Mace (Cocky Cage Fighters, Book 4)

~ Mace ~

I fell for Hailey the moment I laid eyes on her, before I knew about the three King Kong size battles I would have to fight to be with her.

By the time Linc warned me that his gorgeous sister with legs a mile long was off limits and “emotionally fragile,” it was too late. There was no turning back.

Then there’s my friend Senn, who had a one-night stand with Hailey. He’s trying his best to get a repeat performance during the week of Claire and Linc’s wedding. Sorry buddy, bros might come before hoes, but they don’t come before sweet southern belles.

And last but not least, the IFC insists that if I want a million dollar contract and a championship title fight then I need to keep up my playboy image to fuel all the female fans' filthy fantasies.

But for Hailey, I’ll do whatever it takes to make her mine.

~ Hailey ~

Smooth talkin’, sexier than sin, Mason Reed came out of nowhere and stole my heart, despite his inappropriate obsession with my panties. I’m not supposed to fall for the “little” brother of my soon to be sister-in-law, or be fantasizin' about lickin’ every inch of his tattoos the week of her and Linc’s wedding.

Mason’s seven years younger than me, and infamous for his so called “harem.” His fight intro song is actually a tribute to his magical…well, it rhymes with rock. Not only will he likely end up hurtin’ me, but he’s also…rock blockin' Senn, my former hot fling.

After I find out just how close Mason is to landin’ a huge IFC contract if he keeps performin' his magic tricks for all the ladies, I refuse to let him give it all up for me.

I had no idea how much I would miss him or how much it would hurt when I finally succeeded in pushin' him away.

