Mace (Cocky Cage Fighter #4)(3)

By: Lane Hart


"Lock up before you leave?" I ask the girls who are going at it in my bed, not missing me in the least. I waste several more minutes watching them finger fuck each other before I finally force my feet to get a move on.

Picking up the duffle bag I packed last night on the way out the door, I climb in my 'stang and hit the road. Andddd traffic is bumper to fucking bumper on the highway. On a Saturday? Just my luck; a traffic jam when I’m already running late. Isn’t it ironic?

I belt out Alanis Morissette classics to pass the time as I move an inch every five minutes. With the top down on a beautiful June day is when I miss the familiar rush of nicotine and the weight of the stick between my two fingers. Angry and stupid after losing her to lung cancer, I picked up my mom’s old pack of cigarettes when I was fourteen and smoked until a few months ago when Linc insisted that I stop if I wanted to train with him. Of course he’s right, but that doesn’t mean it was any easier to give up the nasty habit.

Finally, I make it to the airport exit and get parked. While I practically jog inside the main terminal, I scroll through my old texts from Linc to find the flight number, which, looking up at the big sign, arrived…fifteen fucking minutes early. I'm almost two hours late at this point, frantically trying to figure out how to find this girl. I stop and glance in every restaurant in the food court to look for a female version of Linc. My stomach growls at the mingling of delicious smells, warning me my insides are gonna start eating themselves if I don't put something in it soon. First things first.

The chorus of "Magic Stick” by 50 Cents and Lil’ Kim blares out of my phone that I’m still palming. I already know who it is before I look down at the screen.

Linc.

"Thank you for calling Guber Transportation," I answer. “None of our drivers are currently avail –”

"Mace! Where the fuck are you?" I cringe at the normally laid-back dude’s pissed off tone. He’s supposed to be getting ready to marry my sister and live happily-ever-after and all that shit, and here I am, screwing up his good time.

"I'm at the airport. Where's your sister? What’s her name again? Hanna?"

"Hailey! And she’s been waitin’ on your late ass for hours," he barks. “Where the hell have ya been?”

"I would be less late if I knew how the fuck to find her," I tell him, dodging his question. "I don’t even know what she looks like."

"She's in the General Aviation Terminal, and I told you, spottin’ her will be easy. She's a six foot tall, blonde model. How many women have you ever seen that fit that description?"

"Ah, well, can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting any other WASP Amazons before," I tease.

"Don't you dare say that shit to Hailey," Linc uncharacteristically snaps at me. "She has this thing about her size...just don't."

"Fine, I'll refrain from making Amazon jokes," I mutter as I keep walking through the crowd eyeing everyone I pass. Nothing but a bunch of dark-haired midgets. "Still coming up empty on tall blondes. Maybe she's sitting down."

"Fuck,” he grumbles. “Look, I'm gonna text you her number, and you two can figure this shit out."

"Awesome. Go…be merry with my sister and make her happy while I find yours."

"Hurry your ass up," he says before hanging up on me.

As soon as my phone dings with the number, I try calling her. Off to my right I hear a peppy ringtone counter ringing to the one on my ear. I instantly spin around to face that direction, searching her out in the little coffee shop. That's when I finally spot her.

God. Damn.

First fucking class.

Champagne and luxury.

She looks as out of place as Glinda the Good Witch in Munchkin Land.

Over the noise of the bustling airport, I mentally hear Frankie Valli’s smooth voice aptly crooning the lyrics to “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.”

The gorgeous, and I mean gor-geous, blonde with a sleek ponytail is holding her phone to her ear and leaning a sexy hip against a coffee condiment counter. She looks like she's posing for a naughty photo shoot. Her navy blue, spaghetti strap dress pushes up her huge, full, natural tits and then flows loosely until it ends halfway between her thighs and knees. The fabric is billowing out in such a fucking cock teasing way. I just know she would be flashing her panties with even the slightest of breezes. It makes me want to huff, puff, and blow all over that brick house. And those legs? They're so damn long I could wrap my own around one and slide down it like a motherfucking fire pole. Or a stripper pole. Or any kind of pole. I just want to hump her like a damn dog.

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