Coming Out of My Skin

The next morning, I wandered through the kitchen in my robe and nightie, going straight to the coffeepot. I hit the button to turn it on and heard it immediately start gurgling. I then pulled down a mug, grabbed a packet of sweetener and went to the refrigerator to get the milk.

I set the milk on the counter by the waiting mug, turned my back to the counter and leaned against it, aiming my eyes out to the gray day and stormy sea.

All of this, I did smiling.

I did it smiling because the cream puffs last night had worked.

I found the Taylors had been to Lavender House with Amber (repeatedly) and were glad they had the chance to come back. I’d also found that Ellie had never been and she’d always wanted to see the house (and loved it—her words, her emphasis).

By the end of the evening, with all of us gathered close around Gran’s kitchen table, we’d consumed cream puffs and hot cocoa and everyone, including Amber and Ellie, had ended up laughing, tickled by the absurd conversation led by Ethan, who seemed determined to entertain us. And he did.

I also studied the view smiling because when the night had finally come to an end and I’d walked them all to the door, Jake was the last to leave.

When he hit the door, he’d stopped and dipped his head to me, his smiling lips not brushing my cheek, his rising hand not going to my hair to give my ponytail a tug (as I didn’t have a ponytail, I had my hair up in a chignon at the nape of my neck).

No, instead, his smiling lips had brushed my lips and his hand had risen to cup my jaw when he did so.

Of course, it was just an affectionate brush but it was so lovely, it left my lips tingling in a way that was more pleasant than any kiss I’d ever received. Even far more ardent ones (and it must be said, Dee-Amond was a fabulous kisser and that brush even beat Amond’s kisses).

I’d liked it enough to allow myself one more moment to pretend. Just that one. And I gave myself that moment.

Just that one.

But it was a very, very good one.

When he’d lifted his head, he’d whispered, “Way you took care of my crew tonight, owe you another dinner at The Eaves.”

I’d eat a picnic in Hades with him.

I didn’t share that.

I’d replied, “That’s not necessary, Jake.”

“Oh yeah it is,” he’d returned, giving me a gentle squeeze at my jaw before he released me, murmured, “Later, Slick,” and he was gone.

I’d stood in the open doorway and waved as all the cars drove away.

And I’d gone to bed with hot cocoa and cream puff in my belly, the whisper of Jake’s lips on mine, and I’d slept like a baby.

Now, I had to figure out my day.

The plants in the greenhouse needed tending. I needed to research hiring an accountant, as there were likely inheritance taxes to see to. I also needed to get to a grocery store that was not Wayfarer’s as Ethan’s appetite was such he’d eat me out of house and home and he didn’t really care if his sustenance was gourmet or not.

But before all that, I needed to call Lavon Burkett’s people and procure backstage passes.

And that night, I needed to go watch Jake fight so I needed to find out where the arena was in order to journey there.

On this thought, my phone in my purse on the butcher block rang. I moved to it, dug my phone out of my bag and saw the display heralding the fact that Henry was calling.

I took the call, put the phone to my ear and greeted, “Hello, Henry.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replied softly. “How’re you doing?”

“Splendid,” I told him, moving back to the coffee, preparing a cup and resuming my position, back to the counter, eyes to the window, sipping and sharing the events of the day before (sans kiss on the lips from Jake and the way I’d pretended all day).

When I was done, there was a moment of silence before Henry noted, “Seems you’re getting close to this Jake and his kids.”

“They’re all lovely,” I told him as my affirmative.

There was another moment of silence before, cautiously, he asked, “You sure that’s a good idea, honey? Kids can become dependent on someone, especially someone like you and especially if they get someone like you and their mother is absent. When that happens, they don’t need another woman eventually absenting herself, especially a good woman. ”

At Henry’s words, it occurred to me that I hadn’t yet explained the fact that I wanted to slow down and work as often as I could from the light room and thus Jake’s children would have me around more often than not.

But Henry would have me around far less often than usual.

This was not something in my currently content state of mind that I wished to deal with.

So I decided not to.

“Well, it isn’t like communication in a variety of ways is difficult in this day and age, Henry,” I pointed out somewhat misleadingly at the same time leadingly, as in, leading him to understand I could do much for him even if not with him (paving the way for when I decided to broach that subject, that was).

“True,” he murmured.

I changed the subject. “And you? You’re well?”

