Use Me (Caldwell Brothers)

“A facility...”

“Screw you! I told you, I’m not crazy.” I poke him in the chest, and he straightens up, looking shocked. “All I want is to write this book that I’m being forced to write—romance. I thought you looked like the perfect muse. All... hot and badass. The type of man who’d like a bang buddy.” I poke him again. “I just wanted to screw you for a month and walk away, but no, you have to... to... to be all angry man or whatever.” I stop, not needing to continue. Then I turn around, throw my hands in the air, and walk away as fast as I can.

I’m crazy. Totally freaking crazy. Why did I ever take on this project? How did I let myself think I could just have casual sex during the time it takes to write this freaking novel with a stranger? What the hell is going on with me?

Lust, fiction overtaking my mind and wishing it to be reality—I don’t know. All I know is that this whole project has tilted my world on its axis, and I simply want it to go back to the way it was before.

As soon as I turn the first corner and know I’m out of sight, I grab my phone from my pocket and dial Melanie.

The second she answers, I say, “I hate you.”

I hear what I assume is her hand covering the phone and a muffled, “That will be all, Ann.”

“Screw that. Put me on speaker so I can tell that dear woman Ann what a bitch you are and how to never do what you suggest, like ever!”

She laughs. “What did I do now?”

“This... This... pushing me to write fiction!” I say it like the disease it is. “Three days in, and I’m a sexual predator on the prowl.”

She laughs.

“It’s not funny, Melanie. I hope you’re happy!”

“Okay, okay,” she says, still chuckling. “Tell me all about it.”

So, I do. I tell her every painstaking, embarrassing moment with the arrogant ox. Then I tell her, “There was some lady’s group taking a self-defense class at his gym, and before it began, they were talking about him like... like he was... I don’t know, a god.”

“You need to sneak a picture. And for the love of the actual God, make sure the flash is off.” She busts out laughing again.

“Have I mentioned I hate you?” I snap.

“Yes, yes, and yes. But you are fired up.” She’s excited, while I simply want to reach through the phone and pull her hair. “I hear passion. He must be—”

“Don’t you even dare,” I warn, knowing what’s coming.

“Someone you’re interested in.”

Sighing, I admit, “He is sexy, and mysterious, and—”

“Get him.”

“He thinks I’m nuts. Hell, I think I’m nuts. And it’s your fault!”

“Get. Him.”

The tension begins to ease from me in a way only the casualness I share with Melanie does.

“You gonna bail me out when he puts me in jail?”

She laughs again. “I didn’t say kidnap him and tie him up.”

“How the hell do you kidnap a man three times your size?”

“Well, heck, if you need help, I am just a plane ride away.”

And just like that, I have my calm again. I am back on board with writing this crazy book that has turned my life upside down.

Melanie is that friend, the one you call and she offers to help hide the body without even asking a solitary question.

Standing in front of my hotel, I shake my head. “I got this. I’ll have your book soon.”

Chapter Five

“What the hell was that about?” Jagger asks when I walk back into the gym.

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” I answer, walking past him toward my apartment door to go change.

Once upstairs, I pull off my coffee-drenched sweats, still feeling her hand on my abs. I hardened under her touch almost immediately. She may be crazy, but she turns me on. Go figure.

I hop in the freezing cold shower to rinse off. I don’t have time to wait for it to heat up, and right now, my lower extremity isn’t getting the memo that my brain is sending. A cold shower will do me good.

Down, beast, I will my cock to tame.

***

The next day, I wake in a fog. I needed sleep last night. She was in my head again, and I sure as hell didn’t need that. Instead of the deep slumber I have become accustomed to when I let visions of her get me off, I found myself tossing and turning.

Tonight is fight night at Legacy. We have changed shit up a little since Shaw died. We are as close to legit as an ex-con and an underground fighter can be.

It’s a good thing, too. If I broke parole, I would end up behind bars again, and I never want to go back to that fucking place. Being on parole is in no way a normal life, but it is a hell of a lot better than that hell hole.