by Mila Rossi
“So, what do you think?” Danielle asked, stepping out of the dressing area to do a twirl.
“It’s okay,” Sam said, not wowed by it. “The red one you tried on looked better on you.”
Danielle’s face fell, as did her shoulders. “Ugh, I’ll never find the perfect thing.”
“Do I have to remind you that it’s not your birthday but Clare’s? Does it really matter if you have the perfect dress or not?”
“Sure it matters,” Danielle said, readjusting her boobs. “Unlike you, I haven’t gotten any in a long time. I just might find someone at Clare’s birthday party to break the dry spell.”
Sam gave her an indulgent smile. “In that case, go with the red. Much better against your skin tone.”
Danielle pursed her lips, not at all pleased with the verdict and disappeared into the dressing room again.
Sam ran a hand over her face. She’d just about reached her limit. After this store, she’d call it a day and go home. She had things to do after all and couldn’t spend all day trying on dresses that after a while, all looked the same.
She grabbed her phone out of her purse and checked to see if she had any missed calls or messages. Nothing. She put her phone back in her purse displeased and plastered a smile on her face as Danielle came out to get the items Sam was holding for her.
“Only five more to go,” she announced, tiptoeing back to the dressing room barefoot.
Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Danielle was taking an eternity with her new outfit and Trent was taking just as long reaching out to her.
Getting more frustrated by the minute, she stared at the people walking around the store. Granted it had only been a few hours since he’d left her place, but she had expected to hear from him by now since she hadn’t seen him leave in the morning. It was only polite for him to call her. Then again, using the word polite in the same sentence as Trent was ridiculous. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word. She’d just have to make the first move herself.
***
It was Friday night and Trent was throwing a party. It had been several days since he’d slept with Sam, and she was on his mind day and night. It probably didn’t help that she’d called and texted him a couple of times, asking to talk to him, but he’d told her he was busy with training and didn’t have time during the week.
So to get her out of his system, he’d decided to have friends over, which meant the guys and a handfuls of girls. Hot girls.
They were dancing in his living room now, putting on a show in their skimpy outfits. He’d had a few beers and was feeling good, but still, the girls didn’t seem to hold his attention. Or his interest actually. They had his attention, simply because they were trying to dance as though they were auditioning for a stripper role, but he wasn’t turned on. They looked ridiculous, trying to impress him.
“Shit man, it’s been forever since you threw a party,” his friend Damon said as he plopped on the couch next to Trent.
“Yeah, sure has.” He stared at the girls without much focus.
“How’s the training going?”
“It’s alright,” Trent lied, not wanting to get into details. The last thing he wanted to do right now was tell his friends how badly he was fucking up in the ring. They knew of his loss, but not how badly his comeback was going.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him anymore. He was going through the motions but not showing any results for it.
“Damn, these bitches are hot,” Damon said, stroking his chin.
“Josh knows how to pick ‘em.”
Josh was another friend, usually in charge of finding girls for parties. He seemed to have that special talent that attracted girls every time.
A tall, busty blonde came walking up to Trent and started dancing in slow, rhythmic movements before him. He watched her ass wiggle provocatively.
“It’s great to be you,” Damon said before getting up and walking away.
The girl took that as a cue to make herself comfortable on Trent’s lap, rubbing up against him like a goddamn cat. Her sickly, sweet perfume was giving him a headache.
“Hi baby,” she purred, grazing his jaw with her manicured finger.
He merely nodded, trying to make an effort to actually enjoy her rubbing up against his dick.
“You like my dancing?” she asked in a throaty whisper.
“Sure.”
“I’m good at lots of other things too, you know.”
He could only imagine.
“How about we go somewhere more quiet?” she suggested, blowing warm breath over his ear.
He moved his head to the side. “Maybe later.”
She didn’t get the hint since she continued running her finger all over his body, from his face to his chest, as though he should find that erotic.
“Why not now?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Cause I don’t feel like it right now,” he snapped, pushing her gently off him.
She stood and frowned at him. “Okay, well, you don’t have to be a dick about it.”
He looked at her as though she suddenly grew a third nipple. “Why don’t you go take a break, cool down a little?”
She looked even more pissed now and huffed arrogantly before walking away.
Just what I fucking need right now. Sluts with attitudes.
He ran a hand over his face and went to get another beer. The remaining girls were dancing in a cluster a few feet away. Some of the guys were out there with them, and some were shooting the shit by the kitchen counter, making a dent in the beer supply.
“You going to Emmanuel’s thing?” Josh asked, referring to the yearly fundraiser the old man put on.
Trent nodded and grabbed another bottle. “Never miss it.”
He wasn’t obligated to go, but always wanted to support Emmanuel. The event raised money for impoverished kids to play sports and buy equipment that was needed. Trent wasn’t much into fancy events and such things, but this one had been such a staple in his life, he actually looked forward to going. Besides, his attendance always helped bring in more people and more money. It was the least Trent could do to help the old man out.
“I think I’ll bring Stacey,” Josh said, sipping his beer.
“You bringing a date?” Damon asked, making a face.
