by Shandi Boyes
My humor is set aside when my opponent glares at me. He’s not here for a good time. He wants to kick my ass.
Let’s see if he can.
After tapping gloves, the ref steps back, indicating it’s time to fight. The Terminator bounces around on the mat, prancing like the women in skimpy bikinis did before he arrived. I watch him closely as he throws jabs into the air. Sweat is beading on my brow, but my stance is firm. I just need him to make the first move, then I won’t feel bad when I knock him out.
With me paying attention to his top half, I’m left blinded when he swoops for my legs. He wraps his hands around my ankles and yanks, making me plummet onto the mat with a winding oomph.
When he straddles my waist, I protect my face like Hank has taught me the past four months. He throws a left and right combination against my arms, but none of his swings hit my face. Adrenaline-thick blood races through my veins, making me hot with anger. Feeding off the rage, I curl my legs around his torso and pull back with force. The Terminator’s back bends harshly before he gives in to the strain.
I move in to execute my revenge when he flops onto his back. I straddle his hips like he did mine before unleashing a triple set of hits to his unprotected face. When a jab to my ribs leaves me breathless, I roll off him.
Ignoring my winded composure, I scramble to my feet, hoping to bring our match back onto solid ground. I fight better when I’m on my feet.
The Terminator follows suit, but his footing isn’t as steady as mine. He has a massive gash above his right brow, and his nose is bleeding. I protect my face before tucking my elbows close to my side. I've never been a dancer, so unlike my opponent, my stance remains stable.
It’s for the best. Within seconds, The Terminator’s prance around the cage reveals his shortfall. Every time he swings his left hand, he leaves his left side open for infiltration. He does counterweight his movements with his right.
With the grin of a madman and my guard up, I step closer to him. When his left fist becomes friendly with my right ribcage, I punish him with a quick one-two combination to his exposed face.
Cracking drifts through my ears a mere second before The Terminator’s body flops onto the mat. As the ref rushes to him, I move to the outer wall of the cage to await his verdict. After checking my opponent’s pulse, he declares the fight over by technical knockout.
I get a decent amount of leverage when I leap into the air. “Hell yeah!”
My heart thrashes against my ribs as adrenaline surges through my veins. The feeling of victory is euphoric. Now I understand why fighters become addicted. The rush is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I just won my debut fight by a knockout in under four minutes. Fuck—you can’t get better than this—except perhaps my car romp with Lola.
After settling down my pompousness, I make my way to my opponent. When the ref notices my approach, he dives for me. “No, no, no, the fight is over!”
I shrug him off me. “I know that.” I’m not a fucking idiot.
When I stop in front of The Terminator, his weary eyes lift to mine. He glares at the hand I’m holding out in offering, unsure what the hell I’m doing. The constant hum that’s been filtering through the gym all night softens when I aid The Terminator to his feet.
“Good fight.” I tap my gloves on the hand dangling at his side.
“Maybe for you.”
With his brows as low as his frown, his manager assists him out of the cage. Hank arrives at my side not long later. He gives me a ribbing, saying I’m supposed to portray arrogance in the cage, or I won’t be seen as a serious fighter.
“You don’t help your opponent off the ground after knocking them out, Jacob.”
“Why not? The fight’s over, so why do I need to continue acting like an ass?”
With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, Hank exits the cage.
I follow after him, grinning like a dog with a meaty bone.
The next morning, I'm a little worse for wear. The Terminator was a worthy opponent. He has my ribs and torso screaming in pain, but the feeling of victory makes the ache worthwhile. Besides, none of his jabs landed on my face, so no one will know I was in a fight last night.
Because of my win, I'm automatically scheduled for a match next week. Fight nights are on Saturdays, so I'll maintain my current schedule: gym Monday to Friday, Mavs each Friday night, and Saturdays will now be dedicated to fight night.
I’ll also squeeze Lola in as often as she’ll have me—if she’ll have me.
