Cutter: A Fight or Flight Novel (3 page)

“All right, you ready, Colt?” I ask, climbing into the ring, resting against the ropes.

“I’m not a pro or anything, but shouldn’t my sparring partner be more my size?” Now, I take offense to that. I’m not as bulky as Colt, but we’re the same height and he might have twenty pounds on me. That’s not
that
much. I guarantee I’m quicker on my feet, which is what his slow ass needs to work on.

“I’m all you got, dude. So, you can start training or keep whining like a bitch. Either way, I’m getting paid, I don’t care.”

He shrugs and pops in his mouth guard. Meeting him in the center of the mat, he squares up with me and I nod, letting him know I’m ready. Slow as usual, he tosses a jab in my direction and I dodge it without much effort.

“Gotta do better than that.” I dance around him, mostly for show, and wait for his next strike, which seems like ages.

Colt grunts and advances again, mixing up jabs and hooks, missing each time. We continue the dance for what seems like hours, Colt still not making a connection with any part of my body. Finally, I let him get a stomach shot just to boost his morale, but it doesn’t do as much as I thought it would. His next five punches go wide.

“I’m just going to stand over here until you’re ready to do whatever you’re trying to do. I’m tired of all this dodging. We’re prepping for a fight, not getting in our cardio.”

“I’m gonna get a drink, I’ll be back,” he huffs in annoyance. Colt steps out and walks over to the water cooler in the corner, taking a paper cup from the top. Turning my back to him, I look over to the corner where Josette’s set up shop and she’s in her element. On the phone, feet kicked up on the desk, shoe dangling from her foot, she’s talking animatedly to whoever’s on the line and I can’t help but smile as I watch her.

“She’s fucking hot, right?” Colt asks from behind me, throwing a few combinations in the air.

“Back to work, dude.” There’s no way in hell I’m getting into this conversation with him. He has more things to worry about than how beautiful Josette is…like landing a fucking punch. I’m pretty sure Garrett didn’t take him on so he could ogle Josette all day, but to actually win a damn fight, which isn’t looking likely at this point in his training.

“Seriously, bro. I bet she’d look sexy as hell wearing nothing but those shoes. Where’d she come from anyway? She wasn’t here yesterday.”

“Work!” It’s a little louder than I wanted, but my patience is wearing thin.

We meet in the middle of the ring again, ready to run the same drills. He jabs quickly and actually connects on the side of my face. Stumbling backward a little, I nod at him, waving my gloves for him to come at me. He distracted me talking shit about Josette and I won’t let it happen again. I have to stay in the game if he’s going to learn anything.

“I’d bend her tiny ass over that desk in a fucking heartbeat. All she’d have to do is ask,” he mumbles through his mouth guard, but I make out every damn word. And I see fucking red. He attempts an uppercut. I block and return a hook of my own, landing right on his jaw. While he clutches his face, I back up to the corner of the ring and crouch. I look up just to check on him in time to see him rushing at me full force.

“The fuck?” Garrett yells from the other side of the room and starts running toward the ring. Without thinking, I stand up and step slightly to my right just before Colt reaches me, sneak behind him, and wrap my arm around his neck. I hook my leg around his, throwing off his center of gravity and pulling him to the ground. Colt’s cradled between my legs, and I tighten the hold on his neck, dragging him backward with me, then hook my feet around his middle. His hand keeps slapping my arm and all I can think is to not let him up. When he’s free, he’ll kill me. I’m not ready to die. Not yet.

“Cutter!” Garrett screams, climbing through the ropes and crouching down to my level, looking me in my eyes. “Cutter,” he says softer. “Gotta let him go, kid. He can’t breathe.”

