You rude old fucker.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Brawler’s don’t win. Brawler’s get beat. You need to learn to take a punch, because one of these days, somebody’s gonna nail you with one, and you won’t know how to react. Hell, I could go on and on, but I won’t. Why’d you darken my door, Spaz?”
I sat in the chair in front of his desk and sighed. “I don’t have family,” I said. “My mom died giving birth and my dad abused me, so I left as soon as I graduated high school.”
He remained without expression, his eyes fixed on mine. I suppose he’d heard it all, and my sob story was just another version of every other boxer’s tale who’d been in and out of his life over the years.
“So, I really don’t have anyone to ask questions,” I said with a shrug. “There’s a girl at work, and then there’s Ripp, but I can’t ask those two everything. So, I’m here for some advice because I know you won’t go blabbing to everyone.”
He leaned away from the desk folded his arms in front of his chest. “Boxing advice?”
“No, Sir. About life.”
“I’m all fuckin’ ears,” he grunted.
Despite his attitude, I found it just as easy to talk to him as it was to talk to Freddy when I was young. “What do you know about love?” I asked.
His eyes glistened a little and he grinned. He instantly fought against the smile, pursing his lips until his stern appearance returned. He gazed beyond me and nodded his head slightly. “Close the door.”
I got up and closed the door, grinning as I walked toward it. When I turned around, I wiped the smile from my face and sat down.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, still emotionless for the most part.
“First, I’m not in love. I know that much. But how do I know who’s the right one? I used to think I was in love with a guy from a few years back, but now? Looking back on it, I’m not so sure. Not anymore.”
He unfolded his arms and raised his right hand to his chin. “Prospective lovers are like hamburgers.”
The comparison seemed ridiculous. My forehead wrinkled. “Hamburgers?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “You gonna let me talk, Spaz?”
My eyes fell to his desk. “Sorry, Sir.”
“Yes, hamburgers. You know, I used to get a burger over at 4th and Madison when I was a kid. At Stoney’s. Best fuckin’ burger in the world. I was sure of it. Lived my life until I was about twenty thinkin’ that burger was the best. Hell, people used to ask me. They’d say ‘Kelsey, where’s a man get a good burger?’ I’d tell ‘em. ‘Get your ass over to Stoney’s at 4th and Madison. Best burger in the world.’”
He paused and shook his head. “When I was twenty-one, right before I fought that Irish kid from Philly, I got a burger at this joint in Atlanta. Name of the place was Fat Freddy’s. Wasn’t expectin’ much, having had the best burger on the planet already, but I went in anyhow. It was some time ago, but I was pretty shocked at the price. Thirty-five cents for a burger was a hell of a lot back then, especially considerin’ Stoney’s were a quarter. I paid the price and waited while the guy cooked it right in front of me on one of them grills that runs the length of the counter. He was wearin’ one of them little white hats like they used to wear. He handed me the burger, and I grunted him a ‘thanks’, pissed about the thirty-five cents. Anyway. I sat down at the bar with my malt and that 35 cent burger, wondering just how tough that Irish kid was gonna be. About the time I decided it didn’t matter, I bit onto that burger. Well. Spaz, guess what?”
I shrugged, still confused about the comparison between hamburgers and love. “No good?”
“It was divine. I was in hamburger heaven. All that time, I was thinkin’ Stoney’s was the best burger in the world, and it wasn’t. Fat Freddy’s was. Hell, up until 1974, I used to drive from Austin to Atlanta just to get one of them burgers. That’s the damned truth.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just acknowledged his story with a “Huh.”
“Well, 1975 rolled around, and I was workin’ as a trainer at the time. Kid by the name of Joe Jackson asked me if I liked burgers. I told him I did, and I invited him to ride with me to Atlanta someday. He laughed at me right then and there. Said to me, ‘why ride to Atlanta when the best burger in the world is at Dan’s Hamburgers over on Lamar?’”
