by Lory Wendy
I release my hand from his and point my finger at his chest. “I think we’re operating under a misconception here. No one said anything about falling for you, and more importantly, what about me makes you think I’m a good girl?”
“Everything.”
Trailing my finger down his chest, past his stomach, then to his belt, I pull on the buckle until we’re flush against each other. “I think we both know I’m not.”
“No? So, what kind of girl are you then?” His eyebrow goes up, jaw tenses. Before I can register the movement, his hand is on the back of my neck and the other gripping my hip.
It’s an almost scary action. My heart is in my throat, but I do my best to regulate my breathing. The sparkle in his eyes from before is gone—now ignited into searing flame.
“Whatever kind of girl you want me to be.” I smile and lean closer. “I’m not stupid you know. Or as naïve as you’re making me out to be. I know what you want.”
“Is that so?” he whispers against my ear, the feeling of his harsh breath and tone making me shiver. “If that’s all you’re about, then how come you haven’t sucked me off yet?”
“Excuse you?” My hand drops from his belt, and I jump back to put space between us.
“Exactly.” He adjusts his tie, pinning me in place with the same burning stare. “I thought I told you to stop that tough-girl shit with me. I don’t like it.” He climbs into his car and slides down his window. “The next fight is the day after tomorrow, and if you want to go, be ready by seven.”
He drives off without a backward glance, leaving me standing on my driveway confused and seething long after he’s gone.
This is the Julian I don’t like, the one who goes from zero to a hundred—silly to seething—with no warning and no sense as to why.
I spend the rest of the night decidedly not going to any stupid fight with any stupid assholes and turn off my phone to mope around in peace.
The entire next day, I’m even more livid and, for a fleeting moment, wonder if all of this is worth it. If me and Julian will ever be able to just… chill without the back and forth riling us both up, then tearing down whatever little friendship we seem to have building—or whatever you want to call what we’re doing.
But by two in the afternoon on the day of the fight, I’m not mad anymore—just anxious and determined to get answers. By four, I’m pacing. By six, I’m in the shower, scrubbing the shit out of my scalp and trying my best not to slice my leg in half shaving.
At seven on the dot, just as he promised, my doorbell rings.
I open the door slowly, trying to prolong the inevitable awkwardness.
But Julian isn’t the one staring back at me.
Chapter Sixteen
“Miss Monroe.” The guy, who I recognize from the night he drove us home after my car wouldn’t start, tips his head my way.
“Hi!”
A big part of me is disappointed he’s at my door and not Julian, while another part of me is thankful and relieved. I need a little more time to compose myself and figure out what I’m going to say when I see him. This back and forth stuff was fun at first, but clearly, he can’t take a damn joke, and I’m not sure I have the energy for the backlash anymore either.
On our way, I stare out the window, trying to get lost in my surroundings instead of lost in my own thoughts. I recognize where we are when I see the hanging lights of Larimer Square, but when we cross over Larimer Street and Broadway, it all starts becoming foreign to me.
Tall skyscraper-like office buildings give way to brick-like warehouses and small plazas. The city feel of one side blends into rows of small houses and abandoned stores with both magnificent art and amateur graffiti on the sides.
I smile as we pass one piece that sticks out to me the most, a mural of a lady with blue hair and birds flying from it. I have no idea what it means or symbolizes, but it doesn’t look out of place like some of the others.
“I wonder what used to be there,” I say out loud about the seemingly abandoned building, but the quiet in the car completely jars me back to the moment.
For a second, I forgot.
Forgot I was alone in the backseat of a private car and on my way to go see one of my friends beat the shit out of some guy, or possibly get pummeled in return.
Forgot that me and Julian left things awkwardly. That he didn’t come get me but sent for me instead.
When we come to a stop in front of another typical, obscure, unassuming brick building, I look around some more. I don’t know exactly where we are, and I can’t spot an address.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“I’ve already let Mr. Caine know we’ve arrived,” the driver says, pointing to a set of double doors. His pale, outstretched hand still hangs in the air, ignored by my own.
“Mr. who?”
“Mr. Caine, ma’am,” he repeats, voice flat yet patient.
“Caine? Is that Julian’s last name?” Of course it is—it has to be, who else would he be talking about? Stop stalling.
“Ma’am?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, right. Give me a second, please.” I scramble through my clutch in search for my small mirror. My reflection stares back at me, unsure and excited. As for my makeup… I shrug at myself. That’s as good as it’s gonna get tonight.
The cement sidewalk feels like quicksand under my feet. Each step is a struggle. The door is a few feet away, but with Julian’s voice ringing in my head, each movement is with purpose and a slow bit of doubt. Three months. That’s it. I’ve known this guy for three months. Am I ready to walk through this one-way door he talked about? I must be. I’m here.
The door swings open before I can reach the handle, effectively making my decision for me. Ready or not, I’m walking through.
Unsure and almost unwelcoming hazel eyes greet me. “Hey,” Julian says quietly, yet still above a whisper.