Oh fuck. I killed Colt. I’m going to jail. I’ll never get out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I put my hands in the air and scoot as far back as I can get. Luckily for me and my heart rate, and I guess his health, too, the moment the choke hold is released, Colt starts coughing. Getting to his hands and knees, he gasps for air then stands and stares at me with a familiar rage in his eyes. Remembering Jake—and that look he’d get just before he laid me out for the umpteenth time—my heart races. I pull my knees to my chest and bury my head as far down as I can get it. Distantly I hear Garrett telling Colt to take off for the day, and then he’s squatting down in front of me asking me to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” I croak out.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Well, maybe hitting him to begin with, but not for what happened next. He had no right to come at you like that. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

“I didn’t mean to, but I didn’t know what else to do. You saw him, he was out for blood. I had to, Garrett. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I just wanna know two things. Where’d you learn to fight like that, and why didn’t you tell me you could do more than lift weights?”

“I didn’t know I could. I took some classes when I was younger and I’ve been watching the guys for a few weeks, wanting to learn as much as I could. I guess I just picked it up.”

“Wait. You’ve never really trained before? You’re doing shit I’m still teaching to some of these guys. Hell, Rian’s the only other person I’ve ever seen with natural skill like that.”

Feeling something that might be pride, I wipe away the few tears that fell and smile. “It was kinda fun.” I laugh.

“Looks like because Colt can’t control his anger, he’s not meant for my gym. Someone else can work with him. But you do kind of owe me, seeing as I’ve already paid his entrance fee.”

“What? You mean me? There’s no way, Garrett. I was literally scared for my life. I can’t do that just because I want to.” I get the urge to run away, much like I did when I left home, but for totally different reasons. I’m not scared of getting my ass kicked by a drunk asshole, but a professional fighter who needs to win to pay his bills…yeah, that freaks me the hell out.

“Yep. You wanted to be a fighter, right? Here’s your chance. We’ll get you started training Monday. Right now, though, you need to go upstairs and take a shower. You smell like a distillery and I’m sure your little girlfriend won’t find it attractive.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I grumble.

“Go. Shower. Now.”

Nodding, I follow his directive and head up to the apartment. Once inside, I sit on the couch and wonder how the hell my day took such a strange turn. Then my thoughts drift to why I got so pissed when Colt was talking about Josette.

“Because she’s, like, the only friend you’ve made, with the exception of Garrett, that you actually feel some sort of connection with. That’s why. Stop overthinking,” I answer aloud, putting my train of thought to rest. Friends defend each other, and that’s all I was doing. Defending my friend.

After my shower, I creep back downstairs, wanting to explain to Josette what happened earlier and apologize for letting Colt get the better of me. I don’t want her assuming I’m some rage-filled asshole like the other guys. I’m still the guy I was last night. Only when I get down there, she’s already gone for the day.

“Sent her home, too. She looked exhausted. I only planned on her working a half day, getting a lay of the land, so to speak. Mind cleaning up down here while I get some office shit done?”

“Nope. All over it, boss.”

It doesn’t take too long to put away the weights, mop the floors, and take out the trash, maybe an hour. I peek inside the office before I head upstairs for the night, but when I go to knock on the doorframe, I can hear that Garrett’s on the phone.

“I’m on my way in just a few, baby. Gotta finish up some stuff real quick. Go ahead and make dinner. I’ll make it up to you. Promise. If you make that chicken stuff you made last week, I’ll have more than enough energy to pull your hair, baby.”

I have to run out the back before I start gagging. I’m not a prude when it comes to stuff of a sexual nature, but Garrett, I don’t know, in the last few weeks he’s become like a brother to me, and Rian like a sister. For all intents and purposes, they’re my parents, but I feel weird calling them such because they’re too cool for all that. And I really don’t feel like hearing how my sister, or even worse, my fake mom, likes to get down in the bedroom. Talk about TMI.

I make a quick job of whipping myself up a TV dinner, then plop on the couch to watch a movie from the vast DVD collection Garrett left behind when he moved into his house with Rian. I’m not even halfway through before I zone out and fall asleep right there. And of course my dreams are filled with Josette and those damn heels.

Since I crashed pretty early last night, I’m up early for a Saturday morning. Pulling a carton of eggs out of the fridge and a frying pan from the cupboard next to the sink, I stop in my tracks when a knock sounds on my door. I slip a pair of sweatpants over my boxer briefs and barely have the door unlocked when Josette turns the handle and storms inside.

