Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (105 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Kya

I
stood in the bathroom and considered a cold shower. It was hard to tell what
had made me hotter, Fenton's kiss or my angry flare-up after he stopped. I made
him stop. My body burned with the possibilities – his lips on my neck, the tingly
warmth of his breath. I could still taste our kisses and I considered raiding
the mini bar for another whiskey. That would kill the traces of him.

I started the
shower instead. The whiskey would only exacerbate my anger. I had been a
complete idiot. Every girl has the childish fantasy that she'll reform the bad
boy. All his rough edges will smooth down like butter under her warm caress.
They were silly teenage daydreams, and I almost fell for them.

All the time I
thought I was wining and dining Fenton, earning his trust, and establishing a
base for our future business, he was just softening me up for a seduction. I
wondered how much his horrible manager had bet against him having sex with me.
I hoped that slime ball Kevin Casey collected a fat wad of cash from Fenton.

Before I could
bring myself to peel off my purple dress and get in the shower, I slumped
against the bathroom counter. I was frustrated, I was angry, and that all made
sense. What I did not understand was how I let myself get hurt.

I knew Fenton
Morris by reputation, I saw it in him when we first met, and still I had let
myself think there was more between us.

When my phone rang
I saw that it was James Cort, but I picked up anyway. It seemed a fitting
punishment for being so stupid.

"How did it
go? How much did you sign him for? Come on, don't hold me in suspense. Tell me
all the dirty details and percents," my boss said.

"It didn't
happen," I said. "Somehow, the whole evening turned into him trying
to seduce me."

"Trying to?
He didn't manage it? Well, that kind of blows my estimation of the guy,"
James said.

"I'm serious.
He was only interested in getting me into bed. I never had a chance to show him
a contract." I let a small sob escape.

"Oh, Jesus
Christ on a cracker, baby doll. You're not crying, are you? I know it hurts.
Getting used and then dropped by a potential client is just one of those things
that happens," my boss said. "I thought you had thicker skin than
that. Come on, Kya, you're better than this."

I blinked into the
mirror and swiped away my running mascara. "Thanks, that was surprisingly
sympathetic. As if you've ever had a young, sexy athlete try to get into your
pants."

"And, she's
back. Thank God. I thought I'd lost you," he said. "Now, let me get
this straight. You've got feeling for our big time bad boy. So, you stopped the
whole seduction thing because you want more and because you want to hang on to
some supposed thread of professional dignity."

"Yes, what's
wrong with that?" I asked.

"Well, you're
dead wrong about the professional dignity thing. It doesn't exist. As for
having feelings for the man, who wouldn't? Give me a few days alone with him
and I might swoon. The only thing you did wrong was not letting it all
happen."

I scowled at the
phone. "You're not a pimp, and I don't work for you that way, Mr.
Cort."

"All I'm
saying, in a purely modern, girl power kind of a way, is that the only way to
find out how you both really feel is to do the deed. Am I right? Or are you a
Victorian revivalist set on being courted?"

I hated to admit
there was some sense to what my boss said, so I stayed silent.

"Yeah, I'm
right. I know," he said. "So, let's weigh it out. On one hand, you
have the fictional idea of professional dignity and maybe the rainbow unicorn
of integrity. And on the other hand, you have a bonus, an office, and a tight
little mortgage on that new house you picked out. Plus, one unforgettable night
of sexy sex with a sexy man."

"Please never
say 'sexy sex' ever again." I turned the shower off. For as much as James Cort
touted my good girl reputation, he treated me just like one of the boys, and I
loved him for it. "Alright, boss, good pep talk. Now, I've got to chase
down our next big client."

"Hey, at
least his billboards are up everywhere. You can just stop people on the Strip
and ask which way he went," James said.

I laughed and hung
up. He was right. I had chased off Fenton too soon and for all the wrong
reasons. If I found him and told him that, there was still a chance I could get
him to sign off on the vitamin supplements endorsement. Anything else that
happened could be separate, just between two unattached, consenting adults.

