Two Weeks (24 page)

I start giggling at the thought. I've been having the best sex of my life with Jackson and now he's telling me all about his early sexual inexperience. The contrast is very amusing.

"Sex isn't only about getting off," I say. "There's more to it than that. Maybe she liked the other stuff."

"Well, maybe," he says. "I had absolutely no idea what I was doing though. She never asked for anything else, so I figured I was doing a good job. I'm just glad I finally figured it out."

"Me too," I say, curling my lips into a devilish smile.

"Your turn." His smile is so sardonic it hurts. My own smile fades in response.

"You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Of course I don't," he says.

I shrug and stare up at the wall. "Why do you care so much about this stuff?"

"It's just for fun. Humble beginnings. Back stories. You don't
have
to talk about it. I mean, like if it was traumatic or something, I'm not trying to make light of it. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

I sit in silence, listening to the clock ticking on the wall. It's a very familiar, very comforting sound, one that is inextricably linked to this room. I'm usually uptight about discussing sex, but something feels very different this time, especially after his honesty.

"No, it's just boring," I say. "I was nineteen and with my first boyfriend in a couple of years. It was his second time, I think. He wasn't uh, very big and nothing really happened. I don't even think
he
got off. He just hopped on and we did our thing until we mutually decided that it had gone on for too long. I really didn't feel anything. I had such huge expectations too." My shoulders slump at the conclusion.

"Ouch," Jackson says. "That's no fun."

I chuckle. "Well, at least it didn't hurt." Talking about this actually feels good in a self-deprecating kind of way.

"True. Some guys never graduate from that sort of inexperience, you know? "

"Yeah, I definitely know. He sure didn't." My tone is bitter as I recall those really pathetic memories.

Jackson stands up and settles next to me on the couch. "Well, you don't have to worry about that right now." He presses his lips against mine and I kiss back. His weight presses me into the softness of the couch, and his hand finds a place in the small of my back, curling me toward him.

I send fervent kisses his way, my tongue swimming inside his mouth. My breath starts to come quicker; his does the same. He continues kissing me with the same intensity, and I do my best to match it. I nibble on his lower lip, sucking it into my mouth and rolling it against my tongue and teeth. My hands toy with his hair and dig into his back.

Jackson's hand settles on my chest and starts to gently fondle my breasts through my shirt and bra, cupping with such delicate intensity. As our bodies shift, my eyes open and catch a glimpse of our family photo on the wall—Jeff, me, my mom and dad out at the lake.

My sex drive is dead. Totally dead.

I break the kiss. "I'm sorry," I say. "I can't."

"Is everything all right?" he asks, sitting up straight and pulling away from me. "I thought you said the house would be empty all weekend."

"It's not
that
," I say. "I've just never had sex in this house. Not once. I don't know if I can do it." I can see the outline of his erection through his shorts, and I assume I'm in for a verbal lashing. But this feels too weird for me. In a way, it feels too serious if it happens here.

It's like the kind of thing a married couple does, not just some people having a short fling.

Jackson pauses, and I watch him very carefully, trying to gauge his response to my semi-neurotic behavior. "It's dumb," I say, ending the silence. "I'm sorry for being such a weirdo."

"How about we... " He trails off and smiles. "... order a pizza instead?"

"Wait, what?" I ask. Jackson catches me completely off guard.

"Let's order a pizza. I said what I meant to say. I'm fucking starving since I barely ate the last couple days." His stomach growls loudly as if to reinforce what he just said. "And pizza
might
just be better than sex."

I laugh. "Maybe it is," I say. "Yeah, that sounds great." I'm really impressed with his response.

His smile curves into a devious one. "And can I get a rain check for later tonight at my place?"

I giggle. "Of course."

"Okay, whew," he says. "I was a little worried."

We get a huge supreme pizza and two orders of cheesy bread from the local joint in town. It's really good pizza, actually, and I'm kind of ashamed that I forgot about it.

