Down and Out

I’m just about to reintroduce myself to her perfect pink lips when Hatebreed blares from my pocket. It’s Marcus.
I groan and drop my forehead to hers, then kiss the tip of her nose and back away. “I, uh, stacked all your stuff in the closet. I would’ve put everything away for you, but I didn’t want you to get mad at me for going through your stuff, so. . .”
Actually, I didn’t want her to get mad at me for potentially finding her vibrator. I like my nuts just the way they are, thanks.
Savannah nods. She looks like she’s still absorbing her new room, her shrewd eyes darting around, taking in every detail, and it’s just . . . fascinating to watch her mind work. I’m dying to know what she’s thinking, but my phone keeps ringing and I don’t want to intrude on this moment she’s having, so I head into the hallway and answer it.
Holding the phone up to my ear, I say, “Hey man, what’s up?”
“Forgot to ask if you’re comin’ to the fight tonight. Mendez versus O’Phelan. Supposed to be a good one.”
“Shit.” I run my hand over the rough stubble littering my jaw. “I totally forgot.” I glance back at the open doorway and think about inviting Savannah.
I’m not sure if she’ll enjoy the fight, but the after-parties are always amazing. Granted, that’s usually because I’m three sheets to the wind and have a girl or two wrapped around me, but still. . .
I know without a shadow of a doubt it’ll be infinitely better with Savannah by my side, even if I don’t get laid. Although you never know. This could be our second date. I’ve promised her great things for our second date.
“I’ll ask Savannah if she wants to go.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll pass.” I’d rather hang out with Savannah here than not at all. Call me a p-ssy, call me whipped, I don’t care. It’s the truth.
Marcus laughs. “You got it bad, bro.”
You have no f*cking clue.
“Look, man, she seems like a sweet girl, and I’m happy for you. I really am. But are you sure this is her scene? I’m not just talkin’ about the fight, I’m talkin’ about after. You know how crazy these things can get, and between the drunk a*sholes and Jamie—who’s gonna be pissed, by the way—you gotta keep an eye on her at all times. You feel me?”
“Jesus Christ, Dad, I know. I’ll get her home in one piece, I promise.”
We say goodbye and I hang up as Savannah peeks her head out of the doorway. “Is everything okay?”
I slip the phone back in my pocket and walk over to her. “Yeah, I just forgot about this match tonight.”
At her narrowed eyes, I smile and say, “Relax, it’s not my fight. But I usually go, even when it’s not.” The owner likes it when the bigger names show up to watch the smaller matches. It makes the fans crazy to “rub elbows with the big guys”—his words, not mine.
Savannah’s face falls. “Oh.”
“Get dressed. Come with me.”
Her brows lift till they’re practically in her hairline. “Really?”
“Yeah. There’s even an after-party and everything.” I run my fingers down her arm and skim her fingertips before taking her hand in mine. “Some might even consider this our second date.”
She grins and glances down at our clasped hands. “Is this your way of asking me on a second date?”
“No.”
At her frown, I bring her hand up to my mouth and kiss the back. “Asking would imply there’s a chance you could say no. So I’m not asking. I’m telling.”
She rolls her eyes, but it’s impossible to take that seriously when a smile’s tugging on her lips like that. “God, you’re bossy.”
“Yep. Now hurry up and get your pretty ass ready,” I say, smacking her backside.

An hour later, I’m sitting on the couch, channel-surfing as I wait for Savannah. I always thought guys were exaggerating when they said how long it took girls to get ready, but sadly, they were not. . .
I sigh and look down the empty corridor. The faint glow from her partially closed door lights the dim hallway, and if I listen closely, I can hear her flitting around her room, doing . . . God knows what. I have no idea what she’s doing in there that’s taking so damn long. She could be painting the Sistine Chapel by memory for all I know.
Geez, she almost took thirty minutes in the shower, and all she had to do then was wash stuff. And shave, maybe. I just don’t understand how something that takes me ten minutes, tops, could take her that long. By the time I got in there, it was all hot and humid, and it smelled like a strawberry bomb had gone off.
And don’t get me started on all the shit she leaves next to the sink. My countertop’s been overrun by makeup, brushes, and hair contraptions that I think are supposed to curl your hair, but look more like medieval torture devices.
Although it is kinda cool to see our toothbrushes sitting next to each other, like they’re buddies, or something. It’s . . . domesticated. And surreal.
I like it. I like it a lot.
Heels click down the hallway and I look up, nearly swallowing my tongue. Savannah’s got legs for miles in sky-high black heels and a skintight black miniskirt, offset with a short-sleeved white button up shirt that can best be described as a “blouse.” I really have no clue if that’s what it is or not, but it’s prim and proper. V-neck, but not low enough to show of any cleavage, and there are goddamn ruffles on it.
She looks like a sexy librarian. Her hair’s even piled atop her head in a messy bun.
My eyes lock on her red lips and darker, smokier eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen her wear makeup—well, obvious makeup—and she’s just . . . beautiful.
I immediately scowl.
Her brows furrow as she glances down at her clothes, smoothing her shirt. “Is this okay? I thought, you know, since you said there was going to be a party. . .”
She’s a helluva lot more dressed up than I am, in my worn jeans, thermal shirt, and beanie, but it’s normal at these matches for the girls to dress up more. “No, it’s fine. You look beautiful.”
She frowns as I stand up and turn off the TV. “Then why do you look so mad?”