#

I fidgeted all the
way down in the elevator. I tried to tame my curly hair. I used the mirrored
walls to fix the smudges of makeup under my eyes. I checked my phone and
laughed over the encouraging and raunchy messages my boss left. I also tried to
brainstorm ways to track Fenton's movements, but every time I thought about
him, I got distracted.

The strong grip of
his hands did not change the soft, electric way he caressed my bare shoulders.
His hard forearms locked tight around me, but never squeezed. His strength
flowed against me as if our bodies fit perfectly.

The elevator doors
opened and I stepped out into a chaotic scene. A small knot of young men was
complaining to three security guards. Apparently, their buddy had snapped a
candid picture with one of the MMA guys only to be assaulted. As one guy waved
a digital camera around, I caught a glimpse of the photograph in question. Fenton's
black hair and sharp blue eyes were cut off by a dirty high-top sneaker.

"You
pretended to kick Fenton Morris in the face?" I asked. "Ever hear the
phrase 'don't poke the bear?' Go look it up and try to learn something, but
first tell me which way he went."

They all turned to
look at me, mouths open.

"You heard
the lady, the conversation is over," the bald security guard said.
"Your man got kicked out, but I think he grabbed a cab from the
lineup."

"Thank
you," I said.

I strode up to the
cabstand guy. "The security guard in there said you would help me." I
waved at the guard and he looked confused, but waved back. "Where did that
guy go?"

The uniformed man
looked up at Fenton's billboard and then handed me a crumpled piece of paper.
"It’s no place you want to go, Miss."

"It’s not the
place I'm after, but the person," I said.

He opened the cab
door and helped me inside. Two quick taps on the roof and we were off. I felt
light and optimistic, despite the cab driver's concerned looks. "You know
this address is a strip club, right?"

I nodded. In my
head I imagined Fenton sulking in a dark corner of some seedy strip club where
he would not even look at the women. He would see me, and his blue eyes would
brighten. He could not hide the way he liked seeing me. I would tell him the
truth.

"I've decided
I can mix business and pleasure if you can," I practiced in my head.

"Miss, I
don't feel right leaving you here," the cab driver said. "You go
ahead and look for your guy. I'll be out here if you need me."

"Thanks, but
I'll be fine," I said. I paid him in full plus tip and opened the cab
door.

I took a deep
breath and plunged into the dim tunnel of the strip club entrance. It took a
moment for my eyes to adjust and when they did, I wished the bright lights of Fremont
Street had blinded me.

Fenton was
surrounded by fawning strippers, flashing a fan of cash in one hand as he
knocked back shots of tequila from the bottle with the other. There was a
bruise on the left edge of his jaw and a cut above his eyebrow. In the short
time since he left me, Fenton Morris had lived up to every detail of his
reputation.

I watched as a
bouncer tried to kick him out. "Come on, I bet I can take you in eight
seconds," Fenton told the mountainous man. Then, he turned and saw me. His
smile disappeared, but not as fast as I did. I was out the door with the whole
scene scarred into my memory.

CHAPTER TEN

Fenton

Dana
Maria walked away from me, but I could not leave. I marched up to the
mountain-sized bouncer and asked to see the manager. When the white-suited
manager came out to see me, I paid him to send my sister home. The least I
could give her was the night off. There was a commotion back stage between
numbers, and I could hear her yelling. But when the manager emerged, he assured
me Dana Maria had left for the evening.

The only thing to
do then was to get blind drunk. I went to the bar and ordered tequila shots. When
the bartender put down the bottle and turned to get a shot glass, I grabbed the
bottle and swigged straight from it. I left enough money on the bar to cover
it.

My father had
never even bothered to ask about my mother. Did he even know she was dead? We
had no address to reach him when it came to send out the funeral arrangements.
Not that there were actually arrangements. It was just a quick goodbye in the
hospital chapel before she was wheeled downstairs to the morgue.

Dana Maria had
disappeared after that. She made sure I went to school, her network of friends
from the neighborhood telling on me every chance they got. It wasn't until I
was in college that I realized she skipped school to work two jobs.

