by Knight, JJ
“Heck, yeah. The whole gym is shut down for it.”
Maybe that’s why I got the day off. “Is it here?” I ask.
I try to be nonchalant about the fact that I don’t know where the fight is. I overheard some discussion of it, but if the trainer or one of the sparring partners talked about the location with me around, they got silenced by Brittany.
Brent cocks his head in surprise. “I thought you would have known. It’s over at the Herd, some street-fighting club. Colt bought it out for the night. Only the privileged few get in.” He elbows me. “That includes us.”
Brent takes off across the gym like the matter is settled, and I’m going. But I’m not sure if Colt wants me there. He hasn’t asked me. And Brittany has definitely tried to avoid me knowing about it.
But now I wonder if I can sneak in. Thanks to Brent, I know where the match will be held. I’m not afraid of Brittany.
But Colt. If he doesn’t want me, maybe I shouldn’t go.
I pull out my phone and hold it in my hand. It’s so simple. Just send a quick message to Colt asking if I should come. I start to type it.
But I can’t hit send.
I don’t know what is happening between us. It’s something amazing, I know that. But I don’t understand how I fit into his life. Maybe I’m supposed to remain a secret. Maybe I will throw him off at the fight if I go.
I head out into the chilly evening and walk over to the cafe where Zero works. He’ll be off in half an hour. Maybe we can come up with some sort of plan.
I slide into a booth, realizing I can actually pay for a meal if I want to. I know my next paycheck will cover rent. I still have a little left from the last one. High cotton, my grandma would have called it. I think for a second about her necklace. If only I could have held on to it.
The place is pretty busy. By the time Zero can come by to talk, he’s almost off. “Need me to bring you something before I clock out?” he asks.
I shake my head. I’m trying to eat more like Colt does. I can’t afford the fancy supplements or personalized meals, but I get the general idea. Greasy cafe food isn’t on the menu.
When we walk outside, it’s fully dark. “So, still no alone time with fighter boy?” Zero asks.
“Nope.”
Zero puts on a pout. “Maybe this weekend?”
“Hopefully, if he wins the match.”
“So, are we going?” Zero’s face lights up with mischief. “I can whip up something devious to make us totally incognito.”
“Colt would have asked me if he wanted me.”
“Pshaw,” Zero says. “He doesn’t even have to know.”
“It’s a pretty secret gig,” I say.
“Jo Jo knows a way!” he says. “I can tell!”
We cross the street. We’re heading to his place, since his heat works better and he has cable. “Would it be too terrible to sneak in?” I ask.
Zero makes a little hop in the air. “Of course not! It’s proof of your undying devotion to get into his pants.”
I give him a light punch. “You’re terrible.”
Instead of watching movies, we make a plan. We use street view to examine all sides of the Herd. It’s two stories and used to be a factory.
“Tons of ways in,” Zero says. “You’ve got loading docks, a bazillion side doors.” He points at the brick wall. “There’s even outside fire escapes to the upper level.” He rubs his hands together. “It’s about time you got ME in a scrape instead of the other way around.”
So, the next night, we meet halfway between our apartments. I’ve gotten a slew of texts from Colt.
“Is he a total bundle of nerves?” Zero asks as he heads toward the Herd.
“Maybe. He wrote me more than usual.”
“Did you confess that you’re going?”
I shake my head. “Nope.” My nerves are strung tight, though. If Brittany sees me, she’ll throw me out. I could lose my job, again. And then there’s Colt. He could be disappointed. I could break the magic between us.
Now I’m nervous.
I stop walking. “I’ve changed my mind,” I say to Zero. “I can’t do it.”
He grabs my arm to keep me moving forward. “Yes, you can.”
“What if he hates me?”
“No man is going to hate a woman who dares defy the blonde bombshell to see him fight.” Zero turns me to him. “You can do this. I’ve never known you to run scared from anything.”
He’s got me there.
We can see the Herd from a couple blocks away. It’s taller than the buildings around it. A few homeless men huddle in the doorways. It’s cold for LA tonight.
“This part of town ain’t much better than ours,” Zero says.
A small crowd of guys jostle one another, spilling out over the curb. Zero and I look at each other, trying to decide whether to walk in the street or cut through them.
One of them looks at Zero and narrows his eyes. We’re both familiar with it, that stare that says, are you queer? We do what we always do, when danger trumps everything else. He clasps my hand in his and kisses my knuckles. I beam up at him like he’s my one great love. I’m probably a whole lot more convincing now than I used to be.
The guys part a little to let us through. We’re coming up on the Herd, so I slow down. Buster is in front of one door, bundled in a ski coat. I suddenly know exactly what to do.
I grab Zero’s arm and drag him around the corner before Buster spots us. I pull my scarf up over my nose and mouth so only my eyes show under my hat. “Okay, I have an idea.”
We walk a block away and approach the building from the second side. It’s the front facade, where most people are expected to arrive. There, two burly guys are standing by a girl with a clipboard.
She’s wearing a sweat suit that reads BRITTANY THE BOMBSHELL on the back. Must be someone on her team helping out. I’ve never seen her before.
Zero elbows me. “Now what?”