“Yeah, so what? What’s wrong with that?”
“You’re the fucking lady killer, man. You get bitches left and right. Why would you be bringing a girl to an event where you can find a new one to take home?”
“Cause Stacey’s my girlfriend, dipshit,” Josh said, throwing a crumpled napkin at Damon.
Trent shook his head, chuckling. Josh knew how to bring in the girls, but lately, he hadn’t been able to shut up about one girl in particular. The guy was so whipped, it was fucking ridiculous.
“Tell me you’re not bringing a chick too,” Damon said, looking at Trent.
“No, going solo.”
“Thank God. I don’t wanna be the only single guy there.”
“Like that would be so bad?” Josh asked.
“It would suck ass.”
“You can always bring one of these girls,” Josh suggested, nodding at the dancers behind them.
Damon took his time looking them over. “They’re for tonight, not tomorrow.”
“The fundraiser isn’t tomorrow,” Josh pointed out.
“You know what I mean.”
“You still got time to find someone,” Trent joked, smirking at Josh because he knew how Damon would react.
“Find someone? Are you fucking crazy? I wanna go solo, man. I’m gonna find me a fine ass girl that’s gonna make me getting dressed up worthwhile.”
The mention of worthwhile things brought other thoughts to Trent’s mind and he growled as he took another sip of his beer. One thing was for sure. He wasn’t bringing Sam to the fundraiser.
Suddenly he wondered what she’d look like dolled up in a fancy dress with her hair pinned up. She’d be a knockout. Just like every time he
’d seen her, fancy dress or not.
Without trying to, he’d memorized her face so much during their outings, that it was easy to picture her green eyes sparkling back at him defiantly or those pouty lips giving him an unexpected dazzling smile. It was so fucking annoying to have her face readily available in his mind, that he wondered if there was some kind of miracle drug he could take to wipe his memory clean.
“How about you, Trent? Don’t wanna find a date to bring along?” Josh asked, tearing Trent out of his daydream.
“Nah, I’ll stick to going solo.” Just like last year. And the year before that, and all the other ones since Trent had started going.
“He’s not gonna have trouble finding someone to keep him company,” Damon said, grinning.
That was true, but Trent didn’t even want to think about finding someone. He was bored with all the girls parading in front of him like he was a goddamn king, picking out chicks for his harem. The only one he wanted was Sam, and she was off limits for so many reasons. She’d give him what he actually wanted, but it would also mean he’d stop focusing on his next fight. He had to take one look at Josh to see how crazy the guy was over Stacey. Trent didn’t need that right now in his life. Maybe later, sure, but not now. He still had a few years left in him before his team would throw in the towel on his ass, so fighting should be his priority. Not women. Or not one woman, to be precise. Lots of women were fine, but one in particular wasn’t. Because that one lone woman could make him lose his fucking mind.
Chapter 8
On Monday morning, Sam picked up Hank and headed to Trent’s gym. Hank hadn’t been able to stop talking about meeting the fighter and how great it was to have a real-life boxer in his home, so Sam had decided to make Hank even happier by taking him to visit Trent in the gym. Hank’s face had glowed at the announcement and Adele had sent them off with her blessing and some wrapped cookies for Trent.
Sam pulled up to the gym, parked and they got out.
“Are you sure it’s alright that we’re here?” Hank asked, sounding suddenly unsure of their idea.
“Yes, it will be fine. I’m sure Trent will be happy to see you again.”
Sometimes a little white lie never hurt anyone. Not that she didn’t think Trent liked Hank, he did, she was sure of it, but showing up unannounced was a different matter. She wasn’t sure how he’d like that.
They entered the gym and let their eyes adjust to the dim lighting.
“This way,” she said, spotting Trent in the ring. Hank followed closely behind her and they walked up to the ring a moment later.
Trent hadn’t noticed them yet and was circling his opponent in deep concentration. He threw a punch, which the other guy dodged. A few seconds later, his opponent went into attack mode and Trent raised his hands to his face defensively.
“Good work, Trent,” Hank called out, much to Sam’s shock.
Trent turned to look at them just as his opponent’s glove connected with his jaw. Sam sucked in air sharply. He stumbled, but didn’t fall, then shook his head as if to clear it and spit out his mouthpiece.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hey Trent, remember me?” Hank asked, oblivious to Trent’s mood.
“Yeah, hey Hank.” Trent turned his glare on her. “Sam?”
“Sorry if we distracted you,” she said, giving him an apologetic smile, “but Hank’s been wanting to come check out your gym and I thought today was the perfect day for it.”
Trent merely continued scowling at her. The other guys who had been exercising in different parts of the gym were turning their attention to her now. She could feel their eyes on her.
“You’re looking good, Trent,” Hank said, giving him a thumbs up. “Just keep those hands up high and protect your face.”
Instead of turning his brooding look on Hank, Trent cocked his head at Sam as if to say, “Are you fucking serious?”
“Is it alright if we take a look around and watch for a few minutes?” she asked, trying to diffuse the situation. Judging from the look on his face, he wasn’t happy about it, but he nodded and turned away.