"I love Marciano's," Jackson says, speaking with a mouthful of pizza. "I always order from there. It's still some of the best pizza I've ever had." He devours it, catching up after days of near-fasting to meet his weigh-in goals.

"I can't believe I forgot about this. My family used to order from there every Friday night."

"So we're right on schedule then," Jackson says. He dips his bread stick into the garlic butter and finishes the whole thing in one bite.

I laugh at the realization that it's
Friday night
, I'm
home
, and we're eating
Marciano's pizza
. The stars of nostalgia have aligned. "You're right."

It brings back a feeling of youthful warmth, the knowledge that it was Friday and school was merely a distant memory until Monday. Ah, the beautiful weekend. It meant a totally different thing when we were young.

"How about we head up to the cabin on Sunday? The fight is tomorrow, so we'll go to that, rest, and then take off in the morning. Stay for a couple of days. Or more, maybe."

I set my half-eaten slice down on my plate and swallow my bite. "Yeah, that sounds great." After pausing, I finally realize how full I am. "God, I'm stuffed."

"I'll take that then," Jackson says. He snatches the unfinished slice off my plate and polishes it off in two huge bites.

His behavior prompts me to look down—he's eaten almost all of the pizza. "You're like an eating machine," I say.

"I need my energy," he says proudly. "For stuff."

Well, he definitely had energy "for stuff" later that night at his house, because he made me come until I passed out.

Jackson

I
t's the day of the fight and I'm so happy that Ally is here. We eat a relaxing breakfast together; it's nice to have a day off from intense training and watching my weight so carefully.

She's got a lot of questions, and thankfully I've got a lot of answers. I explain how amateur MMA works, giving her shortened details about everything I know.

"So is this like really small?" she asks.

"Not really," I say. "People take it pretty seriously. Crowds of like a thousand or more, usually. It's something fun to do in the middle of nowhere, basically. The promoters make good money, but only if people show up. Otherwise, they can go under fast. I've seen it happen before."

"I forgot to check out the videos," she says. "Should I watch them now? To get a feel for it?" She points at my closed laptop.

I sip my coffee. "If you haven't watched them yet, you should probably just wait for the real thing."

She smiles. "That makes sense. Sorry."

"They're not easy to find anyhow. They're mostly just for other promoters to watch. For booking purposes."

"Oh." She nods.

"Same thing as the rest of the sports world. They look for up and comers and offer them shitty contracts before they know any better."

"Do
you
ever get offered contracts?" she asks.

"Well, yeah," I say.

"Wow," she says, cutting me off. "You must be really good."

I smile at her. "It's not that simple," I say. "They've all been terrible. Some of these guys try to take upwards of fifty percent of your earnings. Even more in some cases. They're just looking to take advantage whenever they can."

Once again, I omit the very critical fact that I've got spinal stenosis and that I might not be able to fulfill the requirements of a contract if I get seriously injured. The truth is, I
have
been offered some very lucrative contracts, but haven't accepted anything. I don't want to think about it, really.

"Oh, okay," she says, sipping her coffee. "Is there anymore coffee?"

"A little." I grab the French press and top off her cup. I decide I've had enough because I'm going to be overloaded with adrenaline in a few hours. No use making myself jittery before a fight.

I pack up my gym bag with the usual items. I know I'm facing off against a tough competitor tonight, a guy that's been doing well for a while now,
Goliath.
I've met him a few times, and he's a genuinely nice guy.

He's younger than me, and he trains really hard. I don't really care one way or another, because I'm certain I'll win. If I maintain a positive attitude the whole time—phony or not—I always do better than if I allow any negativity to creep in.

It's clear that Ally doesn't really know what to do. She wanders around the house like she also needs to pack, but I remind her that this is no different than going to a movie or a concert. She's a spectator, not a performer.

"I'm really excited about going to the cabin," she says. "I've never really been to Carsonville as an adult."

"It's different for sure," I say. "I mean, having a beer and sitting out in the sun is really nice."

