Trick Read online

  As always, Rhoades has left us all speechless. The man is a mystery, yet I find myself waiting on pins and needles for his message. The one today hit a bit too close to home.

  Mack hops up from her seat in one swift movement. She stumbles on her own feet, righting herself. I’ve learned the girl is clumsy as fuck. Like she trips over her own shoes. It’s insane her face doesn’t have permanent scars on it.

  “Wait up. I’ll walk with you.” I grab her upper arm, and she recoils back. I let it go right away and hustle to keep up with her.

  “You from around here?” I ask, keeping up with her pace.

  Fucking insane how short her legs are and how fast she walks. It’s a goddamn struggle to keep up with her. It’s obvious she’s been running away from her own life for years now. What in the hell is a girl like her doing at college?

  “Born and raised,” is her simple answer. She keeps her vision focused on her tattered sneakers.

  “Mack, you gotta fucking give a bit here.” I clench my fists into balled frustrations, regretting my foul language. Nothing like frightening an already timid baby bird.

  She stops and turns her face up to me. Her long, thick bangs conceal her endless pools of rich green. It takes her long moments to brush them away. Tears brim, threatening to fall over.

  “I-uh…” Her chin begins to quiver. “I can’t do this, Trick. It’s not you. I’m just, uh—”

  As each word falls from her mouth, the tears grow in ferocity. It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve viewed a lot of screwed-up shit in my lifetime.

  I hold up a hand and step back not to intimidate her. “Okay, I won’t push, Mack, but we have to get going on our project. I’m at a loss here on how to move forward.”

  She shrugs, recoiling back into herself. This girl is a damn mystery.

  “Haven’t you worked with others before?”

  “Not really,” she answers.

  “How?” I scratch my head with my lips twisted up in confusion.

  “I’ve darted around it or was paired with a slacker where I did all the work.”

  “I’m not a bad guy.” My voice is tight with tension and frustration. This is getting downright fucking ridiculous. “I guess I’ll talk to the professor tomorrow. Have a nice day.”

  I walk off, gripping the strap of my backpack to a near-painful point. I need the punching bags and the gym. Screw the fact I just finished a grueling workout. I crave nothing more than to release this frustration. Every other class has been smooth. This one should be no different. Fuck, in theory, it’s the easiest one. I have no problem doing the damn work all by myself. However, the way Professor Rhoades has set it up, it’s impossible.

  “Trick.”

  I barely hear the squeak of my name through the carefree chatter of the other college students. I grunt then stop and turn around to see Mack walking up to me with her head bent low and a piece of paper in her hand.

  “Give me your email, and we can work in Google Drive on our project.” She says each word while studying her battered, pale yellow Converse.

  I bite my tongue, wanting to tell her off, but take it from her hand and pull a pen from the side pocket of my backpack, jotting down my university email. I hand it back to her without a word and stride off with all my patience used up and drained for a damn long time.

  It could be my imagination, but I swear I hear a simple “sorry” ghost in the light breeze. The drive back to the gym flies by in a blur. The front glass door whips open, and I stomp in. The few remaining fighters standing around shooting the shit all focus in on me.

  “Who pissed in pretty boy’s Cheerios?” Jag flicks his chin in my direction.

  “Not now, Jag.”

  “Come on, country boy, I know you’ve never met a sheep you didn’t like.”

  I know he’s kidding, but the chump sets me off. There’s only been one way I know how to release my aggression, and that’s sex and fighting. Sex won’t cut it right now. Mack has crept underneath my skin. I’ve never found someone so damn infuriating. You’d think I was Ted Bundy when in all reality I just want to work on a project with her.

  Jag raises his arms up in surrender as I near him. “Go find some wool to take out your frustration on, man. Strap on those Velcro gloves and go to pound town.”

  “I said not fucking now.” I swing a swift right hook—knocking Jag off center.