"There's no
reason for you to drink alone," a sultry voice interrupted my thoughts. A
stripper in a gold outfit that consisted of three small triangles took the
barstool next to me. She ran a gold platform heel up my leg. "How about we
find a table? You've got a bottle and I've got friends that want to meet
you," she said.

"Why
me?" I asked. Did they know Dana Maria was my sister?

"Your
billboards, silly. Fenton Morris can't walk in here without getting some
lovin'. More handsome in person than two stories up in the air," the
golden stripper said.

She led me to a
table and as soon as I sat down, the girls surrounded me. Across the room, a
drunken patron complained that I was hogging all the women.

"You got a
problem?" I asked. "Come over here and tell me about it toe to
toe."

"Now, honey,
there's no need for that. He's just jealous of you, but there's nothing to
worry about. Enough ladies here to satisfy everyone," a red-haired
stripper said. She adjusted her heavy breasts in their black leather bra and
blew the man a kiss.

I remembered my
mother soothing my father in the same easy way. A hand on his forearm, soft
words, and a smile that told everyone it was all okay – except it had not been
then, and it was not now. I wanted to smash the man's face in. I knew I could
do it with one punch. Was I becoming my father?

I continued to
drink, but the tequila did not block out my biggest fear. I worried I was just
like my father, deep down in my core. When things did not go my way, when all
my hard-earned money disappeared and I was too old to hold on to my talent, I
would become mean and spiteful like him. I would turn and walk away from the
people that depended on me, because I was too tired to care.

My father slumped
in his chair, the one good, steady chair in our tiny apartment. His drink of
choice was cheap vodka, almost rubbing alcohol it was so sharp and harsh. From
there, if he moved at all, it was to reach out and slip a hand up my mother's
leg. She slapped him away, too busy doing laundry or getting dinner or helping
her children. He would scowl and drink again.

"Oooh, your
muscles are just as cut as your billboard. They don't look real up there, but,
wow, they don't look real now and I'm touching them," a platinum blonde
stripper dressed all in hot pink squealed with delight.

"Everyone in
town says you're going to win," the golden stripper said.

I finally took a
deep breath. That was the only difference between my father and me. I had
talent. My God-given talent had earned me free lessons when I was an angry
young boy. Then, I was given a scholarship in high school. I was recruited for
college and all but failed while my MMA career skyrocketed. I had not needed my
father for any of those things. My talent and hard work got me what I wanted.

I pulled out the
wad of cash Kev had given me for gambling. Instead of throwing it away on
Blackjack or craps, I had stashed it. Now, I fanned it out and told the ladies
I was ready to have some fun. They all giggled, clapped, and bounced. I told
myself this was what I wanted. I had the money and I was going to flaunt it.

"The party is
on me, ladies. Literally on me, my lap is feeling lonely," I announced.

I was glad when
the redhead dropped across my thighs first. Any sight of blonde hair made me
think of Kya. So did the color purple, a beauty mark near one stripper's mouth,
and the way another put her hands on her hips.

"No touching
the girls," the mountainous bouncer barked.

"You mean
like this?" I asked. I hoped he would haul me outside for a fight.
Anything to stop thinking about Kya.

"It's
alright, Roger, I like it," the stripper said. "He's got a soft touch
for being such a hardcore fighter."

"That's
right," I said. I tipped up the tequila bottle and realized it was empty,
so I smashed it on the floor.

A few of the
strippers jumped away, careful to avoid me and the broken glass under their
impossibly high heels.

"Another
bottle over here and a clean up in aisle one," I yelled. The bouncer
approached again and I hoped he would grab me by my collar. Instead, he brushed
some glass off a strawberry blonde in a blaze orange bikini.

I was saving the
strippers from the broken glass by piling them onto my lap when I looked up and
saw Kya. She stood, frozen, in the doorway. I was three deep underneath
strippers and almost dropped my fan of cash in my haste to get up. One of the
girls slipped on the spilled tequila and cried out as she landed on a piece of
broken bottle.

"Sorry, move,
move!" I said. I evaded the bouncer and ran for the street.