“I thought you were joking about being a fighter. Are you seriously going on a card?” she asks, and I’m not sure whether she’s upset or excited. Either I’m really tired still or she’s getting harder to read. Why must women be so complicated?

“Good morning, Jo. How was your night? Mine was pretty boring. Oh, sure, come on in, make yourself at home,” I sarcastically welcome her. She’s no more put together than I am—wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of baggy sweatpants with her hair in two small pigtails on the sides of her head.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Did homework, wrote a paper I’m sure I’ll fail, and skipped my online PolySci quiz retake. Now answer. Are you fighting? Or did I imagine getting a text from Garrett to switch out you and Colt on the fight card?”

“Nope, it happened. I was just sparring with Colt, but after yesterday’s events, he’s out and I’m in. Pretty cool, huh?”

“It would have been nice to hear it from my friend, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. I was just shocked when I got a text from Garrett. I figured if you were supposed to be fighting, it would have all been worked out already. And I also wasn’t aware that bookkeeper to Garrett meant doing all of the office stuff,” she jokes, and we’re finally on the same page again: me reading her cues. I was starting to worry.

“It was kind of a last-minute decision. When I came down to tell you, you’d already left for the day,” I say, shying away from telling her that I had to do it, since I choked Colt. She probably saw the whole thing, but thank God she doesn’t want specifics. Not sure I want to tell her the things he said about her. Or that I got so worked up about those things.

“You could have called, you know. Could have saved you the drive.”

“Probably could have if I had your number. Anyway, I needed out of the house. Nichelle, my roommate, she’s currently in the middle of some zoology project or something.”

Raising my eyebrow skeptically, I stare at her. Surely she can’t be mad at her friend for studying. I’ve never met a zoologist before, or even one in training. That would be a pretty cool job, working with animals all day.

“Fine,” she huffs, and puts her hands in the air in surrender. “She’s reenacting the sounds of the jungle with whatever guy she has over. I can’t take it anymore. I reached my breaking point at the screaming goat. I thought when she and Randy hooked up it was bad. Whoever this other guy is has taken the proverbial cake.”

Laughter escapes me and I can’t do anything other than shake my head. I’ve not had a formal introduction to Nichelle and now all I’m going to imagine is that damn goat from the Vines. And here I was thinking she was being a good student. Apparently I have a lot to learn about the real world.

Stepping out of the living room and into the kitchen, I get back to work on making a quick breakfast for both Josette and myself. She makes herself comfortable on the couch and flips on the TV.

“So, what are we doing on lazy Saturday?” she asks.

“I’d assume it would be something that involved laziness. But we could get crazy and be super lazy.”

“Super lazy sounds absolutely perfect.”

When the eggs are fried and the toast is burnt and buttered, I set a plate in front of her on the coffee table and take the seat on the opposite side of the sofa. To my surprise, Josette has the sports channel already on and is watching highlights from the past week’s games. She doesn’t even question my questionable cooking skills. Eating in a comfortable silence, we both groan when the announcer tells us about the Patriots winning and cheer on hearing the Bears lost. I knew there was something about this girl I liked. Great taste in football teams is a way to get in good with any guy.

“Garrett has a hell of a movie selection, if you wanna hang out a little longer,” I offer, unsure of her plans for the rest of the day but hoping she wants to stick around. After spending time with her on Thursday, I realize how much I miss the few friends I had back home. There weren’t many, but some I had known since grade school. We didn’t hang out all the time, and I’m regretting it now. Resenting my mom for stealing away so much time from me and the life I could have had if she would have put the bottle down. When I was still home, I didn’t think too much about it, but recently it’s all that consumes me—the negative feelings I’m harboring about her.

“Ehhh, not really in the mood for a movie right now. You got a PlayStation?” she asks, and the shock must be written all over my face. “Hey, I might have a pair of tits, but I’m well versed in the art of kicking your ass in some zombies.” I might have just come in my pants. Burnt toast, football, lazy Saturday, and now Call of Duty. Yep. She’s my pint-sized perfection.