“Come on, Hank, let’s look around,” she said, leading him away from the ring.
She wasn’t happy with Trent either since he’d been avoiding her all week. She’d tried to reach him to get her interview taken care of, but it seemed like he was busy every time she called. She knew he was trying to get in shape for his next fight again, but this was ridiculous. After everything they’d done together, surely he could spare an hour to answer her questions. Shoot, it probably wouldn’t even take that long. She was writing an article for the newspaper, after all, not interviewing him for some TV special.
She looked at the pictures covering the walls and Hank was right beside her.
“Great pictures,” he mumbled, leaning forward to take a closer look.
There were photos of Trent knocking someone out, of him showing off his biceps during a weigh-in, with Emmanuel after a win, and so many more, she’d need the entire day to look at them all.
“What great memories,” she said, more to herself than to Hank.
“Yep,” Hank replied as he walked past her. “There’s more over here.”
She followed him to the next section and scanned the wall. Besides pictures of Trent, there were photos of other boxers in the ring, training, celebrating, and smiling with their teams. Sam wondered what it was like to live the kind of life Trent was leading. He’d had a tragic childhood, losing both his parents, but he was a famous and popular athlete now, enjoying everything that money could buy, including women at his beck and call.
She had no idea what it felt like to have money to burn. From the moment she’d earned her first paycheck, her parents had taken her money to use either for bills or their drug habit. The moment she’d left them, she’d scraped every little bit together to support herself. That was a decade ago and she was proud of the life she was leading now. Probably just as proud as Trent was of his accomplishments.
“Come Sam, let’s see more of Trent’s moves,” Hank said, turning away and heading back to the ring.
She took one last look at the photos, then followed Hank. Trent was circling his opponent, not paying attention to anyone outside the ring. She watched the look of concentration on his face. What had happened to cause him to lose his last fight? For someone who’d been undefeated, it must have been devastating. She inhaled deeply, realizing for the first time just how much it must have affected him. When they’d first met, she’d thought he was a jerk who needed to learn some manners. His loss hadn’t meant much to her. Now that she’d gotten to know him, she understood just how much of an impact that loss must have made.
Trent threw a punch and circled his opponent. His muscles were stretching and moving, giving her an eyeful of that body that had pleased her so well. She watched his arms extend, then move back to protect his face, his biceps flexing every few seconds. His back was like a canvas of nothing but muscle, and his abs were defined as though a six-pack was airbrushed on him. His legs were long and muscular, providing the quick footwork he needed in the ring. The tattoos were equally as distracting as the rest of him, and she wondered that his opponents could keep their eyes focused and not go in for a closer look. There was an eagle, some tribal designs, words, numbers, and more things she couldn’t make out. She made a mental note to ask him about his tattoos during the interview.
“He’s looking good in there,” Hank said, leaning toward her.
She nodded, not wanting to say anything in case she’d distract Trent some more. They watched in silence for a few minutes, then Sam thought it best to go. Trent needed to focus and not have them watch over his shoulder.
“We should go, Hank.”
“Alright,” he said, taking one last look.
She nodded at Ramirez who was standing on the other side of the ring and he gave her a barely perceptible nod in return. He hadn’t said anything to her the entire time she’d been there. Well, so much for the
gentlemen in this place. She pointed at the plate of cookies in her hand and set it on a table by the wall. He nodded again in acknowledgement.
She didn’t say bye to Trent for obvious reasons. He’d gotten punched in the head when they arrived, so she didn’t want a repeat of that.
They made their way out quietly and Sam was glad that Hank had enjoyed himself. She could see it on his face. He seemed ten years younger, smiling from ear to ear.
“That just made my week.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” she replied, laughing.
They got in the car and she pulled out of the parking lot. She wished she could say the same, but that wasn’t the case. It’d been good to see Trent, but they still had unresolved business to take care of.
***
That afternoon, Ramirez introduced Trent to Bill Potter, a sports psychologist. Trent shook the guy’s hand with hesitation and more than enough irritation. Why the fuck was Ramirez bringing in a psychologist?
“I heard you just lost your first fight,” Bill said, looking at him with interest.
Trent nodded, giving Ramirez a look that spoke volumes.
“Going through such an important event can be life-changing,” Bill continued.
No shit, Trent wanted to say. He kept quiet though, not sure if he was supposed to be replying to anything the guy said anyways.
“A lot of athletes have a hard time recovering from a loss, especially one that is so monumental. When they feel like they’ve reached a certain point in their training or their career, or when what they’re doing isn’t cutting it anymore, they come see me.”
“Is that so?” Trent crossed his arms. “And what do you do?”
“I help them work out their issues and make sure they’re mentally prepared to move forward.”
That sounded like a bunch of bullshit to Trent. A therapist? Ramirez seriously wanted to bring in this guy?
“So what do you think you can do for me?” he asked, giving Bill a once-over.
“Well, I’m not a miracle worker, but what I like to do is get your take on what’s been happening with your fights and your training, and go from there.”
