by Jamie Knight
They and Catharine gossip about several of our friends while I continue to say nothing. I look out the window at a really hot guy jogging down the street with a dog that looks like Rexie. I could have sworn it was Lincoln, but in my state of mind I’m probably imagining things.
“So, what do you think, Amanda?” Anne asks.
“About what?”
“About what Ramirez has been doing to intimidate Lincoln?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I say.
They look at each other. I eat my salad and say nothing to perpetuate their awkward silence.
“Are you alright?” Margie asks.
“I need a breath of fresh air,” I say and get up to use the bathroom.
I splash water on my face. I am really upset about Anne’s accusation, when she’s supposed to be my friend. Is she implying that my “coming on” or whatever you want to call it to Lincoln makes me some slutty, vamp-like whore?
I want to cry but I immediately pull myself together.
“Don’t do this to yourself, girl,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. “Don’t let her get to you.”
I come out of the bathroom and take a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse and slap it on the table.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t feel well and must leave.”
Margie and Catharine and Anne look at me with mouths agape.
I exit the restaurant and walk hurriedly to my car.
“Amanda! Amanda!”
I turn around. Anne is running toward me and catches up with me.
“Amanda,” she says. “What’s wrong?”
Se holds my shoulder.
I say nothing.
“Are you mad at me or something?”
I look her up and down and say nothing. I get in my car and drive away.
Goodbye, Anne, I think to myself. Ms. Perfect, Ms. Know-It-All who has all the answers.
I look in my rearview mirror and see her standing there with her hands on her hips, watching me drive away.
“Fuck you, Anne,” I say aloud as I pull onto the highway exit and head for home.
When I get home, I read my texts.
From Anne: Sorry, didn’t mean to say that about Lincoln. I just worry for you because he seems kind of hot and cold. I would hate for it to get you into trouble at work, if you two aren’t even a for sure thing yet, you know?
From Margie: You ok, honey, what’s wrong? I told Anne she said a shitty thing to you about dating clients.
From Catharine: WTF was up with Anne, so sorry she’s being such a bitch! Love you!
I delete both Margie’s and Anne’s texts but keep Catharine’s – she’s always the only one who truly gets me, anyway. Honestly, I’m mad at Margie as well. That shitty comment she made about my watching my figure for Lincoln pissed me off as well.
She knows I don’t feel so comfortable about my body, since I’m a plus sized girl. She also knows I get nervous about being naked with a man, especially one as hot as Lincoln, and I find myself questioning why he would want to be with me, or that he’s playing a joke on me, or that he’s just fucking me for sex and doesn’t want to be in a relationship with me.
What really bothers me is that I know Lincoln doesn’t want to go to Odessa, and after he told me about what happened to him as a kid, my heart aches constantly. It is just one raw wound. I sit on the back porch and look out across the city as tears stream down my face.
I stand straight up, telling myself to knock it off. I do not want to be here when Margie returns.
And I will not be here when Anne shuffles in with that pathetic and apologetic hangdog look she assumes when she knows she’s fucked up.
That might work with the string of guys she dates, but it won’t work with me, Miss Anne!
I gather an overnight bag and stuff some clothes and toiletries in it and take off. I don’t have to be at work until Thursday, so if I’m gone for a few days it won’t matter.
I get back into my car and drive out of the city and up near the river in Westchester County. I find a cute out-of-the-way hotel that I know a lot of couples go to for weekend getaways and check in.
The room is quiet, cool, and cozy. I turn the television on for some stupid background noise and take a shower. I dress in just a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I plop onto the bed. My eyes are heavy with hurt and anxiety.
When I wake up, it’s already nine o’clock. I’ve slept for about four hours!
I get off the bed and my stomach growls. I’m hungry. I barely ate my nice salad at Sushi Heaven because I left in such a huff. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.
My mother always tells me not to starve myself, even though she does the same thing. She’s always skipping lunch, and then wonders why she feels dizzy by late afternoon.
I look in the mirror in the bathroom and study myself.
I feel and look fat. I’ve always been worried about my weight. The yo-yo diets didn’t help at all. It’s not that I’m unhealthy. I’ve just always carried some extra pounds. I’m no stick but I don’t consider myself obese. But the way I’ve been feeling about myself lately, I just don’t know.
I know that Lincoln says he likes my curves, but I also see the way every single woman who’s so skinny she looks like she could be a model glances at him and tries to flirt with him, and I just feel insecure.
I call to see if room service is still available.
“Yes, ma’am, the kitchen is open until eleven o’clock.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am, there is a menu on the desk in your room, but if you find nothing to your liking, the chef will be happy to make whatever you’d like.”
“Thank you,” I say again and hang up.
Some people can just be so nice.
I go over to the desk and sit down in the chair and turn the lamp on. I open the menu and look through it. Lots of pasta dishes… not really in the mood… I’d love a burger… oh, look, they have a filet mignon… or even a nice baked chicken with asparagus and mashed potatoes….
