Bookish Princess Page 3

  “I do have a little something that will shake things up a bit,” Addy claims.

  My eyes widen at Harlow, and she narrows hers at me, warning me not to say anything but knowing full well if he offers us drugs or something, I’ll stick it to him. Of course, I know drugs are rife on Campus but as far as I know Addy’s too focused on his football career to risk screwing it up by getting messed up with anything like

  .

  He reaches inside the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a handful of cardboard tickets.

  “I’ve got spare tickets to fight night with your name on them.” He grins.

  “No way!” Gav’s face lights up like he just remembered he is friends with the coolest guy on the planet.

  “Way.” Addy smirks, bringing his eyes to meet mine. “You in?”

  “Not really my thin…”

  “She’s in,” Harlow cuts me off, kicking me under the table.

  I yelp out loud, glaring at her.

  “Give us a minute; we will be right back,” she announces, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet before I can argue.

  “What was that?” I hiss at her as we make our way through the crowded diner to the ladies’ room.

  “F.U.N. It’s called fun, and it’s exactly what you need more of, Imogen. You’ve been working your ass off, and you’re about to burn out if you don’t let your hair down. This is your chance to do something outside of the norm. You need this.” She swings the door to the ladies’ room open, and I follow her inside.

  “You need this, you mean. You’re only going to spend more time with Gav. What am I going to do? Stand next to Addy like his personal cheerleader the entire time?”

  “How do you know you won’t love it? Ever done anything like this?”

  “No,” I lie. Imogen Thomas didn’t know about fights and Roma culture. Imogen Thomas had lived a perfectly whimsical existence at a private boarding school, returning home at weekends to her adoring dad. A dad who managed the most successful football team in America. In reality, during my childhood, he hadn’t had any time or inclination for a relationship with me.

  Sure, he’d sent the obligatory monthly pay check in the mail to my mommy, and the past couple of years he’s really tried to salvage some kind of father/daughter connection. But, we both know I’d never fully forgive him for the way he left my mommy when she was pregnant. Desperate. Scared. Alone.

  If Tommy hadn’t quickly married Mom and claimed me as his own, I don’t know what would have happened to her. To us. No amount of money from my biological dad, Gary, was enough to stop our community from rejecting her, especially back then. Pavee woman didn’t just have sex with footballers who were passing through town, get knocked up, and never see them again.

  “You have to do this, for me,” my best friend pleads. “Things are going so well with Gav, and you must admit, you and Addy have got something.”

  She’s got that right. We definitely have something. Something confusing, something that will never work and is destined for failure before it even starts but something that both of us want, all the same. Enough of a something that despite every fibre of my being knowing this is a bad idea, had me agreeing to go to the stupid fight night. A fight night I never have dreamed of stepping foot inside with anyone else but, Addy makes me feel things I had never felt before.

  He is popular, sexy and there’s something about his cockiness that speaks to my needy; untarnished heart. Maybe its just that I like a challenge because knowing he’s out of my league is making me want to make him mine, just to prove I can. To the all the girls who would be horrified if they knew my true identity and to myself to prove that Hunter Ryan means nothing to me. Less than nothing. I take it back, this has nothing to do with the stubborn asshole I’m engaged to.

  Chapter Four

  Hunter

  My music blasts out of the speakers, and I punch the air a few times, hopping from foot to foot to psych myself up. The crowd is already pumped and cheering for the underdog. What is it with people that makes them feel they have to do that? Like it would be completely unacceptable to champion the guy who is clearly on his way to the top.

  It doesn’t matter to me who they want to win, this fight is mine, like all the others before it. They might not like my Gypsy background, my commitment to avoiding the press as much as possible before a fight, or the fact my early training was on the streets rather than in a gym, but I am not fighting for the glory.

  I remind myself of the sole reason I’m here: to give them a decent show, knock the mother fucker out, and prove myself worthy of a chance to take Theo’s title from him. At least, that’s what I try to focus on, but I can’t help myself from wondering about how to fix the nothing that exists between me and Bella.

  Beautiful Bella with her huge eyes that are always so angry at me, and wild hair that reminds both of us she’s a Pavee through and through; however much she tries to escape it.

  As soon as I set foot in the ring, I see the other guy gunning for me, and from the wild expression in his beady eyes, he’s probably tanked up on steroids. I guess the mandatory drug testing doesn’t apply to a select few people pleasers. The fights had been this way for as long as I can remember. It’s rarely ever about the fight unless you’re at the top. For now, I am fully aware I am a money-making machine, and when they grow bored of me, my career will be over in a single knockout.

  Circling me, I let him throw the first punch. I duck just in time for him to miss my jaw completely and retaliate with a sharp dig to his kidneys. It isn’t hard enough to knock him out, but it lets him know how this game is going to end. I’ll happily play cat and mouse with him, but when I grow tired, I’ll unleash the lion in me and swallow him whole.

  The next round goes down pretty much the same as the first. The guy is quick with his fists but not so much with his feet. His steps are slow and staggered, giving away exactly where and when he’s going to throw his next punch. Toying with him is fun, and it is what the crowd wants. I hear it in their shouts and sense it in the air. The more I stay on my feet, the more they cheer for him and it only makes me play harder.

