Page 80 of On the Ropes
Dean
The boxers on the screen opened their mouths to show the ref their mouthpiece. They touched gloves. The ref said, “Fair fight, clean fight,” while the two glared at each other. Behind them, an audience jostled and applauded.
The trip gong sounded, and three years later I still got a massive head rush of adrenaline. Still had synapses firing off an attack response though I was only on the couch in my living room.
They were light heavy-weight boxers, like I had been. In fact, I knew them both, and if I did this commentator job, I’d be analyzing bouts like this one.
The boxer on the left took a jab that opened a gash on his cheek. The crowd roared with bloodlust. There was no other way to describe it. Sometimes in the ring I felt like a Roman gladiator and wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
They danced around each other, occasionally getting a hit in. The upbeat commentators talked about every move they made carelessly and critically. I thought about what Rowan said: No one’s making money off whether my arm’s having a good day or a bad day.
There was money to be had in every hit these guys took to the temple. Money for me to make. I glanced around the first floor of my house. I kept it neat. Tidy. But it was still shabby and a little run down. I was frugal, had managed to live off my winnings and the meager income I made as a handyman. But I’d peeked at my bank account yesterday morning and gone queasy.
If things didn’t change, I was about to be in more than just a rut.
I took in the first round by maintaining a kind of impassive interest. It was just bodies. Just fists and gloves.
By the third round I had to close my eyes.
By the fourth, I turned it off.
With a muttered curse, I tossed the remote onto the coffee table. I’d only turned on the match because of Harry’s urging. I’d felt a little less confused after talking about it with Rowan the other night, while packing those food boxes. But Harry had been hounding me all day—said the in-person meeting scheduled with the producer was basically an in. They only needed to hear me say yes.
He wants to talk to you about concussions, Dean,Harry had claimed over the phone a few hours ago. Says he’s interested in hearing your concerns. This could be a sea of change for your sport, and you could be at the forefront.
I’d once made the mistake of watching my match with Bobby McKee. Had seen the vicious upper cut to my chin that sent me to the ground, unconscious. I didn’t remember any of it. Not the minutes before. And obviously not the shocked silence of the crowd. The medical crew, rushing under the ropes. Or Rowan, who’d had the bad luck of being in the audience that night, running to my side with fear in his eyes.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, exhausted and amped up at the exact same time. There was a soft knock at the door.
My heart stopped. Tabitha.
Last night, when she’d asked if she could make a fantasy of mine come true, I’d dropped my phone so fast I almost cracked the goddamn screen.
I could have filled a phone book with the fantasies I’d had about her since she moved in next door. The entire day had been one long, tortuous wait for the sound of that knock. I’d gritted my teeth through a dawn training session with Sly. Had worked a few jobs off Ninth Street around lunch. Then I’d driven the truck over to Home Depot and filled it with a first run of gardening supplies for the park.
I did it all in a daze. Stunned, as usual, by Tabitha Tyler.
I stood and walked to the front, moving the curtain back a half inch. Blinked in disbelief at what I saw there, even though I’d been told to expect it.
I opened the door and leaned one arm against the side. Tabitha’s hair was piled in a high bun. Her lips were stained a dark red. The trench coat was tied in the middle, and she wore high heels.
My gaze rose to meet hers. A dark lust was taking hold of me. I reached for the knot in her belt and dragged her inside. Then I pressed her back against the door.
I stroked my finger up and down the buttons of the jacket. “What is this?”
“Your fantasy, come true.”
“Is that so?” I asked, voice already sounding like a growl. The adrenaline from the sound of the bell still coursed through me, combining with a frantic urge to taste every inch of this woman.
“It’s a present,” she purred. “Why don’t you open it?”
This was probably a dream, but I didn’t stop to pinch myself. Eyes locked on hers, I worked open the knot. Didn’t drop my gaze as I slowly undid every button on that jacket. There was the tension and the release, bit by bit. A gradual reveal of hidden skin I didn’t allow myself to see yet. Her berry lips parted on a shaky exhale. Her pulse fluttered in the hollow of her throat.
I leaned in and stole a desperate kiss. Tabitha moaned and opened for me. My tongue swept into her mouth, her fingers threading into my hair.
The last button opened.
I planted my hands on either side of her face and looked down.
