Love TKO

by Selene Chardou

  After dessert—her original slice of cheesecake to his Godiva Chocolate cheesecake—he knew it was time to take her home since he’d already agreed for her to meet him the next day. He had plans to take them to Death Valley on his Harley, and he wanted nothing to ruin it, not even a quick tryst.

  Their date had taught him nothing except he was a lot more like his father than he cared to realize and that bothered him deeply. No, he’d never beat or hurt a woman physically but he used them for his own advantage and then tossed them aside with not much more thought than he’d given to wiping his ass after taking a shit.

  He’d never wanted to do that to Chiara because she was special and he knew instinctively if he ever fell in love, she would be the woman that he’d fall for undeniably, and without a care to where it took them.

  She made him feel free of his insecurities and filled him with a desire to be a better person than he was and there was no greater emotion in the world. The thought of becoming a human being worthy of love and affection was still a mystery but together, they could solve it and perhaps learn how to love through one another.

  Torin would love to have Chiara in his bed again but this time, it would be on his terms. He wanted the next time he slept with a woman for there to be an emotional pull, something other than just biological hormones. He needed to take this step for his own selfish reasoning of long term happiness or be damned to live forever using women and finding no joy or fulfillment except in the heat of the moment. Yet he knew as soon as he came, he would be just as empty and worthless as he was before. The train of thought about approaching thirty-one, and living his whole life like that frightened him more than the worst beating he’d ever received from his father.

  The waitress brought their bill and he took out his Centurion American Express card and put it in the folder without glancing at the amount, and handed it back to her.

  Chiara raised one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows in a seductive motion that made his cock twitch. “Wow. So, Mr. Duffy is part of the black American Express card club? I feel honored and special.”

  He chuckled. “Once you become one of the best in the world at your sport, and start making a shitload of money, they aren’t so discriminatory with who they give one of those to.”

  “Au contraire, Torin. You should feel honored to be at the top of your sport. I want you to win the UFC as much as you do and have that championship with your name plastered on it but it doesn’t change how hard you worked to get as far as you have. What you have accomplished is quite a feat and I really do hate you feel inferior to others in your league just because you don’t have the championship under your belt. It will happen but like everything else in life, there is luck involved. You haven’t gotten lucky yet but this year you will. I can feel it in my bones.”

  He stared at her and found himself hypnotized by her healthy complexion, which was such a contrast against his alabaster skin; her pouty mouth and the gorgeous body encased in scarlet. She was so fucking perfect and he had to wonder how the hell he’d gotten so lucky to end up with a woman like her?

  Not that she was his yet, not by a long shot but if he was patient then she could be, and that’s what made her presence so lovely. Everything about her was so clean, pure, and innocent despite all the dirty deeds they’d performed at his home the night before.

  “I hope you’re right because I’ve worked so hard and so long for this that…I can taste it but the championship has always alluded me and I constantly ask myself why? Have I not trained enough, not fought hard enough? Maybe I was never worthy of it to begin with so why am I hoping that I should be so lucky now?”

  Chiara smiled as she leaned toward him. “Everything in life happens when it’s supposed to happen and you’re ready now. You have to invest more faith in yourself and believe you are just as worthy as any opponent out there. Never underestimate the luck of the Irish.”

  “The curse of the Irish is more what it feels like,” he replied in a rueful manner before he signed the bill, generously tipped the waitress and grabbed his card before he slid it into his wallet. “Okay, let’s get you home, foxy lady, before my BMW turns into a pumpkin and the clock reaches midnight.”

  She stood and grabbed her classy Louis Vuitton clutch. “If I don’t tell you later, thank you for dinner. I enjoyed myself too much and I’m glad you asked me out.”

  “So am I.”

  Torin grabbed her hand and they walked out of the restaurant together. They stood as his car was brought around by a valet and before he could open the door for her, a swarm of paparazzi descended on them and began to click wildly.

