Crazy Baby

by A. D. Justice

  Just lie with me and make me believe

  You want to be here with me

  Just lie with me and take me away

  Only your touch can make it okay

  You turn to me and smile

  I know what you’re thinking

  And it melts me inside

  My resolve is sinking

  Baby, just for tonight

  Let’s just lie.

  I don’t want to fight this

  You’re the only one I need

  Your love is such sweet bliss

  So just come lie with me

  Baby, just for tonight

  Let’s just lie.

  This doesn’t have to end

  Lock the door behind you

  I can’t be just your friend

  You know you feel it too

  Just lie with me and make me believe

  You want to be here with me

  Just lie with me and take me away

  Only your touch can make it okay

  At the end of the song, I can’t stop myself. My hand reaches for her. My fingers thread through her thick, blond hair. The pink streaks flow through my fingers like silk until my hand cups the back of her head. Leaning my face in close to hers, I stop just shy of her lips and stare intently into her eyes as the music fades away.

  The roar of the crowd is louder than an earthquake. It echoes off the walls and resounds throughout the arena, while Andi and I stand motionless in the spotlight. Flashes are going off from every direction as cell phones capture this very intimate moment between us. But I don’t care about that. It’s written all over my face, but I want it to show. It’s screaming from every cell in my body, and I want her to hear it.

  I am head over heels in love with this beautiful lady.

  The professional in me suddenly remembers that we’re standing in front of over eighteen thousand paying customers. As nonchalantly as possible, I speak into the microphone without moving out of my current position. “It sounds like you may have enjoyed that song at least a little. Am I right?”

  The resulting answer from our fans is an unmistakable, resounding yes. Their enthusiastic reply makes me chuckle, and I consciously force my hand to release the death grip I have on Andi. The music starts for the second duet, and we go straight into it. It’s more of an upbeat, sexy song, so we dance, engage the audience, and have a lot of fun with it.

  “Let’s hear another round of applause for Andi Morgan!” I tell the crowd and they comply.

  Andi does a cute little bow, smiles widely, and waves to the audience. Sound Bar does one last song before we say good night to the crowd and leave the stage. Our performance has been spot-on tonight. The audience has been incredible. The energy level of the whole entourage is on a permanent level ten.

  But I keep hearing two words repeated in my head.

  Dirty dancing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LUKE

  Two weeks since the last time I saw Andi. My days and nights have been completely scheduled for me from the time I leave the hotel room until I go to bed at night. Mack and Joe take over my day before daylight even breaks. Doing my five-mile run before breakfast keeps my metabolism high all day. Once I hit the gym doors, the rest of my day is spent doing a variety of calisthenics, weights, and sparring.

  Since Lindsey Blair became a national treasure from covering Andi’s foster home story, Travis Malone’s abuse as a child, and the exposé of a prominent politician, she’s branching out into bigger and better things. Her reach has grown considerably, and she apparently gets what she wants. As expected, the commission sent a public relations person to coordinate our press schedules since Lindsey was so adamant about having access to us.

  Syndi Roberson is now my very own media liaison. She coordinates my schedule for interviews, photo shoots, promotional ads, magazine articles, and any sponsors I pick up. She is the polar opposite of Andi. Syndi is tall, direct, and what I call a high-maintenance woman. She hates coming in the gym to talk to me because of all the “men who smell like rancid sweaty-ass and ball sacs deep fried in a corn-chip tortilla.” Besides the smell, she can’t stand to see or hear the guys spitting into a bucket, blood from a busted nose, or the grunts from lifting heavy weights.

  I guess she drew the short stick in the office when she got this assignment. She looks like the office-type girl anyway. Even when she’s forced to come into the gym, she’s in her three-inch heels, her short, tight skirts, and stylish blouses that are definitely dry clean only. Nothing as common as a washable garment is good enough for her. Her hair and makeup are always meticulously done, along with her long, manicured nails.

  Everything about her makes me miss Andi even more.

