by Claire Adams
“Okay, sure…if Paul doesn’t mind,” I said. Part of me hoped he’d say no way.
“He’s okay with it,” Sam said. “Right?” I thought Paul nodded, but it was practically imperceptible. He didn’t even talk well in sign language. I said goodbye to Sam as Paul finished his reps on the thigh machine and then I tried a smile again and said,
“I’m sorry that I upset you earlier. I’m not sure what I said—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve got the bench next.”
“Okay…but I feel really bad that I upset you. Sometimes I say things without thinking—”
“I’m not upset,” he snapped. “Can we finish my work-out now?”
“Yeah, sure.” Yeah, right, he’s not upset. I wonder if asking what the hell I said to make him that way was too much to ask. What was up with this guy? We walked over to the weight bench and he sat down. I was about to ask how much weight he wanted me to put on. Before I asked him I heard a commotion at the door.
Victoria was working the desk that day and I heard her say, “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closing.” I looked over in time to see a big guy barrel his way past her. He came across the floor and right up on us. By the time he got there, Paul was already on his feet. I took a step back away from them just on instinct. I could tell by the look on Paul’s face that he wasn’t happy to see him.
“Where is she?” the big guy said. He was really angry that Paul apparently knew where “she” was and he didn’t.
I looked over at Victoria. She was on the phone. I hoped that she was calling the police. From the looks of the guy, he was spoiling for a fight.
“If she wanted you to know that, she’d tell you herself,” Paul said. I looked from the man who was really not attractive in the least to Paul and I almost felt bad for the guy. If the woman he was looking for was with Paul, there was probably no chance she was going back. I felt a strange and absolutely undeserved pang of jealousy toward the mystery woman.
The man stepped closer, almost right in Paul’s face. I saw Paul’s muscles tense and his hands flex at his sides but he didn’t flinch. He was getting ready for a fight. I hoped he was as good as everyone said he was because the other guy had him in the size department. I looked back at Victoria who was off the phone now and watching what was going on. There wasn’t anyone else left in the gym…thank goodness.
“You tell her…” the man started through gritted teeth.
“I’m not telling her shit. Besides the fact that she doesn’t want to hear anything you have to say, I’m not your fucking message boy.” That was when the man went from looking for a fight to starting one. I saw his fist come up and then I was dazzled by how quickly Paul reacted. He blocked the man’s fist with one arm and threw a punch of his own that landed square in the man’s gut. He doubled over and seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. Paul said, “Get the fuck out of here and stop looking for her. You mess with her and you’ll get a lot worse than that, you fat, miserable son of a bitch.” I saw Greg coming in the front door out of the corner of my eye. That must have been who Victoria called.
“Fuck you!” the other man said in a winded voice as he struggled back upright. He couldn’t leave well enough alone. He reached out and wrapped a beefy arm around Paul’s neck like he was pulling him into a one-armed hug. Paul twisted his body with amazing speed and took a step back. He made getting out of a choke hold look like a walk in the park. He moved so quickly, as a matter of fact, that the man barely noticed he’d pulled free before he was rewarded with a kick to the upper thigh, and as he started to drop, a right cross to the chin. He hit the mat on his knees and Greg said,
“I believe that you have been asked to leave.”
“You throw me out, you throw this son of a bitch out too,” the man said, barely able to talk.
“From what I heard, you started it. Paul’s a member here. You’re not. Besides, this is my gym and I can kick you out just because you’re ugly if I want to. Now get the fuck out. You’re not welcome back either. If I see you again I’ll call the police.” The man stumbled back up to his feet and pointed at Paul. He started to say something else but Greg said, “I can call them now if you like.” The man gave Paul another look…a warning look, maybe. Then he turned and walked toward the door, not nearly as straight and tall as he had been when he came in. When he got to the door he looked back over his shoulder and said,
“You’ll be sorry, asshole!”
I didn’t know if he was talking to Paul or Greg, but neither of them looked worried. Paul didn’t even look winded. The big guy might want to rethink who he was threatening.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Hey, Jessie, I’ll finish up with Paul since I’m here if you don’t mind starting on clean-up,” Greg told me.
“Sure, that’s fine.” I glanced at Paul who still looked pissed. I wasn’t sure if it was all over the big guy, or if he was still pissed at me for whatever I had said. I’d rather have cleaned a stationary machine that I couldn’t easily insult.
I went in the back and got the cleaning product we used and the clean towels. I started near the back and cleaned each machine, working my way forward. I could hear Paul’s grunts as he worked out but nothing else. When the grunts stopped I chanced a glance over. Paul was disappearing into the men’s locker room and Greg was over talking to Victoria. I was on my last few machines when Paul came back out, freshly showered and in a clean T-shirt. He looked like a work of art once again.
“Hey, Jessie, we’re going to take off. I’ll lock you guys in,” Greg said.
“Okay, I’m almost finished. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Jessie. See you tomorrow, Paul,” Greg said.
“Thanks, Greg,” Paul called after him. Greg gave him a nod and Victoria waved at us. I waved back and watched them go. I was sitting on the machine I’d been cleaning and when I looked up, Paul was standing next to me.
