by JD Hawkins
“Teo!” I hear somebody shout in between punches, in a loud tone as if it’s not the first time they tried to get my attention.
I stop the bag swinging against me and turn to look. It’s Bobby, the co-owner of the gym, who’s in here almost every day training young boxers. He’s a good guy. Old school. Looks like an aging comedian but has a voice that sounds like a New York deli owner with severe tonsillitis.
“Hey Bobby.”
“You’re hitting pretty well these days,” he says. “Wanna spar with my boy?”
I raise a glove and say, “No thanks. I’m good,” before turning back to the bag.
“Come on! He’s a tough one—little green, but real natural. He needs a moving target though. Be good for both of you.”
Bobby’s thumbing back over his shoulder and I lean to look at the ring. The kid looks like he’s half-bull, about two weight-classes higher than me. I’m tempted for a second, but the only thing I want right now is to be alone while I try to get rid of this monkey on my back.
“Looks good,” I say. “But like I said, I’m not in the mood.”
“Hey, you owe me!” he says, smiling impishly. “You know how much business I’ve sent your way? Just this month?”
I can’t help but smile at Bobby saying that—he knows I don’t need the business.
“Ok,” I say, stepping away from the bag and slapping my gloves together. “Let’s see what he’s got.”
Bobby smiles gleefully and almost jogs back to the ring as I follow him.
“You’re up, Alex!” Bobby says to the broad-shouldered beast in the ring, pointing at me as I get somebody to help me put the head guard on.
It isn’t until I get in the ring that I truly see how big the kid is. He’s got a couple of inches on me and looks like he’s been drawn to life by an over-compensating comic book artist. We nod at each other, a quick exchange to show we’re cool, and Bobby steps in between us, pulling us into the center of the ring.
“He ok?” the kid asks him.
“Teo?” says Bobby. “Don’t worry about him—he can handle himself. Worry about you. Remember, precision. Don’t be rash. You good to go, Teo?”
“Ready when you are.”
“Let’s do it,” Bobby says, backing away.
I touch gloves with the kid and then we’re away, guards up and circling for space.
I wait to see if the kid will make the first move, and sure enough he does, but I keep distance. I open myself a little, let him take a few shots, watching close for tells, to get a sense of his movements. Then I start throwing a few combinations myself—nothing too committed, just enough to see how he ducks, how he weaves, getting a sense for what kind of fighter he is.
Soon we start boxing proper, showing a little more aggression. He’s good, jabs harder than most can hook, something of the Tyson about him. He tries cornering me, and I try to get past that jab good enough to counter. He gets close a couple of times, I land a few body shots but nothing he notices.
Then something happens. Some dark energy starts swirling at my core, winding itself around me. The ghosts back to haunt, the frustrations back to torture. Before I know it I’m thinking of Ash, of her leaving last night, of the uncertainty of whether I’ll see her again. Thoughts that anger and pummel me like the gloves striking at my head. Suddenly I’m not in a ring sparring with some rookie, I’m fighting demons, I’m trying to put the pain back in a bottle.
The kid’s coming close now, like he senses a chance to really connect, and suddenly I’m weaving past his left to deliver an uppercut that lands on his chin like a homing missile. The kid goes down like a plank and I snap back to reality with a sense of guilt.
“Shit,” I say, kneeling beside him. “You ok?”
The kid blinks himself back to sobriety and nods.
“I’m good, I’m good.”
I hook my arms under his and lift him up.
Bobby runs into the ring smiling.
“Didn’t mean to go that rough,” I tell him. “Got a little carried away.”
“You kidding?” Bobby says. “That’s just what he needs. See how Teo lulled you in there? You thought he was dizzy there, didn’t you? Let yourself get suckerpunched—that’s the kinda thing you’ll see all the time when you…”
I leave Bobby to lecture the kid as I exit the ring and pull off my gloves and head guard. I head back to the locker room, touching a sore spot in my side where the kid landed a few good ones. I make my way to my locker and open it to grab a towel, then run it over my face and arms. Then I start unwrapping the bandages around my hands.
