by Cara Nelson
“I need a drink.”
“Wow. That is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I mean it. This is a lot to wrap my head around and I don’t—this is the weird part—I don’t want to just throw you on the bed because you said those things. You’re not some ring bunny—”
“That’s where you’re wrong. They weren’t pieces of ass either. You just treated them like they were, and I’ll bet at least a few of them saw you that way, too. You’ve been giving yourself away all this time, all of your body and slivers of your heart sometimes too, because you don’t see it. It’s not because I’m different or better or worth more than the women who hold the signs instead of a camera. I am no more human than they are. The fact that you’re hesitating just means you might be growing up.”
“I grew up a long time ago. I’m over twenty-one, and I need a drink.”
“No, you don’t. You have to be on top of your game tomorrow night.”
“You can’t sports psych me and then try to make me talk about feelings and shit. It’s unfair, and I think it will make me a crappy fighter if you keep it up.”
“You’re a fighter with crappy excuses, I’ll give you that. No booze; just be honest with me for a minute. What’s keeping you from throwing me on the bed?”
“You might hit me in the face with your forehead.”
“There’s that, but what else?”
“I know you too well. You have older brothers. You majored in lit. Your roommate gives you crap about not having a boyfriend. You’re loyal and persistent and you like the Patriots.”
“And this is more than you know about the women you sleep with, am I right?”
“Yeah. It’s awkward.”
“That makes me want to hit you with my own forehead, I swear. I would hate for you to be uncomfortable because you actually know me and that makes it harder to fuck me and forget me. You’re making me want to storm out of here, go home and get three cats to share my life with.”
“Before you go looking for a jumbo bag of kitty litter, give me a minute.”
“Why?”
“This.”
Aaron hooked an arm around her hips and hauled her against him, looking hard into her eyes. Her mouth dropped open, and he took advantage of the access. Covering her mouth with his, he slipped his tongue between her lips and felt a shiver sweep her whole body. Lifting his head to gauge her reaction, Aaron’s mouth curved into a smile as her arms went around his neck.
I love him, she thought with a wince. I love him and he’s going to break my heart in about six thousand pieces. She touched the scar above his lip lightly.
“If you don’t want to go alpha male and throw me on the bed, how about the chair?” she said, her voice shaking.
“I should go shower. I just worked out and—”
“I don’t care. I like your sweat. I like way too much about you as it is. Just stop talking and show me what you think a real man does. I’ll tell you if you’re doing it wrong.”
“I know you will,” he grinned.
CHAPTER 10: ZOE
Zoe took off her jean jacket and laid it on the chair, hesitating.
‘I like you too much,” she said.
“I like you too much, too,” Aaron said, nuzzling her neck¸ “Let me show you how much,”
“I’m so nervous all of a sudden. I want this I just—I’m afraid I’ll talk too much or something. It’s like I’m scared,” She admitted.
“I’m nervous, too. I never get nervous, not with women, not even before a fight. We should just enjoy this. I think I’m making this into a bigger deal than it is.”
“So this is going to be a small deal? Most men wouldn’t admit that. But if you think you should warn me—” She teased.
“That is not what I meant and you know it,” he laughed, “It’s not like we’re friends anymore. I’m through being your friend. I want to be your lover now,”
“Not just today? I can’t do this, not with you, if this is a one off. I don’t want my heart broken—“
“I’m not giving you up after today. I don’t think I could,”
Stepping toward her, he took her by the shoulders and kissed her mouth, her neck, a spot behind her ear that made her toes curl. His hands were warm and strong and a little rough—callouses and scars creating a topography that set her nerves alight. She worked his t-shirt up, her palms sliding up his muscled torso and around to his back. Zoe wanted him to keep touching her, kissing her forever, but she also wanted to run her tongue along that Celtic cross tattoo on his back. Yanking his shirt off, she turned him around and traced the knots and curves of the cross burned into his skin, looking less like art than a brand, the mark of an iron dipped in fire. She put her mouth between his shoulder blades and her own knees went weak. He turned her in his arms and stroked her.
