by Love Belvin
“Is this your place?” I asked, though slowly being convinced it was.
As crazy as it sounded, the place smelled like him…in a natural sense. Not that I’d been around Ashton a lot, but when I did, I picked up on his natural body scent.
He didn’t answer right away. Ashton was motionless, inspecting me from head to toe, reminding me why I was here in the first place. My plan was to be a little cocky and strut—or attempt to—in the heels to show him I’d practiced on the track like he told me to. But his empty expression blew every ounce of cockiness out of the water. His eyes fell from my head and moved down my face, torso, legs, then Jimmy Choos. When they returned to my face, I immediately felt self-conscious.
My hands shot up to my cheeks. “Samantha, my roommate, did my makeup. I told her not to use a heavy hand; that would be doing too much. She said a natural look would be best for a date anyway, or something like that.” When he still didn’t speak, a thought occurred. Candles, soft music—at least at the front of the apartment—and a shirtless Ashton. “Is your girlfriend here? Did I interrupt…something?”
Ashton pointed to the TV mounted on the wall. I twisted around, my attention going behind me. I recognized the Panther’s uniform. Then I saw Ashton’s number as he flew down the field with the ball cupped in his arm. When I turned back around, Ashton was gone, on his way to the kitchen with his back to me. His back was broad and cut with several tattoos. And his ass…
I looked away, finding a notebook and pencil he’d had in his lap when I walked in. Ashton’s ass was... The band of his dark boxer briefs hung low on his waist, and his silver basketball shorts sagged beneath them. When I looked his way again, Ashton was at the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of Snapple and opened it while he walked to the long countertop separating the living room and kitchen.
“I don’t know what ‘something’ could be popping off when football study’s happening.” He took a gulp of the juice.
Oh…
So he was alone. And in a mood. He hadn’t smiled once or said anything to make me feel welcomed. I didn’t plan on staying long when I called and asked where I could meet him from the limo: I certainly wasn’t staying much longer now.
“Okay.” My nervous jitters had me blinking hard. That and the sight of his thick, hairy chest. Checking out guys had never been my thing. The last time I did, it was with Raj and it was totally wrong. I had also liked him for the wrong reason at first. And even that didn’t count because of all the words I could use to describe Raj now, sexy would not be one of them. It was just gross. But Ashton’s chest and the cuts in his abs…it all made me uneasy. “I just wanted to show you I didn’t wobble in the heels, and I went to the appointments you set up for my hair and nails.”
Then I thought. “Oh, and all the people were nice to me tonight. Everybody.”
His face folded in a frown. “That’s it?”
“Oh!” spit from my lungs. “And thanks for everything. I really appreciate you bailing me out. I’m going to pay you back…before the end of the spring semester,” I sputtered.
“What about the date?”
“What do you mean?”
“The actual date. Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Oh! For sure. The food at Mario was good as hell. I had this fish—” I scratched my brow “—I can’t pronounce. I thought it was one way reading it, but he pronounced it differently when explaining the menu. Then he brought out this fire triple decker devil’s food cake that took my damn head off!”
Then the muscles around his eyes loosened and Ashton nodded. “I was hoping you liked it. It’s my favorite there.” He took another sip of his juice, bringing into view the ball of his muscle in his curled arm.
Oh…
“So, you like the art musical stuff, too?”
“Did you?” he asked, face empty.
Fidgeting, I scratched my ear, hitting the stupid earring. “I did.” A lot. “I didn’t know what to think when the room went dark and the music blasted. Truth be told, I was mad curious when the first guy started throwing paint against the damn wall.” When a crack of a smile appeared on his face, I snorted, holding back on laughing. “That was weird until I waited for it all to play out. I ain’t never seen nothing like that before. And the Black people! I ain’t seen so many looking so sharp in my life.”
“Where’re you from again?”
I hesitated. “Millville.”
“Hmmm…” He took another drink.
Weird human…
“Well…” My lips twisted. “Thanks again for everything.”
