Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

She locks her hands behind my neck. “Where are we going?”


“You came here to watch TV. My woman gets what she wants.” Walking out of the music room and down the hall, I freeze halfway to the living room.

I didn’t shut and lock the door.

“Everything okay?” she says.

My insides jump with unease. Leaving that door open feels like I’m letting down my guard. Giving my back to an advancing enemy.

It’s time I bury the past and move forward. And leaving that door open is the first step.

“Fuckin’ perfect, Mouse.” I smile and continue to move down the hallway.

“Oh wait. My phone.” She pats her hips, searching. “Axelle’s supposed to call when she’s back at her friend’s house for the night. I was so wound up when I got here, I forgot to get it out of the car.” She wiggles to get loose from my grip, but I hold her tight.

“I’ll grab it.”

I place her on the couch with the remote only to have her hop back up. “No, it’s cool. I got it.” She pushes past me toward the door.

Stubborn.

I grab her around the waist from behind and growl in her ear. “Not letting you walk to your car alone at night.” I kiss her head, breathing in the scent of her soft hair. “Got it?”

One hand reaches up and back to hook around my neck. “Ten-four, Snake.”

I release her with a firm smack to her sweet ass, and she jumps with a squeak.

She settles into the couch and flips on the TV. Snagging my tee off the barstool, I head out to her truck.

The cool night air does little to sober my love-drunk thoughts. Not love, but… intense like. It’s my experience that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. And having Layla up at my place making herself at home, the door to my music room wide open, and me grabbing her phone from her truck feels really fucking good.

Phone in hand, I notice she has three missed calls. I fight the urge to spy. I’ve never been in a serious relationship, but I know enough about women to know they don’t like you snooping in their shit. I shove the phone into my pocket and hit the stairs to head up when something catches my attention. Across the lot is a silver sedan. The parking lights are on, engine running.

I look around to see if there’s anyone walking out to meet the idling guest. Nope, not a soul. Even though I can’t make out a driver, I send a glare in that direction. You’re on my radar now, bitch.

They’ve backed into the spot, windshield aimed directly at the windows of my place. Are they spying on us?

Blood torpedoes through my veins. My heart hammers in my chest. Aggravation pricks beneath my skin, and my muscles flex at the sudden stimulation. Pushing my rational mind aside, I move toward the vehicle. A whisper of possible overreaction ghosts through my head, but it’s quickly destroyed by my urge to protect.

With my fight in a few weeks, it could be paparazzi. But they usually only hound the title fighters. I’ve never had this kind of attention. Either way, I’ll protect Layla and our privacy. At any cost.

Stalking across the lot, I keep my glare locked on the driver side. I close in on the car when the engine roars. I pick up my pace. The car rips from the spot, nearly hitting me on its rush to exit the complex.

I knew it. I fucking knew it.

They were watching us, got caught, and ran scared. The red taillights blur as the car speeds around the corner onto the main road. Shit, it all happened so fast I didn’t get the license plate.

Scanning every car in the lot, I make sure my little visitor was working alone. Everything looks clear, but I can’t shake the fact that I’m being watched. The back of my neck prickles with the feeling of eyes on me from every direction.

I jog up to my place and lock the door behind me. Feeling uneasy, I head down the hall, shut off the lights to my music room, and lock it up. Is this what having a woman does? Makes you fuckin’ nuts?

Taking a deep breath, I head down the hall and to the couch. I drop down next to Layla, pull her to my side, and hand her the cell phone. She mumbles thanks, punches a few buttons, and puts the phone to her ear.

I stare out the big windows that span the entire length of my condo. I’ve never been private about who I have in my place. Some of my female guests enjoyed the window and got off on a little exhibitionism. But now, here with Mouse, I’m seeing floor-to-ceiling curtains in my future.

“…all right, sweetie. I love you.” Layla’s soft words drag my attention away from interior decoration. “Goodnight.” She ends the call and places the phone on the coffee table.

“Everything cool with Axelle?” I run my fingers through her hair.

She flips the channel on the TV once, twice, and one more time. “Yeah, she’s having fun. This new girl she’s hanging out with seems to be a good influence on her.” The channels continue to flip until an image of Julia Roberts flashes on the screen. Layla’s body tenses at my side.

What the hell?

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