Fighter: A Bad Boy Romance by Autumn Avery

Author:Autumn Avery [Avery, Autumn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-07-04T21:00:00+00:00

16

Ty

My head is spinning the entire car ride to Motorcycle Mike’s dive apartment on the other end of town.

Mind blowing. That’s the only way I can describe last night. I haven’t touched a woman in so long I almost forgot what it was like. I’d broken my vow—the vow to never let a woman into my heart. But when I’m around Jenny, there’s nothing I can do about it.

Who would have thought the most meaningful, emotionally connective sex I would have in years would be with a stripper? If I told someone, they would probably just laugh, but that’s what happens when you make assumptions about people. I made them about her, and no doubt she made them about me. I’m sure she thought I was a total dick, and I probably was too.

Last night was more than just sex—although the sex was unbelievable. We’ve both taken a step in a direction we never expected, and I feel like I’ve started something with her. I can’t even believe I’m thinking this. I’m probably being stupid. Either way, I need to get focused. We have a job to do.

“This is it,” Barry announces, pulling up at a tenement building that looks like a strong breeze would blow it over. It’s been painted so many times it looks like it’s covered in rotted frosting. It’s a sickly lime green color now. The porch is basically rotted out, and someone’s replaced the front steps with a torn up blue milk crate. There are no real curtains, and the first floor windows look as though they’ve been covered up with old t-shirts that have been ripped to make them longer.

“Nice place,” I say sarcastically. “Heating included?”

“Ebola included,” Moore scoffs, lighting another cigarette.

“Those things cause cancer you know,” I advise him.

“That’s included too.”

I push my door open and step out of the car into the smell of trash, gasoline and weed. Upon closer inspection, I realize the front lawn is actually stained Astroturf. Some smashed up children’s toys are scattered about. No one says much as we make our way up to the door. Barry knocks loudly three times.

Nothing.

“Yo, Mike!” he shouts, banging again, harder this time. The door rattles like it might fall off its hinges. I shoot Moore a look of annoyance and concern.

“Reliable guy, huh?”

Moore just shrugs. Barry pounds on the door, “Mike!”

And not much of a surprise—the latch pops and the door swings open to reveal a filthy living room, almost completely in shadow. Barry marches right in. I hesitate a minute, eying the stained and fraying carpet, then follow.

“Fucking bum,” Barry says, tearing down the t-shirts that have been tacked up over the windows. Sunlight spills into the room, illuminating the full reality of the mess. Cans of cigarette butts are strewn about and old pizza boxes litter the floor. The couch looks like it spent some time outside under an overpass, and the T.V., from about nineteen eighty-five, is propped up and leaning on some old cardboard boxes.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

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