Free Mace (Cocky Cage Fighter #4) by Lane Hart

her and have to clear the lust from my throat. She keeps looking at me with both eyebrows raised like I’m fucking crazy. Since she remains standing at the foot of the bed as if she’s not sure where to park her fine ass, I try to tempt her into the bed with me. I’m not sure if that’s a brilliant plan or an idiotic one. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
    She hesitates a second, biting her bottom lip before finally going around to the other side of the bed and climbing in. I’m sitting up with a pillow behind my back, propped up against the headboard. She follows suit, sitting close enough to see my phone when I hold it between us. I get a whiff of her sweet scent of lavender and flowers from her shower and fight the urge to lean over and bury my nose in her hair. Or between her breasts. Or in the juncture of her thighs. Shaking my head to clear those wayward thoughts, I focus again on the cuteness in front of me. 
    “This is a site of funny cat pics where people create memes and then post them. See?” I flip through several that put a small smile on her beautiful face before she finally lets loose a giggle or two. After ten minutes and dozens of photos later, she’s so wound up she throws her head back and even snorts with laughter, making me laugh harder.
    We spend hours bouncing around the different categories of funny shit on the website. Hailey also loves Autocowrecks and Failbook , the crazy things people end up saying accidently in text messages, and the stupid shit they post on Facebook. When my stomach growls, I look at the time on the phone and realize it’s almost nine o’clock.
    “We need to eat something for dinner,” I tell Hailey, and brace myself for her reaction. She doesn’t even look up or acknowledge my question. “What can I get you to eat? I’m pretty sure the restaurant’s still open if I hurry.” Getting up, I start dressing while I wait for her response. “You’re gonna eat something,” I insist, leaving no room for argument.
    “Maybe a salad?” she says softly.
    “Okay,” I agree. A salad isn’t much, but it’s something. “What about dessert? I think I saw they had homemade peanut butter cake today. You want to try a piece?”
    “Um, no, thanks,” she says, which I ignore. If I get cake, maybe she’ll eat it anyway.
    “I’ll be right back,” I tell her. Before I leave the room, I nab the push key for the bathroom lock from where it’s kept, on the frame high above the door. Then, I lock the door from the inside and pull it closed.
    “What are you doin’?” she asks.
    “Locking you out of the bathroom,” I tell her as I slip the small key into my tiny front jean pocket so I won’t lose it. I had no idea what that damn little opening was for before now. Bathroom keys, who would’ve guessed?
    “You jackass! What if I have to go?” she yells, getting out of bed to come over and try to jiggle the door open. I smile wider when it doesn’t budge.
    “I’ll open it when I get back. Until then…hold it,” I tell her before I snatch up my wallet and phone and walk out the door.
    The same friendly waitress from lunch takes my to-go order, a chef salad for Hailey, grilled chicken and veggies for me, and two big ass slices of cake. I promise myself that tomorrow I’ll run a few miles on the beach to burn off the calories.
    Hailey is still fuming on the bed when I walk back into the room. She looks up from her phone with narrowed eyes before going back to whoever she’s texting or whatever she was doing. I momentarily wonder if it’s Senn, and then want to kick my own ass for caring. Does Linc know about them? He must. Why can’t I be with her, but Senn can? Because he’s older and has more than three hundred bucks in his bank account? 
    Depressed like usual over barely being able to pay rent, my phone bill, eat and keep the lights on in my apartment, I open one of the plastic cutlery packages, get out a fork, stick it in the styrofoam container holding a