“You know me,” he replied and I did. This meant he was working a great deal, socializing a great deal and I didn’t ask but it was likely his latest lover had at some point joined him in Italy and thus he was doing other things a great deal.

“You journey to Paris soon,” I noted.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“And Daniel’s working out?” I asked.

“He’s not you,” Henry answered without really answering although what he said was quite true.

“Indeed,” I agreed just as the house phone rang.

I studied it as I set down my coffee mug, walked to it and asked, “Can you hang on for a moment? Gran’s phone is ringing.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he answered.

“It’ll probably just be a second,” I assured him. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” he said with a strange mixture of gentleness, depth and rigidity that I’d never heard before.

However, my mind was not on Henry but on the ringing phone so I gave it no thought, took my mobile from my ear and grabbed the phone from its cradle on the wall. “Lavender House.”

“Josephine?”

It was Arnold Weaver.

I felt my heart seize for a call from Mr. Weaver could mean anything, and part of that anything could be very bad, and I forced out, “Mr. Weaver. How are you?”

“Arnie, Josephine, I keep telling you, please call me Arnie.”

“Of course,” I murmured.

“Listen, I’ve called the kids and they’re all coming this weekend so Eliza will have quite a bit of company.”

I did not take this as good news.

I also understood what he was saying.

“All right,” I said softly. “I’ll let you and Eliza enjoy your children being home.”

“Thank you, Josephine. I’ll give you a call should…” He paused and it was a long one before he carried on. “I’ll call you later. It’s likely I won’t be going into the office for some time so I can free up your mornings.”

I understood that too.

“Of course. I’ll await your call. Please give Eliza my love.”

“I’ll do that. Enjoy your weekend, Josephine,” he told me and I could hear in his voice that even though his children were arriving, he would not be doing the same.

Still, I wished him, “You do the same, Arnie.”

“Take care, Josephine and”—another weighty pause—“thank you. Eliza looks forward to your visits. It’s just with the kids and grandkids…” he trailed off.

I rushed to assure him, “I understand. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon. ‘Bye, Josephine.”

“Take care, Arnie.”

He disconnected and I put the phone back in its cradle thinking I needed to talk to Jake.

Immediately.

I needed this because I knew Eliza was slipping away and doing it rapidly. I knew that Arnie had called his children to attend her because time was short and thus precious. I knew he was preparing. And I knew that I needed to prepare, and as mad as it sounded, I understood in a way that was absolute that the best way to do that was to hear Jake’s voice.

Alas, I could not beleaguer him with this information. I knew very little of what a boxer had to do to prepare for a fight but I didn’t think it would be good for him to have the knowledge a dying woman was closing in on her passing on his mind, even if he didn’t know her.

I heard Henry calling from my mobile and my head gave a slight jerk.

I’d completely forgotten he was on the line.

I put the phone to my ear. “Henry.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

I didn’t want to tell him about Eliza. I didn’t want his reassurances, his compassion, his thoughtfulness, his concern, all of which I knew he’d give to me.

I wanted Jake’s.

“Uh…yes,” I lied. “Just a friend of Gran’s calling.” Luckily, that wasn’t a lie. “Listen, I have to go. I’m still in my nightie and I have some errands to run today.”

“All right, honey,” he replied then asked somewhat strangely, “You’re going to be at Lavender House all weekend?”

“Of course, Henry. Where else would I be?” I responded.

That was, I’d be there (mostly) when I wasn’t at the arena watching Jake (and Mickey) fighting.

I didn’t share that, however.

“Just checking,” he murmured then, louder, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“All right, Henry. Speak with you tomorrow.”

“You will. ’Bye, honey.”

“Good-bye, Henry.”

Without listening to his disconnect, I accomplished my own and immediately scrolled down my phone and hit Jake’s number.

It rang twice before he answered with, “Slick.”

I took in a breath and greeted, “Hello, Jake.”

“How’s your mornin’?” he asked.

“Delightful,” I lied. “How are Amber and Conner?”

“Con’s not up yet,” he told me. “He dropped off Ellie and then they talked probably until two in the morning on the phone. Amber seems fine and this might have to do with the fact that I okayed a sleepover tonight at Taylor’s.”

“Boy Taylor or girl Taylor?” I asked.

“Boy Taylor and the big deal about that is that he’s got a better makeup collection for them to screw around with. Girl Taylor has a better closet of clothes but she’s not Amber’s size so that’s not as fun.”

