Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (70 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Fenton

It
could not have been
something I said. We hardly said anything. After Kya and I made it back safely
to the hotel suite, there were hardly any words exchanged. Kisses, cries of
pleasure, and climaxes – those were exchanged. I circled the punching bag and
reset my feet before attacking with a quick combination. I did not understand
women.

One minute, we were
laughing over omelets, the next, I had her on a stool in the kitchen, and then
everything changed. All I had done was left to shower and Kya changed her mind.
The next time I saw her, she was distant, angry, and tried to keep a door
between us. How did a woman go from having nothing, not even a scrap of
clothing, between our skin to slamming the bathroom door in my face?

I hit hard, then spun and
kicked. The bag shuddered, and I reset to do it all over again – anything to
drown out the small voice in the back of my head. Something was telling me that
Kya had felt what I had. One hint of me loving her and Kya Allen had run. It
could not be true. I was not falling for her. I was not about to fall for any
woman, much less a buttoned-up one like her.

"So, where's my
cut?" Kev asked. He appeared well behind the punching bag and out of
range. "I hear you did quite well at the fight last night and if my
calculations are right, you owe me quite a bit of cash."

"What fight? I
didn't have anything scheduled last night," I said.

"Well, nothing that
explains the cuts on your knuckles and that huge bruise over your ribs,"
my coach said.

"Come on, Aldous,
you know Vegas can be a rough town. And, us fighters are known to blow off
steam," I said.

He caught the bag and
held it. "You're damn lucky you didn't get injured or caught."

"He did get caught,
I caught him," Kev said. "And, as your manager, I've got to say you
should sign with that Kya Allen. Any woman ballsy enough to break into a bare
knuckle fight just to keep an eye out for you is worth signing some endorsement
deal for."

"You were
there?" I asked Kev.

"Of course, and I
would have stepped in to shield you from Darius Johnson if our Country Club
Princess had not taken care of him first," Kev said. "Seriously, she
is shattering that good girl reputation of hers left, right, and center."

"Yeah, she's no
saint," I said.

"Oooh, do
tell," Kev followed me towards the locker room.

"No way in
hell." I tore my gloves off and rinsed off in the shower. I had thought
like Kev that maybe Kya was more than her reputation let on. The last
twenty-four hours with her had made me hope. Then again, maybe all she wanted
was what most women wanted from me– a wild night with an infamous bad boy. It
was easy with me because they assumed I did not feel a thing. I wished I had
not felt anything with Kya.

I dressed quickly and
slipped out of the gym before Aldous or Kev could corner me again. I needed to
see Kya. I wanted to look her in those green eyes and see what she had to say.
Was it something I said or did? Or had she just used me like all the other
women had? She had said it was nothing to do with business, but I was a fool if
I thought that made it mean something.

The cab dropped me off in
front of the Tropicana, and I was relieved the paparazzi were busy with some
reality television star and her tiny Chihuahua. I was almost to the front doors
when I caught sight of Dana Maria in a heated argument with a concierge.

"You can't kick me
out and you know it," she said. "You don't have any proof and I could
sue you for sexual harassment."

"What is going
on?" I asked.

"Sorry, Mr. Morris,
she claims to know you. The Tropicana does not allow solicitations and I hope
she has not been bothering you," the concierge said.

"Bothering me? It
looks like you're bothering the lady. What is this? How dare you accuse her of
prostitution." My fingers curled into fists.

"No, Fenton, don't
bother. It happens all the time," Dana Maria said. "Just because I
choose not to change into plain clothes to go to work."

"Exactly. Take your
work elsewhere," the concierge said.

"She's a
dancer." I stepped between Dana Maria and the uniformed man. "And,
you are going to apologize to the lady."

"I'm sorry, Mr.
Morris, I know we cater to our celebrity guests, but I cannot allow her to be
here."

"Allow her to be
here? She is staying with me. She's my sister!" My knuckles clipped his cheekbone
before I knew I had released the punch.

The concierge fell to the
ground and glowered up at Dana Maria. "You're lucky he's lying for
you."

My sister put a sharp
heel in his chest and leaned down to flash her driver's license in his face.
"See what it says there? Or does my brother need to correct your
vision?"

The concierge turned
pale. "I'm sorry, Ms. Morris. It was a simple misunderstanding. Please,
let me get the door for you and your brother." He scurried to his feet and
held open the door.

I urged Dana Maria
through to the lobby before the crowd of reporters could catch up with us. In
order to amend his mistake, the concierge stopped the flood of cameras and
called security to help. I was relieved as we slipped through the crowd at
check-in and made our way across the lobby to the hotel elevators.