  The rest of the men step back, letting me have at the smartass. The one knock to the side of his face fired him right up. Knew it would. Both of our arms fly toward each other. Jag stings my ribs with a brutal punch then another to my kidneys. He knees my thighs, getting closer to take me down. I’m faster than him, always thinking one step ahead. I take him down with a leg sweep. Once he’s down on the mats, I put him in a submission hold until he taps out.

  Boss pulls me off him. I don’t go easy.

  “Please, I’m not a sheep. Don’t take advantage of me.” Jag grins, rolling over to his back.

  “Fucking dumbass,” I mutter, backing up. I can’t help but crack a grin after getting out the pent-up energy. Jag is always a goofy motherfucker no matter how intense the situation is. There have been a handful of times where life got the best of him. He bounced right back.

  “The hell is going on, Trick? This isn’t like you at all.” Boss crosses his arms over his broad chest.

  “Not talking about it.” I begin walking back to the locker room. My response sounds as fucking childish as the real problem is.

  “Do you need your vag petted?” Jag chirps.

  “Shut the hell up, boy.” I turn just in time to see Boss whack him in the back of the head.

  “Trick, what gives?” Boss demands again.

  I turn back to my family and let it fly. I don’t leave anything out, from my dad disowning me to my damn stubborn partner. Their jaws drop. It’s the first time they’ve had a glimpse into my life. I’m a private person. It’s all been fighting and training since arriving here. It’s not lost on me it’s also the first time I’ve talked about the rejection of my father out loud.

  “Dude, congrats on following your dreams.” Jag pats my shoulder. “I’ll have Sunni pick up a Trapper Keeper for you with color-coordinated pens and pencils.”

  “You’re a dick,” I say with a throaty chuckle.

  “Wait! You need some Ninja Turtle pencils. The pussy will be lining up for you.” Jag saunters off. “I got you, man.”

  The rest of the fighters disperse, leaving Boss and me in a silent gym. He doesn’t say a word for a long time. I know he ain’t going to be none too pleased about my outburst. Diablo’s number one rule is self-discipline.

  “Shit wearing on ya, kid?” Boss relaxes down on a bench.

  “Yeah, I guess.” I reach back, wringing out the stress terrorizing the back of my neck.

  “Don’t have no problem with you taking it out on Jag, but know it’s not a healthy way.”

  “I didn’t come here to kick the shit out of him. Was going to work out more, but he wouldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.”

  Boss chuckles. “And that surprises you?”

  I shake my head. “Hell no. Got him good with that hold, though.”

  “Hell yeah, you did. It’s your signature move. He should’ve anticipated it. Tell me about this girl.”

  I do, even though there’s not much to divulge. Mack is a mystery.

  “Sounds like she’s an introvert. Don’t take it personally and just get the job done.” Boss stands up and walks past me, patting me on my shoulder.

  Clear cut advice like he always gives. I get what he’s saying, but, Jesus, it’s not as easy as he makes it seem, not to even mention the odd attraction toward Mack.

  Boss flicks off all the lights except for the ones above the punching bags. He knows me all too well. The click of the lock to the door echoes around the gym. It’s not long before sweat pours off me and my knuckles throb in protest. I should’ve wrapped them. It doesn’t stop me. I continue until I collapse
on the floor, regretting every decision I’ve made in my life. Leaving Idaho has been haunting me way too much lately.

  Chapter 3

  Trick

  I settle in behind my computer, pounding a protein shake. I have a few hours before training. Sleep eluded me last night. Instead of tossing and turning in the sheets, I got my ass up to do some schoolwork.

  “No fucking way,” I whisper to myself as I click to open an email from Mack.

  Trick,

  I’ve divided up the project and completed three out of the six tasks we can do online. If this isn’t okay, I’m willing to do the other three. I’ve invited you to the Google Document. I’ll be working in there until three o’clock if you have any questions.

  Mack

  My brain takes over, clicking open the Google Document and scanning her work. She’s tackled the most intensive research parts and nailed them. Her precision to detail blows me away. Hell, she could teach this class with her eyes closed.

