12 Rounds (20 page)

And dangerous.

Dangerous because I haven’t even tasted her yet, but I already know that I’m completely, totally, and utterly addicted to her.

Chapter Twenty Four

~Hadlee~

Friday comes and I’m working the morning shift at the coffee shop. It’s never busy early in the mornings and I hate it, not only because it makes time drag, but because that gives my mind plenty of time to wander.

To think about the last couple days.

To think about Sean and how’s he’s given me something I’ll never be able to repay him for.

A second chance at life.

Ryan sticks his ash blonde crown out of the stock room door. “Hey, Lee can you restock the cups?”

“Sure thing, Ryan.”

I make my way to the stock room and grab the long, slender plastic bags of cups in sizes small, medium, and large. Then I fill up all the bins underneath the counter. After I restock all of the cups and lids, just because I was bored and we’re slow, I decide to wipe down all the counters, clean out the coffee grinder, repeating the process more than once.

I’m trying to keep myself busy. To keep my mind occupied so it doesn’t wander and I don’t wind up spending my whole day thinking of the sexy, tatted up boxer who saved my life.

I haven’t seen Sean since Wednesday. Tonight is his title fight and I know that Lara is having Ted and a few of his friends over to watch it. I think about inviting Ryan, but I decide against it. Outside of work, he’s a little too smothering and I want to be able to watch the fight without him hovering over me. After all, Lara already invited him out for my birthday tomorrow.

Seeing Ryan three times in one week is just about all I can handle.

Speaking of Ryan…

I pop up from behind the counter at the same time he walks out of the stock room. He props himself up against the counter, the right side of his mouth pulling up into a smile. “So…” he trails off for a second. “You excited for tomorrow?”

“Yes.” And no. Part of me is excited because it feels like I haven’t left my hut in centuries. I feel like it might be nice to be out among civilized people, but then I can always count on the terrified part of me coming out.

Lara assured me that she’d keep an eye on me at all times, but what if that isn’t enough. I’ve learned that you can’t control other people, what they’re thinking, and their actions no matter how hard you try. All of my nerves ball together as an anchor of doubt sinks into the pit of my stomach.

We’re going to this swanky new dance club called C’est La Vie. With all the club-goers, loud music, and flashing lights I doubt that Lara will have her eye on me the entire time we’re there.

Ryan’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “You should be excited. It’s about time you started living your life again, Lee.”

Thank you, Dr. Phil. I roll my eyes and look in the opposite direction. I want to tell him, don’t you think I know that.
Don’t you think that all I’ve ever wanted is to  move forward with my life and stop living in the past?
Unfortunately it hasn’t been that easy.

People love to comment about what I’ve been through and voice their opinions on how I can overcome my past and better my life. I hear it in school from some of the kids I’m acquainted with. From Satine. And now Ryan. I know they’re only trying to be helpful, but sometimes it irritates the shit out of me.

 The only person who has never done that is Lara. Mostly because she believes that everyone’s healing process accelerates in different ways to various speeds. Some people get over things quickly. Others don’t. She also reminds me quite often that she has no business telling me how or what to do with my life now, because she doesn’t know what it’s like to run down the block in my size seven Nike tennis shoes. And I love her more than anything for that.

She’s always been my sturdy wall of support, offering advice when I ask, and being there for me by always making sure I’m okay.

Ryan moves closer to me and leans against the counter, his long lanky arms folded across his chest. “So you watching the big fight tonight?”

“Yeah. Lara rented it on Pay per view.” I glance in his direction. “You?”

“Probably. I don’t really want to though. I just know most of my friends will be watching it and I’m supposed to hang out them tonight.”

I’ve heard some random chatter on campus and from a couple of the customers on how big the fight between Sean and Avery Mullins really is. Most of the people I’ve heard talking about it seem stoked for it. “Why don’t you want to watch it?” Ryan is definitely not a sports-loving kind of guy. He likes reading, watching foreign films. Point blank, the artsy stuff.

He shrugs. “I know he’s like a hometown hero and all, but I’m not really a Sean Reilly fan. The guy is kind of a tool.”

