by Shey Stahl
Probably.
I wanted answers from Silas and for that, I would meet him in six weeks.
And you know what? Excuse the fuck out of me for wanting some rock dick. Even back in high school Silas was amazing in bed. Nothing compared to the nights we shared together, and I wanted that again.
“I just want to lose twenty pounds,” I finally said to Jared as we did dishes, standing side by side as I washed and he dried. “What do you do to get into shape?”
“I masturbate.”
“Jared….” Shaking my head, I handed him the cast iron pan for him to dry. “I’m serious.”
He shrugged and reached for the oil on the counter to season his pan. “So am I.” With a smile, he set the pan down on the stove where he kept it. “Go to the gym. You don’t need to do any crazy diets to lose weight. Which, for the record, you don’t need to. But if you wanted to firm up, I’d go to the gym.”
I groaned at the thought. “I don’t want to go to a gym. Everyone will stare at me.”
“Why?”
He clearly had never had an experience like I did. But then again, look at him. Of course he didn’t. “Men at the gym are all judgy and staring. The women are so fucking skinny they look like little boys. I bet my ankles are bigger than most of their calves. And the women just compare each other… who has the bigger ass, who has the most cellulite, who isn’t spinning or running fast enough. It’s disgusting.”
“You’re exaggerating.” Jared looked down at my ankles, his eyes widened. “Or maybe not….”
I punched his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.”
“You’re the one who pointed your freakishly large ankles out. My God, T. Can you even find ankle socks to fit over those? I think I’ve heard those things called cankles by others who aren’t as ankle-endowed as you seem to be.”
“Shut. Up.” I stalked toward the fridge. “How about that pie? I’ll start tomorrow.”
He smiled, rubbing his rock-hard abs. “Your peach pie gives me wet dreams.”
“You’re so disgusting.”
A boxer who is scheduled to face a champion of the favored fighter.
I lay in bed that night after eating two slices of pie, and I couldn’t sleep thinking about my goal and an article I had to get done for a blog that was due tomorrow. That was when I decided to get up and look to see what else was in that box I kept from high school.
My yearbooks.
It was filled with memories and photos of me and Silas. There wasn’t a moment from the time I met him, until the day he left, that I didn’t think we wouldn’t be together always.
Everyone thought we would be.
Nothing could have prepared me for him leaving but then again, there was a small part of me that had prepared myself for this possibility. A man with his talent wasn’t going to stay in Seattle forever. At least not without leaving first.
Maybe that was why he was coming back. Maybe he wanted to finally settle down?
Admittedly, my thoughts gave me more hope than they should have. Expecting a rock star of his status to want to settle down was stupid of me, but the thought was there regardless.
That happened in real life, right?
Turning the page in the book, my eyes landed on the one of Silas and me at Homecoming our senior year. We looked happy and in love. The next series of photos beside it was one of him on stage rocking out with his band. It was that night when I knew he would make it big someday.
The idea that maybe he might still want me gave my heart that familiar flutter of excitement. So, if I wanted some closure, or possibly some way to reconnect and reignite this old flame, then who had the right to judge or take that opportunity away from me? I didn’t have a voice in him leaving but you could bet your ass I was going to have a voice in him wanting more from me than just one night.
THE NEXT MORNING, I stood in front of the fridge trying to decide what to eat. I couldn’t find a damn thing worth eating so I toasted a slice of bread and put butter on it while I waited for the coffee to finish.
Jared came into the kitchen dressed in his uniform ready for work. “Give me that. You’re dieting, cankle queen.”
I glared and he laughed, eating my toast. He stopped and held the toast between his lips, his palms raised. “You know damn well I find you attractive and I’m joking with you.”
“You find me attractive?”
He gave me a “what the fuck” look. “You know I do. We’ve had sex before and I came within what, a minute? Remember?”
“That was different. We were drunk and that was in college. Shit’s changed since then.”
“How so?”
“Well, we don’t have sex and we’re not attracted to each other like that.”
“Let’s clear that up.” Jared nodded, finishing off the toast and then stealing my cup of coffee too. “You’re my friend. Probably my best friend these days since Jay got married. And you’re hot whether you want to see it or not. Yeah, we don’t have sex. But that’s only because you said when we moved in together that we couldn’t.” He chuckled, his voice turning playful. “Which seems stupid to me. I think we should be able to relieve stress sometimes without the awkwardness of the morning walk of shame.”
Jared knew why we couldn’t have sex. But it didn’t stop him from suggesting it all the time. I thought of him as my big brother, though I was older than him by two weeks. I just didn’t find him attractive in that way.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is… I find you attractive. Even though we will always be friends, that’s not to say I don’t think of you naked, sometimes.”
“Friends?”
He looked panicked. “Yes… where exactly did you think I was going with that?”
“That you were going to tell me you’ve always secretly loved me and want to get married?”
“You totally missed my point then. But yes, I do love you in a sisterly way. You’re far too annoying for wife material.” And then he eyed my ankles. “And if we had babies, they would have your ankles. That’s definitely the dominant gene in that equation. Poor kids.”
