Brawler

  He stared back at me as if waiting for me to continue. I returned his stare, waiting for his response.

  His brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. “I’m lost. You said a minute ago that you didn’t want to stop doing it. Then, you said if we continued, you’d be ruined. Did I hurt you or something?”

  “Hurt me?”

  “Yeah.” He gestured toward my crotch. “Tear your junk up?”

  My junk?

  “No.” I chuckled. “You didn’t tear me up.”

  He looked confused. “So what are we talking about?”

  “I said I wanted some commitment from you that you weren’t going to just…I don’t know…walk away. You know, that you weren’t planning on hittin’ it and quitin’ it. Not that that’s never happened, because it has. But if it happens with you, I’d rather it happen now than after a while. I just don’t want to be left, you know, struggling to have orgasms later in life because I’m all hung up on thick cocks and I can’t find one after you’re gone. I know there aren’t any assurances in a deal like this, but I was wanting…I was hoping that you’d tell me that you weren’t planning on…” I cleared my throat. “Are you going to fuck me again?”

  His eyes went wide. “Wow.”

  I scrunched my nose and glared. “What?”

  “You are a girl.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You fight like a man. You walk like a man. You talk like a man. Well, when you cuss, anyway. But that? Whatever that was? That was one hundred percent girl. It made no sense whatsoever.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  I had explained everything. For as polite and as attentive as he was, he was a complete man.

  Never paying attention to what a woman says.

  “I’ll dumb it down for you.”

  “Dumb it down?”

  I nodded. “Uh huh.”

  “When do you plan on walking away?” I asked.

  His forehead wrinkled. “From what?”

  I sighed. “This.”

  The confused look returned. “This?”

  I inhaled a deep breath and shook my head. “When are you going to quit fucking me?”

  “I’ve got to quit?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “No. But sooner or later, you will. Nothing lasts forever. So, what’s your plan?”

  He shrugged. “Are you afraid of commitment or something?”

  Commitment?

  “Commitment?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Commitment.”

  Somehow the conversation had gone from fucking to commitment. As much as I enjoyed their company, men seemed to simply drive me insane. “No, I’m not afraid of commitment. Why?”

  “I really don’t know what it is you’re trying to do here, but maybe this will help.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on my knee. “I’m not going to hit it and quit it. I like you. If I didn’t, I would have never come over for dinner. You didn’t ask, but I’m sure you wonder, so I’ll just tell you now. I’m not fucking anyone else, and I won’t. I’m not like that.”

  As he spoke, my mouth curled into what eventually became a monstrous grin.

  “And, I’m not planning on leaving you,” he continued. “I might have been raised by an asshole, but I was raised with a pretty good understanding of what’s right and wrong. So when I agreed to have sex, I made a mental commitment to you. You can call it whatever you want to call it.”

  He lifted his hand from my knee and relaxed in his chair. “I call it being a man.”

  His little speech almost brought me to tears. I fought to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. I took a drink of coffee and smiled.

  “I don’t have any more questions.”

  THIRTEEN

  Jaz

  Day forty-three.

  I ran through the house, tearing clothes off and tossing them aside as I rushed to get to the shower.

  I had picked up an extra shift at work to help with the cost of gas from driving back and forth to the gym, and now I was running later than I expected. If I was late for the fight, it would be forfeited, and Ripp would kill me.

  I took a quick shower, dried off, and began to rub my lotion on.

  The doorbell rang.

  Fuck.

  I pulled on some sweats and a hoodie, then ran to the window. Peering through the blinds and out onto the entrance revealed no one.

  Fucking kids.

  I hurried back to my bedroom, got undressed, and quickly put on my shorts and sports bra. After grabbing my gym bag, I ran to the kitchen and got a protein bar. A quick check of my watch revealed thirty minutes until the fight.

  As long as I didn’t get caught in traffic, I’d have fifteen minutes to spare.

  With the protein bar in my mouth and my bag over my shoulder, I pulled the door open and stepped onto the porch. While locking the door, something right beside the door caught my eye. I turned to the side.

  Flowers.

  A vase filled with roses sat on the side of my porch. Beneath the vase, an envelope. Filled with excitement, I slid the vase to the side. On the outside of the envelope, a name was written in pen.

  Jaz.

  I checked over each shoulder and carefully opened the envelope.

  On the outside, the card simply said thank you. I opened it. Inside, there was a small paragraph, written very neatly and with perfect penmanship.

  Jaz,

  Thank you for giving me a chance. I’ll do my best not to disappoint you, and I hope so far I haven’t done so. If so, accept these flowers as an apology. If not, accept them as a gift expressing my appreciation for you allowing me into your life.

  Good luck tonight.

  Ethan

  I read it twice and then picked up the flowers and buried my nose in them. The sweet aroma caused me to salivate and filled me with an odd warmth. For, at least at that moment, what I believed to be the first time in my life, I felt appreciated for simply being myself.

  It was an exciting time. I’d never received flowers from anyone before. As much as I didn’t want to leave them, I carried the vase into my apartment, situated them in the center of the table, and placed the card in my purse.