Picking up the duffle bag I packed last night on the way out the door, I climb in my 'stang and hit the road. Andddd traffic is bumper to fucking bumper on the highway. On a Saturday? Just my luck; a traffic jam when I’m already running late. Isn’t it ironic? 
I belt out Alanis Morissette classics to pass the time as I move an inch every five minutes. With the top down on a beautiful June day is when I miss the familiar rush of nicotine and the weight of the stick between my two fingers. Angry and stupid after losing her to lung cancer, I picked up my mom’s old pack of cigarettes when I was fourteen and smoked until a few months ago when Linc insisted that I stop if I wanted to train with him. Of course he’s right, but that doesn’t mean it was any easier to give up the nasty habit. 
Finally, I make it to the airport exit and get parked. While I practically jog inside the main terminal, I scroll through my old texts from Linc to find the flight number, which, looking up at the big sign, arrived…fifteen fucking minutes early. I'm almost two hours late at this point, frantically trying to figure out how to find this girl. I stop and glance in every restaurant in the food court to look for a female version of Linc. My stomach growls at the mingling of delicious smells, warning me my insides are gonna start eating themselves if I don't put something in it soon. First things first.
The chorus of "Magic Stick” by 50 Cents and Lil’ Kim blares out of my phone that I’m still palming. I already know who it is before I look down at the screen. 
Linc. 
"Thank you for calling Guber Transportation," I answer. “None of our drivers are currently avail –” 
"Mace! Where the fuck are you?" I cringe at the normally laid-back dude’s pissed off tone. He’s supposed to be getting ready to marry my sister and live happily-ever-after and all that shit, and here I am, screwing up his good time. 
"I'm at the airport. Where's your sister? What’s her name again? Hanna?" 
"Hailey! And she’s been waitin’ on your late ass for hours," he barks. “Where the hell have ya been?” 
"I would be less late if I knew how the fuck to find her," I tell him, dodging his question. "I don’t even know what she looks like." 
"She's in the General Aviation Terminal, and I told you, spottin’ her will be easy. She's a six foot tall, blonde model. How many women have you ever seen that fit that description?" 
"Ah, well, can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting any other WASP Amazons before," I tease. 
"Don't you dare say that shit to Hailey," Linc uncharacteristically snaps at me. "She has this thing about her size...just don't." 
"Fine, I'll refrain from making Amazon jokes," I mutter as I keep walking through the crowd eyeing everyone I pass. Nothing but a bunch of dark-haired midgets. "Still coming up empty on tall blondes. Maybe she's sitting down." 
"Fuck,” he grumbles. “Look, I'm gonna text you her number, and you two can figure this shit out." 
"Awesome. Go…be merry with my sister and make her happy while I find yours."
"Hurry your ass up," he says before hanging up on me. 
As soon as my phone dings with the number, I try calling her. Off to my right I hear a peppy ringtone counter ringing to the one on my ear. I instantly spin around to face that direction, searching her out in the little coffee shop. That's when I finally spot her. 
God. Damn. 
First fucking class. 
Champagne and luxury. 
She looks as out of place as Glinda the Good Witch in Munchkin Land. 
Over the noise of the bustling airport, I mentally hear Frankie Valli’s smooth voice aptly crooning the lyrics to “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.” 
The gorgeous, and I mean gor-geous, blonde with a sleek ponytail is holding her phone to her ear and leaning a sexy hip against a coffee condiment counter. She looks like she's posing for a naughty photo shoot. Her navy blue, spaghetti strap dress pushes up her huge, full, natural tits and then flows loosely until it ends halfway between her thighs and knees. The fabric is billowing out in such a fucking cock teasing way. I just know she would be flashing her panties with even the slightest of breezes. It makes me want to huff, puff, and blow all over that brick house. And those legs? They're so damn long I could wrap my own around one and slide down it like a motherfucking fire pole. Or a stripper pole. Or any kind of pole. I just want to hump her like a damn dog.
"Hello? Who is this?” The goddess’s melodic voice is the perfect mixture of husky sex phone operator and sweet southern belle, slowly stretching out all of her vowel sounds. 
Realizing there hasn’t been ringing on the phone at my ear for several seconds, it's very possible that she caught me singing along with Frankie while I strained my eyes, hoping to develop x-ray vision. I need to know what kind of panties she’s got on underneath that tiny ass dress. Thong? Bikini? Lace? None? Oh fuck, the mystery of it all might just blow my goddamn mind. 
I watch as a crease forms between her eyebrows that are a shade or two darker than her hair, making her face seem even more strikingly beautiful. Frowning harder, she says, “Hello? Is anyone there?" In her southern drawl, I imagine the question would be closed captioned to something along the lines of, “’Ello? Is Annie Juan thare?” Yeah, I know thare is not a word, but that’s how it comes out of her mouth, dripping slow and sweet like honey. I’m used to Linc’s country twang, even though at first I thought he was an unintelligent hick. Of course I now know he’s definitely not. But her accent on the other hand? Well, damn, if it’s not cute as a button, as they would say around here. Which really makes no fucking sense because there’s nothing cute about buttons, but I digress. 
"Hey, um, this is Mason, your ride," I finally respond, and then wince when the words come out making me sound like an overexcited, fourteen-year-old boy, which I must say, nicely compliments my public boner. 
Her sigh is so heavy, I can practically feel the warmth of her breath whooshing against my ear before she says, "You're late." 
There's something about the weight in those two words and how her golden shoulders slump that have me feeling shittier than maybe ever before for being slack. Not just slack, I was fucking selfish, making this incredibly classy and gorgeous woman wait for me in a shitty airport coffee shop while I was dicking around. The southern beauty doesn't even sound pissed. She sounds...disappointed in me. Which is so much worse. And I know right then and there that my being late has actually hurt her feelings. In a rare moment of understanding how the crazy female brain works because I have—had— two older sisters, I even realize exactly why she's upset - I didn't think she was important enough to be on time for. 
"I'm sorry," I say with as much conviction as possible, because I honestly mean it. If I had known about those fucking mile-long legs and her slow, sexy drawl, I would've been here at sunrise, waiting to worship her on my knees instead of having a threesome. That’s right, she equals the equivalent of two sexy women. Hell, maybe even four. "What can I do to make it up to you?” I ask, wanting, no, scratch that, needing to have her forgiveness. “Any fucking thing. Name it, and you've got it, sweetheart."


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