Page 61 of Never Kiss and Tell

“Well, whatever it is, make sure you use it for your fight, too. You do that, you’ll fucking blow Martinez out of the park.” Martinez is the guy I’m supposed to be going up against in a couple weeks. He’s beaten half the guys at our gym. He’s notorious for breaking people’s faces until they need stitches.

Sam might as well have told me to use steroids. Bailey is the closest thing to a drug that I’ve ever taken. One minute she’s fighting me, spewing wit in my direction and the next she’s moaning into my mouth and grinding on me.

Fuck . . .

I’ve got to get her out of my fucking head. Priscilla was just a cheap imitation to the thing I really want. Even Bailey can’t get Bailey out of my head. She’s a curse and I’m the fucking fool that accepted it with open arms.

Too bad my sister would kill me for fucking her best friend. That might be the only thing that quells my taste for her.

Bailey

Sometimes at night, I like to stare at the ceiling and see how long I can lay there without latching onto a single thought. Catch a thought. Release it. It’s some weird form of meditation I saw a video on years ago, but it’s one of the most calming things I’ve ever experienced.

It’s almost eleven when I finally hear Charlie come home. I’m lying in bed, trying to sleep, but I can’t. I keep thinking about going home and returning to my normal life and it makes me sick. I don’t want to think about it. I like it here, despite my grouchy neighbor. I like my kind-of job and the money I’m making that’s mine and mine, alone.

I’ve thought about moving here permanently, but where will I go? Charles might rent me this place, but I’m not sure I can handle living next to Charlie year-round.

Just as I think that, there’s a thud as the back door to his place closes.

Speak of the devil.

I think he’s leaving again, but then a shadow crosses mywindow. I peak through the curtains and see him step into the pool, the strong muscles of his back flexing and making my body do all sorts of weird shit.

I roll back over, closing my eyes, like it’s going to help me go to sleep. It doesn’t.

So, I get up, go to the back door, and walk out to the side of the pool. He cut the pool lights off and just left the hanging bulb lights Andi strung from the trees to the house. I like it better than the blinding blue lights of the pool. Charlie is under the water when I sit down on the edge and dip my feet in. It’s cold enough that I almost tug my feet back out of the water.

Charlie comes up, water dripping down his abs like some kind of backyard swimming pool God and runs his hands over his face, pushing his hair back on his head.

His lip quirks at the corner, but I don’t think it’s because he’s happy to see me. More like mocking me.

“Miss me, princess?”

There’s that nickname again. I roll my eyes and lean back on my hands, almost regretting the decision instantly. Charlie’s eyes travel the length of my body, over the t-shirt and then down to my shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination. I should be embarrassed, but instead, the momentary heat in his gaze makes me warm, even with my feet in the chilly water.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I murmur. “I was going to go swimming, but I’m not sure if I want to be in the pool with the Grim Reaper. You might try to drown me.”

It’s a lie, but it makes me feel better to banter back with him. It helps me forget about the impending doom of going home.

“Thought’s crossed my mind,” Charlie murmurs, sliding upto the side of the pool beside me. I catch sight of something dark in the water and my stomach drops.

“Charlie, what happened to your side?” It’s a bruise the size of my fist, right over his ribcage.

“It’s nothing,” he dismisses, crossing his arms on the wall.

“It’s from boxing, isn’t it?”

“I’m an MMA fighter, Bailey. Not a boxer.”

I’m surprised he called me by my actual name for once, but I’m too concerned with the bruise to care. Andi told me he has a fight in a couple weeks against someone who is notorious for hurting people.

“I’m fine, Bailey,” he says, his tone softer than I’ve heard it in a long time.

I shake my head. “Why do you let people beat you up for fun?”

“They don’t beat me up for fun,” he mocks with a dry expression. “Would you rather have me under the same roof if someone breaks in, or a man like Tom?”

When I don’t answer because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right, he nods.

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