He shrugged and shook his head. “So, me and Joe took a ride to Dan’s. I ordered the #2 – a double burger with grilled onions, mustard, and cheese. Waited fifteen minutes, them bein’ as busy as they was. Well, the burger finally came, and it was wrapped in the paper that turns see-through when it gets greasy. That was the first sign. Same damned paper that Fat Freddy’s used. I bit into that burger with a biased mind, Spaz. You know, with me bein’ sure fat Freddy’s was the best burger in the world. Well, one bite into it, and my mind was changed. All this time, I was thinkin’ it was Stoney’s only to learn it was Fat Freddy’s, and then the year before the bicentennial, I find out the best burger in the world is right down the street, under my fuckin’ nose, at Joe’s.”
“My point’s this: searchin’ for the perfect love is like searchin’ for the perfect burger. You just need to realize that there’s always somethin’ out there – somewhere – that’ll rival what you got. Hell, maybe it’ll beat it. But if it was good enough to gather your attention in the first place, it ought to be good enough for the long haul. You just got to be smart enough to realize that different isn’t always better.”
He nodded his head and crossed his arms, obviously convinced he’d made his point. It was a good story, and it was well thought out, but it wasn’t exactly what I was wanting to hear.
“How do I know the burger I’m eating is the right burger? The one for me?” I asked.
“Can you eat it for the rest of your life without eatin’ another burger?”
It didn’t take me long to answer. “I don’t know.”
“Well, find some time to go without it for a while. See if your mind tells ya to go grab another burger, or if you have a hunger for that burger you’ve already got. If you crave the one you have now, it’s the burger for you. When you reach that point, you just got to understand, stop lookin’ for somethin’ better.”
I grinned and nodded. “Okay.”
He stood up. “Anything else?”
I shook my head and stood. “Nope.”
“Big fight comin’ up, you know,” he said. “Girl’s got one hell of a record. Beatin’ her would be a ticket to the show.”
“Me?”
“No,” he grunted. “The other boxer in the room. Yes, you, Spaz. You listen to what that dummy tells you, you hear me?”
I guessed the dummy was Ripp, but asked anyway. “Ripp?”
“No, the other dummy trainin’ ya,” he growled. He lowered the tone of his voice. “He’s a good kid, pay attention to him.”
“I do.”
“You better,” he grunted. He pointed toward the door. “Shut the door behind ya.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
I considered what he said about the hamburgers as I walked toward the gym, and decided he was probably right. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t a better tasting burger on earth than the one I was eating. I guessed I just needed to decide if I was comfortable eating it for the rest of my life.
And, although I loved how it tasted, I wasn’t completely convinced yet.
TWENTY
Jaz
Day fifty-nine.
It was the day before the fight. I’d been in the ring for almost an hour, and I was exhausted. I was barely able to lift my arms, and my legs felt like rubber. I knew what Ripp was trying to do, he was attempting to break me, preparing me for the fight of my career from what he said.
The problem, his problem, was that I’d keep going even if I had to hit the mitts while standing on my knees. I might have been a lot of things, but one thing I wasn’t was a quitter.
“Right to the head.”
I swung my right int
o the mitt.
“Left to the body.”
I swung a left hook.
“Right,” he barked. “Again. Again. Again.”
I pounded the mitt, wondering if at some point I’d just collapse. Soaked in sweat, and bouncing on my toes in a puddle of sweat, I felt like I’d lost ten pounds, and I didn’t have ten pounds to lose. Maybe Kelsey was right. Maybe I worked out too much and ate too little.
“Again,” he snapped.
I pounded it again.
“Left, right, right.”
I pummeled the mitts as hard as I could.
“Stop!” he shouted.
He lowered the mitts. “God damn, Jaz. You’ve got stamina.” He glanced at his watch. “Hour fifteen straight. Most men would have quit thirty minutes ago. Maybe sooner.”
I braced my gloves against my knees and tried to catch my breath, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to continue for at least a few more minutes. “Drink, Boss?”