“Ah,” I murmured with a smile in my voice as one was on my lips.

“That why you called?” he asked.

“Um…no,” I answered.

His voice dropped lower and sweeter when he queried, “Why’d you call, baby?”

“Well, I just wished to tell you to…I don’t know. What do you say to someone prior to a fight? It’s probably not telling them to break a leg.”

I heard his chuckle before, “No. That’s not what you say.”

“Well, whatever you say, I wanted to say that.”

“Kick his ass, mess him up, knock him out, floor him…those are the usuals,” he educated me.

“Well, do all that,” I encouraged.

I got another chuckle before he said, “Good luck also works.”

“Then good luck too,” I stated.

“Can’t not have good luck, you sittin’ ringside watchin’ me fight.”

I blinked at the phone on the wall as warmth swept through me at his words.

And as this warmth spread through me, I realized that as much as I loved how wonderful he was, I was beginning to wish he was a little less wonderful. Jake being so wonderful was making it hard not to pretend I was living in a world where I could experience just how wonderful I actually wanted him to be.

He seemed not to mind my non-response for he went on to inquire, “You headin’ to the Weavers this morning?”

“Well, um…” Drat! Why was I finding it difficult to prevaricate? “Arnie called this morning and asked me not to come. His children are visiting this weekend and therefore Eliza already has a good deal of company and it’s doubtful Arnie will want to go to the office,” I found myself announcing.

This was met with silence.

Then I heard, “Fuck.”

He understood the reason for the Weaver children’s visit.

“I’m sorry, Jake,” I said quietly. “I didn’t wish to tell you. I didn’t want to take your focus off your fight tonight with that kind of news. I know you don’t know them but you worry about me and—”

He interrupted me. “No matter what, babe, it’s on your mind, you need to let it go, you tell me. I don’t give a fuck if I’m set to fight Holyfield, I wanna know.”

Yes, it would be a lot easier if he was less wonderful.

“You doin’ okay with this news?” Jake asked.

“No,” I whispered, again honestly.

“You need company?” he went on.

I didn’t need it. I’d be all right.

That didn’t mean I didn’t want it.

But Jake had a fight so I shouldn’t ask for it.

“No, Jake. I have quite a bit to do today. Once I get started, it’ll take my mind off things. Then I have your event tonight to look forward to. I’m fine.”

“Sure?” he pressed.

“I’m sure,” I told him.

He didn’t respond for a moment then he said, “Okay, baby. You get unsure, you call. Right?”

Oh yes.

It would be much easier if he was less wonderful.

“Right, Jake,” I agreed.

“Shit,” he muttered suddenly then he told me, “Sounds like Con’s up. I wanna have a word with him before he has to get to work. I gotta let you go.”

“That’s fine. I’ll, well…see you tonight.”

“You will, Slick. See you then.”

“Yes, Jake. Good luck and, um…mess him up.”

That got me another chuckle before, “My promise to you, I will, Josie. Later, honey.”

“Later, Jake.”

Unlike Henry, I waited to hear his disconnect before I put down my phone.

I went back to my mug, took a sip of coffee and resolutely turned my eyes to the plants and herbs in Gran’s greenhouse.

I needed to get in there. And I needed to because they did need attention. But I also needed to so I could take my mind off Eliza Weaver, Arnie Weaver and the reason their children were visiting.

But mostly I needed to because I needed to get my mind off just how wonderful Jake Spear was and just how much I needed him to be a little less wonderful.

* * * * *

I was working in the greenhouse when the house phone rang again.

As I’d suspected, I’d managed to procure backstage passes to the Bounce concert in Boston that was to occur two weeks hence. I did this by calling Bounce’s manager and he hadn’t even talked to the band before he said, “No probs, Josephine. We’ll have the Malone party on the list and they’ll be instructed to give you as many passes as you need.”

I’d texted this information to Jake who’d texted back, “Gotcha, Slick.” I’d also texted this information to Amber, telling her to share it with the Taylors so they could confirm with their parents. Her reply was oddly, “SQUEEEEE!!!”

I’d hit the greenhouse and started work but it was no surprise it was not easy to take my mind off Jake. Though I did manage to focus on the less difficult things, such as going to his fight that night and primary to that, what I’d wear.

I’d never been to a fight. I had no idea what attire was appropriate.