My response is a short nod. The coldness of the greeting annoys and angers me all at once and cuts off my ability to find my voice. Behind him, in the small corridor we’re standing in, are another set of steel double doors. I stare at them with an odd sense of anticipation, but nothing happens.
“Should we go in?” I point behind him.
“No. We need to talk.”
We sure do, but not now. “Can we not? I just want to go see Quincy.”
“Oh, you won’t actually be seeing him tonight.”
Then what the fuck am I doing here?
“Relax. I didn’t say Quincy wasn’t here, just that you weren’t going to be seeing him.”
“Can you, for once, not speak in riddles, please?”
His head tilts to the side, and I watch as his eyes narrow and jaw tenses. He takes a moment and inhales a breath. “The entertainment doesn’t mix or mingle with the crowd before or after the fights. It’s not done.”
“And not safe,” I say, finishing what I see he’s afraid to say.
“Exactly. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
I’m not even touching that one right now, but I’ll for sure be asking more about it later.
Silence hangs heavy in the air. It’s super awkward and uncomfortable and needs to end—like now.
“Can we just go in?” I walk around him, but hands grip my upper arm, pivoting me quickly to face him. It’s almost too tight to be considered comfortable, but not tight enough to scare me, especially when I see a vulnerable and desperate look in his eyes.
“If you’re still upset with me about the things I said the other day, I’m sorry.”
Here we go again. “So you’re only sorry if I’m upset?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not at all sorry for calling me a whore?”
He drops his hand, freeing my arm, and takes a step back. “I came out and actually called you that?”
“Don’t even try it. It was implied.”
“And what was implied by the way you were acting?”
“God, can you be any more of an ass?”
&nb
sp; “Yes.”
I laugh despite myself, hearing the sarcastic edge to it. It’s near impossible to stay mad at someone who just doesn’t seem to know how to be anything but brutally honest. And though he’s not at all forgiven, I see no point in arguing about this. “I’m over this conversation and with hanging out in this little room. Can we please go in now?”
“Yes, but do me a favor, be easy in there.”
I breathe out an annoyed huff. Jesus fuck, didn’t I just say he needs to stop speaking in riddles?
“I’m not the biggest asshole here tonight,” he says, pointing behind me. “There’s plenty of dickheads in there, looking for some ass, who won’t give a shit about your feelings. Don’t walk around laughing and flirting and—”
“Acting like a whore. Yeah, I got it, thanks.”
“Don’t.” He pinches my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Drop the fucking attitude and do not act like that inside. Don’t embarrass me, and do not piss me off. I’m in no mood.”
I yank my chin away but don’t comment. Dozens of “fuck yous” and “kiss my asses” hang heavy on my tongue, but they don’t come out. A door opening and closing somewhere in the distance and the dull roar of voices shift the mood and reality of the situation.
“Let’s go,” Julian says.
I nod, following behind him.
Once through the other set of steel doors, the sound I heard from the corridor is amplified to a damn near deafening ring. Down a short flight of stairs, it’s near unbearable. I lean against Julian, my bravado gone. I’m out of my element, out of place. I want to cover my ears at the onslaught of noise—unable to decipher through all the cussing and screaming, laughing and cheers. The air is cold yet sticky, and the smell is a mix of sweat and hard liquor.
“Are you okay?” Julian’s voice is a welcome distraction, and he wraps his arm low around my waist to guide me forward.
I’m not sure, to be honest, so I say nothing. As usual, I don’t know what I expected, but this wouldn’t have been it. There’s a boxing ring in the middle of the room. Which, okay, maybe I expected that part. A mix of folding chairs and couches. A few bars. Some security guards. A lot of things look mismatched but fit at the same time.
“You didn’t tell me how the ride over was,” Julian speaks in my ear.
“It was fine.”
“Do you know where you are?”
I shake my head, looking around. I think I hear him say “good,” but I don’t press it. People turn to look at us as we walk through the room. Some openly stare, others glare, but only a few seem uninterested.
“Do you know everyone here?” I ask, thinking back to his comments in my driveway and wondering what exactly his involvement in all of this is.
“No.” He pulls me tighter to his side. “But they all know me.”
“In a good way or bad?”
“Depends who you ask.”
Right.
Smoothly, and with his arm still around my waist, he maneuvers us to the opposite side of where we came in, stopping by a set of couches.
“Stay put.” He drops a kiss on my cheek, adding a mumbled, “Please.”
Where we’re standing allows me to take everyone in. Old to young, white and black, there’s an interesting cast of characters here tonight and not one face I recognize.
“Selena!”
There’s surprise yet excitement behind the voice I know more than anyone’s. It can’t be who I think it is though. Searching, searching, searching, I stop when I see a poof of blonde hair making its approach.
“Selena!”
“Blaire? What are you doing here?”
“Oh my God.” She tackles me into a hug. “It is you. Wow… you look—damn!” She grabs my hand and spins me around.
“Why, thank you.” I half twirl. “Hope picked this out.” I hadn’t been sure what to wear tonight, but I’d figured if there were ever a time to wear something that I typically wouldn’t, it would be to a place I wouldn’t typically go.