“Hell yeah, my bad,” he said, reaching for the water bottle at the edge of the ring. He squirted a drink into my mouth. “So this girl’s fought damned near a hundred and fifty times in seven fuckin’ years. That’s damned near one every two weeks straight for seven years. Her total record is 112 wins and 34 losses. Most of her losses are early, and with the trainer she’s got now, she ain’t lost one fuckin’ bout. Seventy wins in a row.”
I stood up straight. “Sounds like a good fight.”
He scrunched his brow and shook his head. “You’re her last fight before she goes pro. She’s already got offers for some pretty big fights. Win or lose, you’ll get some fuckin’ attention. But I don’t want you all down and depressed when she beats ya.”
“When she beats me?” I snapped. “Don’t you mean if?”
“She’ll beat ya.”
She’ll die trying.
“Why do you say that?”
“112 and 34, that’s why.”
“Pfffft. That doesn’t mean shit. She hasn’t fought me yet.”
“You’re right,” he said. “She hasn’t. But you need to be prepared to lose.”
He was wrong. I needed to stay positive. His talk of my certain loss was making me mad as fuck, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful. “She needs to be. Why won’t you give me some credit?”
“I give you credit where and when it’s due. You’re a damned good fighter, but like Kelsey said, you’re a brawler. The tougher the fight gets, the tougher you get. Going up against a true fighter, you’re an easy target to beat. A slow steady fighter will get you on points every time. A strong fighter will beat you by knocking you out long before you get mad enough to fight, and another brawler will be hard to find. This girl’s a boxer. A damned good one. She’ll be tough to beat,” he said.
It pissed me off that he didn’t think I was a good boxer. I realized I was under the impression I was a pretty good fighter, and it was hard to give myself an honest critique, but I truly believed I was pretty damned good.
I was sure I had more heart than almost anyone, and that had to be worth something. “I’ve got a lot of heart,” I said. “More than any other girl in the ring.”
He nodded. “I’ll give you that much.”
“It’s worth something,” I said.
He tossed the mitts onto the floor. “Just remember, no fucking on fight night. And, if something happens, and you just so happen to catch her on a bad night, the win’ll get you a shot at the pros. People are already talkin’ about that Thunder Rose win. So, another, especially against this girl? Well, they’d really be talkin’.”
“What if I knocked her out?”
He shrugged. “Bad ass.”
I wanted to prove him wrong. Freddy used to tell me I had to earn all the respect I ever got, and that no one gave respect. I needed to not only beat this girl but to knock her out. Then, I’d earn Ripp’s respect.
I pounded my gloves together. “I’ll give it my best, Boss. It’s all I can do.”
“Can’t do better than that,” he said. “And, just so you know, the champ is gonna watch the fight.”
I wrinkled my nose. “The champ?”
He nodded. “Dekk.”
Shit. The thought of him watching my fight made me nervous. He was all anyone at the gym talked about, and he was a local legend. Hell, he was the Heavyweight Champion of the World, he was a global legend.
“Why’s he coming?”
“Comin’ to watch her.”
Makes sense.
“Oh.”
“Alright,” he said. “Hit the showers. And like I said, no fight night sex.”
Whatever.
Fucking Ethan before the fight would settle me down, and make sure I fought a good fight, but I wasn’t about to tell Ripp that. Boxers and their stupid superstitions. I didn’t believe in any of them. I didn’t need lucky charms, a certain amount of wraps in my tape, or to lace my boots a particular way to win a fight. All I needed to do was have a clear mid, remember what Ripp taught me, and give it my all.
“You got it, Boss,” I said.
And I hit the showers.
TWENTY-ONE
Jaz
Day sixty.
With the rhythm of a dancer he gyrated his hips, bringing the pleasure of his thick cock with each well-timed movement. On my back with my heels high in the air, I mentally embraced each powerful stroke.
I craned my neck and looked at the alarm clock. “Five minutes!”
He lifted his head. “What the fuck?”
The fight started in thirty-five minutes, and the drive would take fifteen. Time wasn’t on my side. “I can’t be late,” I said dryly.
