Hot and Cold (5 page)

I popped off, looked up at his heaving, gorgeous face and said, “You said you’d give yourself to me. Well, come give me yourself now.”

I took him full in one swift stroke. It took barely a lick of the tongue before he broke. He shuddered and uttered a deep voiceless roar of satisfaction that mad me shake with excitement. His hand was pressing, not pulling now. I opened wide and received the thick bursts that shot into my mouth.

Finally, I pulled off, gasping. He lifted me to my feet.

Forehead to forehead, we stood, tipping into each other for one kiss after another.

“Jesus,” he said. “You spent me and I still want to take you.”

I ran a hand down his rippling abs. “Then you better find your strength, fighter boy.”

He gave me a final, teeth-clacking mess of a kiss, then scooped me up in his arms. I squealed.

“With you around,” he said. “I’ll always find the inspiration.”

We went into the bedroom and spent the night taking care of each other completely.

CHAPTER FIVE

The fight was going to be held in - of all places - a high school gymnasium in Sterling Heights. The principal must have been a fan or something. I couldn’t imagine wandering past my old school some weekend and seeing a bunch of redneck pickups and gangbanger low riders piled up in the parking lot.

Ok, maybe I was just being a preppie princess, but that’s how it felt the one time I had gone to these things. This one was being run by a pretty highly rated security firm, and it had some VIPs attending on top. It should be even safer.

I knew all this, because I was headed there. On my own.

Sean had no idea I’d be there. Heck, I’d had no idea I was going till I’d finished talking to him on the phone as he was on his way to the fight.

“Thanks for being there for me last night,” he’d said. His voice came through low and soft as if he was still inside me.

“I was ready to take care of you a lot more,” I said, sprawled out on my bed and imagining him over me. “I could have gone for hours more, but you needed to sleep. Did you get enough rest?”

“Yes, ma’am. I slept like an angel. You must have noticed before you woke me with that kiss.”

“You did look calm, but you always look calm. No bad dreams?”

“No dreams at all. You wiped me out.”

I might have giggled before I stopped myself. He just made me feel so damn good about my body. I almost knew how good I looked by now, but the constant reminders were sweet.

“Well, I hope your other preparations went well. Did Silvio give you a second-hand high? Wait, would that hurt or help?”

“That’d be bad, Gabi. Slow reflexes are a bad thing.”

“Dulls the pain though, right?”

“Handling pain was never my problem. I lost on points the last couple times.”

The silence stretched.

“Hey,” I said. “That’s not going to happen tonight.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“You do? I mean, yeah, good.”

He chuckled. “I know it because the last person I was with was you.”

I eased over to the side of the bed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I didn’t see any of the other guys. Troy’ll meet me outside the cage tonight, but we didn’t do our ritual.”

“What’d you do this afternoon then?”

“I chilled. I took a drive, warmed up a little bit. Mostly, though, I thought of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Knowing you have my back gives me more fire than any hours I can put in at the gym.”

I could hear the smoke in his words.

“Aww…” I started, but I had no idea what to say. I didn’t know what I had even done.

“Anyway, thanks,” he said, “If I make it happen tonight, it’s all because of you. I love you, baby.”

“I…love you, too.”

There was only his breathing on the line, but I could hear his smile.

If you’d told me that I’d first hear those words through the tinny speaker of some dumb phone, it would have broken my heart. But the words turned space meaningless. I could feel him right with me, as sure as the breath in my lungs or the air on my lips.

The phone clicked off. There was really nothing more to say.

But there was plenty to do.

Half an hour later and I was checking the street signs to see if this was my turn. A couple pickups blasting country rap whooped and hollered as they roared past me and hung a right.

Yeah, this was it.

The school lot was crowded when I passed it, so I parked off on a side street and walked back. More and more shaved-headed and tattooed guys joined my side as I ventured through the lot and the wide open doors.

I saw a couple of them nudging friends or staring nakedly at me.

“Ey, mami,” one called. “You need some company tonight?”

“I’m taken, thanks,” I squeaked without looking.

I breathed and tried to swallow the acid feeling I got as the roar of the crowd inside grew closer. It was low, like a lawnmower’s blades. It had a whole different feel than game days at Ann Arbor. The voices were angrier and entirely male.

I streamed in past the bouncers and needled my way through the crowd quickly. A few of the brushes that passed my body may have been intentional, but I got to my aisle seat intact. I’d paid a heck of a lot to get a seat just south of the VIP section. People with cash were less rowdy.

Also, I was close enough to see every inch of the ring. It was elevated just a foot or two. Chain fences rose up on eight sides - the octagon, they called it. Tray lights hung over the center.

A couple guys were already going at it inside: a white guy with almost ivory skin against a tan, maybe Latino guy. Both were sweating, one was bleeding. I tried to pay attention, but the guys were mostly caught in tight hugs.

I really didn’t see what the appeal of this was, but the crowd around me sure did. They looked straight out of some Animal Planet show on primates: brows crossed, mouth howling in anger, hands fisting the air as they urged on whichever tribe alpha they supported.

It was a world I didn’t understand, but one I couldn’t ignore anymore. This was Sean’s world – this human jungle. I’d been silly to think I could seal myself off from that part of his life.

The crowd roared all at once and I jolted in my seat. In the ring, one guy was staring down at the other, who wasn’t moving. I didn’t know much about the sport, but I could understand a knockout.