  “Who’s the new piece of ass, Duffy?” one of the more outrageous paparazzo asked and it took everything in him from not pulling a Chris Brown and knocking the guy the fuck out.

  “Just ignore them,” she whispered underneath her breath and he quickly opened her door before she slid in.

  The paparazzi continued to click wildly on him as he walked over to the driver’s side and slid in. He felt like doing nothing better than running them over but they finally cleared his car after they’d taken the money shots—he and Chiara seated next together.

  She’d donned a pair of large, Ray-Ban sunglasses which blocked out most of her face but he just sat there, exposed and wondering what tabloid rag would end up with the photos.

  Torin drove off as soon as it was possible and managed to get Chiara home in record time. He walked her to her door and they stood there as she removed her sunglasses and held them.

  “Listen, I’m sorry about that…someone must have tipped them off.”

  “Why are you sorry?” She grabbed his chin and he faced her gorgeous amber eyes as they looked at him with wonder and understanding. “It’s not your fault. You’re famous. I can handle it. I don’t blame you.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll be by tomorrow around ten in the morning, is that too early?”

  “No, that’s perfect,” she said with a smile that ignored his change of the subject.

  “Good night, Chiara.”

  It was the moment of truth and he was a bit frightened to reach over and do what he’d wanted to do all night. His lips descended on hers and their kiss was sweet, the moonlight behind them in all its splendid glory.

  She tried to pull away but he followed her and as her tongue met his in a sweeping gesture of playful seduction, he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.

  How could her kisses turn him into a teenager again and make him feel that much more free and wild? She wouldn’t invite him inside her house but she would kiss him, and tattoo his soul with a sliver of her heart instead.

  They reluctantly ended their passionate lip lock though he couldn’t help kissing her again, this time quickly before his dick got hard and she would feel it against her.

  Her lipstick was a distant memory but her face looked refreshing without it as she breathed, “Good night, Torin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Chiara.”

  Torin waited until she had unlocked the door and closed it behind her. He didn’t move from the door until he heard the deadbolt slide into place and finally, he walked back to his vehicle and got inside.

  The ride back to Summerlin was uneventful and that night, sleep tormented him with thoughts and memories of the lone night he’d spent with his wounded princess as he tossed and turned.

  When he awoke briefly at four in the morning, all he could smell was the scent of her she’d left behind. He hadn’t bothered to change his sheets because he wanted to enjoy her until Tuesday when his maid would come and clean his house, do laundry and the scent would be replaced by crisp sheets that would smell of organic fabric softener.

  Torin cursed his rabid libido, which wouldn’t allow him to fall back asleep until he grabbed hold of his cock and jerked himself off. The warm semen on his hands and fingers gave him little comfort and the satisfaction was much too brief and short lived but it did drain him of all energy. He cleaned his hands and cock
with a couple of wipes he kept in a drawer next to his bed before he tossed them in the trash can.

  He rolled over and closed his eyes. Sleep came easily and he rested peacefully for the remainder of the night.

  TORIN AWOKE TO a bright morning that was a bit chilly but otherwise perfect.

  The sky was a deep cerulean blue while the sun shined. It couldn’t have been more perfect because it was a beautiful day to visit Death Valley.

  Although it was technically located in California, it was only a two hour drive from Vegas and made a great day trip. He’d have just enough time to stop by Trader Joes and grab some essentials for the perfect picnic before he picked her up so it was all good.

  That is what he kept convincing himself of as he took a shower and got dressed in a pair of casual jeans that were neither too tight nor too loose, a black t-shirt and a matching pair of shit-kickers. Since he didn’t have much to do to make himself look good, he had a light breakfast that consisted of a protein shake and nothing else.

  He’d made fun of Chiara and her watching her calories but he was also on a similar regime. It was crucial for him to watch his weight not go up or down much in either direction. It could kick him out of his weight category and that would be devastating because he’d only fought professionally in the same category. He knew all the fighters on his circuit by name—or knew of them at least—and most of them he’d fought in the past.