“I pity the woman who you finally do marry. I’m not sure there will be room in the marriage for the two of you.”
Jared turned and started to walk out the door, slapping my ass on the way. “I could say the same to you.”
I took an orange from the counter and threw it at the back of his head, missing him and knocking the lamp off the end table in the living room. “Dick.”
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, I was halfway through my article for the blog when Jared came home early.
“You remember Danny, right?”
“Yeah, I think.” I made sure to save the document I was working on. “That bar owner you’re always checking on?”
He flopped down on the couch, smiling. “Yeah, him.”
“So?” I turned in my chair to face him.
“Well, he has a nephew who’s apparently a badass at training.”
“To do what, drink?”
“No, dumbass.” He shook his head, leaning forward. “Getting in shape. And you wouldn’t have to go to a gym. You could train in the basement of the bar.”
“Sounds sketchy.” I took a deep breath trying to prepare myself. “Who is the guy?”
“Destry Stone.” He seemed so proud of himself, but it took me a minute to understand, or remember who Destry was. The name sounded so familiar.
And then it hit me like a slap to my face. I gasped, and choked on my spit. “The boxer?”
Jared eyed me carefully, probably wondering if he was going to have to perform CPR on me. “Yeah.”
Holy shit. This was like the best news ever. He could get me in shape. It’d be like boot camp but with a heavyweight boxer. Perfect! I wondered if I’d get abs like Jared’s… or a boxer’s… in six weeks?
That could happen, right? Totally.
Jared wrote down the number on my notepad before he told me, “I have to go. Some chick called the station want
ing me to help her with her groceries.”
I laughed. “It’s like you’re the city bitch.”
“I’m here to serve,” he said, pretending to hump the door.
Gross.
I called the number Jared gave right away to arrange a time. I realized it was for the bar and not Destry personally, so I set up a time with Danny, the owner, who said he’d pass the information along to him.
If I could get this shit accomplished in less than six weeks, I could go back to eating what I wanted. Surely a boxer could whip my ass in shape in less than forty-two days, right?
My stomach and those high school jeans that died an untimely death were banking on that.
Bring it on.
Having a chin, whiskers or granite-like jaw means having the ability to absorb punches when you get hit with a big shot and stay standing, to remain on your feet despite seeing black flashing lights, blurred, double or triple vision and feeling a buzz that goes all the way to your toes. Some say you are either born with a good chin or not. Others say it's a mental toughness that when your brain tells you to go down to the canvas, you will yourself to stay on your feet.
The next morning, I sat at my computer working.
Lie. I was googling Silas Cade.
What I found out was his string of women he’d been spotted with. Strippers, actresses, models—you name it, he’d been with them. I shouldn’t have been surprised by that. He was now covered in tattoos, had a few piercings, rumored to have his dick pierced, and what some would say an unsustainable sex drive.
Okay, so like every other rock star. Nothing new there.
And then I started in with images and trying to find the best one I could of him. I went through his Twitter and Instagram pages, all filled with him in exotic places in a variety of poses with beautiful women.
Eventually I found one of him and a beautiful woman who was perfect for cropping. I cropped her out of the photo and placed myself beside him to see if I even looked good anymore next to him. And after just a moment of dissecting everything I hated about my body, I realized I looked like hell next to him. Not even comparable. I looked like I ate part of him for breakfast or that I could have been his mom with the way I hovered over him.
“My precious,” I grumbled in the best Gollum voice from Lord of the Rings that I could muster, while petting the screen.
That was when I realized I could resize the photo on the screen and minimize myself to a more natural height. There’s also this feature that makes you look skinnier.
So, I sized myself down a bit more. I looked like a stack of bones, but I still didn’t look right next to him. He was perfection with his jet-black hair, brown pleading eyes, and marked skin. I was, well, clearly photoshopped.
“Wow, you really trimmed down,” Jared said, resting his chin on my shoulder.
I hadn’t even heard him come home.
I reached up with my fist and punched his throat. “You’re on duty, asshole. Why do you keep showing up here in the middle of the day?”
He coughed, grabbing at his throat and stumbling backward. “I left my phone here.”
“Do you do anything at work? How do you have time to just stop by your apartment?”
“Part of my job is patrolling. All of my job is patrolling.” Creating a few feet of distance between us, he looked back at the door. “Why was the door unlocked? We’ve talked about this. When I’m not here, it needs to stay locked.”
“Because I forgot to lock it.”
“Yes, clearly you were preoccupied.” He motioned to the screen with a half smile and walked into the kitchen. “Seriously though, T. Lock it down. There are assholes out there.”
I rolled my eyes and closed the Photoshop program. “Whatever.”
“Don’t whatever me. You won’t be saying whatever when a guy shows up to rob us, sees you’re here and kills you after he rapes you for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You’re right.” I smiled. “I won’t be saying that. Because I would be dead.”
