by Shey Stahl
Surely we’d need to pace ourselves.
When we got outside, there was a steady mist but it felt nice. Almost relaxing, but still, not exactly what I had in mind.
Wrapping my arms around my waist, I pulled at my shirt that was clinging to my already sweaty body. Destry noticed immediately and gave me another look and watched me fidget with my clothing. He made me so nervous.
“Have you ever ran before?” He looked over his shoulder up the street when someone honked and called his name out their window, and then back at me.
“Well, yeah… ” I gave him a stupid look.
“I mean like five miles.”
“Oh yeah,” I waved my arms around, “when I was training for a marathon last month.”
Not even a smile. He never found my jokes funny. Not that I was trying to be funny, but Jesus, crack a smile every once in a while.
And then he said, “Yeah, sure you have,” rolling his eyes yet again.
I would love to throw a few punches to this guy. Maybe I could pound some laughs back into him.
Destry didn’t wait for me before he started walking up Alaskan Way and then began a slow jog. I watched his ass. I’m not sure why, but I did and it was nice.
He’s sexy. And he knows it.
And I sound like a rap song now. Or pop. Whatever. The point is Destry knew the appeal he held.
Between his ass and his muscles in his back, I wasn’t exactly jogging. When he was out of sight, I had no choice but to go after him.
It wasn’t bad at first. I did wonder if my own ass had bruises from all the shaking. It was awful. I would have to see what it looked like from behind.
Destry turned around about twenty feet ahead of me, jogging backwards. “Tallan?”
Call me crazy but I pretended I didn’t hear him so he would say my name again in that velvet smooth voice of his when it was somewhat winded. “Tallan?”
God. Damn. It was like what it would sound like if we were having sex. I bet, at least.
What? Why are you even thinking that? This guy is a total tool, don’t think that way around him.
“You coming?”
Not yet, boxer boy, but I bet you could get me there! Damn, why am I thinking this shit about this asshole?
I couldn’t actually speak at that point. I couldn’t even catch my breath let alone utter a monosyllabic response. I hoped we were heading past Harborview Medical Center because I would sneak inside and get some oxygen. Or pass out.
Destry slowed his pace more and waited. “Remember to breathe. Take slow even breaths.”
Slow even breaths. This wasn’t my first time having sex. This was much more intense.
We made it to what seemed like another ten miles when we ended up back at the bar. I had no idea what direction we went, where, or how long that had taken. I couldn’t think because all my blood was going to my legs.
“How far did we go?” I asked with my hands resting on my knees as I used the building to hold me up. I could feel my face on fire to the point where my sweat was actually cooling me off.
“Maybe a mile.” I stood and held my side like I’d been stabbed. I was sweating so bad my hair was falling in my face, muscles and lungs burning like each breath might be my last. “Well, shit.”
He laughed.
Destry.
Stone.
Laughed.
The smile was barely visible but then the sound and smile faded just as easily as it came. He lifted his dark gray t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his own face. My eyes immediately went to the visible tan skin that peeked its way out.
Holy mother. Look at that guy’s stomach!
He caught me looking but didn’t say anything. For a moment, there seemed to be an awkward silence between us and then he shrugged. “Make sure you stretch out your muscles before bed and drink plenty of water tonight and tomorrow.”
Then he left, no more words, nothing. He disappeared inside the bar while I went downstairs through the other door to retrieve my bag.
He was so weird.
On the way back to my apartment, I could barely walk. It hurt so bad.
I wanted to murder the person who decided it was a good idea to invent stairs. No seriously, fuck you stair inventor. That’s exactly what I would say to them.
An outside fighter or range fighter tries to maintain that gap between himself and his opponent, fighting with longer range punches. Outside fighters have to be fast on their feet, stepping in with a jab and stepping back out of range quickly to evade their opponent.
When I got home that night I wasn’t pleased. Not only could I not walk, but Destry was kind of a dick. And for the sake of my jiggly ass, I kept enduring the pain.
The door was unlocked and I wondered why Jared gave me such shit but he could leave it unlocked.
“How come you don’t lock it and I have to?” I asked knowing he was more than likely laying on the couch.
Yep. There he was drinking a beer. “Because I have a gun and you don’t.” Jared said holding up his gun on the coffee table in front of him. I was tempted to snatch the beer from him. What I would give for a beer right now.
His eyes were still on the television but when he did look at me, he laughed. I’m sure I looked like death, or something fairly similar.
“Wow.”
“Shut up. Don’t say anything to me unless it’s nice. I want coffee, I can’t move and I’m dying for some fucking sugar.”
Running his hands over his face, Jared sat up. “You can’t have sugar?”
“I shouldn’t, right?” I sat down beside him and then sniffed my armpits. It almost knocked me out. How Destry hadn’t said anything was beyond me. “I smell awful.”
“Yes, you do…” He scrunched his nose and scooted a foot away. “Usually you can’t have sugar when you’re dieting but I think you need some. Don’t cut it out completely.”
“No, I need to lose weight.” My words came out completely defeated. Much like I felt. “I’m staying away from it.”