It was this that I was thinking when the phone started ringing.

I put down my clippers and headed to the phone, brushing small dead leaves of thyme from my fingers. I grabbed it and put it to my ear.

“Lavender House,” I greeted.

“Josephine?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Reverend Fletcher.”

Slightly surprised, I settled a hip to the counter and said, “Hello, Reverend Fletcher. How are you today?”

“I’m well, Josephine, thank you for asking,” he replied. “I don’t want to take up much of your time but it’s come to my attention you’re looking after Eliza Weaver as well as collecting Ethan Spear from school.”

It was not a surprise that he knew this. Magdalene was a small town but news traveled fast even when one was not in a small town.

What was a surprise was that he phoned and referred to it.

“Yes, Reverend, I am,” I confirmed.

“Does this mean you’re planning to stay in Magdalene for a while?” he went on to query.

“Indeed it does,” I told him.

“That’s lovely news. Ruth and I would enjoy seeing you at services and perhaps you’ll join us for dinner one evening.”

Services would not likely be on my agenda. Although I quite liked the Fletchers and obviously, being Gran’s granddaughter, I believed in God and honored Him (mostly), services tended to occur early. I’d wake up early to work out with Jake but I wouldn’t relish doing it to get dressed up to listen to a sermon.

Dinner would be nice, though.

“That would be lovely,” I said.

“I’m also calling for another reason,” he shared.

“And that would be?” I prompted when he said no more.

“I believe you know Pearl Milshorn?”

“Of course,” I told him. “She’s one of Gran’s closest friends.”

“Yes, well, you also probably know her son is in Portland, her daughter in Bar Harbor and her grandkids are scattered everywhere. She has folks who come in a few times a week to help her with groceries and cleaning and Ruth or one of my parishioners picks her up for church on Sunday mornings but she doesn’t get many visitors. And she walks with that frame so can’t get around easily. I know Lydia visited her once a week if she could, or Pearl came to Lavender House. I’m worried with your grandmother gone she’s getting quite lonely and—”

I interrupted him, feeling terrible I hadn’t thought of this myself. Since I’d been in Magdalene, Pearl had phoned and she’d been one of the few who’d given me a hug at Gran’s funeral. I hadn’t thought of her again since but it was rare when I came to visit Gran that I didn’t see Pearl, even in passing.

I should have thought of her.

Therefore, I interrupted him to say, “I’ll pop by. Look in on her. See if she needs anything and if she’s up for regular visitors.”

I said this but I thought that Ethan seemed rather fond of senior citizens (and pretty much anybody). He might enjoy visiting Pearl and getting to know her and I knew she’d enjoy the same. In fact, being Gran’s dearest friend, he might already know her.

“That would be wonderful, Josephine. Thank you,” Reverend Fletcher said.

“It would be my pleasure. I’ve had many things on my mind, I should have popped by before,” I told him.

“You’re doing it now,” he reminded me.

I was indeed.

“I’ll see you at services tomorrow?” he went on to ask.

This would be doubtful.

Still, I said, “I’ll do my best.”

“Perhaps you can bring Spear and his children,” he suggested.

It seemed he was not only intent on looking after the soul of Pearl Milshorn but perhaps saving one (or several).

“I’ll discuss it with Jake,” I replied, and since I didn’t wish to lie to a pastor, I decided at least to mention it to Jake. If Jake said no, he’d say no but I wouldn’t have committed a sin by lying straight to a man of God.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll get Ruth to call you about that dinner. Take care, Josephine.”

“And you, Reverend.”

We rang off and when I put the phone back in the cradle, my mind on finding Pearl’s number and giving her a ring, it jumped straight to Dee-Amond.

And it jumped to Amond for Amond would have the answer to my earlier dilemma.

Therefore, I found Pearl’s number and felt even guiltier at hearing her delight when I greeted her and arranged for a meeting on Tuesday afternoon.

After that, I put the phone in the cradle, moved to my mobile and called Amond.

“Beautiful,” was his greeting.

“Hello, Amond. You’re well?”

“Lagged, girl. Just got to Paris yesterday and that ride kicked my ass,” he answered.

“Sorry,” I murmured, feeling his pain. I’d been jet-lagged so many times it was impossible to count and it was never enjoyable.

“Why’re you callin’?” he asked when I said no more.

“I wanted some advice,” I told him.