"Yeah, and getting to do whatever you want. Having your own money. The last time I was there, it was a family trip and I still had to beg my dad for cash since Jeff never wanted to share. I never went back after that."

"I definitely remember those days," I say.

***

I
t's about an hour drive to the city, and usually things start around five. Many of the other competitors drive a lot farther than I do, so I guess I'm happy that I live close. I'm supposed to go on at nine, so I've got some time to kill.

We have a good chat on the way there, and I'm thrilled to have the company, especially when it's not some old buddy from high school like it was last time.

Yeah, like last time...

...in the bathroom.

I cringe at the thought. I feel like that Jackson is from a million years ago, even though it's only been a week. I don't even remember that guy at all anymore. It's in the back of my mind during much of our conversation.

We stop at a fast food restaurant and I get a cheeseburger with five patties. Ally watches in amazement as I polish it off.

"Is Curtis going to be there?" Ally asks me unenthusiastically.

"He's not," I say. "He texted me and said he couldn't make it."

"Good."

I laugh. "You don't much care for him, do you?"

"Not really. And I mean he basically saw me naked. He's probably been thinking about my boobs when he's by himself and—"

I cut her off, not wanting to imagine Curtis doing what she's about to say. "That's plenty. I get your point."

She smiles at me. The sunlight gives her skin an ethereal sheen, and every time I look over at her, I'm reminded of just how beautiful she is. And it's not just the obvious stuff. I notice the dimples when she smiles, her perfect, full lips. The way her hair flawlessly frames her face. Her amazing cheekbones.

Who the hell am I?
I don't know where all of this mushy stuff is coming from, but it's happening very naturally—and that's weird.

Even though we're just supposed to be having fun and not being too serious, I keep finding myself in these daydreamy moments of lush appreciation.

We arrive at the gym right on time. I park my truck and lead Ally into the building. It's bustling inside already; Todd and his small crew are setting up the stage and chairs, working frantically to meet the deadlines. They've probably been here since this morning.

"This is kind of crazy," she says.

"You'll get to be in the VIP area," I tell her. "Closest to the stage. It's usually roped off for press."

"Oh, cool," she says. It's obvious that she's currently feeling out of place, but I'm certain that she'll acclimate quickly.

Todd runs up to me immediately. "Jackson! Man, did you look over any of that stuff I emailed you? The contract details? I'm telling you, it's a good deal. The agents won't shut up. They want you."

Ally turns to me and gives me a very confused look. "Ally, this is Todd, the man in charge. Todd this is Ally."

"Nice to meet you," he says. He shakes her hand diplomatically.

"Same," she says unenthusiastically since Todd has already returned his focus to me.

"The contract, Jackson. I mean, seriously, you could go pro here. You're the best in this league. We could set up some fights in Montreal and go from there."

"I didn't get a chance to look it over," I say. "But I will. And I'm not ready to move up just yet."

"Bullshit," Todd says. "Just don't let me down, I'm begging you. Good luck at the fight." He disappears with a group of crew members that walk by at that exact moment. He frantically gestures with his hands and talks loudly.

"What was that all about?" she asks tersely.

"Like I said, he's looking to make a buck off of me."

"He's really intense.” She looks shocked.

"He's always like that. This was his calling in life, I think." I laugh, hoping that it will break any further inquisition. It does.

I inform the ticket people that Ally is with me and they give her a hot-pink VIP wrist band. I don't want to leave her by herself, but I have to go get dressed and wrap up my hands so I can warm up.

She's fine with this, and I promise to be a quick as possible so I can watch the first few fights with her.

She takes a seat in the VIP area as I head into the locker rooms. A wandering fan catches me off guard and asks for an autograph before they have the steel separators up between the crowd and the walkway. I sign his promotional photo of me and wish him well. I don't think Ally sees the interaction.

I've been downplaying myself this whole time, and it's gonna be tough to explain when she finally figures out what's going on here.