  “Luke,” she calls to me from the gym door. We go through this every time even though I’ve explained that I can’t just leave my workout to be at her beck and call. So I ignore her again today, and she’s forced to come to me.

  “Lucas,” she says more forcefully. It almost makes me laugh during the upward motion of my bench press.

  “What, Syndi?” I grunt, purposely.

  She cringes visibly and closes her eyes in exasperation. “I need a little of your time today to review your upcoming schedule. Lindsey has really been blasting your name across the airwaves, and there’s a lot of interest in your career. We need to ride the popularity wave while it’s peaking.”

  “I’ve told you what time I’m available. You should have it in your calendar on the phone you’re constantly looking at,” I reply.

  “What are you doing back in here? I’ve told you to quit interrupting my fighters while they’re training! Time for you to go,” Joe commands.

  His tone leaves no room for discussion. Syndi inhales slowly and deeply before she turns on her heel and marches to the door. “Meet me at two o’clock, Luke,” she calls over her shoulder.

  Looking up at Joe, I smirk. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “I could tell,” Joe laughs and walks back to where Shane is.

  “Man, that girl is relentless. I think she gets paid by the picture or something. She always has me posing like a model instead of a fighter,” Shane complains.

  “She’s just doing her job, man. Even if she’s way too anal about it,” I reply.

  “Easy for you to say. She likes you. She gives me shit every single day,” Shane laughs.

  “You’re just not as good as I am,” I joke.

  A dirty towel is flung in my face during my bench-press set, and I can’t move my hand to grab it. The gym erupts in laughter when I threaten Shane from underneath it. “Shane, I’m kicking your ass as soon as I get up from here.”

  The good-natured ribbing keeps us all going when the workouts get mind-numbingly intense. I’m actually glad that we have a public relations person assigned to us. Preparation is definitely key, but there is a business side to this that I never really considered. To stay in the game, I have to be good, but I also need to have the public on my side. They have to know who I am, what I’m about, and what I can bring. Syndi makes sure they see my best side at all times—and that’s no small feat with me.

  I’ve been known to be a jealous, impulsive hothead in the past. That’s actually a fair description. I would’ve been one again a couple of weeks ago had Syndi not calmed me down. During our daily meeting, the TV was on and I was absently listening to it while she droned on and on about an upcoming photo shoot.

  When Andi and Travis flashed on the screen, I shushed her so I could hear what they were saying. After missing Andi’s first real concert, I’d been waiting to hear anything about it. Sound Bar and Travis Malone are always in the news. But with their extensive tour underway, I knew they’d be covered even more.

  The picture that was frozen on my flat screen was enough to turn me into one of those raging infernos that utterly destroy hotel rooms. Travis was gazing deeply into Andi’s eyes. His hand was behind her head, like he was pulling her in for an intimate kiss. Her gaze was fixed on his and her mouth wa
s slightly open, like she was getting ready to accept his kiss.

  I fucking blew a gasket.

  Syndi convinced me to calm down because it was most likely staged to look like that just for publicity. She said she would do the same if she thought it would help me. The rock and roll lifestyle is all about sex and love, she said. Just listen to the lyrics, she advised. It’s to play up to the audience and get them to buy the song. They’re buying a piece of true love and everlasting happiness. Or so they’re made to think.

  When she pointed out that Andi’s microphone was barely visible in the picture, I realized she was probably right. They were singing one of the duets Andi told me about. I still felt that Travis had crossed the line, but Syndi was adamant that it was all very innocent.

  It took a while to calm down, but I had to admit that Andi had been diligent in calling me every morning. It’s hard to lie about where you are and whom you’re with when you’re on FaceTime. There may have been one or two times that I called her at an odd time, when I knew she’d be asleep, but she never failed to answer my call. Feeling like an ass for doubting her, I put that picture out of my mind.

  “Luke, finish that set and take a break. You’re up in the ring in an hour,” Joe tells me.

