by Shey Stahl
I shifted. My ass was sore. Ordinarily, I might have told Jared that Destry and I had sex again. Only he knew.
“You’re in over your head with him, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” I stuck my spoon in the ice cream. “What am I going to do, Jared? I let him stick it in my ass.” I shouldn’t have told him that, but… I did.
Jared’s eyes widened. “Really?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“I’m… jealous. I haven’t met a girl willing to do that yet.”
“You haven’t?”
“Nope.” And then he stared at me as if I should offer it to him.
I shoved his shoulder. “Don’t be gross.”
“I’m not. Just being hopeful.”
“Can we focus, please?”
“I don’t see why you’re making a big deal out of this. If it’s a problem, stop having sex with him.” He took the container of ice cream from me and set his beer on the coffee table in front of us. “It’s not that complicated.”
“It is complicated though. I’m not sure I can walk away that easily now.” I’m not sure I can walk at all.
We both took turns taking bite after bite of the ice cream when he asked, “Did you tell him about the article?”
“No. I’m not even sure I want to write it, but then again, I do because maybe people will see that there’s more to him than allegedly throwing that fight. I think he… well, if I can get him to read it after I finish it, he’ll think differently. I won’t publish it until he reads it.”
“You hope he does. What if he doesn’t?”
“I don’t know.” Honestly, deep down, I’d already convinced myself that I could handle this.
“And you’re still going to the concert?”
“What’s with all the questions?” My voice was muffled with the large scoop of ice cream melting on my tongue. “I just want to sit here and eat ice cream with my best friend. Stop hounding me like a chick.”
Jared rolled his eyes and ripped the ice cream container from my hands. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. That’s all.”
I understood what Jared was trying to do. But I had no idea how to deal with any of this. Here I hired the guy to train me, so hell-bent on losing weight and now, none of that seemed to matter after one night with him. Okay three.
He went from being a dick, to giving dick. My biggest dilemma seemed to be that Destry had opened up to me. He was trusting me. I didn’t want to break that trust.
An inside fighter, or infighter, gets in close, tries to close the gap between himself and his opponent then he overwhelms his opponent with a flurry of hooks and uppercuts. Inside fighters have to be quick and masters of counterpunching.
Usually when I woke up, I was sore these days. That hadn’t changed, but a few weeks with Destry and it was a new kind of sore.
It’d been replaced with a good sore. One I’d gladly take.
On Monday, I decided it was time to visit James Stone. His dad was back at Stratford, the assisting living center as opposed to the hospital. It was clear Destry had spared no expense to make sure his dad was comfortable. Part of me, all right, all of me, was nervous going there. I had no idea what to expect when I entered the building but there was a tall slender woman seated at the front desk, her glasses pushed down lower on her narrow nose. She reminded me of Julia Roberts with her wide smile and long red hair that was pulled over her right shoulder.
“Can I help you?” She didn’t look up until I was at the counter, then her bright smile was delivered toward me.
“I’m here to see James Stone.”
“And you are?”
Shit. I never thought about it before, but I bet I wouldn’t be able to see him. “Tallan Spencer.”
Her smile never faded. “Are you a friend of the family?”
“Yes. I’m friends with his son, Destry.”
“Oh.” She sighed, her eyes taking on a sudden warmth. “We love Destry. He’s so sweet.”
She must have him confused with someone else. Unless he had slept with her too.
Jesus, Tallan, don’t think like that!
“Well…” The woman stood after having me sign in and show her my ID. “James is having a good day. He’ll be excited to have a visitor. Just sign in and I’ll lead you back there.”
I did as she asked and she then led me down a hallway toward the elevators where we went to the fourth floor. James’s room was the third door on the left with a slate gray name plate that read Stone in black letters.
The woman turned to me, sweeping her long hair over her right shoulder again. “I’m Maggie, by the way. Let me know if you need anything.” Then she knocked on the door lightly before opening it. “Mr. Stone, Tallan’s here to see you.”
Oh great, she announced me like we were long lost buddies. What the hell was I going to say to him? “Hey, I’m Tallan. I’ve been having sex with your son. Nice to meet you. Now tell me, why is he so complicated?”
None of that was going to be said.
For good reason.
When the door opened, I was surprised to see James sitting by the window in a wheelchair. I did some research the other night on acromegaly when Destry told me James had that. My research didn’t provide all that much in the way of appearances, other than extreme cases.
James didn’t look anything like those photographs I’d seen online. Though he appeared tall, around six foot five, maybe taller, he did have the extended jaw and widened forehead they spoke of.
Maggie left and James looked over his shoulder at me, scratching the side of his head.
For being fifty-eight, he appeared a lot older. I did notice that Destry took after his father in his looks in many ways. Though his hair was now gray and thinning on the top, he had those remarkable blue eyes and the same indifferent stare.
So, maybe disinterest in anything around him didn’t have to do with Destry. Maybe this was a trait carried on in the Stone gene. Ha. At least their last name was fitting.
James was dressed casually in a gray long-sleeve shirt and black slacks that met a pair of black dress shoes, his feet propped up on the wheelchair. He looked healthy from what I could see, not someone who had spent a week in the hospital.