  A hot pink cursor flies over the screen. I’ve never worked in Google Drive. It only takes me a few seconds to see the chat box. I click on it instead of going back to the tab with email open. I type without thinking, excited we are actually doing something.

  Me: The plan looks great and damn your work is amazing.

  Shit, I sound like a two-pump chump nerding out over school work. But in all honesty, it’s how I feel. It took me years to pave out my way in the MMA world, making this a new and exciting adventure.

  Mack doesn’t reply right away even though I can tell she’s seen the message. I don’t think about it too long, carving out my portion of work. It’s all numbers, and I thrive on that shit. I equate it to fighting, always calculating my next move and the risk involved in it. I always knew becoming an accountant would be a perfect backup plan. Not to mention it would tie in nicely to the farming community.

  My MacBook dings with a shrill sound, startling the shit out of me.

  “Stupid bastard.” I punch the volume button until it’s muted.

  Mack: Sounds good.

  Me: I’ll have my sections done before class tomorrow for you to look over.

  Mack: Okay.

  It takes everything inside of me not to crack a joke about her simple responses. But I have no time to take a step backward with this woman.

  Me: I work at a gym. I think it would be a perfect business to model our project around. You good with that?

  Mack: Do you have contacts? Do you think they’d be willing to work with us?

  I chuckle to myself. Hell yes, they would be. It was a little white lie that I work there. But I think if she didn’t pick up on the fact I was a fighter the first day of class, I’m pretty damn sure that knowledge would scare her away.

  Me: Yes, it will be no problem.

  We spend the rest of the morning working in unison. At some points, our cursors cross each other. Mack might be onto something, because this method is way more productive than planning out our project over coffee at the student union building. I’m impressed.

  Me: Gotta run to the gym. Thanks for this, Mack.

  Her reply this time is immediate.

  Mack: Thank you, Trick. I’m sorry for being difficult. Trust me it’s not you. I guess you could say I’m a weirdo.

  Me: No worries at all. Have a good day, weirdo.

  Mack: You too.

  Me: For future reference that was a joke. You can either come back with an LOL, LMFAO, or an emoticon.

  Long minutes tick by before Mack sends an eye-rolling emoticon back to me. A smile cracks wide across my face.

  Her square icon at the top right-hand corner disappears. I lean back in the uncomfortable-as-hell wooden chair and run my hands through my hair. The shit is getting too long. I need a good cut. Hell, there’s almost enough to pull up into one of those douchy man buns.

  “Mackenzie Graham, you are a mystery.”

  I check the time on my phone and see I have thirty minutes to get to the gym. It’s a quick two-block jog to get there. An idea strikes. I Google her name. What pops up in the search engine is nothing I ever expected to see. Link after link I click jars me and answers every single question about her at the same time.

  My phone pings.

  Boss: Where the hell are you?

  I snap the lid of the Mac shut and take off to the gym with a renewed determination.

  ***

  I make sure to get to class early today. I’m going to take a seat to see if Mack makes a move. We’ve been chatting nearly every night. There’ve been no niceties or chitchat, just school work. Although she’s slapped down a few emoticons which do something to my chest every single time. Must say we’ve knocked out a huge chunk of the research and have done one hell of a job. My muscles scream in protest as I take my seat. I’ve been training nonstop once my life got back on course. Next fight is here at home against one bad motherfucker. And I’ve never been more prepared.

  Moments tick by before a cloud of raven black hair swirls in the classroom. Mack has her face focused down as she takes the steps down the auditorium. Her long, tanned legs are muscular and toned peeking out from her denim shorts. She has a baggy sweatshirt draping off her top. One shoulder exposed makes me lick my lips.

  She doesn’t look up until she’s in the third row in the far corner. Mack glances up as if she can feel my stare on her. When we make eye contact, something changes between us. Mack nibbles on her bottom lip, her cheeks flushing a gorgeous pink hue. Goddamn, even my dick notices her simple beauty. It may be her innocence that entertains the thoughts.