Deflated, I started for the door. Not knowing this Ashton in his place made me realize my bright idea was stupid.
“Aye…” I turned back toward him and saw Ashton closing the Snapple bottle. “Glad you finally got a phone.”
A frown formed on my face, confused. “I don’t have a phone yet.”
The bottle paused on its way to his mouth and his head fell to the side. “Then how the hell you call me?”
Oh. “I used the driver’s phone.”
He scoffed. “You need a phone. How you gone be out here, on the move without a means to communicate with anyone?”
“I’m working on it. I got a new job.” I turned for the door again. “Start in two days.”
“Word? Where?” His heavy cords traveled across the apartment—an apartment I still couldn’t get over.
“At a kid’s trampoline place.”
I heard him laugh all the way out. Rolling my eyes, I reached the door annoyed.
Now that was the Ashton Spencer I knew.
They put in a vanity desk with a mirror in the locker room for me, at Bakers University in Minnesota. My opponent, Brenda Walsh, was a local, in her third year here. When we walked in earlier, I’d wondered if she had a vanity or if she was in an official room. I thought it was cool, though. Back at home, I couldn’t think of one gym that went out of their way for me. It looked out of place, but the working light bulbs around the mirror were cool. Four rolls of gauze, about seven rolls of tape, special scissors, and a thick towel for cushion for my arm to rest over were all I needed to suit up. As I zoned out, waiting on my hand to finish getting taped, I looked at myself but didn’t see much.
I was angry…disappointed. Again. My mother never sent the money I needed and she was two months behind on what was owed to me. She’d abandoned me, too. And now she wasn’t taking my calls. I tried her twice this week and she hadn’t had the decency to call back.
“How do the shoes feel, Tori?” Collin asked, lacing my boot.
I nodded my approval. Finding the right shoe had been an issue for my first fight—at least, it was for them. Uppercut never went through so much trouble. But then again, I learned, he’d never spent as much on my gear as BSU had. They had someone in their upholstery—or something—department make my uniform, customized to my size. It was dope shit. Trisha was able to work with the ponytail, but only using my natural hair since ShawnNicole tamed it for me.
Luke, my trainer, squatted down next to me. “Don’t forget to focus on your jab. Walsh is going to try you with that left hook. You gotta fuckin’ keep that shit in mind or you’ll be on your ass, not realizing the shit is over. She’s not strong, kid. She’s not. But she’s been trained to have that be her game-changer.”
I nodded at his coaching. “If you let this little bit—wench win,” he continued, eyes squinting with warning. “I’mma beat that ass up so bad next week, you gone fuckin’ regret ever calling yourself a fighter. You hear me?” I nodded. “One hit. Just one hit, she’s down and you’re a champ.” I continued nodding, absorbing it all.
I felt good—had been eating good, too, other than my food at Mario a week ago, but I was still angry. I felt alone, and cheated. Felt forgotten about. Still, I trained, and harder than I had in all the years I’d been boxing. I had more than Cut to answer to with this team. Assistant coaches, trainers, nutritionist, athletic director—they all were in my ass. Most times, I felt like a
lab rat. Tonight, I had a point to prove. I was worth all of them coming together for.
“What song do you want to come out to?” Collin neared me with an iPod in his hand.
I thought for a minute, considered everything I’d been through to get to this moment. It had been a ride for me. Being teased, doubted, lied to, betrayed, counted out, and name called. I wanted to even show Ashton he’d been working out with a fellow-champion for the past three weeks.
My eyes rose to him in the mirror, and I blinked once and answered, “DMX.”
“Which song?” he asked.
Sounds of barking glared loudly in my ear. After being taunted with it, practically since I stepped on campus, I couldn’t run away from the label. My sight fell from Collin in the mirror and I saw myself. The Banger. She always showed up. Time after time, and I didn’t quite call on her. She just…knew. She never let Tori fight. Not once since I met her at about eight years old. A warmth trickled down over me and I felt an out of body experience when I finally answered, “Get at Me Dog.”