  ***

  I could see the disappointment on Ripp’s face as soon as I stepped into the gym. Standing beside the ring with his hands on his hips and his eyes locked on me, he looked angry and disappointed at the same time.

  “You’ve got fifteen fucking minutes,” he growled.

  I tossed my bag on the floor and removed my shoes. “I’m sorry. I had to work, and it just went to fuck after that.”

  “Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

  Because I couldn’t afford to pay for my phone, and it got turned off.

  “I don’t know where my phone is.”

  It was true. It had been turned off for three days, and I really didn’t know what I did with it after they turned it off.

  He shot me a glare. “If you’re not going to take this seriously--”

  I shook my head. “I am serious. So serious. I want this more than anything. I’m really sorry. I couldn’t afford the extra gas from driving here five days a week, so I picked up an extra shift to help pay for gas and protein bars. And my phone? I don’t know where it is, really. But it got shut off.”

  “Why?”

  It seemed like a stupid question until I remembered that everyone didn’t have the same financial concerns I had.

  “I couldn’t afford to pay the bill.”

  His dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’ll pay your phone bill.”

  “No you won’t,” I said.

  I finished lacing my shoes, grabbed my jump rope, and sighed. “I’ll pay it as soon as I can afford to.”

  “I said I’ll pay it.”

  “And I said no.” I raised my hands to shoulder height. “Sorry, I’ve got to warm up.”

  I began jumping rope while Ripp stood with a concerned look on his face. As with most people who weren’t, trying to
understand the difficulties associated with being poor was impossible for him.

  “Let me pay it and you can pay me back,” he said. “I need to be able to get ahold of you. You’re going to go places in this sport, Jaz. And you can’t fuckin’ get there if I can’t get ahold of you.”

  I responded as I continued to jump. “I might…let you do…that. I can pay you…back as soon as…I get another shift…picked up. Maybe like two…weeks. It’s…not cheap…though.”

  His eyes widened comically.

  “Eighty bucks,” I said.

  “I think I can work somethin’ out.”

  “Thanks.”

  He motioned toward my bag. “Toss the rope.”

  I stopped jumping and dropped the rope on top of my bag.

  “Listen up,” he said. “Remember, she fights unorthodox. And her left hook is her signature, so watch for it. She almost always throws it right after a clench, so don’t spend much time in close with her. If you get caught in there, get out quick.”

  He’s already told me everything about her, but it didn’t hurt to hear it again. I nodded. “Got it, Boss.”

  “She’s been fightin’ amateur for three years, and she’s got about forty fights. She’s undefeated, Jaz.”

  He’s failed to tell me that.

  “What if I lose?”

  “You plannin’ on losin’?”

  “No, but I’m just asking. What happens?”

  “Nothin’. It’ll just be a setback. Be tougher for you to be accepted in the pros for a while. If you keep knockin’ ‘em out quick, it’ll get a lot of people to talkin’, that’s for sure.”

  “It makes a difference if I knock ‘em out?”

  He nodded. “Big difference.”

  “And if it’s quick?”

  “Huge difference. A late round knockout can be dismissed as a tired opponent or a lucky series of punches. But first round knockouts back to back to back? It brings a lot of attention and gives you a label.”

  “A label?”

  He nodded. “They’ll label you a bad ass.”

  “I am a bad ass.”

  “Prove it,” he said. “Give me a good fight.”

  “What if I give you a first round knockout?”

  “Not going to happen with this one, Jaz. She’ll just feel you out in the first.”

  We’ll see about that.

  I shrugged. “You never know.”

  “Ripton! You ready?”

  I turned toward the voice. The referee stood at the edge of the ring, leaning over the top rope.

  “Coming in now,” Ripp said.

  I grinned. “Ripton?”

  He pushed my headgear onto my head and nodded. “Michael Allen Ripton. Don’t act like your name’s Jaz.”

  After he put on my gloves and checked them for rips, I climbed in the ring.

  “What is it?” he shouted.

  I shook my head. “Just Jaz.”

  I hated my name. Who the fuck would name their daughter Beth? Even in school, most of my teachers called me Jaz, and it was how I signed all of my schoolwork. No one called me Beth but my father.

  “Get in the ring, Just Jaz.”

  I climbed in the ring and leaned over the rope. “Wish me luck.”

  He poked my mouthpiece into my mouth. “You don’t need it,” he said with a laugh. “You’ve got mad skills.”

  FOURTEEN

  Jaz

  Day forty-three

  Where a professional fight brings legions of fans and onlookers – all seated in bleachers or seats surrounding the ring – amateur fights do not. There is nowhere to sit, no screaming fans, and no recognition for the winner or loser.

  The fight begins, takes place, and ends with no one other than the trainers of the respective fighters – and the few friends who may have gathered – knowing the outcome.

  I met her at the center of the ring, tapped gloves, and turned to the referee.

  “I want a good clean fight,” he said. “No hitting on the break. No low punches or hits after the bell.”

  I nodded. She nodded. He tapped his hand against the lower band on my shorts. “This is low.”

  He did the same to her. “And this is low.”

  “Understood?”

  We both nodded.

  “Go to your corners and wait for the bell.”