Kya disappeared
into a waiting cab and refused to turn around. The driver shut the door and
blocked me from knocking on the window.

"How could
you do this to a beautiful woman? I hate men like you, don't know what they've
got until it’s gone. Or is it that you think now that the challenge is gone,
the excitement, that there is nothing left?" the cabbie asked. "You
don't know a single thing about what it takes to make a commitment, what it
takes to make a woman happy. And, you're going to lose her. You deserve
to."

#

I
woke up the next morning hungover and sore. Still, before I could assess the
damage to myself, I thought of Kya. The look on her face was raw, and it rubbed
my memory hard – disappointment, disgust, and a bone-deep sadness I recognized
too well. Kya found out she was wrong about someone she cared for and it hurt
more because she had cared.

Kya had cared for
me. Enough to come find me after our argument. Enough to stick around even
after I teased and pushed her. Enough to look for me after I made her
uncomfortable.

I heaved myself
out of bed and got dressed. I needed to find her. I knew I was the last person
she probably wanted to see, but I had to face her. Kya had to know why I had
gone to the strip club. It would be a painfully intimate thing to tell her, but
that seemed a small sacrifice to see her green eyes again.

I pried open the
door of my suite bedroom and my manager slumped into the room.

"What? Oh
great, Aldous was right. At least, there was a reason I slept on the floor all
night," Kev said.

"There are
things called locks," I said.

"Yeah, but
not on the outside. I'm trying to keep you from running off and burning any
more energy. You remember you've got a match tonight, right?" Kev asked.

I felt sick and
hoped it was just the tequila. "I have to do something first."

"Nope, no
way, not happening," Aldous said. He appeared from my suite's kitchen with
a specially blended drink. "You're going to finish this and then do
everything else I say."

Hours later I was
detoxed, primed, and ready to fight. I shadowboxed against the green room wall
and waited for my music to come on. I had to pump myself up.

No
one tells you what to do, you do it alone, you're going to take this Peretti
guy, no one else in the ring can do it. Once you've finished him, it’s on to
the big title, then you're a champion, then you can get the big bucks
,
I told myself.

I stopped and
stared at my shadow. I should have signed endorsement deals all along. It hurt
my career and especially my bank account to resist them. Besides, it did not
matter. I had branded myself, sold myself into a hollow replica of my father –
the lone wolf, the man that goes it alone, the fighter that doesn't need any
endorsements paying his way.

I got in the ring,
but I already felt a step off. Mario Peretti was fast, wings of the hummingbird
fast, and I took a few hits right after the first bell. I shook it off, but
could not rid myself of the feeling I had gotten into the ring on the wrong
foot.

His leg snaked out
and I just barely jumped back in time. Another inch and he could have gotten my
knee. There were some injuries I could not come back from. We danced around
each other again, but instead of thinking about his close and hard attacks, I
wondered if last night's injured look was ever something Kya would come back
from.

Mario Peretti
lunged in, his feet fast across the ring. I heard a chop whistle past my ear
and lifted my leg for a kick. The move did not land, but it swung my leg out of
the way of his roundhouse kick. My rival smiled at me, his eyes flat, as we
circled around again.

Kya had to know
what she was getting into when we started spending time together. Even as I
thought it, I knew it was not true. I remembered Kya in the nightclub, the
first time we met. She had drunk too much, left herself too open. Then, she
came back for more. I used her, she entertained me, and then I finally shocked
her and she dropped me. I would never see her again.

I got in a fast
and hard combination, but Peretti was still standing. When he circled around
the opposite way, my eyes traveled past him and into the crowd. Kya's green
eyes looked up at me.

I stumbled and
heard the arena crowd gasp. It was something I had never done before. I was the
unstoppable fighter, the angry fighter, the one that came back from a hit
harder and fiercer every time. I did not lose my footing; I did not lose my
way.

Fenton Morris did
not get distracted by a pretty face. A face that wanted me to be different, to
be more or better. I was what I was, and I was good.

Still, I looked at
Kya for one second too long and Peretti struck. The arena tipped sideways and
blackness swallowed me before I hit the mats. It was a total knock out.