With Sunday spent recuperating, I arrive bright and early Monday morning to Hank’s gym to prep for my next fight. Yep, that’s how addictive it is.
Hank spots me the instant I walk in. That's not hard, considering there's rarely anyone here but me. "You need to come up with a fight name."
I take a few seconds to settle my queasy stomach from the stench smacking into me before shifting on my feet to face Hank. My senses have adjusted to the smell the past few months, but I still get queasy.
“A fight name?”
Hank jerks up his chin. “Yeah, like a nickname; they won’t just call you Jacob.”
Unappreciative of the mirth in his tone, I flip him the bird. He laughs it off before he continues working the bag like he was when I entered. As I sit down to tie on a pair of gloves, I try to think of a name. Is it just me, or does it seem pretentious to give yourself a nickname?
Once I’m ready for my three-hour morning session, I join Hank near the boxing bags. “I’ll let you pick my name. Just don’t pick anything stupid.”
When he grins, I realize I just made my second fatal mistake. My first was playing along with Lola’s ruse of pretending we’re only friends.
Chapter Ten
Jacob
I arrive at Lola's house at the designated time we scheduled last week. My heart skips a beat when she darts toward my car with a broad smile stretched across her face. We've been "friends" the past four weeks, but this is the first time she's greeted me with so much jubilation. Don't get me wrong, she's still a cock tease, but her stance on us dating hasn't changed. She's adamant she isn't the girl for me. I'm not yet convinced.
Her scent whips up when she plops into the passenger seat before leaning over to plant her lips on mine. Always willing to test the waters, I swipe my tongue against her glossy mouth. I expect her to pull back like she generally does, so you can imagine my surprise when her lips part at the request of my lashing tongue. She doesn’t lead our kiss like she did at Bronte’s Peak. She lets go of the reins, trusting I’ve got this.
I do. I’ll take care of her real good.
When she opens her mouth, groaning into mine, I kiss her so hard, I’m certain it won’t be another four weeks before she begs me to kiss her again. We kiss and kiss and kiss until she either pulls back for air or suffocates. As she peers at me with needy, shocked eyes, she murmurs, “Em is coming with us. Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” I’d agree to anything if it gets her lips on mine again. “I’d do anything for you.”
My plan works to perfection. After smiling at my approval, she kisses me with so much passion, my dick aches. I'm not a player like Nick, but the past four weeks is cutting it close to setting a new record of abstinence for me. If I don’t get some cookie sampling soon, I’m going to burst.
Just as Lola's tongue wrangles mine into submission, a car door slamming shut booms into my ears. Eager to discover who has Noah's panties twisted up, I pull back and crank my neck to the side. I understand Noah’s interest when my eyes land on Emily. She's as beautiful as Lola; she just seems a little more down to earth.
I try to ease the panic flaring in her eyes with a friendly smile. “Hey, Em, you ready for this?”
I wonder if she is as timid as first thought when she screws up her nose and sticks out her tongue. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Pretending I can’t feel Lola watching with meddling eyes, I fire up my ignition and pull out of their driveway.
Phase one is se
t. I sure as hell hope Lola is ready for phase two.
Lola doesn’t need as much training as predicted. She’s so comfortable behind the wheel, I’m beginning to wonder if she was failed because her instructors didn’t like her ballsy attitude.
With our lesson going longer than anticipated, I completely forget Noah is waiting for us under the railway bridge until Nick’s truck pulls in behind us. He flicks on his high beams, scaring the shit out of Lola and Emily.
I flip up the rearview mirror to stop his lights from impeding Lola’s vision before my eyes drift to hers. “Keep your attention on the road. They’re no concern of yours."
When she nods, I glance over my shoulder. Curiosity crosses Emily's face when I wave my arms in the air like I'm landing a jumbo jet. With her hand shielding her eyes, she follows the direction of my gaze. The vein in my neck beeps out a tune when she notices two figures in Nick's truck. I don't know if she can see them. I’m fucking hope she can't, or I'm in deep shit.
