Paradise Fought (Abel) (5 page)

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” she accused.

“I…”

“You ruined everything.”

I stepped back. Her words were a punch to the gut.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, lowering my head in shame, as I’d often done in the past.

“Don’t be sorry,” she demanded then let out a huff of air in exasperation. “I just can’t…”

“Do you even know what was in that drink?” I looked up at her.

“I don’t care,” she sighed.

I stepped toward her.

“Well, I do.”

We paused for a moment. A stare down ensued, but I was taller than her, towering over her. She breathed heavily, like she’d been the one ready to fight.

“Why do you care?” she asked, the edge coming off her tone.

“We have an agreement.” I couldn’t give her more than that.

“An agreement?” Her voice faltered; her head tilted like she was thinking. “I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Yes, you did. I paid for a tutor.”

“You wha…” Her eyes opened wide. “You don’t own me now.” Her voice cracked as bitterness filled it again.

“I don’t want to own you, Elma.” I stepped back from her as she crossed her arms in defense. It was a bad move for her, as it pushed her large breasts upward and my body strained. My dick was struggling for release against my zipper. I was turned on by her presence more than I’d ever been wound up in a dream of her.

“Look. I appreciate what you did. I owe you. I get it, but maybe we need to establish some ground rules.”

“Rules?” I questioned.

“Yeah, like number one, don’t interfere with my dates.”

My mouth opened in shock.

“Were you on a date with him?”

“No.”

We were at an impasse again. I was confused. The lightbulb took a moment to click.

“Did you plan to go home with him?” Anger growled out of my voice.

“I…I just needed to get close to him,” she sighed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s Thor’s best friend,” she responded, ignoring my question.

Cade Preston. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize him. Great grandchild, somehow triple removed from the founder of Preston University. He was collegiate royalty, but it wasn’t his prestige that worried me.

“Thor,” I hissed under my breath. Elma remained in front of me, arms still crossed in defense. “Fine. Lesson one. Now, I need to go home with a girl, too. And you need to teach me.”

“Which girl?” she questioned as her eyes opened wide then narrowed. I’d like to think she was jealous of me, but I doubted it.

“Anyone that’s willing,” I replied crassly. Her arms slipped to her sides and her hands fisted.

“All the same,” she muttered, but loud enough that her point was made. She was lumping me with other guys our age. I was ready to defend myself when she reached for my shirt. Struggling with the top button, I swallowed hard before my voice caught up with her motion.

“What are you doing?”

“Rule two,” she replied. “Thou shall earn a respect for fashion.”

I was so distracted by the work of her hands that it didn’t register with me what she was fully intending.

“This shirt makes you look stuffy. Too smart, which I assume you are. Not to mention, you smell like a distillery.”

Once unbuttoned, she tugged at it to untuck it from my jeans. My body jostled like a child’s but in my jeans was nothing childish. I was so hard it was painful. I feared even the slightest of accidental touches, and I’d be wet in one more spot on my attire. One place much more embarrassing than a wet shirt. Her hands caressed over my shoulders, harshly, but the touch took my breath. It could have been sensual had she desired me. My mind imagined her as my lover in haste to rid me of my clothing. It was a ridiculously romantic idea and a dangerous one. My dick strained in the confines of tight denim.

She tugged the sleeves down and struggled as they each caught on my biceps.

“What the heck?” she grumbled, as she had to use two hands to remove one sleeve and then the other. I wasn’t helping in the least, enjoying the show of her wrestling with my clothing and the temptation of her undressing me. Once removed of my shirt, she stepped back and stared. My t-shirt was white and it clung to me between the size of my body and the dampness of liquor that seeped through my Oxford. Her eyes dilated. Black filled the blue space and she licked her lips. Her attention gave me confidence.

I stepped forward.

“You have tats?”

I stepped back.
Shit
.
Tattoos were like a tag. It would make me recognizable, and I wasn’t ready for that any more than the removal of my glasses. I instinctively reached for the edge of my t-shirt sleeve and tugged it down. I didn’t think the marks on my arms were low enough, but I always wore longer sleeves to cover them. If the t-shirt rose in her hasty disrobing, then it was possible the intricate art of water symbols showed.

“It’s nothing,” I said, holding one sleeve down over my bicep. Her hand reached for my other sleeve, but I crossed my body with a soft left uppercut and stopped her.

“It’s nothing,” I repeated softer, wrapping my fingers over hers and lowering her hand. I let my thumb linger on the boniness of her knuckles. Rubbing back and forth, I developed a steady rhythm over the ridges. It was soothing to both of us. She stared at me as I had stepped closer. A soft thud hit the door behind her. I realized she’d walked into it, in an attempt to step away from me.

“What do I do next?” I asked, my voice tender.

“Next?” she questioned, her voice small.

“For the lesson.”

She swallowed and didn’t remove her eyes from mine.

“Can you see without the glasses?”

“Not well, but I can take them off for close range.” I smiled slowly and she licked her lips again. I pulled the glasses off one handed, as I still held her hand with my other. I heard the sharp intake of her breath.

“Lean against the door, over me,” she breathed, while I finished removing my eyewear. I reached upward, holding the glasses in hand, over her head.