  “Yes, sir,” I answer.

  Grabbing my water jug, I refill it and rehydrate before I have to hit the ring. Joe has a room off the side of the locker room just for relaxing after a hard workout. It’s plain, with just a lounge chair, a side table, a lamp, and fitness magazines. Taking a load off, I prop my feet up and put my earbuds in to listen to my tunes for a few minutes.

  I’ll have to hit the jump rope before I enter the ring to warm up my footing and get my blood pumping. For now, though, I just want to enjoy the time alone. My thoughts automatically go to Andi, especially since most of the music on my phone is from her. She made several different playlists, each with a different theme and feeling. She uses music to communicate, and sometimes she’ll just text me the name of a song to listen to and I immediately know what she’s trying to tell me.

  After spending a few minutes with Andi, through her music selection, I feel energized. When I walk back into the gym, I see a couple of guys in suits talking to Joe and Mack. Walking over to Shane, I jerk my chin in their direction. “Who are they?”

  “Not sure. But Joe seemed happy to see them,” Shane says.

  “Luke, come on over here. I want you to meet these guys,” Joe calls out to me.

  The two men watch me with obvious curiosity as I approach them. “Luke, this is Charlie Russell,” he says, pointing to the taller man. “And this is Artie Pascal.” He points to the shorter, portly man.

  I shake both of their hands, introduce myself with a quick “Luke Woods,” and immediately want to go wash the sleaze off my hands. I sense snake oil salesmen.

  “Charlie and Artie are fight promoters, Luke. They look for talent to fight in the exhibition rounds before a major fight. There’s a welterweight fight coming up in two months, and they’re filling the exhibition spots now. They want to get a look at you in the ring. Interested?”

  “Sure, no harm in them watching,” I say nonchalantly. This is really a great opportunity, but it can also be a setup to be a journeyman, the guy who loses just to make the other guy look good. That’ll never be me.

  Charlie and Artie smile widely, but their eyes tell me they know I’m onto them. Joe and Mack must sense it as well because their smiles show pride. I haven’t been here at Joe’s gym that long, but I was a street fighter for several years. I have more street smarts than most give me credit for.

  Joe calls one of the other serious heavyweights over to spar with me. “Chris, fight like you mean it. Luke will be after your blood.”

  “You got it,” Chris nods and dons his gear.

  We’ll obviously still wear our headgear, but we’ll be scored and a winner will be pronounced at the end of the fight. Chris is a good guy, but most fighters don’t take the punches personally anyway. It’s the sneaky shit that makes a fighter mad—the hits below the belt that are hidden from the referee, the punches to the kidneys that are meant to incapacitate the opponent, and jabbing the eyes with the thumb of their glove.

  Joe instructs everyone on day one that if he sees any intentional fouls, that fighter will be thrown out of his gym. Knowing that Chris wants this chance as much as I do, I know he won’t risk excommunication from Joe. A ringside assistant wraps my hands with tape and helps put my gloves on. Once my mouthpiece is in, I take a few minutes to bounce around the ring, warming my muscles, getting the blood flowing throughout my body, and ramp up my energy level.

  Our unofficial referee climbs into the ring and calls both of us to the middle. Going over the rules, he makes sure we both understand and then sends us back to our corners to await the bell. We “shake hands,” meaning we bump gloves, and retreat to our assigned corners.

  When the bell rings, we each come out in a straight line toward the other. My mind is set on winning this fight, regardless if Chris is my friend outside the ring. There are no friends inside the ring. There are only winners and losers. Today, I’m showing them what I’m made of, and that if they think they’re using me to make someone else look good, they’d better think again.

  Chris swings first. I duck his punch and counter with a left hook to his ribs, followed by a right jab to the chin. While he’s temporarily dazed, I continue throwing punches. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around me to stop the assault. The referee separates us and quickly jumps back out of the way.