The sizzle of his hand trailing along her thigh made her gasp as he pushed down her jeans. Aaron worked her panties down her legs slowly, his mouth following their path from hip to ankle, leaving a fiery trail of tingling, yearning flesh. Zoe ran her hands along his heavily muscled shoulders, gripping his powerful arms as he lifted her effortlessly onto the bed. Every inch of Aaron was so alpha, so masculine, that she felt girly and almost delicate in response. She nuzzled his neck and kissed along his collarbone, exploring every line and valley with her tongue.
They lay side by side on the featherbed. He lazily dragged the bra strap off her shoulder, warm rough fingers sending shivers through her whole body. He leaned in and kissed her shoulder, her neck. She curled around him, drawing his thick, muscular thigh between her legs and rubbing against it. The pressure of his thigh against her sex made her damp. She tossed her head back, accepting his kisses on her throat. He moved his lips to hers and parted them, drawing her tongue into his mouth and stroking it with his own. Her body rose against his. She pulled him over her, finding that she wanted him above her, on top of her, his weight pressing her hard into the mattress.
He kicked his shorts away and reached for the nightstand drawer. She heard the crackle of foil and watched him sheathe his length before parting her with deft calloused fingers. She pressed down against his fingers, coaxing him to slide his fingers inside of her passage, rocking against his touch. He withdrew his fingers and pushed into her with one long thrust. She cried out in surprise at his massive length. She felt herself stretch to accommodate his invasion.
“Aaron—” she gasped, “you’re huge. Oh, yes—“
Zoe bit down on her lip hard as he stroked deep within her, rubbing against a place that made shimmers of desire build into a tight knot. With a few more thrusts, she was spiraling toward climax already.
“Aaron—” she said, looking up into his green eyes.
He brought his mouth down over hers in a deep, breathtaking kiss. He reached between them to touch her with his fingertips. He stroked her just above where they joined and she rocked up against his fingers, screaming without restraint as her crisis took her. She felt him go rigid in her arms as he pushed into her with a last powerful thrust. He groaned with his release and collapsed into her arms. She rained kisses all over his face and clung to him. Tears trailed down her cheeks. She had known he’d be good in bed, had known that because she loved him it would be unforgettable. She hadn’t been prepared to be shaken to the core, to feel shattered and needy and to hide her face in his neck. He kissed her mouth again, tasting her tears. Levering himself up to look in her face, he frowned, worried. She shook her head with a rueful smile. It’s not your fault, she wanted to tell him, you didn’t make me fall in love with you. Except that he had. She had been powerless to resist him, always would be.
He rolled onto his back, cradling her against his shoulder. He pulled the duvet across her bare legs .
“I don’t want to let you go,” He thought aloud, hoping his voice sounded light and teasing and not as strange and serious as he felt as he held her as close as possible, rubbing his mouth against her tangled hair.
“I love you, Aaron Dolan,” She whispered.
He kissed her forehead, held her tighter in his arms, not knowing what to say. Something twisted in his chest at the thought of staying silent. He didn’t want to hurt her but saying those words felt like stepping off a cliff. He couldn’t make himself answer her.
He just stared at the ceiling fan as it made its slow loop above them. His phone jangled to life and he rolled away from her to answer it. He went into the bathroom to take the call. He didn’t want to leave her but he didn’t know how to keep her either, so he told Kyle he’d be right down and hung up the phone. She had just wriggled back into her jeans and tee when he came back out.
“I have to go meet Kyle before his fight. I’ll see you there later, okay?”
“Sure, tell him I said good luck.”
“He doesn’t need luck. He’s got karma,” Aaron deadpanned. She looked at him, puzzled.
“Okay, well tell him I said it anyway.”
