He hits the fob and leads me down the sidewalk. It’s seven o’clockish and warm since we still have a couple hours before sunset. I hope we don’t have to hoof it too much longer. Showing up sweaty won’t do anything for my look.
I notice Jonah’s truck and Blake’s Rubicon parked ahead when Mason leads me with his hand on my lower back to turn up a long walkway to a killer house. It’s not what I’d expect in this posh neighborhood. Dwarfed by its multi-leveled neighbors, this house is modern and sleek. It’s all brick and glass with exposed metal beams. The landscaping is simple with an almost Asian-prayer-garden flare. Trickling water leads to a pond that’s surrounded by those cool-looking green stick bushes. Dark and airy, peaceful simplicity, in a word . . . masculine.
“This place is incredible. Does it belong to one of the new guys?” I’ve heard that a few of the new fighters have had pretty successful careers and whoever owns this place is loaded.
We reach the enormous wood door, and Mason ignores knocking to push right inside. The sound of music, voices, and laughter filters out from the depths of the house.
“Pretty sick pad, huh?” Mason shuts the door and to my surprise grabs my hand to lead me further inside. “It’s Cam’s place.”
Oh shit.
Thirteen
Cameron
This party was a good idea. I remind myself to thank Layla again for setting this all up. The smell of fried chicken, mac-n-cheese, and baked beans makes my mouth water. Going with an all-American menu was fuckin’ brilliant. As soon as the sun goes down, the firework show should begin. It’s being put on by the country club, who also does its own party for the Fourth, but my generous financial contribution had them setting up the pyrotechnics with a perfect view from my backyard.
“Sanderson,” I call out to Mike Sanderson, a member of the UFL board as he and a woman I’m assuming is his wife, saunter out into the backyard. He makes his way to me, hand out, and smiles. “Glad you could make it.”
“You went all out.” He grabs my hand in a firm shake and introduces me to his wife before sending her to the bar for drinks. “You thought any more about Faulkner’s challenge?”
“I have.” Been planning for this fight for fourteen years. “Just waiting on the approval from the board.”
“We’ve met. Discussed.” He shrugs and swings his gaze in a slow rake around the backyard before coming back to our conversation. “It’d be a Supercard.”
“It would. Set up the prelims with rivals. Promote the fuck out of it. We’re talkin’ record-breaking numbers. Huge money.”
“Rival Bout. I like it.” His wife comes back with two drinks, hands one off to him, and then waves to another woman she recognizes and excuses herself.
“The rest of the board see things like we do?”
“They’re . . . less convinced. Fact is we need you. With your medical history, combined with the possibility of concussion, we need to ask ourselves if one fight is worth the possibility of losing a great CEO.”
“Gotta get hit hard enough for that to happen, Sanderson. He won’t get near me.”
“I appreciate your confidence, but you can’t guarantee—”
“I can. Give me the fight. I’ll prove it.”
He glares and his lips pull up on the sides. “Stubborn son of a bitch.”
“I want that fight.” I laugh and throw back the last of my beer when a flash of blond catches my eye.
Is that . . . ? My blood pounds through my veins. The mingling crowd obscures my view, until she emerges. Holy fuck. It’s Eve.
She’s here, at my house, and looks better than my fantasies have recalled. Her straight blond hair falls around her bare shoulders; I know those thick bangs, even with her sunglasses on, frame the biggest pair of sky-blue eyes. It looks like she was poured into a blue and white dress that seems as if it’s made out of elastic bandages. Her long legs are tipped with bright red heels that beg to mark a man’s back. Fucking gorgeous.
“. . . meeting next week. We should—”
“Give me a minute?” I hold my hand up to Sanderson. “I need to go say hi to . . .”
What. The. Fuck.
She’s coming this way. But she’s not alone. My teeth clench and my fists get tight. She’s with Mason, and not just accompanying him. She’s holding his motherfucking hand.
“Cam, man. Great party.” Mason’s talking to me. I know he is, but I don’t pay him even a second of my attention as my eyes are firmly set on Eve.
Mason drops her hand only to throw his entire arm over her shoulder to hug her to his side. “You remember Eve from The Blackout.”
She pushes her sunglasses up on her head and fuck me . . . those eyes. “Hey, yeah. Nice to see you again.”
Sanderson clears his throat at my side.