The Price We Pay (5 page)

Laken

I was standing outside, hiding behind a tree with a camera in front of my face. I had it zoomed to the max so I could see into my subject’s house.

Pacer Daniels.

Pacer. Fucking. Daniels.

God, I loved his name.

MMA fighter of the year. Six foot three. Every inch of his body covered in muscle. Two full arm sleeves decorated with black tribal tats and a splash of color on his right bicep. A shaved head, with just enough fuzz to let the world know his hair was black. The epitome of masculinity. Tough and raw. An incredibly talented fighter.

He has a lot of good things going for him, and as much as I liked that, he was also a possible cheater.

His girlfriend, Miranda, came in a few weeks ago and hired me to investigate him and find proof of him cheating on her. The last two weeks were eventful, but not once had he cheated. He talked, flirted, and kept his eyes on too many girls’ asses, but he hasn’t cheated. Not once.

Right now, he was talking to a woman with black hair that was pulled up into a sleek ponytail. Her back was to the window so I didn’t have any pictures of her face just yet. I took a picture of him when he smiled, when he laughed, and then took a few more for my records.

His smile was contagious and genuine. I loved his smile. I also loved his laugh. I loved his body…

“It’s a job, get your shit together,” I muttered to myself, clicking away.

He finally hugged her and they both walked towards the front door, where I lost sight of them until they were outside. I snapped a few pictures of her beautiful face. He talked to her a for a few more minutes and when she hugged him, she kissed his cheek – I made sure I got that picture – then he opened her car door for her and saw her off. He waved to her while she pulled out of the driveway in her red Ford Focus, and drove away. He started walking back up to the house and paused. He reached up and ran a hand over his head as if he was thinking about something and then turned to face the front lawn. I was still fully zoomed on him; I couldn’t help it.

So maybe I had a small crush.

Okay, maybe a medium one.

Definitely a large one.

Even though it was dark and I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew they were light blue. I watched them glance around the yard and down the street like he was looking for someone. I really wish I knew what that handsome mind was thinking about.

I zoomed out, took a full body shot, then zoomed back in when he looked up, right at me and smiled. My finger automatically pushed the button. It was a great shot.

He was looking at me.

Shit.

I watched his smile fade and he raised his hand up, slowly giving me the middle finger. He stood there flipping me off and of course, I took that picture.

What an ass.

I dropped my camera, letting it hang from neck while I made my way to him.

Why?

Because I have a tendency to do things before thinking about them. It was just who I was. I saw no headlights down the street so I marched my way, crossed the street, and through his yard.

“How did you see me?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

He finally dropped his middle finger. “I felt you watching me.” He tucked his hands into the front pocket of his blue jeans.

“It’s dark and the street light is out,” I informed him.

“I’ve seen you a few times,” he confessed and my jaw dropped. “Not sure why you’re obsessed with me.”

“When did you see me?”

“The pre-party a few days ago, during my match while you were sitting with the other photographers, and this morning while I was at the gym.”

He had a good eye.

This morning was fun, but I could only snap pictures with my cell. I rode a bicycle every day and everywhere, but I still hated to exercise.

“I’m not obsessed with you.”

“Reporter,” he guessed. “Looking for a story.”

“No.”

“Stalker.”

“Maybe, but I’m not
obsessed
with you,” I lied. I totally was.

He took a step forward, I felt my head automatically tip back so I could keep eye contact and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

I may or may not have been breathing.

I’ve never been this close to him. Damn he smelled good. Fresh and minty. I wanted to taste him. Lick him.

“You’re obsessed,” his husky voice gave me the shivers in the best way possible; I was going to be busy tonight after I got home, “with me.”

I took a step back. I had to keep my distance. Remain professional.

“I’m doing my job.”

He raised his left eyebrow, the one that had twenty-two stitches in it a few years back that made his eyebrows uneven. But hell, even that was hot.

“Whatever job you’re doing; you should fire yourself.”

I was appalled. “Excuse me,” I said jabbing a finger in his chest. Damn, it was hard. “I’m the owner. My business. I’m doing the job I was paid to do.”

“Like I said, fire yourself.” He turned and walked away. “Get a story from someone else,” he told me over his shoulder.

I followed him. “It’s not a story.”

“Don’t care.” He walked through his front door and didn’t shut it. I wasn’t sure if he realized it so I walked in after a few seconds and quietly shut it behind me. Miranda said they didn’t live together so maybe I could find something inside.

He disappeared into the other room, which I assumed was the kitchen. I couldn’t see it because there was a wall with a couch blocking it. It was leather, black, and had a matching rocking chair. They looked brand new and shiny. I heard him making noises in the kitchen so I continued to snoop around. I glanced down to make sure my camera was still on. I just had to point and click if I saw anything of importance.

I ran my hand along the arm of the couch and noticed no pictures hung on the light brown walls. He did have a huge ass TV, though. It was so large it looked like a mini theater screen.

I should really get myself one.

But I don’t watch much TV so that’s a stupid idea.

His glass coffee table had two remotes sitting on it. Plain. Simple. Boring. I would never have guessed this would be his living room.

He’s a badass MMA fighter, top of his game, and his house is lame.

Maybe he wasn’t even good in bed.

“What the hell?” he growled behind me and I jerked around. He was holding a plate of lasagna with garlic bread. The smell teased my nose and made my stomach growl.