There’s a hard knock on the door.
I’m thinking that it’s room service but I didn’t order anything. Maybe they’re here to take my order in person. The way they run this place so friendly and all I wouldn’t be surprised. I open the door.
It’s Lincoln.
“Hey, babe,” he says with a very stern look on his face. “What happened to you?”
He stands with his arms crossed over his chest and legs spread apart.
“Lincoln,” I say. “How did you find me?”
“I have my ways,” he says.
He still looks very serious.
I don’t know what to say.
“So, aren’t you gonna let me in?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He’s wearing his sneakers, a very tight pair of faded and ripped jeans, and a black hoodie.
He looks as cute as always.
“Why are you so serious?” I ask.
He comes over and grabs me by the waist and pulls me to him. I can feel his hard cock pushing into my groin.
“I was fuckin’ worried about you,” he says and kisses me.
“Don’t be,” I say.
We both sit at the edge of the bed. He tells me how Anne texted him and how she said I left them in the restaurant and they’re worried about me and blah, blah, blah, I don’t care. I’m still mad at Anne.
He says that he went to my place and Margie told him that when I want to get away, I come up here. I used to work at White Plains Hospital as a nurse, and I like the serene environment of upstate New York. Well, more “upstate” than the City, anyway.
“I just needed some time to myself,” I say.
“I figured that,” he says, and leans back onto the bed.
I get a text from Catharine.
I promise I didn’t give up any info on where you were! That was all Anne and Margie.
I know, girl, I text her back.
Then I turn off my phone.
Lincoln has taken off his hoodie while I was looking at my phone. His t-shirt is too short and it rides up his torso. I see his tight, hairy six-pack, which he’ll naturally have to shave if he fights.
I hate when he shaves his chest.
That reminds me. I still haven’t even found out about this fight the girls were talking about at Sushi Heaven. Talk about embarrassing – to not even know what’s going on with the guy you’re supposedly dating, when your friends know because they pay more attention to sports.
I don’t want to be mad at him just now. I’m already mad at the world. Well, the world except for Catharine – I’m never mad at her.
He cradles his head in his hands and looks up at the ceiling.
I tell him what happened, somehow zoning in on the comment Margie had made, even though it was more innocuous than the blunt one Anne had made, and how I don’t feel great about myself and my body, especially with him.
He sits up and looks at me.
“Are you kiddin’ me?”
I sit up as well.
“No,” I say feeling foolish and embarrassed.
“Come here, babe,” he says and holds me. “You are a beautiful woman with sexy curves. And I love every single one of those curves.”
“Oh, Lincoln,” I whine.
“If I wanted to be with a skinny chick with no meat on her and ribs sticking out, I might as well
date a boy.”
I laugh. “I never thought about that before.”
“Yeah, that’s what my gay buddy John says.”
“Oh, the really smart one?”
“Yeah, and I have nothing against guys but I want to be with a woman,” he says. “And that woman is you.”
“Oh, Lincoln,” I whine again.
He kisses me and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I’m starving.”
“I was just about to order room service.”
“Great,” he says. “Let’s eat.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“And then you can have me for dessert,” he says.
I pick up the phone and order room service.
Yes, I really don’t need to starve myself any longer.
In any way.
Chapter 21 - Lincoln
After we eat, I get to feast on Amanda’s hot little pussy. And I enjoy devouring her, spreading her legs open and munching on her sweet, hard little clit. I suck on it while fingering her, and she starts shouting so loud I’m afraid we’ll get kicked out by the hotel staff.
“Oh, Lincoln. Lincoln!” she yells. “I’m cumming!”
Her juices are pouring into my mouth and I’m lapping them up like I might die of thirst without them. Oh, how I love making her little pussy quiver. She wiggles around on the bed, enjoying the orgasm as my tongue circles around her clit some more.
Then I tell her to get on all fours and I look at her plump ass lovingly.
“I can’t believe you were worried I wouldn’t like this amazingly hot ass,” I tell her, spanking it a bit.
“Ouch!” she calls out, but it’s more in a pleasantly surprised tone of voice than one that sounds as if she’s actually hurt.
“You don’t like that?” I ask her, slapping her again.
“Mmmm. Yeah, I do,” she admits.
I grab ahold of her ass cheek with one hand and start playing with her clit with my other hand. She moans and cums again for me. I stretch her ass cheeks and pussy lips open so I have a great view of her pussy mid-orgasm. It’s shaking and quivering and so much wetness is coming out of it that I think I’m in heaven.
I’m so hard I can’t take it anymore. So I slip my cock inside her tight little hole and fuck her hard, holding onto her hips, pulling her closer to me so I can get all the way up inside her.
“You’re stuffing me so full,” she cries out. “I love it.”
“I love it, too,” I tell her, as I feel my hard, raw cock start to pulse and throb inside her warm, naked pussy.
I love you, I start to say, but I hold back.