  Chris steps toward me and throws a straight right at my face. My guard is up, but I move to dodge the blow anyway. His right hand connects with my arm, and he moves in for a body punch. Twisting away from him, I surprise him with a left uppercut to the jaw. He was a little too confident and let his guard down, giving me access to his face.

  The bell rings, and the referee sends us to our corners. My corner man is waiting with a water bottle, a bucket, and a towel to wipe the sweat from my brow. “When he cocks his right hand back, his left automatically draws down. Dodge to your right and knock his ass out with that incredible left hook of yours. Right to his damn jaw. He’ll never see it coming.”

  He shoves my mouthpiece back into my mouth just as the bell rings. We dance around the ring, each waiting for the other to be the aggressor. One of Chris’s weaknesses is he’s impatient. He won’t wait out the other fighter for too long, so I knew he’d be the one to give in and come at me first.

  When he finally prepares for his predictable right power punch, I do exactly as my corner man suggested and quickly dodge to my right. When Chris puts all of his weight behind his punch, he loses his balance since he doesn’t connect. I move in for the knockout punch to his face. He whirls around and crumples to the mat.

  The referee jumps in, pushes me back away from Chris, and begins his count. Chris tries to get up, but his bell has definitely been rung. He reaches the ropes and uses the lowest rope to try to pull up. The referee continues his count until he reaches ten. The bell rings, the referee holds my hand up as the winner, and I’m still shocked as shit.

  I just knocked him out in the second round.

  “Damn, son! That was impressive! If you’d landed that hit in the first round, this fight would’ve been over a long time ago,” Charlie praises.

  “Joe, why have you been hiding him from us?” Artie laughs as he claps him on the shoulder. “Luke, good fight, really good. I can see that killer instinct in your eyes. You’re definitely going places.”

  Joe, Mack, Charlie, and Artie walk away to discuss my future without me as my ringside assistant removes my gloves and takes the tape off my hands. Chris walks over and congratulates me on the fight. “You got one hell of a punch, man,” he says, rubbing his jaw. I shake his hand with a chuckle and we’re right back to being friends again.

  When I turn to climb through the ropes, Syndi is standing just inside the gym door. Her mouth is gaping open, her eyes are wide, and she i
sn’t moving at all. “What’s wrong, Syndi?” I ask.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that before. I’ve never been to a client’s fight before,” she says, finally finding her voice.

  “And? What’d you think?” I ask her.

  “That. Was. Amazing! I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on that this whole time. Is everyone as good as you are?” she asks.

  “I certainly hope not.” I smile. “That’d make it much harder for me to win the fight.”

  “Is there any way I can start coming to watch you fight? Maybe bring a photographer with me? We won’t get in the way, I swear. I’m just amazed, and I can’t wait to share this with your adoring public.” I can see the wheels turning in her mind as she plans the future of my publicity.

  “I’ll talk to Joe. Maybe he’ll go for once a week, but I wouldn’t count on being here every time I’m in the ring.”

  “You’re in the ring more than once a week?” she asks incredulously.

  “Well, yeah, sparring. Not in a full-on fight, though.”

  “I am truly amazed at what I just witnessed, Luke. Honestly. I usually abhor violence of any kind, but what I just watched was different. That was like watching a symphony in motion. Your movements were so fluid, so refined. It’s like your body is a finely crafted instrument and you effortlessly hit every note with perfect pitch and tone.”

  “I’ve never heard boxing described with that analogy before,” I say, running my hand through my sweat-soaked hair. “I’m going to take it as a compliment. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell me if it’s not.”

  “It is definitely a compliment, Luke,” she says emphatically. “In fact, I can’t wait to see more of your fights. This is so exciting! Maybe I’ll bring my own camera, too.”

  It’s odd that Syndi is just now developing a personality that’s slightly better than a wet paper bag. At least she’s getting into the very thing that she’s being paid to promote me for, though. If I get into a good exhibition fight, her backing can really help get the fans on my side before I even step foot into the ring.