He regarded me with curiosity, blinking slowly, as if he was trying to place my face with a name he’d once heard but couldn’t remember. “Can I help you, honey?” he asked, watching me enter his apartment.
The door closed behind me. It was then I realized I shouldn’t have come here. With shaking, clammy hands, I took a seat across from him on a black leather couch. “I’m Tallan Spencer, sir. I’m a friend of Destry’s.” I reached out to shake his hand.
He hesitated—maybe trying to recall me—and then held out his hand that looked to be twice the size of mine, no doubt a result of the disease.
“Nice to meet you.” He spoke with a hoarseness to his voice, smiling at me.
When I saw the smile grace his lips, I noticed the resemblance between Destry and his father.
“Same here.”
And then came “Do I know you?”
Shit.
“Well, no….” I tried to appear casual, but he had to have wondered who I was and why I was in here. “I came to see if you needed a friend. Sometimes it’s nice to have visitors.”
“Oh.” He nodded and looked out the window he was sitting in front of. “That’s nice of you.”
“Do you have visitors often?” I was trying to make small talk. Anything to keep him from wondering who I really was and calling security on me.
“I have a boy who visits me often.”
“Your son?”
“No. He’s not my son.” He shook his head, eyes trained on the window. “I have a son. He was the greatest part of my life.”
“But you don’t see him anymore?”
“No.” Again, he shook his head, his hands fidgeting in his lap. There was a distant look in his eyes that seemed to be marred with confusion. He was trying to remember and couldn�
�t.
“What’s his name?”
“Destry. He’s the world heavyweight champion.” His eyes drifted to me, a hint of pride glistening them. “My boy, he’s a rare fighter in today’s world. Not only does he not trash talk, he’s a southpaw.”
Already he’d talked more than Destry did. Maybe this would work. “And that’s rare?”
“Yes. Very rare. Some say fighters are at a disadvantage being a southpaw and need to learn to fight right-handed. Not Destry. Never.” His voice was raised, and it was clear just talking about his son gave him great pleasure.
“That’s amazing.”
James smiled, content sitting here talking about his son. “He worked so hard for that title. His first fight he’d just turned eighteen. Two years later, on his twentieth birthday, he won the WBO title against Stefan Aksakov in Japan.” James picked up a photograph, one of many around his apartment, and handed it to me. “That’s my boy when he was seven here.”
Destry as a child, freaking adorable. Vibrant blue eyes, flushed cheeks and a contagious smile. You could see right then he hadn’t always been an asshole. Life had made him that way. “That’s his mother next to him. She left six months after that. I was a drunk and an asshole. She had every right to leave us. And Destry suffered because of that. She walked out on him too.”
Now more than ever, I understood his apprehensions. Not only did his mother leave, Stella did too. The women in his life had a tendency to walk out.
For hours, I sat in his apartment and talked to James. I found everything he told me about Destry, and even his life as a heavyweight boxer himself fascinating. The fights he could recall with such clarity, yet he couldn’t remember that his son came to visit him weekly.
Maggie returned later that afternoon with a gentle knock on the door. “James, would you like to come down for lunch?”
“Oh.” James looked over at her. “I guess I should eat.”
Maggie retrieved medicine from the fridge before approaching James.
She began to wheel him away when he grabbed my hand. “It was nice talking with you, honey. Please come back sometime.”
I reached down and patted his shoulder, winking at him. “I definitely will.”
Standing, I watched Maggie wheel James out of the room. “That girl was so nice. I bet you the boy would love her.”
Maggie laughed. “I bet he would, James.”
My heart broke for James and the fact that his mind held him hostage.
And though I felt guilty for going there, meeting his father was necessary in understanding Destry.
The amount of time given (to the knocked down boxer), after he stands up to give him a chance to recover; and in some cases, regain consciousness.
It was nearing workout time when I got back so I grabbed some food on the way to the bar. A protein shake and an apple. Luckily, we were working on arms so I didn’t feel like I would throw up if I ate before working out like I did on leg day.
Once downstairs, my jaw nearly dropped. And my panties were soaked. Destry was shirtless and in the ring. Adam, Destry’s trainer, had left when I took notice of Destry’s posture. Tense. Had he known I saw his dad? Doubtful, but when hiding something from someone, any look they gave you could make you paranoid.
With his hands draped over the top rope, his eyes lifted to find mine.
He didn’t say anything. Not that I expected him to.
Stepping toward him, I set my bag down. He watched me as I moved inside the ring with him.
Standing upright, he turned to face me, his gaze lingering on all the places his mouth assaulted my skin last time. “Hey,” he finally said, a smile lifting the corners of his lips.
That mouth! Oh, the memories.
“Teach me.”
“Teach you what?” His tongue swept over his lower lip, and I wanted to bite it. Draw it inside my mouth and maybe suck on it.
Fuck, he’s so tempting.
“How to box.”
He laughed and dropped his head forward. “Again? You know where that led last time, right?”
“I’m serious this time. No sex. Just teach me how to throw a right hook.”
