Reckless Attraction Vol. 2

by JJ Knight

  “I can’t believe it takes three months to get a proper fight set up around here,” Mike says. He’s slurring his words. “I’m indignant on your behalf.”

  I shake my head. Mike and Josh have been knocking back Fireball shots for over an hour.

  I drink a little more slowly. Generally, I don’t drink a whole lot at all. Expensive scotch with The Cure is generally my only nod to being twenty-three and wild. Otherwise I stick to my training. Alcohol is pure misery when you have to push yourself physically every day.

  Josh makes the bartender, a pretty, slender woman he’s rather clumsily trying to hit on, change the TV overhead to an MMA fight. Between shots, he’s making an ass of himself with her.

  “I’d love to see the rest of that rose tattoo,” he says. “Is it a long-stem?”

  The rose peeks out from the slashed neckline of her tank top, just above her chest.

  She rolls her eyes at him as she angles over the bar with the remote to switch the channel.

  I focus on the fight. It’s a pretty critical round, one of the major leagues with a man who’s trying to get enough leverage to challenge Parker for his belt. It’s been a big point of discussion around Buster’s Gym. His name is Lightning Strike, and he looks really good.

  Parker has held the title in his weight class for almost five years, but I can tell the gig is wearing on him. And it isn’t just the constant challenges and preparations. It’s the media play. The interviews. The travel. He and Maddie have been trying to have another kid for quite some time with no luck. I know that a brother or sister for Lily is high on his priority list.

  Despite Josh’s attempts to impress the bartender, she leans on the counter opposite me.

  “Are you one of those fighters?” she asks. She juts her chin at my T-shirt, which has the giant letters for the UFC.

  “He sure the hell is,” Josh says. “He kicked Face Wrecker’s ass last week.”

  “I heard about that fight,” she says. “I sometimes work those events.”

  “Really?” Josh asks. “What do you do there?”

  “I’m security,” she says.

  “I haven’t seen you.” Josh downs another shot and slams it on the bar.

  She doesn’t seem too pleased with him as she takes the empty glass away. “The idea is that I’m not supposed to be seen.”

  “Did you go last weekend?” I ask.

  “I had to work here that night,” she says. “That’s the one that got busted by the cops, right?”

  Josh grabs a handful of nuts. “Sure was. My friend Mike and I got away clean, though.”

  The bartender looks at me. “What about you?”

  “I was in the cage when the cops showed.”

  “He totally got busted,” Josh says. Now that he has the girl’s attention, he’s determined to keep it.

  I stare up at the TV screen. The two guys are wrestling in a hold on the ground. The ref is on his knees beside them, watching for illegal moves or for one to tap out.

  I don’t want to have any part of this conversation. Besides, it makes me think of Chloe. I sent her a couple texts, but when she didn’t answer, I let it go. She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. I have no choice but to respect it.

  The bartender leans in close, dragging my attention back. Her black tank is tight, the rose tattoo drawing my eye to the slashed neckline.

  Josh shifts uneasily on the stool beside me. He’s annoyed she’s moving in on me instead.

  “You must be Reckless, then,” she says. At my nod, she goes on. “You should know something. Face Wrecker is somebody I know. And he’s talking some pretty serious trash about you. Actually suggested you were the reason the fight ended early. That maybe one of your guys called the cops so you wouldn’t lose.”

  “Bullshit!” Josh says.

  The woman shrugs. “He says he wasn’t down. He wants a rematch.”

  This gets Mike’s attention. “What? He wants Reckless to smash his face again?”

  The bartender picks up a rag and casually wipes down the bar. “I’ve known him a long time. The way you tell the story and the way he tells it aren’t the same.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Josh says. “He didn’t even get a hit in.”

  It might be three months before I get my chance to fight again. Another match is being handed right to me.

  “I might be down for that,” I say.

  “Hell, yeah,” Josh says.

  Mike gives me an evil grin. “I gotta check this out,” he says. He taps frantically on his cell phone.

  A couple comes up to the bar, and the bartender heads in their direction.

  Josh shoves me. “Man, I had dibs on that one.”

  “It’s up to a lady, always,” I say. “But don’t worry about it. I’m not interested.”

  “Bros before ho’s,” Josh says so loudly that the bartender glances our way.

  “Shut up,” I say. “Before she gets us thrown out of here.”

  “She won’t do that,” Josh says. “Because she’s into you.”

  “All right,” Mike says. “The chick is right. Face Wrecker is telling everybody he wants to see you back in the cage next weekend.”

  “They already have a fight set up?” I ask. “You’d think they’d want to lie low for a bit.”

  “No money in that,” Mike says. “They gotta make bank. You, my friend, are bank.” He shoves his phone in my face. I take it from him and peer at the white screen. It appears to be some sort of bracket. “What’s that?” I ask. “Are these bets?”

  “You betcha,” Mike says. “Look who’s at the top of the heap.” He stabs his finger against the screen.

  I peer at the tiny text. And he’s right. The top of the bracket says Reckless.