  It was crucial to know one’s opponents’ skills when it came to fighting. If one were unable to know how they fought then one had no idea what kind of move they might pull next. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses. If a person knew their opponent’s weakness then they could beat him.

  That was how Rapelli had been able to beat him the year before and go on to compete for the championship though he’d lost to Rodriguez; a cruel, vicious competitor who knew his fighting and was dangerous as hell. A Puerto Rican by birth, he’d been raised on the tough streets of New York City in diverse sections as Harlem, Spanish Harlem and Hell’s Kitchen before they all started to experience gentrification. He’d earned his bones on the streets and honed his skills in a gym. Rodriguez’s trainer was equally brilliant, a smarmy mixture of a great mixed martial artist meets Don King. He was a showman and always spouting off about how Victor Rodriguez would never be defeated.

  So far, his trainer wasn’t wrong. Rodriguez had held the Championship for three years and still wasn’t close to being defeated.

  It bothered Torin because he’d studied all of his moves and knew if they ever had a chance to meet, he could beat him. He was weak on his left side but usually, he struck first and beat his opponent down to the point where by the time the third and final round came, they just wanted the fight to be over and done with, and no longer gave a damn about beating Rodriguez but just getting out without another rib being crushed or bruised. The man had lethal legs and wasn’t afraid to use them for kicks to the ribs, and back—the most vulnerable parts of a fighter’s body.

  He erased all of this from his mind as he walked to his Harley Davidson and climbed aboard.

  The last issue Torin wanted to think about was anything that had to do with his sport today. He’d lived and breathed mixed martial arts fighting for the past ten years. It was a sole goal that nothing or no one got in the way of, and for the past nine years, that’d been fine by him. He was okay with the pretty cocktail waitresses, strippers and whores keeping him company in bed and fine with not having anyone permanent in his life.

  Why the fuck did Chiara make him feel like it was time to settle down and get his priorities straight? Maybe this wasn’t the most important thing in the world and if he never won another fight again, he was set for life. He didn’t have hundreds of millions of dollars but his bank account was in great shape, he had more than enough savings, and both his stock portfolio and retirement accounts were already set up.

  He’d paid his dues and he wanted to get out before any damage was done he couldn’t walk away from and he’d sustained his share of bruises, cuts, scrapes and breaks. None that were a major bone but yes, he would eventually suffer from arthritis though it wouldn’t cripple him and he’d sustained no head injuries that would lead to anything dangerous…yet.

  Torin wanted to retire from the sport while he was at the top of his game and although he’d always felt like he would never be whole if he didn’t have that championship and that trophy. All the sudden, it didn’t seem like such a big deal if he left the sport without it.

  What did it mean anyway if he was alone, depressed and still barely making it emotionally, because he let what might be his one chance at love go? He’d never believed in true love or love only coming once but he had to go where his heart was leading him and right now, both his heart and his dick were leading him straight to Chiara.

  She may or may not be the one meant for him but he wasn’t about to leave her alone until he knew that for certain.

  He pushed the key in the ignition when his phone began to chime with Kanye West’s “Stronger.” He’d chosen the ring tone for Kieran on purpose because besides the arrogant hip-hop star, he knew no one other than his brother who thought he was such a gift to women from God.

  “Yeah, what’s up? I’m on my way out,” Torin answered in a curt voice.

  “Shit.” Kieran sighed out loud. “Where you goin’? The guys and I are gettin’ together today to watch the NFL playoff games and thought you’d want in our wager. We’re bettin’ the Broncos and the Seahawks are goin’ to win the AFC and NFC championships. What about it?”

  Torin shook his head though he knew his brother couldn’t see it. “Will there be skanks about?”