The movement of his hips stopped and he shot me a look. “You can’t be late and I can’t keep having you barking out time limits. It’s fucking me up.”
“Alright, I won’t say anything for ten more minutes.” I said. “Now, get back to work.”
Hovering over me with his hips wedged between my inner thighs, he flexed his chest muscles and glared. “What?”
I wagged my eyebrows and grinned.
He cleared his throat. “Get back to work?”
“Uh huh.”
He pulled himself from inside of me and flipped me onto my stomach. The change was fast and unexpected. I was really enjoying our previous position, but before I had time to protest, he shoved me full of cock.
I heaved out a breath.
Jesus.
“Get back to work, huh?” His hand came down hard against my right ass cheek.
Fuck.
The unexpected slap startled me. With my butt burning from the pain and my mind closing in on sexual euphoria, I shut my eyes and bit against my lower lip.
He began to fuck me like he was working against the clock. I guess in some respects he was. After each three or four strokes, his hand would slap my ass again, providing me a painful yet pleasurable experience. He repeated the process over and over, his rhythm becoming steady and foreseeable.
I closed my eyes and separated myself from everything except his predictable movements. Lost in the magic of being one with Ethan, my mind drifted away. My concerns about the fight, finances, and my fear of commitment vanished.
Encompassed in my bubble of bliss, I became lost. Separated from the often abusive world of reality, my fears, my past, and the worries associated with my future all drifted away and I began to tingle from head to toe.
Although my thoughts and feelings appeared to be lucid, I wondered if somehow my mind had become stuck between what was real and what was imaginary. The tingling from within me rang throughout my body like an electric shock, and I opened my eyes.
The orgasm caused my muscles to spasm. My entire body shuddered in response. I stretched my mouth open wide, wanting desperately to cry out, but doing so was impossible. With wide eyes and a warm heart, I allowed the tremors to run through me until they diminished to nothing.
The room smelled like sex with a spritz of Ethan’s cologne. I rolled onto my back, closed my eyes, and inhaled th
e wonderful scent.
I opened my eyes. “Oh. My. God. That was intense.”
Still catching his breath, Ethan grinned. “Agreed.”
I glanced at the clock.
Fuck!
“Oh my God! The fight starts in thirteen minutes!” I screamed.
“Grab your bag.” He jumped from the bed and grabbed his jeans. “I’ll get you there in time.”
It was a fifteen-minute ride to the gym, and it’d take a few more to get inside, to the ring, and geared up. There was no way.
Fuck.
“There’s no way we’ll make it.”
“Grab your shit, Jaz,” he demanded, pointing at my bag.
“I said I’ll get you there, I’ll get you there.”
I rolled off the edge of the bed and attempted to stand. My legs – exhausted from the orgasm of epic proportion – folded beneath me.
And I fell to the floor.
TWENTY-TWO
Jaz
Day sixty.
“God damn it. You two idiots are makin’ me look like a fool. Gimme your fuckin’ hand,” Ripp growled.
Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why?”
Ripp grabbed Ethan’s wrist, pulled his hand from his pocket, and raised it to his nose. “You smell like fuckin’ pussy.”
He turned to me and shot me a laser sharp glare. “Did you fuck him? Is that why you’re late? Don’t fucking lie.”
I didn’t want to disappoint him, but there was no way I could tell him a lie. I swallowed hard and gave an almost indiscernible response. “Yes.”
His eyes narrowed even more. He was fuming mad.
“But I was late because of a leg cramp,” I explained. “He had to carry me to the truck.” It wasn’t the entire reason I was late, but at least it was true.
He turned toward Ethan, stared, and then shifted his glare back to me. After a few very intense seconds, he tossed his hands in the air. “Get her gloves and headgear on her, kid. You can help her through this one, I’m done.”
Shit.
“No. I’m sorry. I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” he asked. “You’re supposed to listen to your trainer, right?”
DIRTY READS Page 27