The bell tolled and the referee gave the wave and head motion to start, shuffling backwards out of the center of the ring. Right away, my gloved fists went to my face and chin toward the floor as I approached her. She did the same, but began to bounce on her toes, almost zigzagging. I gained her enough to throw a test jab, something she missed, jumping back. Staying on her, I continued to find the right proximity to land another jab. When Walsh’s back hit the corner of the ring unexpectedly, like a wild rabbit, she bounced toward her left and out of a potential trap.
I was still testing her, but so far knew she was what Cut called a dancer. Walsh didn’t want to get hit. She’d rather play defense. That was okay. I decided right then and there to up my aggression. Putting more power in my legs, I launched from my left leg, executed my left jab then propelled my right hook. Walsh was too slow, and I landed on her jaw. Her head bounced back, footing loosened for a few seconds before she quickly gained herself and went back into posture.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
I caught her with three light jabs she didn’t see coming as she danced around me, but nothing that would land her on her ass. I only wanted her to know my fists were faster than her feet. I could hear shouts into the ring. Walsh’s trainer told her to hit me. When I moved in closer to give her the impression of having the advantage, she landed one on my chin that slipped to my shoulder. That was when I knew the level of her strength. And that was when I was ready to go in. She bounced out of my range, exposing her preference as an outside fighter.
Testing was over. I had to be quicker and more aggressive in catching then slaying my weak prey. I launched off my leg to reach her with longer jabs. Both landed, ending Walsh’s dancing. It also snapped her into action where she threw a hook I was able to block and counter with an uppercut. It was a mean blow to her chin, snapping her head up. I followed with a proper cross by snapping my right shoulder back, pivoting my hips, and letting my right rip forward, landing on her nose. Blood squirted, but I was too zoned out to care where it landed. That was until I saw the ref.
He ordered us to break, checking to see if Walsh was okay. Then he sent us back to our corners, and I knew I’d landed right.
“You’re doing good, girl,” Luke praised the moment I reached the stool. My mouth guard was removed and water was fed to me. “She’s outside boxing. You did good by throwing longer punches and shooting from that leg!”
I knew this from Uppercut.
“Tori, you spooked her. She’s yours to devour!” Trisha confirmed what I knew.
“She’s scared now!” Luke shouted. “She senses The Banger.”
My face was wiped down again before the bell rang, and I was on my feet, making my way to her. Walsh’s face was pink, making her a huge target in my mind. She did her dance, attempting to stay out of my reach. Determined this time, I kept up with her, even made myself appear open to bait her.
She took the bait.
Walsh tried me with her anticipated hook, something I was able to block with an outside ninety using my left. In equal exchange, I delivered a smooth hook, using the power of my core and rotation of my hips like Luke had been pushing all month. Of course, she wasn’t expecting it. Brenda Walsh from Minnesota was a boxing dancer, not a fighter.
She flew backward in the air. Midway, the ref popped up in between us, backing me off. I watched him tend to her. He shouted numbers at Walsh she barely responded to, she couldn’t beat the count. It didn’t take long for him to call the fight. Yes, I could have “engaged her” longer, something Luke would say. But I was The Banger, who finished fights on her feet with her arms up.
The bell tolled and my victory was confirmed.
9
-Then-
“So, who has the best pizza,” Teefah, in the passenger’s seat, asked. “Verti or Dough Brothers back on campus?”
The whole SUV sighed, challenged by that question.
“I think Verti,” one girl from the driver’s seat answered as we drove the dark roads in the middle of nowhere. “They customize your pizza, and you have sooooooo many options. They’re just so good!”
“Verti’s sauce is amazing,” Neemah, the one sitting on the other side of Samantha, contributed while tapping on her phone. “Remember when they were on one of those shows on the Travel Channel?”
She had one of those ritzy Blackberrys. I’d been seeing lots of students and teachers with them. My old supervisor, Rich, stayed on his instead of working.