  “Of course, man, but none we’re payin’ for if that’s what you’re concerned about. They’re all strippers we met at the Hustler Club last night. They don’t have to work today so they volunteered to join us and get this, bro—there are ten of them and only five of us. You can have your pick. They are all super fine and we got ‘em in all varieties and flavors: real blondes, brunettes, redheads, Asian, mixed, black—whatever you want, it’s a buffet of fuckin’ pussy I am tellin’ ya.”

  “You see, that’s why Tara won’t take you seriously. The only thing you give a shit about is fightin’ and it’s fuck the rest. That’s no way to live, bro.”

  “I’m twenty-fuckin’-five, Tor. How the fuck else am I supposed to think? I don’t wanna be tied down right now. I don’t want three fuckin’ kids, a wife and a McMansion in Summerlin—I wanna live my life. Tara isn’t goin’ anywhere and when I’m ready for that, she’ll be around, waitin’ with arms wide open. What the hell is the problem?”

  Torin sighed. “Maybe she will be waitin’ and maybe she won’t. You ever thought she might not want a man-whore for a husband? All she’s lookin’ for is a decent guy who treats her right and will give her the attention and respect she deserves. You think a bit too highly of yourself, you know that, little bro?”

  Kieran laughed out loud. “That’s rich comin’ from the man-whore of the twenty-first century. What is it about you and this bitch anyway? She fuckin’ pulls the moves like Jagger out on you an’ all the sudden you morph into a guy with no balls and she’s holdin’ your dick in a fuckin’ vice wavin’ it at ya. I just thought you would want to grab your manhood back—cock included—and start behavin’ like the brother I used to know.”

  This comment pissed Torin off.

  “Perhaps I don’t wanna be that loser who has no respect for women and thinks I’m God’s gift just because I make seven figures a year, and am considered hot and sexy. Newsflash: women use us just as much as we use them and there is no way in hell not one of those cunts are gonna mean anything to me. I’m done with playin’ the field. I’m gettin’ old and maybe I wanna be a one-woman man.”

  “Is that right, huh?”

  “You bet your ass it’s right.” Torin ended the call and stuffed his cell phone back in his pocket.

  His brother was free, white and over the age of twenty-one. He
didn’t need a babysitter and he wasn’t going to act like one. Let ‘em do what he wanted to do and he would act accordingly. All he wanted to do was spend time with Chiara. That was the plan for his Sunday and that was exactly how he was going to spend it too.

  Chapter Eight

  Chiara

  I’D ALREADY TRIED to calm myself about spending Sunday with Torin by working out for an hour and a half at the gym that morning followed by a healthy breakfast of a chocolate protein shake. I’d taken a one milligram tablet of Xanax and a one hundred milligram tablet of Wellbutrin but my nerves were still as frayed as ever.

  I didn’t even know what to wear but finally decided on a pair of tight black skinny jeans and a tight royal blue lace top with a matching bra underneath it. I had a black leather coat to slip on for the ride up. I totally felt like a Grease chick when I slipped my dark hair in a high ponytail.

  My slightly shaky hands were lacing up a pair of black Doc Martens when the doorbell rang. I checked the bedside clock and realized it was too early for Torin to be here but perhaps he’d decided to surprise me.

  “Wait a minute!” I yelled from my sitting room before I stood and strode towards the door and opened it.

  Sienna stood there, looking slightly paler than usual under her slight olive complexion with her hair in messy bun, a pair of black yoga pants and a tight red tank top that showed off her fabulous shape after two children.

  She strode past me and walked into my living room before she flopped on my cream sofa. “I’m bored.”

  “And this is my problem how?” I questioned as I started to transfer the most important stuff from one designer purse to a small black Coach cross body purse.

  “Well, I needed to stop my medication because it’s starting to interfere with my painting and now I’m really…restless now.”

  I applied a coat of lip gloss to my lips. “If you fuckin’ flip out, don’t think I won’t commit your ass. I’m on my last few months here and I can’t deal with your drama too and do my job.”