Jared gave me that look. “Don’t starve yourself.”
“I know.” I changed the subject. No need to talk about my issues this late. “How was work?”
“It was all right.” Jared rolled his eyes. “I’ll be glad when I’m off patrol. I arrested some douche for beatin’ the crap out of a girl. He was nineteen and she was his sixteen-year-old girlfriend.”
“Whoa.” I looked over at him. “Heavy.”
“Yeah, dude’s got issues. I remember him back when I did my ride along in college. He’d just gotten out of child protective services and is now just stayin’ in the system.”
“Sounds like it.”
We sat there staring at the TV when Jared looked over at me, his head rolled to the side like he was exhausted. “So what’s the champ doing?”
“Ex-champ. And he’s a douche. I bet he’s BFF’s with that guy you arrested today.”
“Doubt that.”
“I wouldn’t. He’s got this ‘I’m angry and used’ attitude that makes me want to punch him myself. I don’t understand why he’s so bitter.”
“It sounds like he’s had a lot of people use him over the years.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Like who?”
“Danny said his girl did. Apparently he lost that fight to Ray Lucas and she left him right after he lost the fight.”
“That’s rough.” I still didn’t feel bad for him. No way. My body hurt too bad to have any sort of sympathy for anyone other than myself.
I definitely imagined Destry had a girl. Or had one. A guy that looked like him most certainly had girls when he wanted them. Those green eyes alone could bag him a chick if not for the dark lashes that seemed to give just the right shadows over them. Then there was the jaw line and rigid muscles. Oh yeah, he could most definitely get any woman he wanted.
Jared smiled and flicked my ear. The sore one. “Are you already having fantasies about Destry?”
Lie. Because you know damn well you are.
“Ugh!” I pushed myself up from the couch. “I am not.” I lied. “He’s such an asshole.”
I kept saying that but there’s no way I believed it entirely after hearing him laugh. There was a good side to Destry. Deep down there had to be.
Once again, that night I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts were going from Silas to Destry and back again.
Why was I doing this for one night?
Easy. Silas Cade.
I checked Twitter since that’s where I frequently stalked Silas once I found out he had Twitter. He didn’t update too often but he had posted a tweet three hours ago.
@SilasCade Less than 6 weeks and I’m headin’ home.
Feels good. Can’t wait to see familiar faces.
Was he talking about me?
He had to be.
My heart started pounding as a smile appeared. He was talking about me. I knew it.
He didn’t have Facebook other than a fan page which he never posted on but his bandmates sometimes did. So I couldn’t properly stalk him there. Or I would have.
Then, I typed in Destry Stone.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Not that I expected him to have Twitter or anything. Not surprisingly, he didn’t. But there was a ton of shit on there about him. Mostly gossip.
He was talked about even four months after that fight. For a good hour I sat there trolling through months of tweets that ragged on him. There were some that were on his side and spoke highly of him and his fighting style, which was said to be aggressive but with back-alley speed and patience that was unheard of for someone who was only twenty-four. Though he came out swinging, he’d measure his opponent. Study them.
There was nothing about Destry after the fight. He avoided the press and his only comment over and over was, “I want a fucking rematch.”
I clicked on a link where they talked to the guy he fought, Ray Lucas, and he said, “If he wants a rematch, I’ll give him one. He’s a respectable guy and lands a mean punch. He’s also hittable. Going into the fight everyone said I wouldn’t get a hit on him. I did. I knocked him out too. He’s not invincible.”
There wasn’t a lot of information surrounding the fight in December. After reading all that and how the public had harassed him and accused him of throwing the fight, I almost felt bad for him. Almost.
As I sat there reading, one thing was very evident. My body hurt, I was starving and I wanted to quit. So because of that I didn’t feel bad for him. Shockingly, the only thing keeping me from quitting at that point was Destry. Surprisingly. And not even in the sense that I liked him as Jared suspected. I most certainly didn’t.
I just didn’t want to hear I told you so from him. Call me stubborn but that was me.
In a way, having Destry around was a good thing whether I wanted to admit it or not.
The next morning, guess what? I couldn’t move again. It was becoming a tradition of sorts. Only problem was I felt like I still hadn’t recovered from the first work-out. And my left calf hurt so bad, like I’d pulled a muscle in it. I’d heard rumors that the second day after you start working out is the worst. I could testify to that fact. I only thought I couldn’t move yesterday…today, the shit was real.
So there I laid wishing death upon myself. Or maybe my own personal massage therapist who made house calls.
I bet Destry gives a good massage.
What the fuck is wrong with you? Lock that shit down, Tallan. Don’t even think like that.
My phone beeped so I twisted, which was a horrible idea. New levels of pain assaulted my already beaten body. Even my ears hurt this morning. Probably because Destry ripped out my hair last night when he so rudely removed my headphones.
It was a text from him telling me to meet him at the gym at eight tonight and drink plenty of water today. Even though it was Saturday, he said we needed to get in five full days each week which meant I could take Tuesdays and Wednesdays off. It really was starting to feel like boot camp. I was looking forward to Tuesday.
