Uncaged (An MMA Stepbrother Romance) (88 page)

She does things to me. Fuck, she really does. And… and I like it. I like it and I hate it. If this was any other chick I just wouldn’t fucking care. But look at me, walking on the fucking
beach
in the late afternoon with her.

I never thought I’d be a cliché.

“My father is a prick,” she says after a moment.

“Hey, it’s like a checklist,” I say. “Box one, daddy issues.
Check.
” I tick it off with my finger.

She scowls at me.

I don’t even know why I said it. It just came out of my mouth. I shrug. That’s who I am, why the fuck should I apologize for it?

“If you think I’ve got daddy issues, then you’ve got oedipal issues.” She flashes her eyes at me, challenging me. She thinks I don’t know what she’s talking about. It’s cute.

“No I don’t,” I say. “And that shit’s pretty much been debunked.”

“You know, for a dumbass jock, you have a surprising vocabulary.”

“I’m not a jock,” I say. “I don’t give a fuck about all that.”

“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes at me again. I just grin at her again. “You don’t give a fuck. Tell me something new. But you
were
a school athlete.”

“Hey, I take care of my body. I’m better than everyone else at every sport. Wrestling champ. It was easy credits. I had half the school watching me at
practice
.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“So are you, just in a different way.”

“I am not full of myself!” she shouts.

That
got a rise out of her.

“Really?” I challenge, walking in front of her and turning around. I’m walking backwards now, and I see her eyes roam up and down my body. I can see she’s trying not to meet my eyes. It’s… it’s hot. She’s hot. Now with the gown off, I can see the shape of her body. God, she’s got some hips on her, and thighs I’d massage for hours. And her ass… she’s got it there, alright. It makes my hands feel empty.

“Really,” she sniffs, looking toward the sea. “I’m definitely not full of myself.”

“Well, let me think. Today you’ve called me an idiot something like seven times, stupid three times, and basically all your insults have been aimed at my intelligence. I’d say you’re pretty up yourself in a very particular way.”

“What, you a psychologist now?”

“See, you did it again. And I don’t have to be. Any
idiot
could see it.” I wink at her, and to my total surprise, I see just a flicker of a smile.

“You know, Chance, you’re not as interesting as you think you are.”

“I’m certainly more interesting than
you
thought I was."

“Try again,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

I take out a box of mints. I rattle it, but she just shakes her head, so I shrug, and pop two into my mouth.

She takes a deep breath, and I prepare myself for a lot of words.

“You think you’re like this mystery to be unraveled. Some kind of enigma. You think that girls like you not because you’re the quote-unquote
bad boy
on the outside… stop laughing.”

But I can’t help myself. She even did the finger air-quote gesture.

“You think you’re all hard on the outside and that actually you’re this interesting person on the inside and that everybody is just dying to puzzle you out, dying to unlock the
true you
.”

“Now you sound like the psychologist.”

“I’ve met your type before.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Yes I have.”

“Really?” I say, and I know I’m going to hate myself for letting the next words fly out of my mouth. But I do, because that’s me.

“How many guys like me want to spend time talking to you?”