Some guys came to help the loser off the ring, and the referee strode in to call the fight. People with mops came in to wipe down the mat. As they worked, bikinied blondes ran in, looking ecstatic and coy as they waved around giant ads. Guys started yelling and beckoning at them, as if the girls would pick them alone out of the entire damn crowd.

It was a bit too much. I fidgeted on my phone until the referee started speaking on a megaphone.

“Alright, here’s the fight you’ve been waiting for. Coming into the Octagon now, put your hands up for the Iron Giant. The Tin Man of Michigan. The one, the only Raymond Higgins!”

My eardrums nearly blew out as the arena exploded. A compact, efficient-looking black man strode stiffly into the arena and took his spot in the center. He didn’t wear a trace of a smile.

My skin prickled just looking at him. He didn’t look like he would go down easy. I hoped the robot analogies were talking about his manner and not his metal fists.

“And going up against him, the once and future prince, the beast of the north, the Irish Tiger himself, Sean Smith.”

I shot to my feet, whooping and clapping. It just came to me at the sound of his name.

Sean strode in, his rippling, shirtless body stiff and proud as he nodded to his fans.

You’ll get what you came to see,
that look said.

He took the center, but looked around. His gaze passed over me, went wide then shot right back.

He softened a moment, like some shifting mountain peak. For a moment, the room was gone and it was just us looking at each other.

“You got this, baby,” I mouthed.

His lips tugged up, broke into an arrogant smile. He nodded and turned back to his opponent. His face went suddenly serious.

I’d watched one other fight in my life. I’d never been to boxing or wrestling matches at school. I didn’t even play the Wii version like Gina did now and then

I still knew that the fight was already over.

The bell rang and Sean came out swinging. The crowd’s murmurs shut off like a flip was switched. For all their bravado, actual ring aggression this early must be unheard off.

The Tin Man of Michigan or whatever had his arms up blocking each of the blows, but he winced with every thump of Sean’s fists and shins.

Sean, on the other hand, looked intense, but not angry. It was like watching a sculptor or a painter trying to gain the perspective he was after.

With every blow, sweat sprayed off him. He came closer and closer to that perfect angle. His opponent wasn’t even returning blows, just trying to absorb the fury. It might be the right strategy, but not today. Not against Sean.

He hadn’t been lying on the phone. There was some fire in him, and it burned brighter the longer he went. I wasn’t silly enough to think I was the cause of it. Those hours and hours of practice had turned him into some kind of nuclear reaction.

But maybe I’d been the one to set the bomb off.

The bell rang after a dozen minutes, and the two men went off to their corners. The Tin Man rubbed his dark arms. Even on his skin, which was deeper than mine, I saw purple bruises. He lay almost collapsed on his chair.

Sean just sat in his corner and stared back. He was a hunter held back from his prey. I felt a cold dread even watching him.

They came back for round two, and, to his credit, the Tin Man glared back at Sean. Unfortunately, this Tin Man had too much oil, cause his limbs seemed to sway outside his control.

The bell clanged and Sean feinted in. The guy darted back, but Sean just grinned.

He did it again, and this time, the guy hesitated between moving and blocking.

It was a bad call. Sean struck him squarely below the ribs. Even, I groaned.

After that, it was like watching a lion chase a wounded gazelle. The guy tried to move and block, but everywhere he went Sean was already waiting. He delivered blow after blow, and then, when the guy was heaving and there was blood when he spit, Sean landed a punch directly on his chest.

The Tin Man dropped wheezing to his knees, then sank to the floor. It looked like death, but I knew that was just the solar plexus. Sean had literally taken his breath away.

The referee counted to ten, but Sean just paced up to my side, grabbed the cage and beamed out. The light at his back cast him as shadow, but I could see his teeth sparkle. He ticked his head, as if to ask:
Will that do?

The referee was shouting his name now, calling him back to the center to announce his victory. The crowd chanted for their champion. Sean stayed put.

I knew what he wanted. Without wondering if it was allowed or legal, I got up and walked towards the cage. A thick mound of a bouncer held a hand out at the front of the aisle, but Sean yelled a couple words at him and he moved away.

I walked up to the cage. Sean took a knee and his face was right next to mine.

The chain-link fence sliced his gorgeous features up, but the man I was looking at wasn’t broken. No, he was more whole than ever.

And so were we.

With the whole crowd watching and roaring, I clasped his fingers through the fence, pressed my lips through and kissed him.

It tasted like metal and sweat and blood. I’d never serve the flavor up in a dish, but it was one I could get used to.

It tasted like victory.

CHAPTER SIX

“Ms. Williams, tell us what you’re presenting.”

Part of me knew that this room was nowhere near the size of an arena. It had three small kitchens, a few rows of tables for some audience and the judging table before me. It couldn’t be bigger than the first story of our house.

It still felt like I was in a damn coliseum.

The head judge twitched his dark mustache. “Ms. Williams?”

“Uh, sorry,” I said. “Sorry. Cooking haze.”

“I can definitely how
that
would happen,” the woman to his right said. “That’s a hell of a kick you put in here, girl! I already smell it.”

She was the local celebrity: Shaunda Jones of the KRDC nightly news. I focused on her and began to speak.

“Judges, what I have for you today is a Detroit style gumbo, with a side of jalapeño cornbread and biscuits.”

“Detroit style gumbo,” the third judge said. He was a teacher at the local culinary institute. He wore a tweed suit and looked mildly offended.

“It’s my own take on a Southern classic,” I said. “I replaced the pepper sausage for a milder but richer German garlic bratwurst and added some other spices to thicken the soup.”