“Hey.”
I glance up in the direction of the voice, and find it hard to put my eyes back on my hands again.
I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen this girl before, pretty sure I’d remember a figure like that. Big hips and long legs in yoga pants so tight they leave nothing to the imagination, a sports bra that struggles to hold back giant, explosive tits. So many curves it looks like she’s moving even when she’s not. Her black hair in a ponytail so I get a clear look at those smoky eyes beneath seductively-arched eyebrows, lips big and pouted in a permanent expression of lust.
“Teo, right?” she says, stepping closer.
“Uh-huh,” I reply, turning back to the task of unwrapping my hands.
“Riley,” she says, offering a hand regally.
I shake it with my bandaged hand, noticing the way she trails her fingers against my palm when I pull away, and smile at her.
“Nice to meet you. You get lost on the way to the ladies’ locker room?”
Riley laughs. “So you’re hot as hell and funny.”
She smiles now, those lips demure, and leans back against the locker beside mine. Back arched so only her shoulders and ass touch it, arms folded and pushing up those breasts, one foot stepping back, making those thick thighs impossible not to notice. The girl moves like she’s acting in a porno, every gesture calculated and direct.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she purrs through those lips, her eyes studying my tattooed arms with the intensity of a starving man at a steakhouse menu. “You run a tattoo place, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was thinking of getting one.”
“Oh yeah?” I say, grabbing a fresh shirt from my locker. “You had one before?”
“No. I’m a virgin,” she says, swaying her shoulders playfully.
I let out a little chuckle without looking at her.
“Well, what were you thinking of getting?” I say.
I pull off my shirt, ready to put a new one on, but in the split-second it takes to pull it up over my head she moves closer, long fingers pressing against my abs, face so close to mine I can feel her breath on my chest, eyes looking up at me through long lashes, biting her lip.
In a slow drawl she says, “Maybe you can check out my body and tell me what you think would work.”
Her fingers trace across my skin. Her eyes make promises that the breasts she’s squeezing up against me are ready and willing to keep. Sucking breath through her teeth like a heated sigh. The testosterone should be flooding my body like poison now; I should be feeling a cold, hard lust just looking at this woman. I should be ready to slam her up against the locker, tear her clothes off with my teeth, to press my hard cock between those breasts, those lips, those thighs. About to do what I do best and enjoy most.
But I can’t.
A wave of guilt passes over me so thoroughly I can taste it, can feel it on my skin, and I feel dirty because of it. Suddenly repulsed, by her, by the idea of doing this. I try to fight it. It’s not like I’m married, I’m a free man, perfectly willing and capable of fucking anybody I like. Even as I try to tell myself that, though, I realize it’s not true.
I remember Ash, remember how she looked last night, how she felt dancing against me, and suddenly Riley doesn’t look so good. Those smoky eyes suddenly vacant and hollow when I remember how Ash’s sparkle. Those forward lips, those giant tits, all s
eem so tacky and unreal, an imitation of beauty, a desperate attempt to manufacture the natural allure Ash doesn’t even know she has.
I take her hand away from my chest and move her gently away from me, smiling almost apologetically.
“I’m flattered. Really. But no thanks,” I say, pulling on my fresh shirt and slamming my locker shut.
Riley eyes me curiously, as if she’s trying to understand if I’m just playing by different rules to her.
“Are you…taken?” she asks.
I heave my bag to my shoulder and shuffle aside past her, frowning as I think over the question myself.
“You know what? I think I might be.”
When I get home I dump my stuff and pull out my phone to stare at Ash’s number as I pace around the room, trying to shake these physical urges that course through my tired muscles.