  Chapter 4

  Mack

  He’s here. I peeked up just enough to see his broad shoulders bulging through a tight black t-shirt. The man is a giant. I’ve never been so close to someone with his frame and muscles, not to mention his strong jawline and harsh features. Trick could be on the cover of any magazine; he’s just that stunning.

  I peer over my shoulder once I find a seat the furthest away from all the other students to see Trick staring at me. A slow, genuine smile creeps across his face. It warms me. I’ve never felt this. I’ve seen in it in the movies and have always chalked it up to being fantasy.

  I hide. It’s what I do. I can’t cope with society. Getting my college degree has always been my biggest dream and is also the biggest stressor in my life. I don’t have some traumatic past that keeps me down. Well, I do, but not one I can remember. It’s simple. I’m deathly shy and an introvert. I don’t know how to interact.

  I move without thinking, and before I know it, I’m taking a seat right next to Trick. There’s a damn pull toward the man that I can’t shake. It terrifies me, and I’ve always found the easiest solution is to run far and fast from any type of emotions.

  “Mack.” He nods his head.

  “Hi,” I squeak out, cringing at the intimidation in my voice. No matter how hard I try, it never fails.

  “Taking a risk today?” His dazzling white teeth shine back at me. Trick’s dimples frame his perfect features. His question isn’t an insult or a put-down, which I’m accustomed to. I think it might be a joke.

  I shrug and pull out my pouch of color-coordinated sharpies and pens.

  “Mack.” Trick pauses.

  I turn and look up at him. He continues once our gazes land on one another. I drown in his dark, dark eyes. They’re nearly black with hints of rich brown sparkling in them. It doesn’t take a whole lot of thinking to know I’ve made him happy by sitting next to him.

  “You little rebel, you,” he chuckles between his words.

  My cheeks heat. “Stop, or I’ll move.”

  He raises both hands in the air. “Simmer down now.”

  I shake my head. Our conversation is cut off when the professor strides in. My pounding heart begins to steady itself. The internal shakes filling my body fade away. The spinning in my head ceases. The threat of talking is gone, left with the sweet-smelling manly scent of Trick.

  I keep my eyes focused on my notebook, pretending to fu
riously scribble down notes. It’s an aversion tactic. I find myself studying Trick’s thick thighs. His faded blue jeans look as if they’re about to shred from his body. His body is a temple of perfection.

  I gulp down a lump in my parched throat, remembering the day I met him. I was so damn rattled entering the class that I tripped over my own two feet and landed right on his lap. It didn’t take the assholes from my high school years long to recognize and taunt me. Trash can girl. Tears well in my eyes. It’s what I’ve always been known as.

  I startle in my seat when Trick’s hand lands on top of my thigh. He gives it a gentle squeeze. When I look over to him, he offers a gentle smile and then reaches up to swipe a tear away with the pad of his thumb. It’s not until then I realize I was crying.

  With the back of my hand, I swipe the rest away and do my best to focus on the lecture. It’s a difficult task. I completed my first two years of college online but knew if I ever wanted to put my degree to use, I’d have to get over my extreme shyness and anxiety. I never knew it would be this complicated and difficult. Learning is the one thing that has always come easy for me. I chalk it up to all the years of books being my only form of entertainment.

  I’d lose myself in them, pretending I was one of the characters. Nobody ever wanted to talk to me. Not even my own grandmother. My imagination was my best friend.

  Trick plucks my pen out of my hand and scribbles out a tic-tac-toe grid on my notes and then hands it back to me. I take the center box, marking it with an x. The game continues until Trick has me cornered. I saw the move before it happened but was distracted by his sexy scent wrapping me up in a gentle hug. It’s sweet, rich, and all Trick, and now my favorite scent. This is a dangerous game, and I’m not talking about x’s and o’s on the paper.