  On my way to the corner, I noticed Ethan standing beside Ripp. On Ripp’s other side, Kelsey stood with his arms crossed. It appeared he was chewing Ripp out for something. Probably Ethan and me being in the ring together.

  Fuck.

  The old man hated me and I knew it. I stiffened.

  The bell rang.

  Shari “Thunder” Rose didn’t scare me. Forty wins and no losses meant nothing more than she got an earlier start on her career than I did. By no means did it mean she was better. We met on her side of the ring, and she did exactly what Ripp said she would.

  Her fancy footwork, shuffling to the side as I approached, and leading with an onslaught of jabs each time I got close enough to touch her prevented me from doing much.

  Frustrated, I continued to be the offensive fighter. Fighting someone who wasn’t willing to stand and fight was one of my pet peeves. Each time, as soon as I was close enough to touch her, she would throw a quick series of jabs and quickly step away.

  Stand still, fight me, you scared bitch.

  After chasing her around the ring for what I expected was half of the round, I grew even more angry.

  Talking through a mouthpiece is difficult – if not impossible – but I loosened my grip on it and gave it my best.

  “Stand still you scared bitch,” I hissed.

  A response wasn’t necessary. Her eyes said it all. She didn’t like it. She stopped dancing around and threw a wild right hook that missed me by a foot.

  “I’m gonna knock your ass out,” I taunted.

  She shook her head and threw a straight left. I leaned left and the punch swung past the right side of my face. While she recovered from throwing the punch, her left side was unprotected. I threw a hard right hook into her ribcage.

  She responded with an uppercut, catching me on the chin. And, for the first time in my boxing career, someone caused me to go blind from a punch.

  I shoved my gloves into her chest and pushed her off. My sight returned almost instantly.

  God damn, you hit hard.

  Snot ran from my nose and tears rolled down my cheeks. As ridiculous as it seemed to admit it, it was exactly what I needed. I felt myself fill with rage.

  Angry and seeking revenge, I stepped forward. She began feeling me out with shorts jabs, trying to lure me in. Ripp was right, if I got in close and stayed there for any length of time, she’d try and catch me with a hook as I broke away.

  And if she did, I’d be in serious trouble.

  But there was no way I could beat her if I wasn’t throwing punches.

  I swung a wild right hook into her arms, attempting to clear them from blocking my target. I wanted a straight shot at her face.

  She threw a left hook into my ribs, and I didn’t even see it coming. I countered with an uppercut that fell short.

  As follow-ups, we both swung left hooks at the same time, hers a narrow miss, and mine caught her on the shoulder, knocking her off-balance. I followed with a right hook to her ribs.

  The shock expressed in her eyes was enough for me to know she didn’t like what she was getting, but I wasn’t in the ring to make her happy. A hard left hook into the center of her stomach made her eyes bulge, and the sound of the bell prevented me from going any further.

  “Bitch!” I grunted as I turned away.

  I stumbled to the corner and leaned down. Ripp pulled my mouthpiece and gave me a shot of water. “What the fuck are you doing? Trading punches?” he asked. “You can’t do that with her. She’ll knock your ass out.”

  I shook my head. “She hits hard as fuck.”

  “And what were you doing? Talking shit?”

  “Uh hu
h. She wouldn’t fight.”

  Kelsey stepped around Ripp and glared at me. “You a boxer, or a brawler?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “I asked you a question, Spaz. Which is it?”

  “A little of both, Sir.”

  He pushed Ripp to the side and looked right at me. Wearing striped sweats and a white tee shirt, he looked angry, tired, and surprisingly tough for his age. “Looks to me like you’re a brawler. Going toe-to-toe with a girl like her will get you hurt. Now get that right heel off the fuckin’ deck, you flat-footed little shit, and maybe you’ll have enough power to hurt her.”

  “Forget you even know this bald headed prick for right now. Watch my right foot and my hips.” He threw a demonstration punch, twisting his hip in an exaggerated fashion as he did. “As your arm extends, twist on the ball of your god damned foot like your putting out a cigarette.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said.

  “You’ve got power, Spaz. Now go knock her arrogant ass out, I’m tired of watching you two dance.” He slapped his hand against Ripp’s shoulder. “Put in her mouthpiece in, Dummy.”

  Ripp shook his head and put in my mouthpiece.

  And the bell rang.

  FIFTEEN

  Jaz

  Day forty-three.

  I rushed to the center of the ring, and she met me with a hard right cross, missing my head by the thickness of a hair.

  Oh, now you wanna fight, huh?

  I threw a flurry of punches in response, showing her just how quick – and how powerful – I could be.

  She stumbled back a step.

  I didn’t want to beat her, I needed to. For me to quickly advance in the sport, I needed to knock her out and get noticed.

  I wanted the label, like Ripp said.

  Bad ass.

  I took one step toward her and swung an uppercut. The punch blew past her, and in anticipation of her countering with her signature left hook, I threw a right in hope of knocking it astray.

  Her left didn’t come, and my right caught her hard on the side of the face, causing her to stumble again.

  My vision narrowed. All that mattered was that I stay on the offensive, continually bringing the fight to her. If I did, she could only react. An offensive attack on her part, at least during my attack, would be all but impossible.