There was a moment of silence then, strangely cautiously, he asked, “Advice on what?”

“Well, you see, I’m going to a boxing match tonight,” I shared. This was met with utter silence so I carried on, “And I don’t know what to wear. I’ve heard you mention that you’ve been to the fights and I thought you might be able to advise me on what attire would be appropriate.”

More silence before, “You’re going to a fight?”

“Not one, several. They’ve a league here and the bouts go all day. But I’m hoping to time it so I only have to attend two.”

“You’re going to a fight,” he repeated, not in a question this time.

“Well, yes,” I replied.

This brought more silence before, “And why you goin’ to a fight, beautiful? That’s not exactly your style.”

“I’ve been asked by the fighters,” I shared.

“Fighters…plural?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Both opponents?”

Oh dear.

Neither Jake nor Mickey told me who their opponents would be and they both fought in the heavyweight class.

I hoped they weren’t fighting each other.

Obviously, I’d want Jake to win if this were true. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t want Mickey to lose either. Mostly, I didn’t want to watch them hitting each other.

Yes, I hoped they weren’t fighting together.

“No,” I gave him my hope rather than the true answer, as I didn’t know the true answer. “Just two different fighters.”

To that he murmured, sounding amused, “That’s my Josephine girl, been there a coupla weeks, she’s setting Maine on fire with her ice.”

I felt my brows draw together. “Pardon?”

He didn’t repeat himself or explain, he said curiously, “This is gonna be good.”

“What’s going to be good?” I asked.

“Nothin’, beautiful. Just suddenly got an urge to haul my ass to Maine to see shit play out. “

It was then I smiled, though I still didn’t entirely understand him. However, the thought of him visiting was more than lovely.

“I would love that, Amond. You can stay at Lavender House with me, I’ve plenty of room. And I know you’re fond of boxing and it appears the local community embraces it wholeheartedly. Even the youngsters do it. You could go to a bout with me.”

I didn’t actually wish to attend more fights (at all) but I liked spending time with Amond and I’d wish to do things he enjoyed so I would, if pressed.

“I’m thinkin’ things are gonna be pretty crowded for you, girl,” he informed me, again strangely. “But I’ll think on that, let you know. I got a video to shoot before I can show my face in Maine, though.”

How could I have forgotten that?

“Of course,” I replied.

“As for what to wear, won’t matter. You smoke everything you put on,” he continued and did so very kindly. “But trick yourself out. A fighter asks a woman to come to his fight, he sees her ringside, she’s lookin’ ice-cold and shit-hot, it’ll be ammunition for him to kick some serious ass seein’ as he’ll wanna impress her.”

I didn’t think this would motivate Jake but I had a feeling it would Mickey.

“Tricked out it is,” I agreed.

I heard his low, attractive chuckle before he said, “Have fun, Josephine.”

“I will, Amond,” I assured him though I wasn’t assured myself. Still, dressing up would be fun as it always was.

“You doin’ okay otherwise?” he asked, his voice lower and sweeter.

“I have moments,” I shared quietly. “But Gran has good friends and they’re looking after me.”

“Good to hear,” he said. “I’ll talk to Ginny. See if she can loosen things up for me to get to Maine. Let you know.”

“Okay, Amond. I hope so and I hope to see you then.”

“Me, too, girl. Later.”

“Later, Amond.”

We rang off and I went back to the greenhouse to finish with the plants, my mind inventorying my wardrobe.

I hit on the perfect outfit at the same time I thought I might need to call my friend Dakota in LA. Ask her to go to the pool house, pack a few boxes of shoes, clothes, accessories.

I was going to need them.

I put that on my mental agenda of things to do that day, picked up the clippers and got down to doing the things I needed to do that day.

Eventually, I accomplished it all.

Unfortunately, although I did this, I failed to accomplish not thinking too much about Jake.

I knew I’d someday beat that urge.

But that urge was so strong I also knew it would take time.

Lots of it.

And it didn’t help I saw him so often.

With Henry, I saw him every day, sometimes all day every day and therefore that wasn’t easy.

But somehow, I knew with Jake it would take longer.

And it would be far more difficult.

* * * * *

I walked into the arena finding that Amond was right about the attire. Nearly every woman there was tricked out (except for some who were rather slovenly who I figured were not there to catch the eye of a fighter but instead watch them fight).

