Beautifully Dangerous

by Chelsea Kendall

  I guess everyone has their own way of dealing with loss. When my sister died, I was pretty much a zombie for the first two months. I think my parents took it better than I did. I guess they thought they had to keep it together for my sake, and I love them for that.

  I focus my attention back on Archer. He really is the perfect combination of power and grace; just like a cheetah on an African veldt. Anyone would be crazy to step into the ring with this new, energized Archer. As the one o’clock hour approaches, I expect him to take a break. But he just stops long enough to down a shake, and then it’s back to work.

  He’s working on the speed bag, and simultaneously dodging a barrage of punches to his head without even interrupting his timing on the bag. It’s harder than it looks. I tried it once back in his compound. He made it look so easy, that I had convinced myself I could do it too. I couldn’t. I could hit it one time, and then I couldn’t hit it again until it had stopped moving. Now, the guy’s doing triple clap pushups. When I ask what the purpose of that is, Mad Max explained.

  “At first, nobody can do the triple clap, without landing face-first on the mat. You start with 200 single clap pushups, and when you can do them with 3 claps in front of you, you switch to one clap behind your back and so on. What that does is build up your explosiveness in your punches you see." The old man pauses to catch his breath, "In order for you to do any behind the back clap pushups, you have to launch yourself up with your arms fast and high enough so you have time to do the claps without landing on your face.”

  Archer does 250 of them without stopping. The man’s an animal today. When he finishes those, he steps back into the ring with Koenig and the other man. As I stand there taping, I am suddenly aware of Mad Max standing next to me.

  “What is it you reckon we're looking at here?” he asks me.

  “Huh? What do you mean? We’re watching Archer train.”

  “Nope it’s more than just training, missy. It’s as if the man’s undergone a spiritual awakening,” he gives me this funny look.

  Now I’m pissed again. “Are you accusing me of sleeping with him again? I think you need to get your memory checked Max.”

  “Look at him. His brother’s not even buried yet, you spend one night with him, and he’s a new man.”

  I laugh. “Yeah he’s really wiping the floor with them. Maybe if his fiancée would come home he’d be like this, or even better. She’s coming for the funeral right?”

  “I really don’t know, and I hope not.”

  “What?”

  “She never did much for the maggot's confidence. In fact, if anything, she distracts him. You see, he fights better with her on another continent.”

  Interesting. My heart is beginning to pound in my chest. Could it be that things are not all perfect with the soon-to-be Mrs. Archer? “Yet they’re still getting married?”

  “Now, I didn’t say that girl. I merely suggested that you and she have entirely different effects on our boy Archer here. I don’t know what your—”

  A sudden thud on the mat puts an end to our conversation. I look over to the ring and see that Archer is picking himself up from the canvas.

  “What happened here?” I ask, bewildered.

  “You, happened here, Miss. He turned to look at you and I merely took advantage, as any fighter would,” Koenig replied.

  I look back to Archer and he shoots me a guilty smile. I don't think I'll ever get used to his smiles, the way they light up the room and give me guilty twinges where they’re not supposed to. But I certainly don’t want to be a distraction. I think maybe I’d better hang back and use more zoom. Especially during the fight on Saturday.

  The remainder of the day is just one long blur of semi-nude sweaty bodies and pounding flesh. When I’m back in my room doing a little editing, I feel like I’m watching soft core porn. There just needs to be a woman thrown into the mix and it would be complete.

  After watching for several hours, I notice that something has changed about Archer. He seems all too aware of my presence now, where before I may as well have been a fly on the wall for all the attention my presence rated. But now, when he looks at me, he makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the room. There’s a look in his eyes that wasn’t there before either. It’s…more personal. Intimate. Yes, that’s it.

