Page 24 of Sucker Punch Drunk Love

“I told you if you made weight, that I had a surprise for you. And before you ask again, yeah, I wrapped it. It's a gift. I like wrapping gifts to people,” he jested, handing me a long shirt box and a smaller jewelry box the size of my hand. Feeling giddy, I ripped open the shirt box, pulling out the silk walkout jacket in the Puerto Rican flag colors: light blue, white, and red.

“La Loba?*…” I read the nickname out to myself. The She Wolf. I know he had that rule about me crying, but in this instance, I hope he made an exception.

“In legend La Loba?* is wild, truthful, instinctual, and in tune with her surroundings. She makes note of her enemies. Protects her territory from intruders. What you've shown me in the past few weeks is that you're a beast in that cage,” he remarked, as I opened the smaller box to unveil a mouth guard, it's design resembling the bearing of a wolf's teeth.

“You can't wear the jacket in a cage, but you can damn sure make an impression on your walk out. You step in that cage, you bear those teeth, and show that fulana?* who the fuck you are!” I put in the mouth guard, it's design molding gently against my bite.

“And if I don't win?” He rested his palms against my shoulder, pointing me towards the full-length mirror.

“Well, then you make her remember you. This is your fight, your win. You see that face right there? That's the face of a woman who's ready to take her streak back. No exceptions. No failures.”

* Come on/Okay(especially in Caribbean Spanish, especially Puerto Rican)

* Has many contexts, in this moment it’s like saying “Ready?”

* Congratulations

* She wolf

* She wolf

* Has multiple meanings but in Cuban Spanish, it’s derogatory. It’s like saying Bitch

CHAPTER TEN

Josue

“Work the bag for twenty more minutes, and then we’ll cool down,” I said, splitting my focus between reading through contracts and instructing Sierra.

“You're not even watching me,” she whined.

“I gotta be watching you for you to fucking train?” I countered.

“I just feel like I do better when you watch me.” With the right training and meal plan, in the limited time we had with each other I was convinced Sierra could go an easy six rounds in the ring. The harder I pushed her, I could easily work her up to handling ten.

Only thing was, she was so fucking needy. Not a bad way, but for her it was more than just training. It was the validation she never got and the praise she so willfully fought for. I knew what that was like. Being orphaned at a young age fucked with your brain chemistry and shit. And cheering crowds? Sometimes they more than made up for it. But with Sierra, I was dealing with someone more expressive. Someone who was more used to being discounted, underestimated, and forgotten.

I was setting her up for whatever she was meant to do, win or lose. All the mentorship, coaching, advice or whatever I was able to provide, I had already given. So, it was up to her to do the rest, and I could tell she needed this. But in a big way I needed it too.

Training her was healing something inside me. In doing so it had opened my eyes to things I'd never addressed from my own past. But most of all, training her had been like training myself. The underdog. The one who had had the most to prove. What would help was if I’d found her unattractive or had a personality I couldn’t stand. Because while the kid annoyed me with her occasional upbeat attitude, girly tendencies and bubbly nature, sometimes you needed that change in contrast.

There was always a level of intimacy you had with a coach. A power dynamic that couldn't be denied. A mutual respect. It wasn’t exactly her fault that she made my dick hard.

¡Coño?*! It was bad enough now we lived together, trained together, spent more time together than we should have. Then I had to fuckin watch her prance around in her tight little tank tops like she refused to acknowledge that I was a man and hadeyes. I lost count how many times I jerked off just to curb my appetite.

“You better not fight like that on Sunday. Otherwise I'll schedule a private rematch and watch her kick your ass again,” I joked, as she playfully pushed me, teasing me with a cute little, “Shut up,” as we playfully circled one another until she went back to the bag.

I usually set time aside to close the locker room so she could have time to shower without any of these knuckleheads walking in on her. If things worked out, we were definitely renovating to accommodate women having their own space here. Until then, I guarded the entrance like a hawk, waiting for her to finish her shower and change into her post-workout clothes. She met meat the door ready to get out of here, but anxious to see where her mind was before her fight, I had other plans.

“Come with me.” This time she didn’t question me, she just followed my order and followed me to the cage. Taking my shoes off, I peeled my shirt off from behind, lowering to my hands and knees.

“What are you doing?”

“Take off your shoes,” I interrupted, failing to answer her question. I slipped out of my compression pants until nothing but boxer briefs stood between me and the cage floor.

“Do you want me to take my clothes off?” she asked with hesitation.

“No, I just want you to strip to your level of comfort. Humble yourself for the cage. You don't got to get naked. Just whatever you’re comfortable with.” Item by item, Sierra stripped down to her sports bra and panties, as a wave of relief subsided that she felt that unthreatened by my presence.