“I only have one controller,” I regretfully tell her. “But if you wanna drive me up to the store, I’ll buy another.” I only have about a hundred bucks left from my check, but I’d gladly dish out forty to spend the afternoon playing video games with this girl.

“Dude, please,” she scoffs, flipping her hair and grabbing her purse from the floor. Inside the bag, which is nearly the size of her, she pulls out a fucking controller and headset.

“Marry me,” I whisper, immediately regretting my choice of words. That’s not really something one friend would say to another, now, is it?

“Okay, fine. Since you asked so nicely. We’ll grow old together, me kicking your ass and beating all your high scores. It’s a match made in heaven.” She wistfully sighs, gazing off into the distance, clutching her hands to her chest. “I’ll make you a deal. If you win, I’ll cook you dinner. You lose, you’re letting me crash here tonight so I don’t have to find out what a llama taking it up the ass sounds like.”

“Deal!” I yell way too enthusiastically.

While I recover from my embarrassing outburst, Josette syncs her controller to my console and powers up the game. As soon as the match begins, I desperately try to win and lose at the same time. Her cooking me an honest-to-God meal sounds amazing. Then again, so does her crashing here for the night. Judging from her facial expressions each time I sneak a look at her, she won’t be too happy if I let her win, so I really have no choice but to play my best.

Fifteen minutes into the game, my score’s higher than hers. Just as I’m about to “accidentally” start to lose, she jumps up from the couch and moves in front of the TV.

“Hey,” I yell. “Thought we were playing an honest match, Jo.”

“Honesty is for losers, Cutter. And I’m no loser.”

Moving to stand next to her, I use my hip to nudge her out of the way and she climbs on the coffee table to get a vantage point. I slide over a few paces so I’m directly in front of her, her head barely peeking over mine.

“I’m going to kill you, I swear.” She laughs menacingly and jumps onto my back. Stumbling a little until I regain my balance, I walk back to the sofa so that, just in case I drop her, she won’t land on the glass table. When I sit, she wraps her legs tight around my middle and squeezes her thighs. Then her controller is in my face, blocking my vision, and I have no choice but to drop mine to move her away. At that moment, the match ends, with her score barely higher than mine.

“Told ya so.” She giggles, unlatching her feet and scooting to the other side of the couch. “I’ll take the bed, thank you very much,” she proudly states.

“I should demand a rematch due to unsportsmanlike conduct, but I’ll just insist you cook too.”

“As long as you don’t try to say we tied. I’ll be the dutiful guest and feed you for your generosity, but I’m the winner, Cutter. Say it,” she demands with a huge grin.

“You’re the winner,” I mutter under my breath.

“Louder, dammit. Tell the entire world. Let them know I’m the best ever.”

Standing on the couch, I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, “Josette Morelli is the greatest video game player in all of the land!”

“Perfect. Now pick a movie, sir.”

Scanning the vast selection, I pick two DVDs and show them to Josette, giving her the final say. Of course she picks the chick movie. I honestly only pulled it out because I thought she would choose the action one, but leave it to me to be wrong. Taking CoD out of the PlayStation, I load
Friends with Benefits
and grab a bag of chips from the top of the fridge.

We settle in to enjoy the rest of lazy Saturday, and about thirty minutes into the movie Josette takes off her hoodie around the same time Justin tells Mila he wants to play tennis with her. Now my mind’s in the gutter as I try to distract myself from glancing at the thin tank top Josette’s wearing and wondering what she’d look like without it. The only thing making me better than Colt is I’m not voicing the question.

“Want a soda?” I ask, already walking into the kitchen. Bracing my palms on the edge of the counter, I bend and take a few deep breaths, so I don’t hear her join me.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” she asks, placing her hand on my back and trying to get a read on my face. Trying to shrug her off without coming off douchey, I open the fridge, putting the door between us.

“Just got dizzy for a second. I’m good,” I lie. “Soda?” I hold up a can, which she accepts.

“You sure?” she asks again, her voice laced with both concern and skepticism.

“Yeah. Positive.”