  It’s intimate, like he’s taking liberties with me when he gives me those looks. If he wants to take liberties, he can do a hell of a lot more than just gaze at me with his sparkling baby blues. I freeze the frame for a minute. He’s sitting on a medicine ball he and Koenig have been tossing back and forth. There’s a fine sheen of sweat covering his body. His unruly black hair looks more like bedroom hair than workout hair; or maybe it’s just my current frame of mind that makes me think that way.

  I see his nostrils flare as he inhales during his breathing exercises. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It’s designed to slow your breathing down, slow your pounding heart and relax your mind and body. Its second nature to him, and he always breathes that way, not just after working out hard. He’s got this beautiful golden tan that has to be natural. No way does he have time to lay out in the sun, and he’s not near vain enough to fake bake. I wonder, not for the first time, if he’s got a little Latin or Mediterranean blood in him.

  He’s wearing a loose pair of knee-length black shorts that set off his brown legs beautifully, and I can only imagine what he’s got on under those shorts. Wait a second...I’ve seen what he wears underneath those shorts. I was super tired last night, but I remember he took his shorts off when my back was turned and was laying there in the semi dark with a pair of black briefs on. I remember how the silky fabric seemed to stretch out over his manhood, barely covering it. Oh my god, how could I have forgotten that? I wipe my hands on my jeans. I’m getting a little sweaty, here. Maybe I can zoom in for a closer look. Just as I’m about to leap across the thin line of professionalism, there’s a knock on my door. I look up at the clock; it’s nearing eleven.

  “Who is it?” I yell through the closed door.

  “Max, are ya decent?”

  “Just a sec.” I adjust my computer so that what I’m previewing is not a close up crotch shot, then open the door.

  “Sorry to bug you so late missy...”

  “No, it’s cool. I was just studying the shots and doing some editing.”

  “Good shit, because I want to bend your ear about Archer’s training today. Normally I would have this conversation with Andy, but...”

  “Hey, it’s cool. What’s up?”

  “I just want you to tell me what you think of today’s sessions. Andy usually kept track of all this stuff. He was kinda like our manager, you see. I know it’s a lot, but I—we were hoping you could fill that role at least temporarily little lady. We’ll find someone else next year of course, but it’s too late for that now. We need someone who knows Archer, someone we can trust, and that seems to be you.”

  “Wow, I am seriously flattered, but do you really think I’m the best person for the job?”

  “Look around you honey. Do you see anyone else who might be worth a damn?”

  He has a point. “Okay, for the remainder of the tour I’ll fill in, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “Roger that. You will be compensated of course, ya know, for the extra work and responsibilities. Andy took $105k plus all his room and board. But seeing as how we're halfway through the season...how does $60k sound to you?”

  Oh my god. I can’t believe they’re offering me that on top of an already generous salary.

  “Sure. How could I turn that down?”

  “I thought so, so back to my original question. What did you notice about today’s sessions that’s different from before?”

  That’s a loaded question. Everything is different. I spend the next forty-five minutes going over my observations in detail. Every so often, when needed, I show him a section from the video to illustrate my point. When we are finished, he sits back and clo
ses his eyes.

  “You are most observant, Ms. Vanderbilt, and I reckon the perfect fit for the job. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

  Now I have a question that has been burning in my mind ever since Andy was murdered. “Why isn’t Archer’s fiancée coming to the funeral?”

  Mad Max laughs before answering me. “I was wondering how long it would take ya to ask. Good of you to save it for last.”

  “So?”

  “She’s a cold woman Eva, and that has always been fine with Archer. He himself is rather cold and distant with just about everybody. But now that Archer seems to be undergoing some kind of awakening, I suspect that having a fiancée that is a cold fish, won't sit well with him for much longer.”

  I can feel myself getting excited. My heart’s hammering in my chest as I ask the next question. “What do you suppose brought on this change you speak of?”

  He gives me a long look before answering. “Do you really need to ask that, young lady?”

  “I guess not.” And that’s true. I guess I just wanted to hear it from someone else. “Will she come back, do you think?”