Zoe stepped into her shoes and grabbed her purse. She felt hollow and embarrassed with a side of regret. It would have been easier to get over him if they’d never had sex. Now she was going to spend the rest of her life going over every moment in that hotel room with him, comparing every other man to him, watching as every other man fell short of how Aaron made her feel. Zoe felt impossibly lonely and tried to think of something to do, some way to take her mind off how she’d just screwed up her life even worse than before. She was riding down in the elevator before she realized they could have gone together and she might’ve filmed their pre-fight pep talk. If he’d wanted her to tag along, he would have said so, she rationalized. Then she tried not to feel sorry for herself that he’d basically kicked her out after screwing her.
Zoe assembled her tripod and snagged a good spot near the corner of the ring from which to film. Kyle’s bout was the first in the middleweight class. He knocked out his opponent with such swiftness that it was over within two minutes. He advanced to the next round. She interviewed him while the other middleweights fought and got plenty of footage of Kyle gloating about his shot at glory and obvious destiny to be the champion. Kyle practically glowed under the showlights, basking in his victory. He tried to flirt with her, to cheer her up. As much as she would have loved to get Aaron’s attention by batting her eyes at his brother, it felt false…she was too far gone over Aaron to even flirt with anyone else. It was so profoundly depressing to realize that. She wished Kyle continued good luck and watched him go back in for the next round. He dominated the second round as well, emerging from the match with a split lip and sore ribs. His opponent was on the ground with his eyes swelling shut and clutching his side.
After the middleweight division was over for the evening, the fighters went to party up at Craven. Zoe rode up in the elevator and took a few minutes of video to feature as the post-victory bacchanal in the final cut. She stood slightly behind a chrome sculpture of what was either an abstract of a couple having sex or the big bad wolf. She thought it would be impolite to ask which. She watched through the viewfinder as dancers coiled and writhed on the table in front of the Dolan boys, who clapped and catcalled heartily. Tears stung her eyes. She fled for her cheap motel and a long shower behind that mildewed plastic curtain.
CHAPTER 11: AARON
The morning of his first round heavyweight bout, Aaron was miserable. His head pounded from the hangover and the pillow beside his was empty because he’d ditched Zoe after Kyle’s fight. If he had called her at two when he made it back to his room, she probably would have come over, which just made him feel worse. He hadn’t wanted to use her, he’d just wanted to feel better for a few minutes. Instead he felt worse than ever. The walls were closing in on him, a shadow stealing across his vision.
He was trapped. By the fighting life. By loyalty to his brother. By Zoe and the weight of her expectations for a relationship and for him to suddenly become a better, more noble man. She wanted a white knight, and he was nobody’s hero. He was starting to think all he’d ever been was fortune’s fool—a phrase his father had often quoted while in his cups and morose before the rage took him.
Dragging his hands through his hair, Aaron wanted to pray to be different, to be more than that; more than his father’s son and fortune’s fool. No matter what he claimed to want, he was still a guy who beat people up and burned up a pretty great friendship for a one-night stand. He meant to make his way to the gym, but he just sank back down on the bed and sat in the dark, curtains drawn against the day ahead. His phone rang and he ignored it. It rang again and he threw it, watched it hit the wall and clatter to the floor. It stubbornly jangled on. It might have been Kyle or Simon or his mom. He didn’t much care.
All those years of fighting against his father’s memory and he had nothing to show for it but scars. He wanted to master the anger. A real man didn’t let his emotions control him, he told himself grimly. He’d probably have to talk to someone about it. As it was, he’d looked up anger management techniques on his phone and ended up trying to do yoga breathing on an eight-count with a YouTube video. He felt like an idiot. But better an idiot doing girly breathing exercises than an idiot who lost his temper and ended up in prison. He stared at the phone on the floor and felt so overwhelmed by the weight of everything—his anger, the pressure to fight and win, all the respect and approval and even medical treatment for his mother that were at stake. Too much was riding on this. He wished for a bike. He’d had a Harley once but couldn’t keep up the payments. If he just had it now, he could ride clear off the Strip and out into the desert with no one around. He clenched his fists, counted to eight and let out the breath he was holding.