“A tool?” My face bunches together and I gawk at him oddly. I didn’t get that impression at all. I mean he’s definitely a little rough around the edges, but I think buried beneath his hard demeanor and cool stares is a beautiful person. Someone capable of caring. Showing warmth. Maybe even loving. This all makes me wonder what Ryan based his opinion of Sean on. “Do you know him?”

“Not really. But I’ve heard stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“I don’t know.” Ryan runs a hand through his messy hair. “Random gossip.”

“Gossip usually isn’t true,” I remind him. “That’s why they call it gossip.” Or is that rumors? I shrug and decide not to correct myself.

Ryan lifts an eyebrow, then lets out a shaky laugh. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of them.”

“One of who?”

“His groupies. You know all the girls that follow him around like he’s some God or something.”

A tiny smile pulls on my lips when it hits me that Ryan’s dislike for Sean is nothing but some kind of male rivalry. Or he might even be jealous. “I’m not a groupie,” I say with a laugh. “But I happen to know that he’s not what he seems to be.”

Because if it wasn’t for Sean, I would have died two years  ago.

And that is something I am one hundred percent certain of.

Chapter Twenty Five

~Sean~

Wednesday night I made sure the VIP room at C’est La Vie was reserved for Hadlee’s birthday.

It was the last thing I did before I caught my flight to Atlantic City for what the critics are saying is going to be the second biggest fight of my career. I’ve been trying to steer clear of the media coverage of the events leading up to the fight, but yesterday, in my hotel, I got hooked on the ESPN coverage and was pleasantly surprised that the odds are in my favor.

All right. Not really surprised. I kind of figured they already pegged me as the winner.

The truth is, I am a scrapper. A junk yard pitbull. Punches don’t frighten me or do any permanent damage. And when my opponent knocks me down, if he manages to knock me down at all, I get back up again with speed, and dodge the next punch sailing at me with agility.

I remember the night of my first fight. How miniscule the crowd was. How inexperienced me and my opponent were. I like to think of the few pro-am matches I fought as learning experiences. Mainly because I fucked up in so many ways. Don’t get me wrong, I still won those fights, but I did leave them with some hefty injuries.

First thing I learned, always cover your chest. Body shots hurt like a bitch and broken ribs take forever to heal. You try not breathing for months and see how you like it. Second, nobody puts Seany in the corner.
Haha, Dirty Dancing I know.
Never let your opponent pin you in any of the four corners of the ring. And if you do, head down, gloves up. Lastly, quickness is your dude. Your BFF. It has to be with you at all times.

I like to use my speed to my advantage. Yes, I throw in a few combinations. Some single jabs. But mostly, I move around the ring a lot. It tires my opponent and give me the opportunity to strike. I’m like a venomous adder. I slither to the right. To the left. Then BAM! I strike with ferocity, throwing my famous right hook and leveling  my unworthy opponent.

A loud knock echoes through the room. I know it’s Murph at the door so I just shout, “It’s open!”

Murph attends all of my fights as my body guard. Not that I really need one, but every boxer has his posse. You know like his pit crew. It’s a lot like Nascar really. Minus the cars. And rednecks with missing teeth. “You ready?” the big lug asks and when he turns I notice he’s already wearing his Team Reilly jacket.

“Somebody is overly excited,” I say with a chuckle. My fight isn’t for eight hours and Murph’s already good to go.

“Joe sent me to up to bring you down for the weigh in.” Murph gives me the
get a move on it
look and with that I hop up from the bed and follow him through the door.

We walk down the hall. The red carpet and gold walls, blurring in my vision. When we come to the bay of elevators Murph says, “Have you seen the ring girls? Holy shit man! They are fucking dime pieces.” He takes in a deep breath. “I’ll bet you’ll be getting lucky for days after this fight.”

“That’s if I win,” I add.

Murph looks at me incredulously. “What the fuck is going on with you man?” He jerks me by the shoulder. “You’re normally a cocky prick when it comes to your matches.”

I shrug. “Just trying not to count my chickens before they hatch, you know?” And I throw in, “No I haven’t seen the ring girls.”

