched “hi.”
“We watched you fight,” Missy says, grinning at a couple of the girls. “You looked good out there.” She presses against me and whispers in my ear, “Jenny really, really likes you. I didn’t tell her about, ya know, last night. So if you could keep that our little secret?”
I tug Missy closer and bend down. “Of course, babe,” I say as the heat of my breath radiates from her willowy neck. I raise my head, glance up, and stop as all of my confidence, strut, and gumption drops to the floor. It’s her. The girl from the park, the one who made me double back to get a second look at her while I was out jogging earlier. Transcendentally, she pulled me over to that damn bench with this unexplainable lure, the kind that I’d never gotten from any chick before. And after talking to her, hell, she drew me in even more. She didn’t view me as the player that I am. She didn’t see me as a one-night stand. She looked at me differently. While I liked it, I knew that I couldn’t measure, so before I crushed her image of me—before that precious enthusiasm dulled from her emerald eyes—I hightailed it out of there.
Peeking over Missy’s shoulder with my hand nearly grabbing her ass, the woman who made my heart stop for a split second, not once but two times today, looks at me. She sees me for who I really am. And fuck, I don’t like it.
This chick is not like all the others, easy to conquer. She’s not a hammerfist, an axe kick, or a spinning back-fist. This girl is more like a guillotine, the most lethal MMA fighting move. It’s where the guy gets himself in front of you, wraps his arm around the top of your neck and under your chin, and applies pressure to your throat. It has rendered some unconscious. Even I have a tough time getting out of that one. I’m quick, though, and try not to let myself get too close. No guillotine is gonna take my ass down. But the longer I gaze into those gripping emerald eyes, the more I’m convinced that I should kick up my guard and block this sexy little guillotine. Instead, like an idiot, I slowly smile at her, deciding to swing for the fences. Something a fighter does to indicate to his opponent that he’s giving it his all in the final round.
Her full red lips spread upward. She sweeps, hooks, and with a quick, tight clench, with that sweet returning smile, she takes my ass down. The guillotine renders me senseless, and as I release Missy and move toward her, I know without a doubt that I am fucked. And not fucked in the way that I want to be tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rayna got some wheels, a golf cart decked out with pink Christmas lights, and we drove it over to Jay’s only to discover that the bar’s name is really JZS. To top it all off, the infamous Declan brothers− Jax, Zeke, and Slate− own the place. Go figure. An MMA fighting ring is located in the back of the bar, and I did get to see my first live fight. Jax Declan proved to be an outstanding boxer. When the fight ended, and with a little push from Rayna, Emmie chased after the unmarried Declan brother. So Rayna and I headed back to the front bar for a drink.
After a quick scan of the room, Rayna glances at me. “What do you want?”
“I really would like a glass of wine, but they probably have the kind that comes in those little plastic bottles, and you know that stuff gives me heartburn and a headache-”
Rayna’s eyes roll. “A beer then.” Her smile thins, as she makes no effort to conceal her annoyance. That’s Rayna, though. She doesn’t hide her feelings. Her eyes fly open wide. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” She smacks me on the arm, eyes focused behind me. “Zeke is here.”
“Where?” I turn around.
“Right there. See the group of girls?”
“Yes.”
“See that guy with the faded black tee, jeans, and tatted arms,” she says as I spot the prominent, stimulating male figure across the room. “That’s Zeke Declan.”
“How can you tell? He’s not even facing us.”
“First of all, there’s a flock of girls around him, and second of all, I recognize a Declan ass when I see one, and then there’s,” she pauses as we watch the guy pull the girl hanging on his arm closer to his body, the movement slow, deliberate, and easy. Yes, this Zeke Declan appears relaxed having a woman pressed against his body. “Oh-ho, yeah, that’s him all right. Hey.” Rayna nudges me with her elbow. “You want me to introduce you?”