For the rest of the movie, I make sure to stay as far away from her as possible while I gather my thoughts. A slight crush on a friend is totally normal. I remember that much from before. But the things I’m thinking and feeling right now are far from friendly.

The credits start to roll, so I switch back to cable and flip the channel to watch something funny and not romantic at all.
Impractical Jokers
might be the least sexy show on television and, to be honest, I need the damn reprieve. Josette leans forward—cleavage on full display—to grab her soda, and I have to turn my head quickly to not go back to thinking about her without that fucking tank top. Then, of course, since the gods are all against me, the woman drops her can and it spills all over her and the sofa.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Cutter,” she says as she runs into the kitchen for a towel.

“Don’t worry about it.” Okay. This is good. She’s soaking wet with sticky pop. She’s going to want to go home and get fresh clothes. I’ll be able to digest all of this shit in my head and figure out what the hell to do with it. Maybe the gods favor me more than I thought.

“You got clean towels in the closet?” she asks, and I do a double take.

“Yes?”

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Can I steal a T-shirt or something?”

“Sure.” Looking to the ceiling after the bathroom door closes and the shower starts, I shake my head. “You like to torture people, don’t you?”

Pacing the living room, I try to figure a way out of this mess. We’ve only hung out twice and she’s mentioned to me at least three times she’s happy to have a good guy friend. That most guys just want to get in her pants. I can see why. She’s fucking gorgeous. And perfect. And so damn tiny you could just pick her up and do all kinds of awesome things. And her tits are just right there and so tempting. And her ass is more than a generous handful.

“And knock it off. She’s. Your. Friend,” I whisper to myself, but it doesn’t do much to detour my thoughts.

The water in the shower turns off and I can hear her wet feet padding on the tile floor. Naked feet. Naked body. Wrapped in a towel, probably. She opens the door and steps out exactly how I imagined her.

“Shirt?” she asks, holding out her hand.

“Sorry. I forgot.” I grab the only other clean T-shirt in the closet and hand it to her while standing a few feet back.

“Thanks,” she responds sweetly, and steps back into the bathroom. The only thing I can do now is pray her sweatpants weren’t damaged in the soda incident. I take my seat on the sofa and keep my eyes fixed on the TV when the bathroom door opens. She places the towel she dried her perfect, naked body with on the wet couch cushion and sits on the cushion right next to me. When her bare legs come into view, I swallow hard and try not to think about it, but she notices my discomfort.

“I’m wearing underwear, you can breathe,” she jokes.

“It’s cool,” I say stiffly.

“Cutter, look at me.” I turn my head and train my eyes on hers, begging them not to drift lower. “I can put my pants on, if you’d like. They’re a little wet, but I will if you want me to.”

Well, if that’s not a loaded question. If I say yes, I’m an asshole who would rather her sit in soiled clothes than let them dry. If I say no, I’m the typical dude that would never in his right mind ask a girl to put clothes on when they’re already off; half the battle is won.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I respond honestly. With Josette, truth seems like the best option. I’d like to think that even though we’ve only known each other a short time, she knows I’m not the typical guy who just wants to screw her because she’s hot. Don’t get me wrong, I’d have sex with her, but I also really do like her and wouldn’t want to ruin it because I’m hiding a hard-on underneath a throw pillow.

“Answer with the first thing that comes to mind. Do you want me to put my pants back on?”

“If you don’t, I’ll probably do something stupid,” I blurt. I have to look away; she can see right through me.

“What if it’s not stupid?” she asks, catching me off guard.

“How is it not stupid? You’re my only friend here other than Garrett. I do something stupid, we’re not friends anymore. I don’t want that. I really do like you, Jo. I don’t wanna screw anything up.”

“Cutter.” She demands my attention. Her hypnotizing blue eyes pull me in and I know I’m a goner. This isn’t a crush. I want her. I want her bad, and not just for a night. She says, “It’s not stupid. You think you’re the only one over there freaking out? I just hide it better than you.”

I lean toward her, putting my hand on her outer thigh, the silkiness of her skin scorching my palm, and her breath hitches. Some sort of weird man pride surges through my veins and I run my hand a little higher until I reach the hem of the shirt.