Yeah right, Tallan. At first opportunity, you’ll be humping his leg.
Destry searched my face and then gave me a half smile, the action tugging at his lips in an adorably innocent way. “I’m left-handed so it’s gonna be weird, but I’ll try.”
“Okay. Do your best. I really need to know how to throw a punch.”
He snorted. “Why?”
I positioned my balled-up fists in front of my face like fighters did. “I have to defend myself.”
Drawing in a heavy breath, he let it out slowly, as if he couldn’t believe I was asking this. “Okay. A hook is a semi-circular punch thrown with the lead hand, in your case, the right.” He moved to stand behind me, positioning my arms with my left one defensively held up in front of my face, then pulled my right arm back, my elbow raised. “In the guard position, which you’re in, you draw your elbow back, knuckles forward.” He shook my left elbow. “Keep your guard hand tucked against your jaw. Always protect your chin.” His hands slid down my hips, held firm, and then twisted them. “Rotate your hips and torso and then propel your fist through the air in an arc connecting with your opponent.”
Holy hell.
I was panting by the time he was done telling me all that because his verbal instructions always got me. “That sounds really complicated.”
“It’s not.” Destry stepped back, letting go of me, as if I’d had the same reaction on him. “Come on, let’s work out.”
I turned and placed my hands on my hips. “What’s the matter, too much for you?”
He gave me a challenging stare and stepped toward me, his head burying in my neck once we made contact. His lips ghosted across my skin, sending a shiver through my body. His fingertips dug into my hip bones. “It’s not too much, unless you want me to fuck you against these ropes.”
Believe me when I say I wanted to. I did. But once that started, I was one step deeper in whatever we had here. It was going to do nothing more than make it harder when these six weeks were over.
As I started in with the weights, I noticed a difference in a weight I chose. Where it once seemed heavy to lift the ten-pound barbells, they were light now.
During the workout, Destry appeared tired. It wasn’t necessarily a physical exhaustion but more like a mental one. Despite our earlier teasing, he wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
“What’d you do today?” I asked, wanting to make conversation.
“Had to help Danny.” He gave a frustrated sigh. “Fuckin’ guy’s a mess. Trying to get him straight.”
“Why do you have to help him?”
“He’s the only family I have, Tallan.” The way he said that struck me as odd. Like he was assuming I wouldn’t understand if he explained. His eyes dropped to the weights in my hands. “Look at you, tough girl.”
“I know.” I laughed, continuing my reps. “Never thought I’d be in shape.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Still doing it for him?”
“I don’t think I’ve been doing it for him for a while now.”
Destry nodded, his eyes on my form. “Oh yeah?”
“I think that first full mile I ran made me realize that this was about me and changing me for me before I could ever consider changing me for someone else,” I said with the confidence of a woman who had stepped out of her comfort zone and met it head-on.
Destry smiled. I knew he understood what I was talking about.
We worked out in silence for a bit longer when I’d finished my second set of chin-ups and asked, “Have you ever lied to anyone, Destry?”
Destry was in the middle of doing a set of chin-ups as well. He’d been participating in exercising for the last week right alongside me. I watched his arms as he pulled himself up and down, his shorts hanging low enough on his hips that I could see the muscles in his hips when he lifted himself up.
> So delicious.
Letting go of the bar, he dropped down on the mat. “I suppose I have. I think I lied to my dad once.”
“About what?” Destry didn’t strike me as the type of guy who would lie about anything. Or needed to. He was brutally honest at times.
“I went to a party with a friend he told me to stay away from.”
“And then what happened?”
“Well, I went, got head, then left.” He chuckled, rubbing his stomach.
“That’s… honest.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
Destry shrugged, finding it hard to keep a straight face, jumping up on the bar to do another set of chin-ups. “You asked.”
“And she’s part of the five?”
That made him chuckle again. “Six.”
“But you said Stella and four others.”
Had I got that wrong?
He raised an eyebrow.
Then it finally dawned on me what he meant. “Oh… uh… me. I would make six.”
Destry smiled. “Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Lied,” he finished with his third set and jumped down on the mat again.
“Yeah.”
“When?”
I lifted one shoulder. This wasn’t where I wanted the conversation to go. Destry made me nervous.
I did my set as he watched, then winked at me. “You can finally do those with good form.”
“I feel great.” I drew in a deep breath, confidence working through me with the expansion of my lungs. “These workouts are helping.”
Destry grinned, raising his hands and clasped them behind his head. “Maybe it’s the after-hours conditioning.”
I looked at him from head to toe. “Mmm… could very well be.”
He smiled again and moved toward the bench press. Hesitating before lying down, he looked over at me. “Are you fuckin’ that guy you live with?” he asked, changing the subject, his forehead creasing in deep concentration.
“Jared?”
He nodded and then lay down taking a firm grip on the bar, his stare on the ceiling.
He thought I was having sex with Jared? Really?
Standing beside the bench, I watched as he lifted it up and then began a series of reps. “No way. We’re just friends. He’s doing my best friend anyway, and that would make it very weird.” And then I asked, before I could stop myself, “Are you dating anyone?”