How could this be love? Deep infatuation, but not love, right? I still haven’t even decided so many things. Whether I’m going to give up fighting so that I can live a long, healthy life with her. Whether I’m going to go to Texas with her.
There’s no time to think any deeper about any of it, though, because I’m so deep in her that I’m starting to cum. I can tell she is, too, as she reaches back and underneath her, playing with my balls and moaning.
Soon, she’s screaming my name loudly again as I’m pounding her tight little pussy with my cock. And I’m shooting my cum into her, grunting while we both say that the other is making us cum.
Finally, spent and exhausted, we cuddle in the bed.
“That was amazing,” she says.
“Sure was.”
I think we’re going to just drift off to sleep when she says the words I’ve been dreading.
“So, I hear you might be fighting again soon?”
I just swallow hard, not saying anything.
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
“The girls were saying that some other fighter is taunting you. I didn’t even know what they were talking about really.”
“Yeah. My agent wants me to do it but I’m still deciding.”
“You’re still deciding on a lot of things.”
“Yeah,” I tell her, hating to admit it, but she’s right, and I had just been thinking it, myself.
“Look, if you don’t want to be serious…” she starts to say.
“I do,” I insist.
“Well, I think it’s best if we just wait a while so you can make these decisions. I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t even care what decisions you make but if we’re going to be anything serious, you should at least feel comfortable telling me about those decisions. And letting me into your life and what’s going on, you know?”
“I understand.”
I don’t know what else to say. She’s right – I shouldn’t toy with her heart. A big part of me wants to give up everything for her. My fighting career. My inhibitions about going to Texas with her. My fears about my past.
But I’m not used to being vulnerable with anyone. I haven’t let my guard down to be with any woman, ever. It was why I’d always preferred one night stands and no-strings-attached relationships.
Things with Amanda are different. But I’m still not sure how to navigate it all. I’m so afraid of fucking up. And it seems like that’s what I’m doing, anyway.
Sometimes I wonder why I even tried, knowing I’m not relationship material. But then when I look at Amanda, I know why: Because I love her. I just have to sort my shit out and figure out how to become good relationship material. Not for just anyone, but for her.
Chapter 22 - Lincoln
The next day, I pick up the phone and decide I’m going to call Damien and ask for that official referral to Dr. Mack. I need to get some things right in my life so I can be the kind of guy Amanda deserves. I may have a lot of money and fame, but I want to have peace and security, too.
First, I decide, I’ll quit fighting. I know that Amanda doesn’t approve of it as my physical therapist, let alone my girlfriend, and all my doctors have advised me to stop. I want to be in good physical health for Amanda.
Second, I’ll go to Texas with Amanda. I won’t have to see my mom or talk to her or face my old demons. I’ll just go meet her family and have a fun vacation with her over the holidays.
Third, I’ll do this thing that Damien has been bugging me to do, about getting treatment with the psychiatrist. Or psychologist. Whatever Dr. Mack is.
I know I have issues from my past. Dating back from before I was at war, even. My childhood was prett
y traumatic due to my mom.
And even though I hate these new-fangled definitions that doctors use to diagnose everyone with everything and pump meds to them constantly, maybe there’s something to this “PTSD” thing. Post traumatic stress disorder. I guess it could actually be a thing. Who knows? Maybe Dr. Mack can help me figure it out.
So, I tell myself that today’s the day I become a better person, and pick up the phone to dial Damien. Instead, though, I see that I have a voicemail. It’s from my mother.
My mother.
Wow.
It must have come in when I was at the hotel with Amanda, and had my phone off. It had run out of battery and died, and I hadn’t charged it until just now, since I’m back at my house.
Why the fuck was my mother calling me?
In the past, she’d send letters full of guilt trips, saying she missed me and why did I have to ignore her and can’t we get together? But the few times I had returned to Texas since I’d left as a teenager for the SEALs, she had only wanted money from me. She never could kick her bad habits or addictions for longer than it took to write me those stupid letters.
So, the fact that she called me is strange. Let’s just say she’s not the telephone type, or at least not when it comes to me. She hates to talk to me about anything serious because I just call her out on things she wants to ignore.
Despite my better instincts, I push “play.”
“Hey, Lincoln, it’s Ma.” Her voice sounds the same, yet different. It’s still high-pitched and kind of nasally. But it sounds stronger now, steadier, whereas it used to waver and crack. “I know it’s been a while and I can understand if you don’t want to talk to me, if you don’t trust a word I say anymore. But I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being there for you in the past, for not protecting you. You grew up into such a strong man, and I’m proud of you, but I’m sad that you had to protect yourself so much, because I didn’t. Please call me if you want to talk. I love you.”
That’s it. The message was over.
I know I should feel happy that my mom apologized. She’s never come out and said those words before. She seems completely genuine.
But instead, I just feel rage. Maybe it’s a case of ‘too little, too late’ but something she had said hit some buttons I’m not ready to have hit.