Since no cars are surrounding us, Emily indicates to Nick that he's safe to pass. He thanks her by bringing his bull bar to within an inch of my bumper.
"Arrogant assholes,” she mutters before flipping them the bird.
Realizing Noah has no clue I’m not driving, I devise a way of getting us off the road before we’re forced off. “Pull in there.” I point to a closed gas station coming up on our right.
With Lola’s anxiety as high as mine, she yanks the steering wheel at a speed too fast to be safe. When my tires slip off the asphalt, they fishtail in the gravel. Panicked, Lola slams on the brakes.
That’s the final nail in our coffin.
With Lola and Emily’s squeals in my ear, my car spins out of control. In no time at all, we’re concealed by a massive dust cloud. My lungs kick up a stink about the filthy air as Lola shuts her eyes, surrendering to her fate.
As quickly as our nightmare began, it ends. My car jolts three times before coming to a complete stop. By some miracle, we're still upright. I have no fucking clue how. I was confident we were cartwheeling. Lola did incredibly well to maintain control of the car. That would have been difficult for an experienced driver, much less someone learning how to drive.
Although grateful she did well, I’m too dumbstruck not to react. “Oh my fucking god.” I whack the dashboard with my fists. “How could they not realize it wasn’t me in the driver’s seat?!”
Lola would be five-foot-five at the most, so it should have been pretty fucking obvious I wasn’t driving. When my outburst startles Lola, I leave my car so I can get ahold of my anger. I didn't mean to scare her, and if anyone is deserving of my wrath, it's Noah, not her.
After a few big breaths, I tap on the driver’s side window, startling Lola for the second time. “Holy shit, Jacob, you scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry. I thought perhaps you’d like to swap places so I can drive?”
I try to suppress my smile when she asks if my house is close by because she needs a drink, but the faintest grin creeps across my lips. I hate scaring her, but I'm desperate for some alone time with her.
During our drive to my home, my mind wanders. I recall how badly Lola flinched when my fist indented the dashboard, and how she seems more rattled by my anger than our near-death spin in a dusty parking lot.
Certain I’m misreading things, I lean across to grasp Lola’s hand in mine. A second wave of frustration crashes into me when she pulls her hand out of my reach. The happy, carefree Lola I was making out with earlier tonight has vanished, leaving nothing but a woman who looks frightened.
By the time I arrive home, my anger is at an all-time high. Although Lola’s dismissal isn’t Noah’s fault, his earlier antics smack back into me when I spot him leaning on the front door of my home wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and an arrogant smirk.
“Can you give me a minute to talk to Noah in private before joining us?”
“Sure,” Lola is quick to reply, which frustrates me even more. It’s as if she can’t wait to see the back of me.
After giving Emily a pleading look to have a word with her sister on my behalf, I make my way to Noah. "You could have killed them!"
The veins in my neck pop with every syllable I speak, but it does little to subdue the murderous gleam in Noah’s dark gaze. He’s as worked up as me.
"That's all part of the game; isn't it, Jacob?" His voice is as high as mine, his anger just as palpable. "Get them so rushed up on excitement, they'll come back here for more heart-pumping entertainment?"
I balk, stunned by his response. “Get them excited? You scared them both to death.”
When my eyes drift to my car, a spasm hits my jaw. Even from this distance, Lola's eyes are darker than usual. I just can't tell if it is because she's scared or turned on. The expressions that cross a woman's face in ecstasy can look like other emotions.
With a growl, I return my eyes to Noah. “You fucked up. That shit you pulled wasn't the plan.”
“I fucked up? It was your plan. This is what you wanted!”
I shake my head so furiously, sweat flings off my temples. "This wasn't what I wanted.”
“Then why did you bring them here, Jake? Why didn't you take them home?" The furious beat of Noah’s heart puts an edge in his voice. "Because you still want to have fun, don't you? You want to ride the rush. That's why you play these games all the time, because you need to get as much attention as you can before things get boring, and they leave you for their next big rush."