  As he hits the ropes again, I take the opportunity to glance at the crowd, and my heart stands fucking still.

  Bella.

  My Bella.

  At a fight night.

  My fight night.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Her eyes meet mine instantly, like she hasn’t taken them off me for the entire fight, even though I’m only just noticing her. Blinking as the sweat pours over my eyelids, I can’t tear my eyes away from her, but some fucker does it for me. I trace her outline down to her waist, where a pair of hands that aren’t mine grip, and my blood runs black.

  Before I get a chance to react, I’m hit with a blow to the temple that knocks me straight on my ass.

  Fuck.

  My body crashes to the floor, and somewhere in the haze, I can just about make out the referee counting down.

  Get up.

  “Get fucking up!” someone screaming at me. I’m not sure if it’s my coach or the voice in my head. My head throbs so much, I swear I feel the blood pumping through it.

  Bella.

  But, it’s not her eyes that meet mine this time. It’s his. Moody and dark despite his amused expression that taunts me. Like he’s climbed inside my head, read my thoughts and knows he’s won.

  Bad luck, asshole. The games not over until it’s fucking over and for you, it never even began. If you want to fight for what’s mine, we can fight; but I’ll warn you now, I don’t fight pretty.

  My thoughts inject enough adrenalin that I’m able to force myself back to my feet. The crowd’s cheers shift from cheering for my opponent to cheering for me, and I realize, I just became the underdog. I was pitied and pathetic, and it was all because of her.

  Bella was always outside of my reach but always the thorn in my side.

  Gut instincts take over. I throw the punch I had been holding back and finish the fight in one care
fully placed uppercut.

  The referee grabs my arm, holding it high up in the air while they announce me as the champion. All the while, my eyes search the crowd for Bella.

  When I see her, I see him too— all over her like grilled cheese clinging to hot toast, slimy and everywhere. I fight my instincts to kill him and direct all my anger at her. After all, she’s the one engaged to be married. The head fuck who refuses to support me in anything I do but shows up to my fight night with another fucking guy.

  Is she trying to make a mockery of me?

  Is this all part of some game she’s playing? One where the rule book had been scrunched up and tossed aside as soon as the box was opened, forcing me to quit or play blind.

  “Great fight tonight, kiddo. What you did at the end there, letting him lay one on ya’… now that was really somethin’. It looked like he really did get the better of ya’ at one point.

  “He did,” I snarl, dismissing my coach by waving an arm at him and grabbing my water bottle as I run from the make-shift dressing room out to the parking lot.

  “Bella,” I roared, not giving a shit who is around. The fuckers want a show, they are about to get one.

  Scouring the car park, I see her before she sees me. She’s no doubt scuttling off to some college party with her BFF and dumb and dumber. Her hair is wild as ever but her outfit is girly and sweet. A perfect contrast of the girl she is and the girl she’s so desperate to be. His varsity jacket is draped over her shoulders, and his arm is wrapped around her waist.

  Him.

  Grilled cheese.

  That is what she wants?

  She throws her head back and laughs at something he whispers in her ear. A joke at my expense?

  I doubt it. I’m her dirty little secret. I remember when her parents had been making the arrangements for her to study at Camelot and we’d spoke about how a separate identity would be best for her. The whole thing was Romeo’s dumb idea and she’d been more than happy to go along with it.

  Typical Bella, desperate to hide who she truly is to fit in with the ‘it crowd.’

  Anything to pretend she wasn’t Pavee like the rest of us.

  I hated everything about it but I’d given her my word. I’d never visit her on campus unless she gave me the all clear first. I’d never talk to anyone about her family and our arrangement, and I’d never under any circumstances reveal her true identity.

  That was before the bitch played me harder than Ed Sheeran plays his guitar at Wembley Arena and paraded her new man right under my nose, almost losing me one of the most important fights of my career.

  We hadn’t exactly agreed on the terms about our arrangement. I had foolishly presumed that despite her reservations about getting married, she’d stick with her catholic values and remain a virgin until her wedding night.

  But there she is with some douchebag and here I am, watching from the side-lines. Seriously pathetic. If she wants to fuck every single person, guy or girl, from the crowd tonight, what do I care?

  Get it into your thick head Hunter: Bella Buckland is never going to be yours. Even if she marries you, you will never own a single piece of her heart.

  Running my fingers through my hair and resting my hands on the back of my neck, I do nothing but let out a deep sigh.

  Giving up Bella’s identity to her friends will cross some imaginary line that will tip her over the edge. However much she irritates the crap out of me, I’m not ready to close the door on us yet.

  For now.

  Forever.

  So, I don’t shout her name, or run after her and shake her until she realizes how pissed I am at her.

  I simply let her go.

  “Hey, you were great tonight. Can I get a selfie of us?” a full-grown man with a beard asks me, snapping me to my senses and reminding me I’m in the middle of a car park in my fighting shorts and sneakers looking like a total dickhead.

  “I’m not that guy,” I mumble, disappointing him and not giving a shit.