  “I reckon she’s already married to Sri Lanka. I don’t expect we'll see her back before the end of the tour. She usually comes back in December to watch the semi-final fights and the championship bout on Christmas Eve.”

  I can’t tell this to Mad Max, but my staying on for next year depends on whether Mrs. Archer will be staying on. I am just getting too vested in this whole...this whole thing, not to mention my feelings for Archer. If there is no chance for anything romantic between us, I’ll have to distance myself in order to recover.

  I give Max some canned speech about waiting and seeing how things turn out, and if my video contribution to the team is satisfactory or not, blah blah blah.

  He looks up at the clock. It’s nearly midnight. “I was going to check with Archer before turning in...but if you wanted to, I could really use the sleep.” He says.

  My heart quickens, and I can feel every one of my pulse points pounding beneath the surface of my skin. I have to fight to keep my breathing under control.

  Mad Max looks at me funny. “Uh...ya okay Missy?”

  “I’m fine...really, I’m fine. I’ll go check on him now, if we’re finished here.”

  “Go right on ahead, we’re quite done here, I need to get some shut eye.”

  I give him a quick hug and hurry out as fast as I can go without looking like I’m making a mad dash for Archer’s room, which is exactly what I’m doing. I can’t help myself. Two seconds later Archer’s opening the door with a surprised look on his face. He looks around me, expecting to see Mad Max trailing behind.

  “It’s just me,” I say in reply to his unspoken question. He turns and walks back over to his bed where he’d been lying on top of the covers. I can’t help but watch his ass as he struts over. I just wanna bite. He’s got some meat there. I don’t like a bony ass. This one, I could really sink my teeth into. He’s wearing these Lycra shorts and that’s it.

  When he finally lies back on the bed, I get another look at the package he’s carrying there. He shouldn’t be wearing things like that, not with his...his build. It’s pornographic! I walk over to a chair that’s sitting not far from the bed and angled towards the TV. I am just sitting down when he calls out to me.

  “Wait,” he’s patting the bed next to him with his hand.

  Do I dare? I don’t think I possess the same ability to resist temptation that I had yesterday. I am far too tired and way too turned on to not follow my instincts here. I kick off my shoes at the side of the bed. He’s rolled over on his stomach now.

  “Please, my back...do you mind?”

  He wants me to touch him. I get to sit on his beautiful ass, straddling him with my thighs. I get to run my hands all over his sexy muscles. Without thinking, I straddle him for a moment, then let myself sit down on his lower back while my hands explore his upper shoulders. If I thought my videos of him were stimulating, sitting on his muscular back and running my hands over him is just about orgasmic.

  And then, when I really start digging into his muscles, he begins to moan with pleasure. Without even realizing it, I am rocking my hips back and forth on his ass. I hadn’t even realized I had slid down that far. As I dig my hands into his back, trills of pleasure shoot through my body. He begins to turn over. I raise up on my knees so he can turn without knocking me off the side of the bed in the process.

  What is he up to now? I guess he wants his chest massaged. I place the flat of my hands on his pecs, but he takes my hands in his and pulls me down to his chest. I gasp as my chest makes contact with his, and my face stops inches from his own. I can smell his minty breath on my face and I don’t dare look into his eyes for fear of losing all self control.

  “Look,” he says softly. Against my better judgment, I look into his eyes. I am lost to his power. In that moment I am his, and he knows it. But he doesn’t press the advantage. He whispers so softly I almost don’t hear.

  “May I kiss you?” He asks.

  His lips are soft and full. As our lips press together, I can feel his breath flowing out. I have to stop. How can I have any kind of meaningful relationship with a man who I know nothing about? I feel like I’m dealing with someone who doesn’t speak my language, and I am forever relying on an interpreter. I can’t live like that. It’s one thing for a professional relationship, but for a romantic one?

  Secretly I hate myself for being practical. Why can’t I just lose myself in the moment and go with it? Then an unwanted thought pops into my mind: his fiancée. He senses me pulling away from him even before I can move.