I followed him out of the kitchen when he found his phone. He held it up when he got to the door, leaning against the frame. “Just lock the goddamn door, girl.”
“Fine. I will.” I took the hair tie from my wrist and put my hair up in a ponytail.
Jared stopped before closing the door, gave me a funny look, and I knew where that was going. “Why did you do that to the photo?”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do what?”
“Make yourself look like that. I thought we talked about that last night?”
I shoved him back into the door. “Go. To. Work.”
“Fine.” He sighed, reaching for the doorknob behind his back. “I’m going.”
“When do you get off tonight?”
“Probably when Catie comes over later.” He made a suggestive hand motion that I would rather not remember, ever, and winked at me.
“Gross. Stop sleeping with my friends. It’s weird.”
“You’re the one that made the rule that we couldn’t sleep together.” He stepped out the door and smiled, twisting around to walk backward down the hall. “And I’m just keeping the city happy.”
“I’m sure.”
When he got to the end of the hall, he yelled over his shoulder. “Lock it up!”
Ten minutes after Jared left, my phone rang. It was the call I was waiting for.
“Tallan?” a rough voice asked.
Shit. That voice. All growly and raspy. I wanted to beg him to whisper something to me but instead, I said, “Yep.”
There was a slight pause before he cleared his throat. “This is Destry. My uncle Danny said you were looking for a personal trainer?”
My heart jumped into my throat and started trying to beat its way through my lips. “Yeah, yes, I am,” I stuttered through my words.
“Okay.” I could hear what sounded like music and commotion in the background, and then a door slamming closed. “When did you want to meet up?”
“Do you work out at a gym I could meet you at?”
Please say no.
Jared had said the session would either be at our house or his house, or the bar, but I didn’t want to assume anything.
“No. We can do it at my uncle’s bar. There’s a basement.”
I could do a basement for sure. Low lighting, no mirrors. Even better.
And then he hit me with “Come by the bar around six?”
My eyes went wide and I nearly dropped the phone. “Today?”
“Yes.”
I started to panic just a little. Tonight was so sudden. I had to mentally prepare for these types of things. It took me weeks to mentally prepare myself to call and make a gynecology appointment. And then the appointment had to be set for at least three weeks after the call so I could do some more mental acrobatics. Tonight to start training threw me in a tailspin.
“Is that not a good time?” he asked, his words sharp, impatient even.
“No, it’s fine. See you then,” I finally said when I realized he was waiting for a reply.
“Yep.” And then he hung up. That was it. No goodbye, or anything.
I might regret this.
A type of gong used to signal the start and end of each round.
I spent the rest of the afternoon looking through my closet for something to wear that wouldn’t make me look huge. I ended up going for black yoga pants, though I hadn’t done yoga a day in my life, and a loose-fitting T-shirt.
Around five, I headed over to Alaskan Way. The Uber driver dropped me at Pier 57 so all I had to do was cross the street over to Danny’s Bar. As I approached the black brick building, I became nervous to the point I thought I was going to vomit. I’d been to the gym before. No way did I want that guy who banged the weights around and grunted like he was fucking someone with each chest press. Or the ones who flexed in the mirror and spent more time checking themselves and the women out than actually lifting weights. I knew this experience was going to be different, but
I wasn’t sure how. Could be bad, could be good.
You’re only doing this for six weeks. You can do it.
Inside the doors, the bar was smoky and smelled like someone pissed outside the door. Thank God I carried hand sanitizer. The smell alone made me gasp. Urine and smoke just wasn’t a good combination. To the left of the door were four pool tables, to the right, about ten cocktail tables surrounded by flat-screen televisions. In the middle of the room was the bar—black wood surrounded by old metal chairs. On the back wall was a floor-to-ceiling mirror with glass shelves that housed the liquor.
“Can I get you a drink?” I looked up, my eyes drawn to the man before me.
He was standing behind the bar, arms crossed over his chest. Tired gray eyes met mine that seemed too dull for this time of day. It wasn’t from the dim lighting that his eyes looked that faded either. It was clear he’d lived beyond his years. A thick golden beard hid the lines on his face.
“Drink?” he asked again.
“No, I’m meeting someone.”
“They all are, sweetie.” He cracked a smile but then turned toward the man next to him busying himself with the patrons waiting on him. “Good to see you, Larry. What’ll it be?”
“Blue Moon,” the man said, spilling immediately into conversation about the baseball game on the TV behind the bar.
Though the voices around me kept grabbing my attention, I couldn’t focus on any one in particular. I kept going over what I was going to say to Destry and why I was doing this in the first place. Here I was, about to meet a heavyweight champion boxer. Well, former heavyweight. He’d lost his title this past winter to a boxer from Canada, Ray Lucas.
Just the thought of meeting Destry was nerve-racking. Imagine how I’d be at the concert and seeing Silas again.
“Are you Tallan Spencer?” someone asked from behind me.
I spun around on the stool to face the voice.
Holy. Shit. I nearly gasped when I saw the man before me.
Scratch that. I did gasp.