“Because I’m gonna be busy cock-blocking a lot of guys tonight,” I mutter, grabbing my keys off the coffee table. I watch the corners of her mouth tilt up and her eyes roll before gesturing for her to lead the way. She struts past me and my eyes are glued to her ass, to the smooth curves and the way they sway when she walks. I cock my head, frowning as I study her closer. “Are you even wearing panties under that?”
She opens the door and grins at me over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Savannah frowns as we pull up to the Dormandy Hotel, leaning forward to look at the tall gray building as it disappears into the black sky.
“Why are we at one of the nicest hotels in Boston?” she asks.
I put the car in park and unbuckle my seatbelt. “The guy who runs the organization also owns this place. Fights are held in the basement arena, aka The Pit.”
“Oh.” She unbuckles herself as I jump out, nodding at the valet who’s waiting to take my car.
“Thanks, man,” I say, grabbing the numbered ticket from him and jogging around the front of the car, just in time to hold out my hand and help Savannah out.
“Thank you,” she says, releasing me.
I immediately take note of the raised hemline of her skirt. “Is it just me, or did your skirt get shorter?”
She shrugs, looking up at me and smiling at my unease. “It hiked up a little bit when I climbed out of your car.” She steps around me and walks—no, sashays—to the brightly lit entrance, smiling up at the doorman as he holds open the giant plate-glass door.
He swallows and smiles back at her, his eyes dipping down the length of her body before he notices me glaring daggers at him and jerks his gaze front and center. My eyes are narrowed into murderous little slits as I pass him and walk into the lobby.
I grab Savannah’s elbow and pull her aside to an empty hallway, filled with banks of courtesy telephones. Pressing her back against the wall, I glower down at her. “You’re not gonna fix it?”
Mouth agape, she jerks out of my grip. “Why should I? It’s not like my ass is hanging out.”
Wrong answer. My jaw clenches as I glare down at her. “Fix it.”
“No.” Her chin juts out as she gets that defiant gleam in her eyes. “You’re not the boss of me here.”
Damn it. I both love and hate her response.
My hands clench by my sides as I lean in. “Do you want me to go to jail? Because that’s exactly what’s gonna happen when I start throwing punches at every a*shole that looks your way. Now, I repeat: fix it.”
“Fine.” Reaching up, she unpins her hair and lets her loose waves fall around her shoulders, then undoes the top two buttons of her blouse so the pale, milky valley of her cleavage is peeking out. Finally, her hands drift to the hem of her skirt and she pulls it down a few inches. She smiles up at me sardonically and crosses her arms, which only pushes her breasts together more. “Happy?”
Jesus f*cking Chr—
Rage and lust war within me, and I almost have a stroke at the sight of her all sexed up. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?” My jaw clenches as I plant my hands on the wall next to her head, leaning down as I cage her in.
Ain’t no way she’s leaving this hallway looking like that.
She uncrosses her arms and licks her lips, but that cruel smile’s still curving her mouth. “Why do you like it when I’m stubborn?” she asks, stroking my cock through my jeans.
I groan as my head falls forward, feeling the soft cotton of my boxers wrap around me under my jeans and her fingers. The light, teasing friction is driving me crazy, and I don’t know why, but she’s right. Arguing with her is like foreplay, and every time she runs her mouth or sasses me, it’s like . . . like I want to f*ck her into submission. I want to own her, completely.
We’re both strong-willed—or pig-headed, depending on who you ask—and I’ve never been with a girl like that. I like to be in control, call the shots. It’s no secret that most men do. But I’m starting to realize that with Savannah, I don’t think I was ever in control. She’s always been the one calling the shots, and I’m surprisingly okay with that.
Doesn’t mean I won’t still try, though.
I swallow and lean my head back, snaking one hand through the hair at the nape of her neck to gently pull her head back, her red lips parting in surprise as she looks up at me. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Kitten.”
Savannah grins and releases me. “Then I’d better stop, ’cause I have no intention of letting you ‘finish.’”
She’s just left me high and dry in a public place, but for some reason I’m smiling down at her like she just gave me an awesome quickie. “You’re such a tease.”
I let go of her hair and tuck my erection under my waistband, and by some divine miracle, she re-buttons her shirt without me having to ask her. Or tell her.
Reaching up, she starts finger-brushing her hair into a ponytail, and I still her wrist. “Leave it down?”
A slim brow arches, but she shrugs and lets the waves cascade around her shoulders again.
I grab her hand and lead her back into the lobby, looking over to see her staring down at our clasped hands. I’ve never tried to just outright hold her hand before, and I don’t really care how uncomfortable she feels with affection right now. Things can get kinda crazy down in the arena and I’m not letting go of her. “I’m holding your damn hand. Get over it.”
Her mouth tilts to the side as she glances up at me. “You’re so bossy, Mr. Whitmore.”
My cock strains against my waistband as I groan and bring her hand up, kissing her knuckles. “Never stop calling me that.”
We see fewer people the farther we go, and by the time we hit the hallway with the conference rooms, we’re virtually alone. I hold open the door to Room C for her. Savannah glances at the sign that reads “Reserved for Private Function” and gives me a puzzling look as we walk into the empty, gargantuan room.
Off to the side is an innocent-looking door labeled Boiler Room, and I open it, leading her into a small foyer with a freight elevator. I press the “down” button, watching in amusement as she looks back and forth between the fake boiler room door and me, trying to put the pieces together.
“You need a way to get a lot of people in and out of the basement without looking suspicious,” I say. “This way, people go into the conference room, and sometime later, they all come out. It just looks like any other meeting from the outside.”
“Oh,” she says as the doors slide open. “That makes sense, I guess.”
We step inside and I press the button for the basement. The doors slide closed and we begin our descent into The Pit.