Hating that he’s using my neurosis against me, I spit out, “Fuck you, Noah. You’re only pissed because you’re worried Emily would rather hang with someone like me than slum it with you!"
The instant the words escape my lips, I want to reel them back in. I’m peeved as fuck, but that was a below-the-belt hit.
“Noah... Man... Shit. I'm sorry."
His chance to reply is lost when someone unexpectedly places their hand on my shoulder. I’m so riddled with remorse, I yank away from her, scaring Lola for the second time tonight. She steps back, her eyes widening. My size can be intimidating at first, but once you get to know me, you realize I'd never hurt a fly, so why does she keep flinching? I fuckin’ hate it.
When Noah storms into the house, I drop my eyes to Lola. “Why do you keep flinching?”
I keep my tone low, hoping I don’t frighten her again. It has the opposite effect. Her cheeks redden with anger as her arms fold in front of her chest. “I don’t flinch at you.” Her hair whips my chest when she pivots on her heels. “But I do think you should take us home.”
With my heart shut down and my suspicions at an all-time high, I do precisely that.
Our drive back to Erkinsvale is made in silence. Nothing is mentioned about the driving lesson, the prank, or Noah and I almost having a fistfight, but more concerning than anything is the fact I’ve made Lola flinch twice in one night.
When I pull into the driveway of Lola’s house, Emily squeezes my shoulder. “Thanks, Jacob.” Her eyes reveal she’s feeling the tension in the air too.
Before Lola can follow her sister, I seize her wrist. I’m barely grabbing her, so she could leave if she wants, but I really hope she’ll stay.
When a few seconds pass without contest, I say, “I’ll never hurt you, Lola.”
She sinks into her seat with a sigh as her eyes seek mine. “I know that.”
My heart constricts when I notice how much moisture her eyes are holding. They’re so crammed with tears, I’m confident she’s seconds from crying. My hands rattle when I drag my thumbs across her cheeks that are dangerously close to feeling the wetness of her tears. “Who did this to you?”
“No one, Jake, just drop it. This isn’t your fight.” Her words are so soft, if I hadn’t seen her lips move, I may have never known she spoke.
After pressing her lips to the edge of my mouth, she throws open her door and races into her home. I sit in my car for several long minutes, struggling to work out what to do. Should I demand sh
e tell me what happened or walk away? I want to help her, but if I push her, I’ll most likely lose her.
With that in mind, I reverse my car out of her driveway and head home.
Every mile I travel fills me with even more anger, so it’s no surprise Noah and I rehash our argument when I arrive home. We stumble over the same shit we argued about earlier, only stopping when I disclose that Lola was driving the car when we veered off the road.
"Are you kidding me, Jacob?" He storms toward me, his anger unmissable. "Why the fuck would you let her drive knowing we were there waiting for you?"
When he fists my shirt, I take a step back. I’m seconds from retaliating, but Hank has my skills on a very short leash. If I use them outside the cage, he's done training me. For that alone, I keep my hands fisted at my side.
"I forgot you were waiting—”
"You forgot! How the hell could you forget?!” He sucks in a deep, ragged breath. “We could have killed them, Jake." He stumbles back, his eyes watering. “Then I would have had another death on my hands.”
He looks physically ill as he backs away with a raging chest and clenched fists. He’s as worked up as me, but instead of taking it out on the person he believes responsible, he goes outside to unleash his fury on a tree trunk. He pummels it without remorse, knowing violence will never end violence, but having no other way to rid himself of his guilt. We all cope in our own ways. Mine is seeking attention from the opposite sex. Noah’s is the brutality he was raised with.
After collapsing onto his knees from exhaustion, Noah turns his eyes to me. They're the darkest I've ever seen them. When he takes off down the driveway, I snatch up my keys from the hallway table and go after him.
