Page 14 of Undercover Desires

“Kobe Rivera with a crush. I honestly never thought I would see the day.” She laughs.

“Not a crush,” I warn her. Is it a crush? It’s something. I don’t normally get all twisted up over a girl. I think it’s just a fascination because I’m not sure who she is. When Caleb gets back to me with his findings, I’ll be over it. “How did we do tonight?” I turn my attention to business.

“Profits are up. The patrons like Bella. I think it’s the wholesome look.”

“Of course they do,” I mutter, not loving the jealousy in my voice. “If you have everything under control, I might head home. Ben will lock up with you. And I think Rob’s still around somewhere if you need him.”

“I’ve got this. Go home, Kobe.” She dismisses me like I’m cramping her style. “Oh, and I did the schedules. I know you have a demanding couple of months coming up.”

“Thank you. What would I do without you?” I say gratefully. I need this place to run smoothly over the next couple of months as Jett and I up his training schedule to prepare him for the fight of his life against Zamora. If he wins, he will be the middleweight champion. A title the two of us have been working toward for what feels like a lifetime.

She shrugs. “You’d be up shit creek without a paddle.”

She’s not wrong. She’s the only chick in my life I can tolerate for more than one night. And that’s because we have never even thought of fucking. I wouldn’t dare touch her; she keeps this place organized, keeps me in check. She’s like the little sister I never wanted but can’t live without.

When I get home, a quick shower helps me unwind before I collapse into bed. Tomorrow will begin early with training, alongside Jett and the kid at six in the morning. It’s the same every day. I’m lucky to get five hours of regular sleep, but that’s never really bothered me. Tonight, however, despite my exhaustion, sleep evades me.

My mind races with thoughts about Bella. I had hoped for word from Caleb by now to put my mind at ease. She was just a regular girl, but as more time passes, the uncertainty gnaws at me, making it challenging to find the rest I so desperately need. I check my phone again, but there’s nothing new from Caleb.

I close my eyes and I see her. Flowing blonde hair in soft waves, green eyes that implore me to do unspeakable things to her. A scattering of freckles over her nose that take me down to her dirty mouth. Fuck, when she asked me if I like to book our rooms, it was nearly game over for me. Then her annoyance at finding out about my reputation. She fucking has the hots for me, or she wouldn’t have cared, but she made it obvious she was pissed off. I liked that bit of fire in her eyes. It fucking makes me hard just thinking about it.

I slip my hand down the front of my boxers and palm my cock. I’m so fucking hard for her. Normally when a girl has me this wound up, I fuck her out of my system, but Bella made it blatantly obvious she wasn’t going to let me into her home. I stroke myself harder, thinking about her tight little ass. Fuck, I want to bend her over that bar and show her what she’s been missing her whole life. I bet a girl like her has never had an orgasm before. The boring bastards that would have entered her life wouldn’t have known where to find her clit, let alone how to get her off. But I could.

I fuck my hand with more force, just thinking about what I would do to her. She would call my name in no fucking time. A good little girl ready to follow my every instruction. And the thought of that is enough to tip me over the edge. Thick spurts of semen spray over myhand, my body shuddering. This girl is already driving me crazy, and it’s only been one shift.

CHAPTER 6

ARABELLA

Sunday morning finds meutterly exhausted. I pad down the cold, creaky hardwood floor of my house, feeling the chilly breeze seeping through the cracks. My feet ache in protest. Who would have thought that strutting around in heels serving drinks all night could be so physically taxing? But as my dad used to say, “No rest for the wicked.” I push through the fatigue, knowing I have a million and one things to do around the place before my shift at the club tonight.

As I eat my bowl of honey oats and sip on my chai tea, I absentmindedly flick on the morning news, perched at my kitchen counter. It’s a ritual that brings a sense of normalcy to my life. Nanna passed away two years ago, and this place has remained untouched since her last days. I couldn’t bring myself to make any changes. Even now, I’m staying in the guest room, the same room I occupied during summer vacations when I visited Nanna’s house as a young girl. Maybe it’s finally time to clean the place up and breathe new life into it. With some care and attention, it could become a beautiful home. I put my tipsfrom last night in a jar and secure the lid, popping it up into the top of my pantry for safekeeping. It’s not much, but it will be a start in getting my life back on track.

I flick off the television, disheartened by the endless stream of bad news. Shootings, robberies on Main Street, and a general sense of chaos seem to dominate the headlines. It’s clear why Detective Reader is so passionate about cleaning up this town; it desperately needs it. But last night I didn’t yet get any sign that the Riveras have anything to do with the criminal activity that reigns supreme. From what I could see, the place was a high-class gentlemen’s club. Nothing more.

My phone rings, and I glance at the caller ID. It’s Wyatt again. I sigh heavily, considering what I should do. All morning I have been intentionally avoiding his calls, but the persistent ringing is wearing on my nerves. I know that if I don’t answer soon, he’ll escalate his attempts to reach me. Even from miles away, he still seems to hold too much power over me. I hate it. It makes me feel weak when I know I’m not. I want my life back.

I reluctantly pick up the call. The last thing I need is him turning up here in a desperate attempt to get a hold of me.

“Hello,” I answer tentatively, wishing I could just tell him to go away and leave me alone. I can’t handle much more of this.

“You’re still alive,” he snips, his tone dripping with bitterness.

“Sure am,” I reply, trying to keep the conversation light. I don’t want to provoke another heated argument with him. The last time that happened, he threatened to harm himself, and I can’t bear the weight of that on my conscience. It’s one reason I still answer his calls. I just keep hoping he will get better and move on with his life. It’s been six long months since I broke up with Wyatt, but he simply won’t take the hint. You’d think that moving two hours away would send an obvious message, but his narcissism seems to know no bounds. It’s all about him, and he clings desperately to our past.

“Are you missing me yet?” he asks, the same question he asked yesterday and the day before. Actually, every day since I arrived.

I close my eyes, frustrated by the repetition of our conversations. “Wyatt, I’m trying to get on with my life. You should do the same,” I suggest, my voice strained.

“Except I can’t because you were my whole life,” he responds, his voice filled with longing, making me hate myself. But I just can’t do this song and dance with him anymore. There comes a point when you have to live for yourself. And I’m at my limit.

I let out a heavy sigh, his words pulling me right back into the memories of our past.I’m your whole world, he says, but deep down, I know it was never about me. It was always about what I could do for him.

He’s a grown man, and there’s a limit to how much you can help someone before you realize they need to take responsibility for their own life. For over three years, I balanced taking care of him with my job at the bar, studies, and rigorous law enforcement training and tests.

“I need to get to work. I hope you’re well,” I mutter, intending to end the call and move on with my day.

“Don’t you dare cut me off, Arabella,” he demands, his anger flaring.

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