“Let’s try the loading dock.” It makes sense to me that the least likely way in would be the one they would stick the lowest-level employee on.
Sure enough, Brent is sitting on the edge of the dock staring at his phone.
We cross the parking lot. He sees us approach and stands up, puffing with importance. I lower the scarf. “Hey, Brent!” I call out.
“You came!” he says, all smiles since he isn’t going to have to do anything unpleasant.
“Yeah, my friend Zero here talked me into it.”
Brent clasps Zero’s hand. “I saw you talking to the Man the other day. You know Colt?”
“We go way back,” Zero says, and I try to hold back my laugh.
“You convinced Jo to come?”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Zero says. “Colt said to come in the back where everybody parked.”
Dang, he’s slick. I’ve totally underestimated him.
“Yeah, his dressing room is just inside, two doors down.” Brent pulls on the handle. “Might be doing some pre-match ritual or something, though. I’d check before going in.”
“How do you get to the ring?” I ask.
“It’s straight down. You can’t miss it,” Brent says.
I’m hoping to find a back way, some place we can go unseen. I don’t want to think about what will happen if we’re spotted by Brittany. Or Colt. My stomach turns over again. What if he sees me? Gets upset? Then loses?
I realize Brent is a liability. He knows I’m here. “Are you stuck out here the whole time?”
“Yeah, sucks,” he says.
I fake a lightness that I don’t feel and punch him in the arm. “I’m sure they knew you were the one to toss people out on their ass.”
He laughs. “Hell, yeah.”
The minute we pass through the door, I want to change my mind again. It’s a corridor, one straight shot. If anyone comes out of any room, we’re seen.
I hear the muffled sound of lots of voices. The hall ends at a set of swinging doors with circle windows. I can see a
blurry scene through them, people milling around. And one side of the cage.
“We can’t just go in there,” I say. “Everyone will see us.”
“We need to stick to a side wall,” Zero says. “That’s where the stairs usually are. In factories, the offices are always up above.”
There’s only one more door to the left. I open it carefully. Inside, extra chairs are stacked on metal carts.
Music begins, loud and pulsing, just on the other side of the wall. I go that direction and put my hands on a solid door. It thumps in time to the bass. “If we open it, we’ll be right in the arena,” I say.
Zero nods. “Let’s try the far door.”
I know the music means Colt and Throwdown are going to come out soon. My feet race to the last door. It sticks for a second, then opens to a stairway. I smile at Zero. Now we’ve got it.
Just like he predicted, the upper level is small, a set of offices overlooking the main floor. The actual rooms are locked tight, but the hall leading to them is lined with windows. We stay very still and close to the wall in case anyone looks up. But the flashing lights will surely hide us.
Down below, only a dozen people are scattered throughout the rows of chairs surrounding the cage. Three men sit at a table to one side. A ref in a black shirt twirls a whistle hanging around his neck.
Brittany is sitting next to another woman, gesturing madly as she talks. She keeps glancing up, as if she can sense my presence in the building.
I don’t know anybody else, but by the looks of the spectators, most of them are fighters.
The side we’re facing must be the front, as double-wide doors are propped open. The massive unbroken wall is blood red, with THE HERD painted in enormous black letters.
I hear a cheer that must mean the fighters are coming out.
I feel like I might faint.
Chapter 10
The roar of the small crowd grows as a black-haired man comes out in a white robe. He has some symbol stitched on the back. He raises his gloves in the air as the lights follow him down a red walkway to the door of the cage. An older man and a blonde in a shiny black crop top and shorts follow behind.
“Who’s the babe?” Zero asks.
I shrug. “I think they come standard.”
“Does Golden Boy have one?”
“I have no idea.” The only person I’ve met on Colt’s team is the trainer, who Colt refers to only as Killjoy.
“There he is!” Zero can barely contain himself as Colt comes out in bright blue sweats that read GUNNER in red letters.
I grip the frame of the window with tight fingers. Colt looks calm and focused. He hops a few times at the base of the stairs. Behind him are Killjoy and a teen boy carrying a box. No half-naked babe on his team.
Colt unzips his jacket and tosses it to the boy. His pants are the tear-away kind. I’m sweating like a fiend and have to take my scarf and hat off. His body gleams under the bright lights.
I’m so anxious I could throw up. I’ve seen him spar a little with a training partner who comes in each afternoon. They actually hit each other, protected with headgear and shin guards.
But this is going to be something totally different. Real hits. No protection.
Throwdown stands, his mouth wide, like he’s roaring. I can’t hear anything but the music and an occasional burst from the crowd. There’s no announcer like on the fights I watched online. It’s just them.
The ref stands in the middle. I stare at the tattoos across Colt’s naked back, and the company logos on his shorts. This is for real. I start breathing hard, and my jacket has to go.
“You okay, Jo?”
Maybe Colt knew not to invite me. Maybe he knew me better than I know myself. He did say that most fighters were single because it’s hard to watch someone you love get pummeled.
The ref backs away, and now the fighters are circling each other.
Don’t lose, I think, trying to beam my encouragement to him telepathically. Be strong.