Then, I saw Kya. She was
sitting at a small restaurant table set with gleaming silverware. She caught my
eye, and I saw a flash of emerald green anger before she blinked and blew me
off. I could not move. I knew I needed to get Dana Maria away from the
photographers, but I stared at Kya. She was angry with me. The thought gave me
hope. If she was mad, then she cared and that was what rooted me to the spot.

"Is that her?"
my sister asked. "I did meet her. She answered the door at your
suite."

"Did she say
anything to you? Was she rude?" I asked.

Dana Maria stuck out a
hip and planted a hand on it. "Let me ask you a question, little brother.
Did you tell her I was coming over?"

"No," I said.
"We got distracted." I tried to catch Kya's eyes again. She had to
remember how good it felt to be together. It could not just be me. She had to
feel the same.

"Jesus, Fen, did you
sleep with her?"

"Why? How could you
tell?"

My sister punched me in
the shoulder, hard. "So, you can't stop talking about the girl, you sleep
with her, and then you invite me to come over, but you don't tell her anything
about me. Think about it, little brother. Think about how it all looked from
her perspective."

Dana Maria gestured to her
blaze orange dress and tall platform pumps. She was anything but subtle, and I
admired her for being straightforward about herself and what she did. Then, it
dawned on me. Kya opened the door to see my sister who had come over straight
from work.

My sister punched me
again. "Too slow, Fen. You slept with her and then invited a stripper
over. No wonder she's trying to kill you with those green glances."

I rubbed my shoulder and
shrugged. "People shouldn't judge you based on what you're wearing. They
don't know you. They don't know how we grew up."

"Do you know how she
grew up? I've heard you call her Country Club Princess. Where's that come from?
The clothes she wears. Sounds to me like you're just as judgmental as that
concierge out there," Dana Maria said.

"It’s not the same
and you know it," I said. "She dresses that way to make business
deals. If anything, she uses it to cover up who she really is. You don't do
that."

"I don't hide
much," my sister said. She stared down a trio of young men who gaped at
her. "Though, we both know you do exactly the same thing as your prim Ms.
Allen. You wear your reputation like a bulletproof vest."

I tugged my sister into
an alcove of potted palm trees. "You of all people should understand that.
I was done being a burden to you. I needed to be on my own. And, to do that
you've got to be tough."

"You are tough,
Fen," she said. "But you're also being tough on her. Why are you
giving her such a rough time?"

"I'm not," I
said. My sister clicked an impossibly tall heel. "I'm not doing it on
purpose."

"I think you are. I
think you're pushing her every bit you can in the hopes that she'll turn and
run. Then, you won't have to worry about keeping her out. You won't have to
worry about her making a place in your life. That way it won't hurt when she's
not there anymore."

"And, what's wrong
with that?" I asked. "I'm not ready to share my life with
anyone."

"Come on. When are
you going to stop preparing and start living?" she asked. "Making
sure everything is perfect first is making you miss out and it’s no guarantee
that it all won't go to hell."

I shook my head.
"I've got nothing to offer her. She doesn't really want me. It’s just fun
for her to get out of her comfort zone, you know, go crazy in Vegas like every
other tourist."

"So, you're not
crazy in love with her?"

"No. It would be
crazy if I was even near to feeling anything for Kya Allen," I said.

"Good." Dana
Maria peeked over my shoulder. "Because she looks pretty cozy with that
handsome man."

I brushed aside a palm
branch and looked at Kya. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I saw
the man she was with was the same man from the nightclub the first time we met.
The man had a catalog quality that matched his short, cropped hair and square
jaw. I hated him. Then, I wanted to kill him.

The man's hand trailed
down Kya's bare shoulder and curled around her hand. While I crushed the palm
branch in my clenched fist, he lifted Kya's hand and brushed a kiss across the
backs of her fingers. His other hand was between them, under the table and in a
haze of red, I imagined what else he was touching.

"Yeah, you're not
crazy for her at all," Dana Maria said. She wrenched my hand free from the
palm tree and pulled me towards the elevators. "Let's get you upstairs
before you do something you'll regret."

"You mean like going
over there and asking her exactly what she thinks she's doing?"

"Hey, you want to
make a fool out of yourself, go right ahead," she said.

My shoulders slumped and
I let my sister lead me across the lobby. She dragged me towards the elevators,
as my steps got heavier. Even if there had been a misunderstanding about who my
sister was, Kya had moved on with lightning speed. And the worst part was she
had found someone perfect for her.

The doors shut and the
handsome man's face beamed at us from an event poster. I swore. Kya had moved
on to the number one pick for the big golf tournament. She wasn’t interested in
a mixed martial arts fighter from a low rent background. She had her sights a
lot higher than me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Kya

I
unwrapped the black dress, fresh from the cleaners. I thought about wearing the
purple dress, but Jackson McRay seemed like a traditional man, even in Las
Vegas. I had spent the afternoon cyber-stalking him and had not once seen a
picture of him with a sequined or tube top sporting woman. He was rarely
photographed with women and only with decent, conservative women from prominent
families. I was suddenly feeling a lot of pressure.