“And now?” I whispered. I was holding myself off from her, my lower region desperate to grace hers, but so stiff. It was too much for lesson one. I balanced above her and realized she was several inches shorter than me, possibly more, if she didn’t have on her heels. I liked thinking I could overpower her.

“Just talk,” she said, quietly, shrugging.

I was lost. I couldn’t make small talk.

“Do you come here often?”

She giggled and it broke the building tension between us. Rather, it should have, but I liked her honest laugh so much, it only made things worse for me.

“That’s a terrible pick up line,” she stated.

“Oh, well.” I paused as I felt my face heat. “I was being honest. Do you come to these parties often?”

Her face softened as she realized I wasn’t teasing.

“This year, yes.”

I stared at her, continuing to hold my body position.

“What’s special about this year?” I asked as my eyes roved her face. Her blue eyes dilated. Her pink lips were plump and moist. Her cheeks flushed rosy.

“Thor.”

“Right.” I straightened pushing off the door and pulling back from her. I dropped her hand and replaced my glasses. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared. She remained plastered to the door behind her.

“What’s so great about him? Why do you think you need him?”

“I…I can’t tell you.” Her voice faltered.

“I see.” But I didn’t. I wanted to know her.
What was her secret?

“Rule three,” I teased. “Let’s be honest...and friends.”

Her face slowly brightened and a smile crept across her lips, those tempting lips. I removed my glasses and fell against the door with a thump. I resumed my position over her, one arm braced on the door, the other hand reaching for her chin. My eyes traced the contour of her neck.

“Now, friend, tell me why he’s important?”

She was staring at me again, and I let my thumb caress over her lips. I had to feel the plumpness, the delicacy, the wetness. She opened partially and I leaned closer, letting her breath mingle with mine. My eyes were trained on the path my thumb traced over her bottom lip.

“Who?” she breathed. My own lips curled up on one side as I suppressed a laugh and relished the power of distracting her thoughts from another.

That’s my girl
, I thought. I decided to take the risk and lean closer. I still didn’t allow my body to touch hers. I hovered over her, feeling the thin vibe between us. I imagined her nipples ripe, lower parts dripping, but that was too much. I would burst myself if my mind got carried away. I needed a sign from her that I could kiss her. Friends did that, right?

thump – thump –thump

The sudden noise made her jump and I stepped back. She covered her mouth to hide a giggle, and I smiled despite the interruption.

“Get the fuck out of my room!” an angered voice demanded, pounding again on the hollowed door. I stepped back and Elma spun to unlock it. She hardly had it released, when the door slammed inward, and there stood a very angry Thor.

It was Saturday night and the fight was on. I was energized. There was a girl I wanted, but she didn’t want me. I took that lack of reciprocated desire and used it to fuel me. I was tired of going unnoticed. I was tired of being put down. It was my turn to fight back. The ring was my answer.

I had a plan, a goal. I needed to break free of the confines of my world. I needed to break through the glass and prove my worth. It was me against the universe or at least the one that surrounded me. I couldn’t breathe under the constraints of my father. I couldn’t live in the shadow of my brother. I had to make a name for myself. I had to be myself. The
me
I knew I was inside. I was no longer content with second best. I had to be first.

You’ll never be like him.
My father’s voice swam through my head.
You’ll always be too small. Weak.

I’d been training for almost a year in secret. It was only me and my coach, who knew my strengths, my limits, and my weaknesses. I wasn’t an accomplished fighter, but I was practiced. This night would be my first underground fight. Everything else had been foreplay. Tonight was breaking my virginal seal. I had to work my way through this level of hell to rise to the top of the pyre: the main ring. The brass ring, the ring where I would prove I was worth something more.

She was going to be my inspiration, my motivation. Her distrust stopped my heart from feeling pain. Her interest in another boiled through my blood. I was pumped while I waited for the call to fight. The tunes in my ears matched the rhythm in my muscles. I practiced punches. Left hook. Right uppercut.

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” my coach warned me. Taking me on was a risk. It was practically unheard of to have a coach of this caliber: the lack of proven experience. We were both inexperienced, but I was assured I had skill. I was encouraged that I could do this. I was motivated to try.

“You got this,” Shepherd said. “You can take him.”

I listened and absorbed the words through every cell of my skin.

We walked the short hall. The warehouse was an abandoned factory where computers were once produced. In the heart of Silicon Valley, the number of computer producers and distributors were many. The abandoned places were few and far between, but this one was near campus. The last minute call went out. The place was packed. The energy echoed in the once empty space. Tonight would be original: a first time fighter against a favorite.

“Spider” had a reputation. He was an unpredictable fighter, earning his name from arms and legs that seemed uncontrolled in a fight. The arrangement was simple, someone toward the top against an unknown at the bottom. It would knock me out of this category and set me in a lower class, if he won. However, I would not let him have what I desired. I was at the low end of the middle weight. At 190 pounds, I just made the cut, but this was the class I wanted to be in. I was tall for a fighter, standing six-four, but I was fast. I could outmaneuver a smaller man who was solid, and Spider was lean like me.

I entered the roped off ring to cheers for Spider. I’d learned to ignore the sound of others. They were the same cheers I’d heard for another fighter. I became excellent at selective hearing. I knew how to turn inward, practice the skill of mind control, to center myself. My name was called without much attention.