I got out of bed, okay, I rolled over to the edge of the bed and just fell into the floor. Thank you, Jesus, for inventing gravity because falling required no effort. I crawled out of my bedroom. Same difference. I made it to the kitchen, used the cabinets and counters to stand and retrieved a glass.
“Here’s to day three of my workout.” I said, filling a glass of water.
After that, I had no choice but to get dressed since I had to go see Lauren this morning, finish the edits for that article and then I needed to spend some time at the library doing research on solar energy.
Any time spent doing research flies by for me. I’m very much into research. While I was there I did what I probably shouldn’t have done.
I did some research on Destry. I couldn’t help myself.
What surprised me was what popped up on Google first. Stella Summers. The alleged girlfriend I met the other night.
Who names their daughter Stella? Obviously her parents were fans of A Streetcar Named Desire because what other reason would there be for burdening your child with that dated name. Did they not think that one through? Clearly not.
Unless they were setting her up to be a future stripper. That was an option—based on her appearance and demeanor—that held great potential.
January 2011 - TMZ
The situation for Destry Stone couldn’t get any more awkward than seeing your girl walk out during the fight you just lost with your opponent. During the fight the small town girl who captured the fighter’s attention two years ago was seen crossing her arms and looking the other direction as the fight unfolded, visibly upset at Stone’s performance.
It was the fifth round when Stone went down by way of a knockout and Summers walked.
A source close to the couple said the high-profile pair had apparently been on the rocks for the last year. Stone has made no public comment regarding their split and refused when asked to comment during a press conference held a week after the fight saying it was, “None of our fucking business.”
Okay, so it’s true. He’s unattached. Or maybe this wasn’t true and just something they printed. I knew not to completely trust everything I read online.
There were photographs of this Stella Summers and I had a feeling they didn’t do this girl justice. It was like the photos of Silas I would find. I knew the effect Silas had on me in person. And I also knew a photo couldn’t capture that.
It was nearly six that night by the time I left the library much like my time spent on trolling last night, it was a vortex of time I got sucked into and hours later re-emerged. I got home with enough time to grab some food, a piece of chicken Jared made last night and then I shoved some carrots in my mouth. Topped that off with a string cheese. Clearly I wasn’t eating that great. But I did drink plenty of water. And peed hopefully my weight in the water I was drinking.
Being a Saturday night, the bar was packed. Cars lined the gravel parking lot along with a handful of patrons sitting on their hoods smoking. When I walked past them, aroused whistles permeated the air but I kept walking with my head down. You don’t pay attention to that shit in Seattle. A woman walking alone towards a bar had bad idea written all over it. I certainly wasn’t dressed for a classy establishment such as this, hell, on second thought, maybe I was. After all, the entrance reeked of piss.
I walked into the bar and headed towards the basement stairs. In my own way, this was my walk of shame. I knew the pain and suffering I was going to endure and the thought of Destry and his rudeness towards me made this torturous event even less appealing. I learned from the last two days that Destry went out of his way to be rude. But he did smile at me last night. So what changed?
I walked down to the basement to await my torture, Destry was in the same spot he was last night, waiting for me against the wall. He looked a little different tonight. Angry yeah, but something seemed different. His mood was noticeably different. I was almost afraid to approach him. I thought I was dreading tonight but seei
ng his demeanor, I actually started shaking. Whatever was going on with him was going to be taken out on me tonight.
I stayed in my place, almost afraid to approach him. I looked down at him, not sure what to say. I knew I was a few minutes late but I don’t think my punctuality would cause this reaction. Something else was definitely going on. Maybe he had another visit from his ex and that has put him in a foul mood…yet, when I did briefly make eye contact, there was something more brimming just at the edges of his eyes. Sadness almost. He immediately looked back at his hands, almost like he didn’t want me seeing what was really going on. Nah, sadness couldn’t be it. This dude was as emotionless as the brick wall he was leaned up against. Whatever it was, I was scared…for me and my aching body.
He stood, his arms steadying himself against the brick wall. He stared at the ground as he spoke, but then slowly lifted his eyes to mine. There was so much emotion in them I was caught off guard. Until he spoke. “Nice of you to show up.”
He doesn’t waste any time does he?
“Can you just be pleasant for one day?”
Destry rolled his eyes as I watched him walk toward the mats on the basement floor.
Ten minutes later he had me doing sit-ups. I hate sit-ups. I understand what they do and the general idea but it doesn’t make my stomach muscles grateful, it just makes them pissed. And it hurt my neck.
“You’re not doing them right.” Destry said when he noticed me struggling. He seemed calmer when he spoke but still had that tense edge. “You’re supposed to lift your shoulders off the ground and keep your chin raised up. Don’t tuck it down to your chest.”
What he failed to understand was that my chin being tucked towards my chest was the only way I was getting my body off this mat towards my knees. Call my chin action the gas in my engine. Without this position, my body would stall and I’d lay on the mat like a wilted fat flower.