  “But I’m not signed up to fight,” I say.

  “Consider that your invitation,” he says. “I have a feeling they’ll figure out where you are.”

  I look down at the other names on the bracket. Face Wrecker is there. I can see why he’s talking smack. He’s way down in the odds.

  “I think he used to be the top dog,” Mike says. “You knocked him off the pedestal.”

  I hand his phone to him. “You think I should do this?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Mike says. “You have to defend your honor. And break his face for real this time.”

  I held back last time because Chloe was watching. I didn’t want to get banged up. I have no doubt if I take this guy on again, there will be a lot more fight in both of us.

  “You going to do it?” Mike asks.

  “You bet he is,” says Josh.

  Mike slaps me on the back. “Sounds like we have plans for next Friday night.”

  Josh waves the bartender over. “So we’re going to be there Friday,” he says. “You going to find us?”

  She scoops up our empty glasses. “Maybe.”

  Josh slaps the bar again. “Hot damn. That’s going to be one hell of a weekend.”

  The bartender looks at me. “You going to take him on?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Why not?”

  Mike and Josh order another round of drinks, but I decide I’ve had enough. If I’m fighting next week, the last thing I need is to get off program.

  I also have to consider my sister. I don’t want her to find out that I’m going back in the cage. What are the odds that this fight will get busted too? Getting arrested again would not make anyone in my family very happy.

  We watch the fight overhead play out and sit through a couple others. Mike and Josh figure out that they’re not going to get lucky in this bar and want to head to the one next door.

  I let them know I’m done and head out. Mike drove, so I decide to call a SpeedRide home.

  I stand outside on the street and pull up the app.

  And right there, I see it.

  Favorite driver. Chloe S.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I click on her name.

  Chapter 9: Chloe

  So it’s another
Friday night, and I’m giving Zeba more smoky eyes. I have tried to tell her that Adeel has seen her a million times without the eye makeup and liked her fine. But she is not buying it. She thinks the only reason they went from study buddies to bang buddies is the magic of eyeshadow.

  “What are you going to do when I’m not here to fix your face?” I ask her. At least I’m not in a hurry this time. I have nowhere to be tonight, so I take my time getting her eyeliner perfect.

  “I have no idea,” Zeba says. “I will cross that treacherous bridge when I come to it.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not like you’re making some giant change. You’re the same amazing person, whether or not you have smoky eyes.”

  “I beg to differ,” Zeba says. “Smoky eyes got my man to go south from day one.”

  I pause with my liner. “He went south already?”

  “Yes, he did. I did something I’d only read about in books.”

  “It can be pretty magical.” I set aside the eyeliner and pick up a mascara. “So what was he like in class now that you’ve moved on to extracurricular activities?”

  Zeba shrugs. “Not that different, actually. I thought we would be all couple-like and holding hands and stealing meaningful glances.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Not really. I guess I was looking for more acknowledgment that our status had changed.”

  I open the mascara and slide the brush up and down inside. This isn’t a good sign. But I don’t know if I want to say that to Zeba. Not yet. Maybe this guy of hers is shy. “Give it some time,” I say.

  “Oh, I intend to,” she says. “I’m ready for another round of what I got last weekend.”

  “Good for you. I’m definitely not looking for a repeat of last weekend myself.” I lift the wand to her lashes.

  Zeba is a makeover dream. Once you even out her skin tone and bring out the natural beauty of her eyes, she goes from everyday girl to magazine worthy. I can see why she likes it. I’ll have to take the time to teach her how to do this herself. All she needs is confidence.

  “You really just gonna hang around here tonight?” Zeba asks.

  I can tell she’s feeling guilty. Until Adeel came along, we spent our weekends binge-watching sci-fi and drinking wine.

  “I think I’m due a quiet evening,” I say.

  “You really not going to see the fighter again?”

  “No way,” I say. “Unless he’s at the fight next weekend. I guess I’ll see him if he’s there.”

  “What will you do if he’s fighting?”

  “Call the cops, same as last week.”

  “You should at least give him a heads up,” Zeba says. “After all, he did get you out of jail.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I say. “But honestly, if this is the way he’s going to live his life, he deserves everything he gets.”

  Zeba doesn’t say anymore. She keeps her eyes down. I know she doesn’t agree with me on this. But after seeing how the illegal fights returned so quickly after a major bust, I’m on even more of a mission to make them feel pain.

  I sit back. “You’re all done.”

  Zeba turns to the mirror. “You’re pure magic.”

  “I have good material to work with.”

  She gives me a quick hug. “Thank you. I hope my outfit lives up to your work.”

  When she leaves the room, I sit crosslegged in the middle of my bed. It will be a long night. But I have television. The Internet. And I need to go over my plan for next weekend.

  I have to make absolutely sure I don’t get arrested again. Clarissa and I reviewed this several times during the week. The hippie lawyer showed up as well and talked about misdemeanors and having multiple cases open. I held my breath as he looked up the lawyer who got me out, but all he could find was that he was a private attorney. They didn’t ask me any more questions, probably glad I took that expense on myself.