Aaron didn’t know how long he sat there, but he finally got up when Kyle beat on his door and shouted at him. Swinging the door open and blinking in the unaccustomed light of the hallway, Aaron struggled to focus.
“If you don’t get your ass to the locker room, you forfeit your match, brother. Now move!” Kyle said, taking him roughly by the arm and frog marching him to the elevator. “Have you eaten?”
Aaron shook his head slowly, his thoughts spiraling around the idea of his doom, the box he’d put himself in. The bright lights dazzled him as he went to the arena, changed hurriedly and drank from his brother’s water bottle.
“What the hell, Kyle? This is vodka!”
“No shit. I put it there. Didn’t figure on giving it to you before the fight. Get your own water and get out there.”
“Your finals are after this. Don’t get too wasted,” Aaron warned.
Aaron was waiting, jittery, bouncing from foot to foot in the locker room when Zoe came back. She hung back diffidently for a moment, then rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
“Good luck out there,” she said softly, hurrying back out to film.
“She likes you,” Kyle observed.
“What about it?”
“I can’t decide if you’re going to wreck her or the other way around. She’s the kind who wants a real relationship. Don’t fall into bed with her. It’s a trap.”
“You’re such a romantic, Kyle.”
“Already nailed her, huh?”
“It’s not like that—”
“Oh, let me guess. She’s your soul mate. Let me get the rose petals. Bullshit it’s different. She wants more. You feel guilty. That’s not different, that’s women.”
Aaron felt a flare of anger at the way Kyle dismissed Zoe, dismissed their whole relationship. He counted, he took long breaths, he counted to eight, took more breaths. He fought it down. He pushed through the rage and mastered it.
“Brother, I am trying not to hit you right now. So watch your mouth. I have a fight to win.”
“Keep your head in the game.”
“Thanks.” Aaron said through gritted teeth and went out to the ring.
Aaron was slow to start, going on the defensive early, when a fighter with a longer reach matched him. He took a glancing blow to the jaw that rattled his teeth and made him mad. His instincts
kicked in. He dealt a fusillade of body blows to his opponent, seemingly impervious to the hits he took himself. A few jabs and a right cross. His knuckles were split, but the other guy was on the mat, and Aaron advanced to the next round.
Zoe was on the sidelines, zooming in on his movements, catching every blow, every drop of blood. She ached to go to him, to pull him back and tell him he didn’t have to do this. She felt the tension rolling off him, his triumphant smile a pained rictus. She wanted to get him alone, to kiss him and melt into his arms as he peeled off her clothes. This was probably how drug addicts felt, she mused, like you know it’s stupid and you’ll get hurt but it makes you feel so good. Sex with Aaron Dolan was transcendent. Too damn bad he didn’t care about me at all. She filmed his fight and attempted to be objective and not think about licking any part of him but it was a challenge.
He gave cautiously optimistic comments to Zoe’s camera, never looking directly at her. He texted his mom that he’d won the first round. She replied that she was at the church watching it on pay-per-view. He laughed aloud, a harsh dry sound, at the thought of the ladies’ society watching a bare-fisted fight out of Vegas on the parish television. He wanted to tell Zoe, because she’d get a kick out of it, but somehow he didn’t know how to talk to her normally at this point. All his energy, all that was left of concentration in his broken-down mind belonged to this fight, to the tournament that could get his mother the help she needed.
He fought the winner of the second bout and scored a TKO almost as quickly as Kyle had incapacitated his opponent the day before. Middleweights took the arena for the next hour while the heavyweights recuperated for the final round. He had watched the other heavyweight bouts, and the victor whom he would challenge was famous for his knockouts. Aaron had only been KO’d once in his career, and his stomach churned at the thought. The post-concussive nausea, mingled with the humiliation, was a powerful sense memory to overcome. He couldn’t afford to embarrass himself and his family by getting beaten—especially couldn’t stand for his mother to sit in the parish hall with her friends and watch him get his head smashed in by some guy from California.