“You’re so pretty, and I miss you so, so much.”
I laugh, all our fighting and tension forgotten for the moment. “Are you drunk?” It’s not a real question because I already know the answer. Her breath smells ripe.
“I’m sorry,” she provides as an answer instead and lands a loud, wet kiss on my cheek.
To my right, a guy old enough to be someone’s great-grandfather gawks at us.
“Back off, perv.” Blaire’s eye twitches. “Nothing to see here, man. This is my sister.” Looking back at me, she throws her arm around me. Another kiss. Then a pout. “My beautiful, baby sister who deserves so much more than I’ve given her lately. Forgive me? Please? I’m so, so sorry for everything.”
I’m thrown by the severity of her apology. “Are you okay?” I ask, but in my heart, I want to ask: what are you really apologizing for?
Then she burps in my face, reminding me she’s high and deliriously pumped full of liquid courage. I hope that’s all she’s on, but her eyes tell a different story.
“Come on.” I grab her hand and weave us through to the other side of the crowd. Along the way, we literally bump into a couple of people. Some take my apology for what it is while a few others look as though they could murder me for bumping into their Armani.
“This seems kind of intense,” I say, gauging Blaire’s reaction and hoping for an easy conversation. “Did you just get here?”
“No, we’ve been here forever. Crazy right?” She looks around, eyes wide as if taking it all in for the first time. “I should probably get back to Rocky. He’s been acting weird all day. I don’t want to worry him any more than he already is over this fight.”
Pausing, I take a long look at my sister. Her hair is teased, makeup heavy, and her short, tight, dress is almost non-existent. In her own skewed way, she looks every bit the type of girl who I imagine would hang out in this type of place. I wonder for a moment just how much she knows.
“What’s so special about this fight?” I ask. “Julian invited me, but he didn’t say much. I mean, I know Quincy’s fighting, but…” I shrug and avoid eye contact. Play it cool. Play it cool.
Sober Blaire would be able to see through my fake nonchalance with ease, but drunk—and possibly high—Blaire takes the bait. “I think it’s because of the bets.” She leans in and whispers, “Rocky let it slip the stakes for this fight are pretty high tonight. Most are in Quincy’s favor, so I think he’s just feeling pressure, ya know? It’s different than when people just pay a cover at the door.”
“Oh, I bet,” I agreed.
“I did, too!” Her mouth opens in a silent scream, completely misunderstanding what I said.
Torn between wanting to dig for more and relishing in our temporary state of bliss, I fling my arm around Blaire’s shoulder and pop a kiss on her cheek. For the moment, the subject stays dropped.
“Well hello,” another familiar voice says.
“Terrence, what are you doing here?” I’m both shocked and excited to see someone else I know.
“Oh, you know.” He points to the bottles behind him. “Serving drinks and not asking questions.”
“Smart.”
“Or very stupid, depending on who you ask. So, what can I get you, ladies?”
I glance at Blaire then back at him. “Two waters. Maybe some orange juice?”
“And a shot of…” Julian leans over the bar, coming out of nowhere, and cuts me off from the rest of his order. Terrence seems to blanch before scurrying away to the other side of the bar.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay put?” Julian looks at me, the aggravation written all over his face.
“She needed water.” I wave at Blaire who further makes my point by swaying against my side, slurring random shit under her breath.
The hard set of Julian’s stare doesn’t soften when he sees my sister’s predicament, but his voice mellows out. “She all right?”
“Yeah, just wasted.”
“I can see that.” He leans
past me to tap her hand. “Hey, Rocky’s looking for you. Let’s take you back to see him.”
“Fuck Rocky, he’s an asshole. Fuck you too, by the way!”
Julian lets out a laugh so loud and real, I shrink back at being left out of the joke. He’s laughing, but had I said that shit, I’m sure it would have started another argument.
“Water and OJ.” Terrence slides both drinks to me with a look on his face I haven’t seen from anyone in a long time. Pity.
“What—”
“Come on.” Julian taps Blaire’s shoulder. “Shit’s about to get started and Rocky wants you with him.”
Reluctantly, she lets Julian lead her away by her arm, glaring at the side of his head the entire time.
“I can’t come back with you guys?” I pout.
“No, just stay here, and I’ll be right back,” he commands a little softer this time, bringing me back to the same section he had asked me to stay at the first time.
He’s back before I can feel awkward just standing in one place and leads me off to another section right up against the makeshift boxing ring. “Your sister’s hilarious,” he whispers in my ear.
“If you say so.” We sit.
“Relax.” Julian squeezes my knee and leaves his hand there, effectively doing the opposite of helping me relax.
I lean into his side and take a deep breath. Glancing over to my right, I notice three girls staring our way. They quickly divert their attention elsewhere when I glare at them.
“What’s wrong?” Julian pulls my attention back to him.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, then at his cocked eyebrow admit, “People have staring problems tonight. I don’t like it.”
“Well, can you blame them? You look absolutely gorgeous tonight. I love the red.”