The way Fenton Morris had
attracted paparazzi to the Tropicana, it was guaranteed someone would get a
picture of Jackson McRay on a date the night before his big tournament. All I
could think about was measuring up to the elegant women with their perfect
lineages that he was normally with when photographed. I had my reputation, but
it was nothing worthy of a caption.

I clasped my pearls
around my neck and checked the perfect bun I had twisted into my hair. I did
not smile into the mirror. That made me pause. The real reason was not the
worries about being captured by paparazzi. I was not even nervous about going
on a first date. The only problem was I was not excited to be going out with Jackson
McRay. And, it had nothing to do with him.

I had not seen Fenton all
afternoon. Just as I took out my phone and considered sending him a message, I
heard voices in the other room. The overlapping peals of female laughter made
me wish I could stay in the master bedroom and barricade the door, but I had to
go and meet Jackson in the lobby. I pushed the door open and went to see who
Fenton had invited back to the suite now.

The stripper, wait,
exotic dancer named Dana Maria was there with five of her friends. They
obviously knew each other from work and had come to party before their shifts.
Two ransacked the kitchen for glasses while the others staked out spots on the
white sofas and opened wine bottles. I cringed at all the red wine I saw.

"What you looking
at, Miss Priss?" one wildly redheaded woman asked.

"I was just looking
for Fenton," I said.

"I bet you were,
Dana says he's got all sorts of groupies just offering it up wherever he goes.
You one of those fight groupies, honey?" the redhead asked.

"Look at her,"
a woman decked out in leopard print said. "Her life's probably all picket
fences and book groups. She needs it from him bad."

"Fenton is not
here," Dana Maria said.

She got up and threaded
her way past her friends’ spiked heels around the coffee table towards me. I
could tell she wanted to say more, but I could not handle the way her friends
talked about me as if I was not there.

"Perfect little
black dress and white shiny pearls. Don't let her fool you, she nasty,"
the redhead said.

"Stop, Jewels,"
Dana Maria said.

She took a step toward
me, but I spun and marched out the door of the suite. I breathed a sigh of
relief when the elevator opened at my touch. I could not run down the stairs to
the next floor in my heels. I had no idea how those women walked in their
shoes, much less danced.

By the time my taxi
dropped me at the restaurant, I realized I had been chased out of my own suite.
I was very early and had no choice but to go sit at the bar by myself. I sipped
at the water with a twist of lime the unimpressed bartender gave me and tried
not to think about Fenton.

Seeing all of the women
lounging around the suite should have twisted the knife in deeper – no, it
should have cut him out of my system once and for all. I shook my head and told
myself to stop acting crazy. Here I was waiting at an elegant restaurant for my
charming date and I was fixated on Fenton Morris. I checked my watch and slid
off my stool. The only way to get him out of my mind was to confront him. I had
not gotten where I was in my career by running away from confrontation. I
needed to see Fenton face to face and find out what had happened between us.

"There you are, I'm
sorry if I'm late," Jackson said. He appeared behind me with a single
white rose. "I got you a thank you present."

I took the rose and eyed
the small box tied with a bow. "A thank you present? For what?"

"The endorsement
deal just cleared with my lawyers. Now, I know you were telling the truth. It's
a solid deal, and I signed the papers this afternoon."

"Then, it’s me that
should be getting you the thank you present," I slipped back onto my stool
and untied the gold bow. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud. "A
set of golf gloves embroidered with pink flamingos. You shouldn't have!"

"Just a reminder of
your victory on the mini-golf course. If I hadn't missed that flamingo hole, I
would have beaten you," he told me.

"Well, there's
always tomorrow. Or are you busy?" I asked.

He tugged me off the
stool, took my arm, and wrapped it around his. "Oh, that's right, the big
golf tournament. According to my coach, I have a curfew tonight. For you, I
think I might make an exception."

No sooner had we been
seated than I felt Jackson's palm slide up my knee and rest on my thigh. He
winked and gave my leg a squeeze as the waiter appeared. Jackson ordered for me
again and as soon as the waiter retreated his fingers began lazy circles that
dipped down to my inner thigh.

I shifted in my seat.
"Early curfew, it is, then. I don't want to get my new client in trouble
with his coach," I said.

"I'm not your client
tonight and don't worry about the curfew, unless you want to skip dinner and
just head back to my room right now," he said. He pulled my leg over to
his and my stomach lurched.