I tune Murph out as he begins to describe the size of one of the ring girls cans,  and when he speculates  on the exact circumference of the other one’s tight round ass. In the past, I’d be thoroughly intrigued by the descriptions and have fantasies about slapping that tight round ass while I’m hitting it from behind, but since then my thoughts have changed.

My taste in women has changed.

The only woman I’ve been able to think about since I’ve arrived is Hadlee. I’ve thought about calling her. I thought about popping over to her place right before I caught my flight to Atlantic City. But I didn’t. I should have. But I didn’t. Part of me thought she needed the space, you know. I know that when I had a breakdown in the past, I needed time to be by myself. I needed the space to sort out my emotions and feelings.

I figured females probably wanted the same things, right?

Murph tsks and shakes his head. He has an amused look in his eyes  and I nod at him as the elevator door opens. “What?”

“You, man.” He laughs and we walk inside the elevator.

“What about me?”

“There’s something going on with you, dude. First of all, you were ignoring me when I was describing the ring girls sweet, sweet ass. And for the last few days you’ve been out of it, staring off and pretty much tuning out everything I fucking say.”

“I have not,” I scoff.

“You have, dude. What the fuck is up with you?”

“Nothing,” I say slowly. “I just have a lot on my mind with Teagan and the fight and all.”

“Right.” Sarcasm drips from his vocal chords and I know he doesn’t buy my bull shit for a second. “You know what I think it is?”

The second I open my mouth to ask him what, the elevator stops and the door swings open. In walks a woman in a pant suit with cascading auburn curls and a smooth almond complexion. She wears a corset beneath her suit jacket and my gaze centers on her full breasts that are spilling over the top. We make eye contact. She scans me with a sweep of her hazel eyes and bites her bottom lip with a smirk. And she smells fucking delicious too. Like cranberries and maple syrup. I inhale deeply as she turns around and ignore the sound of Murph chuckling in the corner.

The old Sean would throw in something suave right about now. That perfect one liner that would extend an invitation to my bed.

The old me would make her scream my name so loud that the rest of the occupants in the hotel would complain. The old me would slam this broad into a wall and enjoy every tantalizing second of it.

The old Sean
was
a badass.

The new Sean…

I’m not so sure what he is.

The elevator stops again and the woman flashes me another seductive look over her shoulder, willing me to talk to her as she makes her exit. But I say nothing. I simply nod and the doors close.

When the elevator moves again Murph nudges my ribs with his bulky elbow, still chuckling. “I know what it is.” He leans back into his corner and shakes his head. “I never thought I’d see this day.”

“Spit it out man,” I bark.

“It’s a fucking female isn’t it?” Murph howls with laughter. “I can’t fucking believe it. Sean Reilly is a pussy whipped bitch.”

I slap his shoulder with a scowl. “Hey, fuck you man.” I fold my arms across my chest and lean back against  the elevator wall. “I am not a pussy whipped bitch.”

That’s the truth too. I am not pussy whipped. I’m worse. I’ve already convinced myself that Hadlee has the Holy Grail of pussy’s. Why is that worse? Because Murph and I both know, in order to be pussy whipped you actually have to touch the pussy.

And I haven’t even kissed Hadlee yet.

I don’t kiss a lot of the girls I fuck. I have this thing about going there. You know to that level. To me there’s something more intimate about kissing a woman than being involved in a random sexual romp with her. Something special and beautiful about it. It’s like a deep connection to their soul. I know that seems weird, right? Because nine times out of ten you’d think it would be the other way around. One would think that having sex with a woman would give you that deeper connection, but for me it doesn’t.

I did have one relationship in high school with the girl I lost my virginity to. She was a senior and I was a sophomore. Yes, she totally robbed the cradle. But I didn’t mind. In fact I let her rob me repeatedly for almost a year. And I enjoyed it. Very much. There was this one thing she always said right before we’d fuck that at the time I’d always shrug off, but as I got older it always stayed with me.
“Not only are our lips connected, but so are our hearts.”
  There’s something powerful in that saying. At least to me anyway.

I think my first and only girlfriend, Analee,  broke a part of me in a way. Because shortly after we started hooking up she cheated on me with some college dude.