I think about calling her, think about what I’d say. I wanna tell her how good she looked dancing like that last night, how she’s been dancing like that in my head all day, my body aching and itching with unfinished business. How I still taste her lips, feel her body, see her face whenever I close my eyes. My heart still thumping with the rush of blood I got having her so close.
Only I know I wouldn’t get to tell her all that. I know she’d only ask me once again why I left, wouldn’t let it slide for long enough to see how much I want her. Have always wanted her.
I toss the phone onto the couch and pull my shirt off as I make for the shower. Still irritable, emotions still on edge. I step out of my shorts and turn the water up until it scalds, stepping under the stream and letting the heat force all the other emotions from my body.
I push water through my hair, close my eyes and try to let my mind go blank.
Her ass in those tight leather pants, the feeling of her wet pussy in my hand, her hands pulling my chest on the bike, the sun shining on her sweat-soaked skin in Runyon Canyon, her mesmerizing smile when she saw me in the tattoo shop… Soon the images and sensations run through my mind, flooding over me like the water. My lust manifesting big and hard in my hand.
I roll back my mind to last night, back before the argument, back to us grinding against each other, to that low-cut top, the pressure of her ass against my cock. I fix and focus upon the memory intensely, as if I can somehow bring it back to reality by force of will. Stroking my cock to the rhythm of her dance, feeling the softness of her belly under my fingers once more. In my mind I push them deeper than I did, in my imagination I tease those pants down around her ankles, spreading her thighs to lap at her pussy with my tongue. Then I spin her around against the wall, cock unleashed, and thrust into her from behind, her hands pressed to the bricks as she begs me to fuck her.
I picture how she would look laid out in front of me like an altar, tits shaking with the force of my strokes. I imagine her moaning, what her face would look like when she’s losing control. Her mouth open to let the warm groans escape, eyes losing focus as I fuck all sense of reality from her. In my mind I kiss the glistening sweat from her body on the trail in Runyon Canyon, making her laugh that delicate laugh. I push her hand down into my pants as she rides behind me on the bike. Her cool, delicate fingers stroking as she whispers my name in my ear, tells me every single dirty thing she wants me to do to her, hard, fast, now.
It’s too much, the idea of her, the memory of her—the tightness in me becomes unbearable to hold any longer and I release it into the hot water. A jackhammer thudding deep inside, pushing this energy out of me, leaving me panting and exhausted as the water massages away the tightness of my body. My muscles relaxed, my mind a little clearer, but something inside still rolling and twisting, unfulfilled.
7
Ash
Lunch with Jenny is more like a refueling of our bodies with caffeine—the wraps and sandwiches just help the triple-espresso shots wrapped in sugar flavoring go down. When things are really bad we’ll head around the corner to the place with the cute waiters and replace caffeine with cosmos. Today’s not that bad—but we considered it.
As we ingest caffeine/alcohol, and just enough calories to keep hunger from tipping our stress levels into breakdown territory, we bitch—about Hollywood Night, about Candace, about Carlos (the vain, sleazy host)—about the industry at large, about the pointless tasks we’re given on a daily basis that stop us from doing our jobs. Like a couple of cynical aunts we tear into the lot of them, dismantling and exposing their idiocy like a couple of witches casting spells through insults, mean nicknames, and tutting eye-rolls. We say all the things we wouldn’t even dare think inside the office, nothing that annoys us going unpunished. It’s not pretty, and anyone overhearing us would think we’re the worst people in the world, but we know it’s just for us, just so that we can save ourselves the money and bother of the therapist’s couch or the confessional booth.
Today, though, Jenny is more interested in listening than venting, and my issues aren’t work-related. I give her the story of last night, dwelling longer than I probably should on how Teo looked when he picked me up, and getting a little embarrassed when I have to describe what we were doing in the crowd later on. It’s the argument that I really want to talk about though, and Jenny leans forward, wide eyes almost filling her thick-rimmed glasses, when I tell her about the confrontation.