He was handsome,
charming, successful, and had a sterling reputation, but I suddenly wished I
was anywhere else but at our table. I had to figure out a way to let him down
easy and escape without compromising the endorsement deal. I had dealt with
rejecting clients before and their egos were unpredictable.

That was why I felt a
wave of relief when I first spotted Fenton weaving his way to the front door of
the restaurant. He immediately had words with the doorman, standing toe to toe
with him, his chin jutting out at a dangerous angle.

"Oh, no," I
said, pointing to Fenton. "Looks like someone never should have left his
room."

An ugly scowl covered
Jackson's face, until he realized I was looking at him. "The pressure gets
to some athletes. He lost a few days ago, and now he's facing a harder opponent.
I wouldn't be surprised if he flamed out completely now."

I wanted to tell Jackson
that Fenton was the last person I could imagine crashing and burning, but
before I could defend him, Fenton shoved the doorman back and started yelling.
His words were slurred and the crowded sidewalk gave him a wide berth. He
noticed the space and turned in a slow circle, as if he had forgotten where he
was. Then he looked up, saw the restaurant sign, and nodded to himself.

What had looked a moment
ago like a coincidence created by the universe to help me choose Jackson, now
looked like Fenton was moving with purpose. Had he followed me to the
restaurant? Did he know I had a date?

Fenton marched right up
to our table, cementing the fact that he had come there specifically to ruin my
evening. He snatched up the wine the waiter had just poured me and spun it
wildly in the glass.

"An expensive
vintage, no doubt," Fenton said. He stuck his nose in the air and did his
best to appear like a snobbish man wearing a monocle and suspenders.
"Though I do believe you could find a better pairing."

"You're drunk, Mr.
Morris, and not making any sense," Jackson said.

"Then, let me be
clear. The lady can do a lot better than you."

"The lady can speak
for herself," I said. "Where are your friends, Fenton? There was
quite a party looking for you earlier. A bunch of dancers wanting to take you
out dancing."

"Friends? Those are
my sister's friends," Fenton said. His blue eyes crashed into mine. He
reached out and grabbed a handful from the salad the waiter had only moments
ago slid into place. "Ugh, bitter and too lemony. Let me guess, the lady
that can speak for herself let this joker order for her?"

"This joker is
asking you to leave," Jackson said. He stood up and flagged down the
maitre d' and security.

"Come on, Kya,
you're an order-for-yourself kind of a girl. You're not all of this. And, you
certainly don't want to be with him," Fenton said.

The whole restaurant was
looking. My cheeks were bright red flames, but I kept my voice steady.
"What did you mean those were your sister's friends?"

"So, you really
didn't know?" Fenton asked.

"Sir, come with
me," the security guard interrupted, latching a large hand on Fenton's
arm.

Fenton yanked his arm
free easily and turned back to me. This time, the security guard grabbed both
his biceps and tried to turn him towards the door. I stood up to stop him, I
needed to hear what Fenton had to say, but Jackson shielded me from the scene
with one long arm.

"Don't worry about
Mr. Morris, Kya. He was just leaving," Jackson said. "Maybe you
should have taken me up on my earlier offer of room service."

"Sure, golfer, let
security take care of your dirty work while you try to work your game on
her," Fenton said. "I should have known you wouldn't stand up to me
yourself."

Jackson's jaw clenched.
"Don't listen to him, Kya. He's drunk and doesn't know what he's
saying."

"Oh, so know you're
telling her what to listen to and what to think?" Fenton asked. "How
about she hears a story about this woman I once knew. I knew this woman who
slipped into an underground bare-knuckle boxing match. And instead of getting
scared and trying to get out, instead of freezing up and waiting for someone to
help her, she was just fine."

"Come on, Kya, let
me take you back to my hotel. We can get a bite to eat in peace there,"
Jackson said.

He nodded to the security
guard, who wrapped his arms around Fenton's chest from behind and tried to haul
him out of the restaurant. Fenton broke free of the larger man's hold in one
move and spun to face him. I heard a sharp gasp before Fenton threw the first
punch, and then realized it was me that had made the sound.

The fight slammed into a
nearby table and the restaurant erupted as people fled their expensive dinners.
The security guard was almost twice Fenton's size, the shape and bulk of a
retired football player. He lunged at Fenton, who spun aside and chopped him on
the back of the neck. The guard stumbled. Despite his obvious intoxication,
Fenton was in control of the fight, until the guard turned around a brandished
a Taser.

He aimed at Fenton, and I
jumped forward to stop him. Jackson wrapped an arm around my waist to lift me
back. I thrashed against him, trying to kick the weapon out of the guard's
hand. A camera flash dazed us all and afterwards, Fenton stepped back and
raised his hands. He turned and walked out of the restaurant unharmed.