“Nah,” Samantha added. “Dough Brothers has the best crust. It’s thick, a tad sweet, and crusts just right. Plus, a girl from my Financial Lit 102 class worked there for a semester. Back at home, she worked for a commercial, chain pizzeria. She said Dough Brothers orders quality ingredients for their kitchen. Nothing’s frozen or filled with preservatives. You have to learn how to toss dough to work in the kitchen.”
“Well, duh!” Teefah laughed. “I guess they ain’t called ‘Dough’ Brothers just for the pun.”
They laughed. I guessed when I didn’t—again—Samantha peeped it. I rolled my eyes, mocking this dry ass conversation. This time, she nudged me with her shoulders and laughed louder. She knew I didn’t want to come out with her friends to a pizzeria. It didn’t seem like fun to me. I was tired, in the last days of my menstrual cycle, and still coming down from my win in Minnesota. I didn’t want to be around a bunch of girls I didn’t know. I never fit in with new people and I was okay with that. Plus, I didn’t have any money. I was too embarrassed to tell her that, so I didn’t. But I didn’t agree to this small talk either.
“Oh, my god,” the passenger seat girl gasped. “Y’all hear about Al being pissy ass drunk in the Winnie dorm the other night?” That mention of Al had my attention. Winnie Mandela Dormitory was where Aivery and her friend, Karmen, stayed. It was within walking distance from my dorm, but a power walk to get there in little time. “Word is…” Her animated eyes, I could see from the light posts along the road, went between the driver and Samantha. She had perfect view of me, too, but I was used to being invisible unless in the ring. “he was with a freshman and went back to her room to fuck. But dude was too drunk to the point of her eventually throwing him out. He ain’t make it far: he slept in the center lounge on that floor.” The girls gasped at the same time again. “Yup.” She nodded. “I hear there are pictures of him drooling on the couch floating around campus!” She fell out, laughing hard.
“He’s a wild guy,” the driver added, still giggling. “There’re lots of wild stories of him at BSU.”
“Yeah. Right?!” Samantha cried.
“I just hope he finally grows up.” Blackberry girl sighed. “He’ll be graduating this year. Time to be an adult.”
The other girls, no longer laughing, expressed agreements.
“What about Dre?” My head whipped over to Samantha as she bit her lip, cheesely.
She wouldn’t look at me.
“What about him? He’s soooo stuck on himself!” The
passenger seat girl croaked out as though he was a painful thought. “He thinks he’s better than everybody, and can be holier than thou, which I never understood because he cusses like a drunk sailor and fucks everything moving on campus like a long-distance truck driver.”
“Well,” Samantha droned, sounding low key defensive. “I guess that’s what happens with most preachers’ kids. You know they say they’re most troubled with their identities and feel the need to aggressively rebel to fight the stigma.”
“Oh, whatever!” The passenger seat girl waved her off.
“Shit…” vibrated from the Blackberry girl’s lungs.
No one agreed with her defense, and I was stuck in disbelief. I couldn’t believe Samantha had it bad for Dre. Come on, girl. He’s a horrible human! All of them were. All of the guys at BSU had been corny and, sometimes, mean humans!
Oh, god, could we get to the place any faster? I was already wanting to be back in my room. I remembered I had a row of crackers left in a box I’d bought last week. I splurged on them. They were the Keebler—
“I wonder what Ashton’s gonna do.”
That name-drop popped me out of my bubble of cracker thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Samantha asked.
“Like… He’s gonna be done with BSU in a couple of months. He technically wasn’t supposed to be here this semester, but wanted to finish his degree,” Blackberry girl ran down. She actually looked up from her phone for more than three and a half seconds.
“Oh, he doesn’t have to wonder what he’s going to do,” the girl in the driver’s seat explained with her hands very confidently. “Everything’s laid out for him. He’s going to the League’s Combine in February and will likely do well.”
“Yeah,” passenger seat girl hummed, seeming bored with the conversation. “He’s probably going to be all over the country this spring. I wonder if he’ll get a break to breathe.”