“I’m sorry I got pissed,” he said. “I know that you didn’t mean anything by telling Mark about my nephew. You just don’t know the situation and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“Oh…” Now that he was apologizing, I had no idea what to say. “It’s okay.” I finally managed.
“Victor is my sister’s boy. She had him when she was only sixteen and she’s really sensitive about that. She doesn’t want people judging her. I know in this day and age…most people wouldn’t, but she’s had to deal with it from people in her life that should have been the last people to judge. And now, the more fights I win, the more publicity I get, and the more people dig into my family and my past. She doesn’t want Victor to have to go through any of that. That’s why I don’t talk about him.”
I felt like a complete idiot. “I’m sorry; I have a big mouth sometimes. I was just so embarrassed about last night and this morning and I was trying to think of some way to start a conversation with you…” I caught myself and said, “There I go, babbling again. I’m sorry.” He smiled, then. It was a genuine smile…God, I loved that.
“It’s okay,” he said, taking a seat on the bench next to the one I was sitting on. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. That big guy who was just here is Victor’s father. He’s…well, as you can see he has his issues. My sister doesn’t want him to know where they are. He’s trying to take Victor from her. He’s not a good guy and he’s going to take my nephew over my dead body.”
“Oh, wow. Does she have a restraining order?”
“She has me,” he said. “They go to court soon. Hopefully all of these things he’s been up to will convince a judge he doesn’t need to be raising an eleven-year-old boy. If it doesn’t and they order visitation….” He stopped himself there, but the look on his face said it all. I actually shuddered. He changed the subject then by saying, “So do you just train on these machines or do you use them yourself?”
“Wow, now I’m insulted…you can’t tell that I use them?” I was trying to flirt. I wasn’t sure if it was working or not.
<
br /> He grinned and said, “I did notice you had some guns on you. How much can you bench?”
I smiled and said, “Spot me and I’ll show you.”
He moved off the bench he was on and I laid down on it underneath the bar. It had a twenty pound weight on each side. I could press my own weight and then some. “Put a fifty on each end,” I told him.
“Don’t hurt yourself showing off,” he said with a grin. My arms were shaking but that was because he was standing so close.
“Just do it, smart guy!” I told him, hoping that my voice wasn’t shaking as well. He did and then he acted as my spotter as I lifted the hundred and forty pounds without much effort. When I finished he said,
“Impressive. I’m sure that bar outweighs you.”
“Not by much,” I said.
“Well you look to be pretty much solid muscle and it’s true what they say that muscle weighs more than fat. How long have you been working out?”
“I started lifting with my dad when I was about thirteen,” I told him. “I love to exercise. It makes me happy.” He nodded like he understood that completely. Once again I lost complete control of my stupid voice and I said, “My ex-boyfriend didn’t get that. Making natural endorphins was a foreign concept to him. I always thought he’d be a lot less troubled if he learned natural ways to deal with his problems.” I suddenly realized that was way too much information. Paul wasn’t interested in my life story. Changing the subject again I said, “Hey, if things get to the point where your sister and nephew need a safe, neutral place…I live alone. They’d be welcome to stay with me.”
He looked at me strangely, like he was trying to figure out why I’d offer to do that. He was probably right; I didn’t even know him…or them for that matter. I just hated knowing that I had something someone else didn’t, even if it was just a safe, comfortable place to stay. For a minute
I thought he wasn’t even going to acknowledge my foolish offer, but then he said, “That’s nice. Thanks.” I stood up off the bench and as I did our thighs brushed together. I felt a surge of heat run through me and I knew my face had gone bright red. I really wished I could read the expression in those blue eyes of his. He could be thrilled or repulsed. With that neutral expression of his, who the hell knew?
“I better get going,” I said, a little too quickly.
“Yep. Me too,” he said.
We walked out together and I locked up. He gave me one last chin-tilt as he drove out of the parking lot in his big boy-toy. I drove home with butterflies in my stomach telling myself not to let this guy get under my skin.
*****
When I got home I started gathering up more laundry. I thought maybe I’d call my mom and go over to her house and do a load that night. As I was about to call her, my phone rang. It was Sam.
“Hey, Jessie! I hear you had an exciting day after I left.”
“Yeah, you could say that. Paul was pretty impressive though, and Greg was pretty badass himself.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, two guys I’d want on my team when it’s time to throw down. Hey, we’re all meeting over at the arena at seven. Paul’s fighting tonight.”
“He’s fighting? What was he doing working out today? He was just benching like two hundred pounds. Is he insane? He’s going to hurt himself pushing that hard.”
Sam laughed and said, “I tell him that all the time. He’s hard-headed and one of the most driven people I’ve ever met. Good luck getting him to listen to reason. He’s fighting a guy named Alex Wilson tonight. Alex is ranked fourth in Light Heavyweight rankings. It should be a good match.”
I looked at the laundry and I started to say no. Then I pictured Paul…there was no contest. “I’ll see you there,” I told Sam.
I dug out a pair of jeans and sprayed them with spray and wash and ironed them. Luckily, I had some relatively decent clean blouses. It was just my work clothes and my jeans I kept running out of. I took a quick shower and fixed my hair, then knowing Paul might actually see me, I put on a little makeup as well.