“Your house is lame,” I told him, my eyes not leaving his plate, my mouth salivating.

“Get out.” His words fell flat as he sat his plate down on the coffee table. He turned the TV on and completely ignored me.

“Did you cook that?” I asked sitting down in the rocking chair.

“Get out.”

“It smells good.”

I wasn’t afraid of him. My research told me that even though he was one hell of a fighter he had a soft side. He’s been donating money to an after-school program for teenagers. He provides most of the money to run it, along with some other sponsors. He also gives free Martial Art lessons to kids who can’t afford them and self-defense classes for women.

He gripped his fork in his hand while keeping his eyes on the TV. I started rocking in the chair. This was nice. “Where did you buy this?” I asked running my hand along the smooth leather arm. “I like it.”

He dropped his fork on his plate. “Get out.”

“You did well last night.” I scooted to the edge of the chair and moved my camera to the side. “I’ve only been to a few matches, but you kicked ass.”

He was annoyed, but he picked his fork up and started eating. I watched him eat a few bites, then drink some of his beer. Damn, it looked good. He finally set his fork down and looked at me. “Look around, there’s no story here. I work out, fight, and then sit in front of the television eating my food. Boring.” He turned back to his television. “No story.”

I set my camera on the table and he watched me turned it off. “Okay,” I said.

“Then why are you still here?” he asked. “Should I call the cops?”

“If I’m being honest-”

“Please, by all means,” he said sarcastically, “be honest.”

Even with his sarcastic tone, his hard face, and glaring eyes, he was hot. I was so screwed. If he gives me one indication, one hint of a mutual attraction, I would climb on his lap and fuck-

“I’m waiting,” he said, impatiently.

“Right.” I cleared my throat. Where should I start? I had obligations to my client but I had a feeling that something wasn’t right with this situation. His life was boring when he wasn’t fighting or working out. I have no reason, or proof, to believe he was cheating. I could tell him about his girl and cause problems, or keep my mouth shut. I’d let her know tomorrow that I was done and send her on her way.

Then I’d never see him again.

Decisions.

Decisions.

“Your girlfriend hired me.”

I did it again and this time, I had thought about it. Starting trouble. I could shoot her a text telling her I was done. She’d never know what happened first.

He smirked. “I’m single. Try again.”

“Single?”

“Yes, single,” he said a bit frustrated. He held up his index finger. “You know, as in one.”

“You don’t have to be rude about it.”

He drank half of his beer, keeping those beautiful and mysterious eyes on me, then set it back down.

It was time to move things along. “Your girl, Miranda, thinks you’re cheating on her. I’m a PI and she hired me to find out the truth.”

He busted out laughing, something I’ve never seen in the last two weeks. I’ve seen him chuckle but not like this. This was a full out, whole body laugh. He stood, went to the kitchen for a few minutes, and came back with a plate full of food and two more beers. He gave me the food, which I wasted no time shoving it in my mouth. I moaned and closed my eyes as the flavors filled my mouth.

“This is…wow.” I ate a few more bites and washed it down with a swig of beer.

“My mom taught me.”

“Make sure I thank her,” I said shoving a large forkful into my mouth.

“She passed away a few years ago, but I’m sure she’s floating around here somewhere.”

“I’m sorry.”

He grinned. “It’s been awhile, but I swear she haunts me.” I got the feeling he was close with his mom.

“Creepy,” I muttered before taking another forkful.

“Doesn’t bother me.”

I nodded and we finished eating while watching some movie that involved a lot of car racing.

It was weird.

Totally awkward.

Totally unprofessional, but did I care? Hell no. It was Pacer fucking Daniels!

I was in his house, eating food and drinking beer. It was unreal. A highlight in my life for sure. It kind of felt like a date even though I wasn’t invited. He didn’t even know my name.

“Miranda’s not my girlfriend.”

But that doesn’t bother him, I guess.

“Shit,” I said. I set my empty plate down and grabbed my beer. I relaxed back in the chair and crossed my legs. His eyes may have just checked out my legs. I was wearing a pair of short cut-off jean shorts. The idea of his eyes on my legs had my girl parts on overdrive.

“I made the mistake of fucking her a few months back. It was just a one-time thing. I was very clear about that but she had other ideas.”

“Clingy?”

“Worse. Total fucking stalker,” he said sarcastically while glancing at my camera.

I tried to plead my case. “She seemed normal. Dressed nicely. Knew your schedule, address, all that shit.”

“Stalker.”

“Or a girlfriend who was really into her man.”

He grabbed his beer, realized it was empty, and then grabbed mine from me, which was also empty. He grabbed our plates and went to the kitchen.

He cooked. I should clean up. It was the least I could do.

I got up from the chair, went around the corner, and ran right into him. My hands gripped his sides. He had a beer in each hand held out to the side and I refused to move my hands. His skin was warm to the touch and there was barely any space between us. Memorized by those eyes, I was already panting at the mere thought of him kissing me.

His phone rang, some outrageous heavy metal song that I didn’t care for, and he started to move. My hands slowly slid away from his skin, which was pure torture. I was slightly embarrassed and needed to collect myself, and my dirty little thoughts. I grabbed one of the beers from him while he answered his phone and I went back to the living room.

I slouched down in the chair and then my phone rang. It was my brother, Jaxon. I hadn’t heard from him in six months.

“It’s about time,” I answered.

“I need a favor.”