  Returning back inside feeling like I’m not carrying a sack of potatoes in my stomach— which is a lousy feeling, by the way— I throw on my tracksuit and am pleased when coach keeps to himself. He knows better than to confront me when I’m in this type of mood.

  Natalie on the other hand, a tiny brunette ring girl with fake tits so big they shouldn’t be allowed on a body as small as hers, doesn’t.

  She always lurks after my fights like a lynx skulking around, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on her prey.

  That prey is me, and apparently, she thinks this is that moment.

  “Want me to rub you down? I’ve got some cool flannels?” she offers from the other side of the room.

  I ignore her.

  If she can’t see I’m not in the mood, then that’s her fucking problem.

  Walking over to where I’m standing, not bothering to cover up the tiny red leather bikini she’s wearing, she pouts at me. “You don’t have to be mad anymore, you know? You won the fight. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

  “I’ll celebrate when I get the world title,” I state, acknowledging her for the first time. She’s around the same age as Bella, almost a year younger than me. Not as naturally pretty and wearing far too much make up for my liking but oozing sex appeal from every pore. She knows exactly what she’s doing, too. She stands in front of me, thighs carefully parted, akin to her pouty lips. Her hair is pulled over her shoulders, so the tips of its lengths frame her ludicrously oversized assets, which she makes sure are now consuming all of my attention.

  “I don’t doubt it. You look like you know what you’re doing out there,” she croons, massaging my ego and making it clear from her eye contact that she wants to massage much more than that.

  “What do you know about fighting?” I scoff, arching an eyebrow at her with feigned intrigue.

  She has the audacity to place her hand on my shoulder and take a seat right on my fucking lap before responding in a low whisper, “Enough to take you down.”

  Sensing the intimacy between us, everyone clears the room, leaving us to it.

  “What makes you say that?”

  She traces a finger down my torso, coming to a halt at my waistband and causing my cock to spring to attention. “You fighters are all the same. You pretend to be mean and tough, but underneath, you’re really a bunch of big softies.”

  “Does that feel soft to you?” I ask, placing my hand over hers and covering my solid cock.

  Screw Bella. If she’s going to show up to my fight with some knuckle-head, I’m going to fuck this set of tits until I can’t see straight, think straight, think Bella anymore.

  Lifting tits by the waist and laying her across the table in front of us, I run my hand over her fake curves right down to her leather clad pussy, cupping it and watching her hips buck as her body practically begs me to fuck her.

  I take in her tiny, naked waist, puckered nipples through the thin leather bikini top, brunette mane spread around her face, and I throw the chair I sat on across the room in frustration.

  I can’t fuck her.

  I can’t fuck anyone.

  My cock shrivels at the realization.

  Because Bella.

  Always fucking Bella.

  Chapter Five

  Bella

  If Addy spoke to my heart, Hunter trampled all over it. Typical that the one time I try to do something outside of my comfort zone, it backfires. I got so caught up in spending time with Addy, I didn’t even think about who would be fighting. Of course, the risk had crossed my mind on the way to the match, but I figured the place would be crowded enough that even if Hunter was fighting, there’d be no way he’d see me in the crowd.

  Wrong.

  The way he had locked eyes with me, like we were the only two people in the room, had been more than unnerving. The look on his face when he realized I was there and the way it shifted when he noticed Addy at my side, was one I couldn’t decipher. Definite fury, disappointment, and something else that co
nfused me.

  If I’m honest with myself, I’ll admit the weirdo in me wanted to be caught. Wanted him to see me with Addy on a night that was supposed to be about him. Don’t ask why; I have no reason to make him feel jealous. I couldn’t care less about his feelings. But a small part of me hopes he was jealous, and I’ve spent most of last night and today’s classes trying to figure out why.

  Now I’m sitting opposite him, surrounded by our parents, my grandma, and an invisible web of lies. Our family meals happened often and were our parents least subtle way of keeping track of my so-called relationship with Hunter in the lead up to our wedding day.

  “So, Hunter, I heard you won your match last night,” my dad breaks the ice.

  “Of course.” Hunter shrugs, like it was nothing. Cocky as ever and so self-assured it had to make everyone else in the room feel slightly inferior.

  I know it does me.

  “Keep it up and the way you are going, you’ll have that world title in no time,” my dad continues to encourage him. That was Dad, always seeing the best in everyone, wanting them to pursue their dreams until they reached them, surpassed them even. Everyone, except for me.

  I take a long sip of orange juice and scowl across at Hunter who’s sipping on his own drink: a tall glass of white wine. Another inconsistency in our family values. Hunter isn’t twenty-one either, granted he’s eight months older than me, but twenty doesn’t make him legal. Yet, here my dad is; happily making small talk with him as he drinks more than one glass of wine— wine I’m much more deserving and in need of than Hunter. I’ve never drank alcohol before but I’ve seen it’s effect on my parents and brothers. Throughout the evening, like many others before, I have no doubt all of their inhibitions will be dropped and everyone will feel happy and relaxed in each other’s company.

  Including Hunter.

  Which annoys me because why should he get to feel like that? As though, it’s not in the least bit weird we are sharing a family meal as husband and wife to be and yet we haven’t spoken a word to each other; despite both knowing what went down last night.