  My phone lights up with the SpeedRide app. I set it to give me only good long rides with pickups within two miles. Even so, I’m not feeling very motivated to take it.

  I swipe it away, but strangely, the ride remains.

  I look at it. The pickup point is over five miles away. What in the world? That shouldn’t happen.

  I click through to the settings, and sure enough, my app is set up like it’s supposed to be.

  So why am I getting this request?

  It sits there, the little green dot blinking at me. No one else is picking it up. It’s almost as if no one else wants it. Or no one else can see it?

  Zeba pops in the room to show off her outfit. She stops when she sees me on the bed with my phone. “Oh, are you going to do rides tonight?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, but it’s weird. This one seems like it’s only for me,” I say.

  She peers over my shoulder. “I don’t know how any of that works. What’s weird about it?”

  “Well, first of all, it’s outside the area I’ve designated as my pickup range. Second, no one else is taking this request.”

  Zeba points in the corner of the app at a heart icon. “What’s this mean?”

  That’s when it dawns on me. The heart indicates that this rider has selected me as their favorite. “It means this ride request is exclusive to me.”

  “The app will do that?”

  “Yeah, I forgot. No one’s ever done it.”

  “You think it’s fighter boy?”

  I’m stunned. “It didn’t occur to me.”

  Zeba sits beside me on the bed. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you ever answer his texts?”

  “No.”

  “Well, this is his way of forcing the issue.”

  The app vibrates again, and then the little pulsing dot stops blinking. The “ride requested” notification at the bottom of the screen goes away.

  “Guess that answers that,” Zeba says.

  My throat feels thick. I know I should’ve answered Hudson’s texts. But by then I knew I was going to that fight next weekend. It seemed better not to say anything and let it go.

  Zeba gets up from the bed. “I still think you should text him back,” she says. “And I doubly think you should warn him that you’re busting another fight.”

  “Noted.”

  “It’s time for me to go,” she says. “I’ll check on you later, okay?”

  “Have fun.”

  I hold my phone in my hand, still looking at the silent SpeedRide app, as Zeba leaves the room. After a moment, our front door opens and closes.

  I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.

  Nothing appeals to me. Not watching television. Not reading. Not studying.

  Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the favorite was some random person who likes Volkswagen Bugs, and not Hudson at all.

  I lift my phone and swipe to the text that he sent last week.

  Hey Chloe. Have you recovered from our crazy night?

  That was the first one. He sent two others.

  Would you rather I didn’t text you at all? You said at the time that it would be okay.

  I scroll to the last one.

  The line’s open if you ever want to contact me.

  I click the phone off. There’s no point in talking to him. And if I really admit it to myself, I don’t want to warn him away from the fight, because I do want to see him again.

  I control when the police are called. I can tell him when I see him in person.

  I’m not sure which thing I hope for more. That he’s there, or that he’s not. Maybe he’s given up fighting. Maybe his sister or the lawyer has convinced him that it’s not good for his career to do illegal matches.

  But then, does it matter to me if they’re illegal or not? Isn’t the whole sport a problem?

  I roll over, about to go look up more about MMA on my phone, when my SpeedRide lights up again. It’s the same location. Well, not exactly. Whoever summoned me a few minutes ago has walked about a quarter mile since the l
ast request.

  This time I click the little i in the corner for information. It will tell me the user name of the request as well as any notes any other SpeedRide drivers might have made. That’s how we know who the creepers are.

  The user ID gives nothing away. CONT43.

  Except that I do have a record of my previous riders. The app allows us to block certain riders from requesting us if we had a bad experience with them.

  I flip over to the ride history and find Friday night.

  There it is. CONT43.

  It’s him.

  I switch to the main page and look at the pulsing dot. I know it won’t last much longer before it times out again.

  And before I can really stop myself, I click accept.

  Chapter 10: Hudson

  Chloe accepted my SpeedRide ten minutes ago, but according to the app, she still hasn’t made any progress toward actually coming to pick me up.

  I have a bad feeling that maybe I went too far this time. I should never have requested a ride from her, especially after the first one timed out. She didn’t respond to my texts. I should have let it go. Let her go.

  I’ll walk the five miles home. It’s nothing compared to the circuits I do every day. And I can probably stand to walk off some of those Fireball shots.

  Serves me right.

  Probably she’s on a date with some other guy and they’re watching me walk home, laughing. Now that she’s accepted my request, we can see each other’s locations until the ride ends.

  I deserve it. I should’ve left her alone.

  I keep trudging along the sidewalk past shuttered businesses. I actually don’t have a choice about walking unless I kill the ride with Chloe. The SpeedRide app won’t let me request another ride when one is in progress.

  The night air helps. It’s cool and perfect. The right sort of evening for a walk. A few stars have managed to shine brightly enough to be seen despite the street lights and a perpetual haze. The LA sky definitely has nothing on Hawaii.

  I wish I was closer to the ocean. The air makes me believe I should be hearing the soothing lap of water on the shore. But I’m miles away from it.