I got to the arena about six thirty and found the rest of my crew outside waiting for me. Greg had tickets for us all and we went inside and found our seats. Greg was well-connected in the community. We got the best seats to every sporting event in town. These were no exception, front row and on the side that Paul was supposed to be on. The arena was noisy and everyone in our group was chattering about how Paul was going to kick the other guy’s ass, and his last fight, and some You Tube video. I wasn’t a big fan of fighting so I’d never seen him fight nor had I watched his videos. I was there because of the strange attraction I had to a man who barely spoke to me. I wondered how many of my friends suspected that was why I was there. My trainee fighters always tried to get me to go to their bouts. Mark had been trying since I’d met him almost a year ago. I always refused. I knew that was silly, and since I spent so much of my time training them, I should’ve wanted to see my work in action. But when they came to me I didn’t have to watch them kicking each other’s asses…well, unless a guy’s sister’s ex came in and started something. It actually surprised me how excited I got watching Paul deal with that guy. He was just so in control and if he hadn’t already been sweating from his work-out, I doubted that would have even broken one. I got another little shiver just thinking about it.
At about five ’til seven the announcer called out the fighters. Paul came out first; I guessed it was because he wasn’t the one who carried the title. Alex Wilson was the big draw tonight, supposedly. I personally didn’t know how anyone would be able to take their eyes off Paul. He was wearing a pair of light blue trunks and I wondered if he had matched them to his eyes on purpose. His tattoos shone under the bright lights and he looked like he was completely in his head. He stood in the back of the cage as his opponent was called out. He didn’t seem fazed by the fact that Wilson got twice the applause that he did. Of course he hadn’t seemed fazed by his own. I think he was so focused that he didn’t even notice.
Wilson was about the same height as Paul, but Paul seemed to me to have him beat in stature. His shoulders were broader and his limbs seemed longer. I thought that would have to be an advantage when it came to throwing a kick or a punch. The referee had them come to the center of the ring and shake. They went back to their separate sides and within a few seconds, the bell rang for the first round.
The referee signaled to them to fight and as soon as he did, it was on. Wilson didn’t hesitate to throw out a jab that caught Paul on the chin. Paul didn’t even rock backwards though; it was like his feet were glued to the mat. He looked like he was going to counter with a left hook but then took everyone by surprise by suddenly being in the air. His feet were literally on the floor one second and in the air the next. It was an amazing thing to watch. He caught Wilson on his left thigh with a powerful kick and then finished his spin as he landed on his feet by throwing a left-cross that landed on the side of Wilson’s head and knocked him off balance. The other man caught himself before he hit the floor, but it was obvious he was feeling a little bit dazed and confused by the hit.
Paul was back in his stance and ready to throw another punch before the other man recovered. He came at Wilson with his right fist but Wilson caught it with both his hands and used the momentum of Paul’s own punch to spin him around. When Paul recovered from that, Wilson was ready with a kick that landed in Paul’s left flank. He flinched, but just barely before letting a hail of hooks and jabs lead the way right back up into his opponent’s face. Wilson was good at defending himself, but Paul was lightning fast. A couple of his right hooks found their mark and by the time the bell rang, I’d have to say that Paul won that round.
The men sat on their little benches and let their managers squirt water into their mouths and wash out their mouth pieces and wipe the sweat down off them before the bell rang again and they went back out. Once again there was no hesitation on either man’s part to start fighting. Right off the bat Paul landed a front kick right into the soft cent
er of Wilson’s belly. Paul regrouped while Wilson was still doubled over and threw a left cross as soon as he stood up. Wilson dodged that and came back with a punch of his own that landed on the side of Paul’s face. I saw blood and sweat fly across the ring and I had to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from crying out. I suddenly wished it would hurry up and be over. It was like a train wreck, I didn’t want to watch but my eyes were glued to it.
The next two rounds were a lot of back and forth. I did notice that Paul only threw one or two punches to each one of Wilson’s three or four. He was so fast on his feet and graceful that it was almost like he was dancing and he didn’t throw a punch unless he knew it was going to land. He didn’t waste his precious energy at all. Every so often a kick or a punch would land against his pretty face or body but he was usually moving when that happened so the connection didn’t have the full effect that Wilson intended. Wilson was getting winded by the fifth round and Paul amped up his hits. He’d throw a cross and then a hook and a jab and then he’d do that awesome little spin thing he did and his foot would land against anything Wilson left open. The champion was getting worn down, which was very obviously Paul’s intention. In the beginning of the sixth round, when it looked like Wilson was on his last leg, that was when Paul threw a left cross that stunned and then immediately landed a right uppercut to the underside of the jaw. Wilson’s body literally flew backwards three or four feet in the air until he landed unconscious on the mat. I watched Paul as he waited for the ref to check the other man and make sure he was still breathing. I wondered what went through a fighter’s mind while that was going on. It was always a possibility. As soon as he knew Wilson hadn’t done anything stupid like dying, a slow smile spread across his beautiful face. He’d just won the match and he had looked like a pro doing it.