“…and then I just walked away. Left him there in the alleyway. Got an Uber, came home, and watched trashy television to distract me from thinking about it until I went to sleep.”
Jenny says nothing for a second, her face frowning with thought.
“I don’t get it,” she says, as if I left something out. “He left town because you wouldn’t run away with him?”
“No. I mean, yes he asked me to run away with him a ton of times, but he was supposed to meet me at prom that night—we’d talked about it for weeks. Either he was trying to play some cruel trick on me, or he isn’t telling me something… I don’t know. I just know I’m done trying to get through to him, trying to get him to explain it.”
Jenny drains the last of her coffee and shakes her head empathetically.
“Well I can see why you’re so confused. You think maybe he had someone else? Maybe he was just overwhelmed by everything? Or maybe he…you know, didn’t actually love you like that?”
I look down at my half-eaten Mediterranean wrap and sigh—I’ve asked myself all those things and more way too many times to bother doing it with Jenny.
“Like I said: I don’t care anymore.”
“You sure about that?”
I look up at Jenny with a slightly shocked expression.
“I’m sure,” I say.
Jenny holds her palms up and looks aside in a ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ pose.
“I’m just saying, it sounded like you still cared when you were describing what a good kisser he was ten seconds ago.”
I stare at her with full incredulity now, but Jenny’s unfazed.
“You must have gone on a dozen first dates since I met you, and I never heard you talk about any of them with that kind of look.”
“What look?”
“There was a look—when you talked about him.”
“There was not a ‘look.’”
Jenny nods.
“If you didn’t even know you were doing it, then that says even more.”
I fold my arms and sit back to glare at her.
“You’re supposed to have my back on this, you know? Isn’t that the third rule of Bitch Club? No devil’s advocates?”
“I am on your side—that’s why I think maybe you shouldn’t cut him off so soon. You’re clearly attracted to him, and he’s clearly still into you. I know things didn’t end well between you, but you’re both different people now…”
“Jenny!” I almost shout. “Teo broke me so hard I almost swore off men for life. You think I can make myself forget all that just so I can…screw around with him?”
She shrugs apologetically. “Maybe screwing around with him will help you forget. At th
e very least it might put it all into perspective—he’s just a guy, he doesn’t define who you are or what you can do. Have wild, crazy sex with him, long enough to see his flaws and realize he’s not the perfect boyfriend who exists in your head, then you can move on. Or maybe not. Maybe you’re doing the right thing, running hard and fast from this and putting it all behind you for good. I just don’t want you to have any regrets if you miss this chance.”
I try to think of a comeback, something to dismiss the logic there, to avoid actually allowing Jenny’s idea to breathe, but my phone vibrates on the table and distracts me. I pick it up and open the text message.
BRING CASUAL CLOTHES TO DOUBLETREE HOTEL. NAMES MR & MRS BORGES. ROOM 37. NOW!!!!
Jenny must notice how I slump miserably in my chair because she asks, “What is it?”
I hold the phone toward her so she can read the message. She frowns for a second until the penny drops.
“Oh,” she says, looking up. “Candace still sneaking around with Carlos?”
I roll my eyes in disgust. “Did you think they’d stopped?”
Jenny frowns. “Isn’t Carlos’ wife pregnant?”
I nod my head gravely.
“Shit,” Jenny whispers. “How can they not have been caught by now?”
“Caught? It’s not like there’s anybody in the office who doesn’t know.”
“Yeah, but his wife doesn’t.”
I look at Jenny with the look of someone sharing something secret.
“She does.”
Jenny leans forward, knowing there’s more.
“About three or four months ago—when I heard she was pregnant—I couldn’t live with myself anymore, knowing that I was helping both of them cover it up. I sent her an anonymous email that told her everything.”
“She didn’t do anything?”
I shrug.
“I don’t think so. Just last week she visited him in the studio, all happy smiles and cheek kisses.”
“Wow. Makes you wonder how someone could just…not care.”