For a while, there was nobody better than Colt. When they lined up that title fight, there were only a handful of fighters he hadn’t already beat.
I know he’s got it in him. I try to imagine letting some girl get in your way when you’re that tough, that good. But then I think of the days after my dad died, and I know there wouldn’t have been anything that could have put the fight back into me.
Throwdown makes the first jab. It’s a solid punch, but Colt acts like it didn’t even happen. I feel hopeful. Colt lands a couple kicks. Throwdown is similarly unfazed.
Colt goes on the attack, and his arms are a blur as he connects with Throwdown’s face, then knocks him sideways with a sweeping kick. I’m exhilarated, sure he’s going to dominate.
Throwdown backs away, then returns, and Colt pummels him again. Zero and I are trying to keep our enthusiasm in. We can’t jump around and get noticed by anyone who might look up.
Throwdown stands for a moment, feet wide, knees bent, and accepts some licks. When Colt rears back for a killer blow, I see it all in slow motion. I know what’s going to happen. In the moment that he shifts his weight, Throwdown makes his move. He charges Colt, knocking him off balance.
He lands right on Colt, his knee on his chest. The ref falls to the floor, watching close.
I have to close my eyes. At the gym, we have a special bag called the Bad Boy, not just for the brand, but for what you do to it. You’re supposed to kneel on the center, one leg outstretched, and one-two punch the hell out of the top section.
Only now, having just seen Throwdown in that position, do I realize that the Bad Boy is meant to resemble a person. That the top part is supposed to be someone’s face.
And now it’s Colt’s.
I open my eyes, and Throwdown is standing up. I can’t even see Colt’s nose or mouth for the blood. I sink to the floor, below the level of the windows. Zero sits down next to me.
“Did they call it?” I ask.
He nods.
The music pulses again. I desperately want to see Colt. But I’m not supposed to be here. Now I get why.
He knew he was going to lose.
Chapter 11
I pace my apartment. Zero sits on my sofa. We haven’t spoken a word since leaving the Herd.
I texted Colt once I got home, about an hour after the fight ended. I don’t know how long it will take to patch him up. Or if he’ll want to see me once they do. I just said, “Hope however the fight goes, the other guy looks better than Brittany did.”
My phone buzzes, and I lunge for it. Zero stands up. Nobody has my number but Colt.
Up for company?
I could cry, I’m so happy to see this. I quickly type out YES and push Zero toward the door.
I obsess over what to wear. After what happened in the gym that day, I know our having sex is the next logical step. And I want it. I’m ready.
But what do you put on when you plan to lose your virginity to a hot fighter who just lost his first match in months and may have a broken nose?
This is so crazy.
I settle for jeans and a white T-shirt, one I accidentally dried too hot and never wore again because it was too tight. I sort through all my stupid athletic bras. I can’t wear any of those. Why have I never bought a normal one?
I pull the white shirt on without any bra at all. A thrill zips through me. Yes, it’s the right thing to do. I check the mirror. My nipples are clearly outlined. It’s like saying, “Take me.”
My stomach flutters. I’m going to do this. And it’s going to be with Colt. Maybe it will help him somehow. God, maybe he’ll be devastated about the fight. Or mad. Or bitter.
How will I know what to do?
I pace the living room until I hear footsteps on the porch.
Colt forgets about the special knock, but I open the door anyway. I have to hold in everything I’m feeling when I see him.
He looks terrible. His nose is purple and swollen.
He holds up his hands. “Not exactly
Prince Charming anymore, am I?”
I swallow hard, remembering the frog necklace. My grandfather said something so similar to Grandma when he gave it to her. I feel comfort from it, like she approves.
I let him in. “Can I get you something?”
He sits on the sofa, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ice is good.”
I run to the kitchen and snatch up a ratty towel, wishing I’d washed it recently. I dump a whole tray of ice into it and roll it up.
When I get back, Colt is lying on the sofa.
“Does anything hurt?” I ask. I’m going to confess to being at the fight eventually. But not yet.
He takes the ice bundle and sets it on his face. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Don’t you have a medic or something?”
He nods. “You should have seen me before they fixed me up.”
I kneel on the floor beside him. “Can I help?”
He reaches his free hand out to touch the little hair knots on either side of my neck. “You already are.”
My skin erupts with shivers as his fingers stroke me. I lay my head on the soft weave of his sweater, threading one finger through a belt loop of his jeans. He smells of soap and just a little of some sort of antiseptic. I wonder if anything else on him is bandaged or hurt.
We sit that way a little while, his hand exploring my neck and shoulders. Then he sets the ice aside and watches me with his hazel eyes. The swelling is down, and in the low light, his face is how I remember. Chiseled. Intense. Godlike.
Despite all the blood at the fight, his mouth seems fine. I lean over and press my lips against his.
His breath catches, and I pull away. “Did I hurt you?” I ask.
He laughs in a low rumble. “No, no way. I’m just trying to maintain some control.”
I think I understand what he means. I want to move fast, to lie on top of him and feel his response to me. The whole week of seeing him working out but never getting close has strung me up tight.
“I could put the ice a little lower,” I offer.
He laughs and pulls me up by the hands to lie on top of him. I can barely breathe.