  “What?” he asks.

  I look at him for a moment, not sure I want to get into this. “I’m sorry Archer—”

  “Bobby,” he interrupts.

  “Archer,” I assert. “How can I be involved with a man who doesn’t speak? And what about your future wife? Fiancée, whatever she is to you? As long as she’s still in your heart, you can’t be in mine. I’m sorry...”

  I get up to go, hating myself for it. I let myself out of the room, wondering if I have just ruined everything, my job, a shit load of money, and chance for a relationship with the sexiest man alive.

  Chapter Nine

  The Dead Awakes

  As a day that started out with a funeral, I don’t have a lot of hope for Sunday. Archer has three fights today, and all three are going to be challenging, especially since Archer has lost some of the spring in his step since Friday night. Sadly, I think I'm the reason.

  If he doesn’t hurry up and get it back, he may be looking at his third, fourth, and fifth losses. That’ll be the end of his tour. A lot is riding on tonight’s fights, and I am sure he’s aware of it. But his head is just not in the game. Somehow, he’s going to have to file his brother’s death away in a separate compartment of his mind to be opened and examined later when he doesn’t have so much riding on his shoulders.

  The moment the first fight begins, my heart sinks. The man I saw training Friday has been tragically replaced by a hopeless drone. Archer’s stomping around the ring, flat footed, and his knees aren’t even bent. His normal contingent of female worshipers are here in force tonight, but they have been all but silenced as they watch their man get his ass kicked.

  Tonight’s first opponent is definitely picking Archer’s bones clean. Unless Archer can knock the guy out, he’s gonna lose next round by decision. That’s assuming Archer doesn’t get knocked out in the next 3 and a half minutes, that is. I have to do something. I feel like this is all because I refused to sleep with him. Why are men so simple, and easily manipulated? I gotta go say something to him soon as the bell ends the round.

  I work my way over to his corner and Mad Max gives me a funny look. “What’s up?” he asks.

  “I think I know what the problem is,” I say.

  “Be my guest little lady. We need to do something or it’s all over in three minutes. What ya got?”


  “Sorry, but it’s between me and Archer.”

  The crowd roars, and I hear a sickening thud as Archer hits the canvas, his head just inches from where I’m kneeling. His opponent already thinks he’s won, and instead of finishing Archer off he’s climbed halfway up the 12 foot cage walls and is posing for his fans.

  The ref slaps his hand on the canvas. “One...two...”

  “Archer!” I scream at the top of my lungs. To my amazement he opens his eyes.

  Slap. “Three!”

  “Archer, you gotta get up! You can beat this guy. Every time he comes in for the attack, he drops his left hand down below his head right after his first combination of a right kick and two punches.”

  Slap. “Four...” Slap. “Five...”

  I’m screaming even louder. “All you gotta do is lift your right knee to block the kick and keep your head on your shoulders for the two following punches. Then step in right at a 45 degree angle and give him a right hook. His guard will be down.”

  Slap. “Six…Seven…”

  Archer finally says something. “I can’t see.”

  My whole world lurches to a stop. The screaming fans fade away like they weren’t even there before now. My vision narrows and the only thing I can see is my man lying there helpless on the mat, blind.

  Slap. “Eight…”

  I slip my arm out and slide it under the 4 inch gap between the mat and the cage railing. My fingers find his wet black hair.

  Slap. “Nine...” Slap. “Ten...It’s over!”

  Mad Max and the doctor run across the mat to our fallen warrior, wondering like everyone else what the hell is going on. They escort him out of the ring as the fans scream a new name.

  Since it was a technical knock-out, Archer gets to wait while another fighter takes to the ring to go against the winner. I hurry back to Archer’s locker room. I cannot believe this is happening. He can’t be permanently blind. I mean, it has to be a concussion or something temporary like that.

  Archer is sitting up on the examination table and standing with him are his doctor and Mad Max. As I approach, his doctor addresses me.