Although it was an amateur league and all of the men were dressed in jeans and mostly t-shirts, there were quite a number of women who were very dolled up. Of course, their hair and makeup were brasher than mine, their clothes more baring and not as high quality. But seeing as my dress was couture, given to me by a designer who had wanted to sleep with me (I took the dress, I didn’t take the invitation), I had an unfair advantage.

Although I was not alone in being tricked out, when I took off my coat in the outer area of the arena by the ticket counter, many eyes came my way, male and female. It would seem they were between fights so the area was packed with spectators getting refreshments and using the facilities, therefore my audience was somewhat vast.

I was surprised by the number of people there and slightly nervous. It would be difficult to perform in front of a huge audience and I worried for Jake.

Of course, if he had pay-per-view fights, his audiences in the past could have conceivably been millions but they weren’t all in the same room with him.

Shirking off this thought as absurd, seeing as Jake was quite confident and probably rarely (if ever) suffered nerves, I gave out small smiles to a few people whose eyes I caught as I waited in line at the ticket counter and folded my coat over my arm.

I also smoothed the silk over my hip.

I was wearing a dress in a striking print of jewel colors, mostly sapphire and emerald with some ruby and pearl. The bodice was blousy but it exposed skin, indeed, the entirety of my arms, shoulders and shoulder blades were bare, with the neckline having cut-in shoulders and being mock-turtleneck. The waistline was a delicate row of gathers that went to my upper hip. The skirt was skintight and allowed movement due to a daring slit up the back.

I paired this with a pair of red stiletto-heeled sandals with a delicate slim crossover strap and peek-a-boo toe that even I thought were racy. In fact, the first time Henry saw me wearing them, his expression had changed to one he wore on occasion which I found gratifying (even if it was never in all our years acted upon)…sheer male admiration.

And now I saw the shoes had not gone unnoticed for some of the males were looking at my behind, but most at my shoes.

I finalized my look with a side ponytail that was a mass of teased out curls and a slim, stylish red handbag with a short strap.

And I waited in line patiently, not wishing to enter the arena too soon. But unfortunately, I made the front of the line in no time.

When I did, I opened my mouth but before I could get a word out, the man behind the window said, “Josephine Malone.”

“Why, yes,” I replied, surprised he knew me.

“Jake and Mickey both described you,” he explained then went on in a highly flattering manner. “Though they didn’t do you justice.”

“Well, thank you,” I said softly.

He gave me a crooked grin and looked to the side. He then slid out two envelopes and pushed them through the opening at the bottom of the window.

“Mick’s ticket and Jake’s,” he shared. “Mick’s up next so you better get a move on. But I’d use Jake’s ticket. He set up the league yonks ago so his seats are freakin’ fly.”

I looked down to the envelopes, both being identical, and then turned my eyes back to the man. “And which is Jake’s?”

“Turn ‘em over, darlin’. Jake’s says ‘Slick,” Mick’s says ‘Josephine,’” he answered.

I turned them over and saw this was true

“Thank you,” I again said to the man.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he replied.

I smiled and moved out of the way. I then opened the envelope from Jake and pulled out the ticket. It was a real one with a section, row and seat number printed on it, which I thought was quite impressive. And the good news was that I only had to traverse a short area of the outer corridor to find the stenciled notification above a doorway that would lead to my seat.

I walked down the aisle to see the arena was rather large and rather full.

Yes, this community embraced boxing.

I couldn’t be surprised at how good my seat was as the ticket said “row 1, seat 2.” I figured that had to mean it was a very good seat.

I found this to be true when I made my way to row one and saw the two seats next to the aisle were empty. When I smiled at the lady (also tricked out as I was), who was in seat 3, she gave me a head to toe and smiled back in camaraderie, which I thought was rather pleasant. I sat down in my chair and realized why I was in seat two.

Seat 1 was too close to the corner of the ring and could be obstructed on occasion.

Seat 2 had a wide open view.

Oh dear.

The woman next to me leaned in and I looked to her to see she had her hand (with its black with white polka-dotted talons) extended my way.

I took it and she declared, “I’m Alyssa, Junior’s woman.”

“Hello, Alyssa,” I greeted. “I’m Josephine.”

She squeezed my hand and let it go, saying, “I know. Jake’s woman.”

I blinked.

She carried on before I could correct her, mistaken in my reaction. “Word gets around.”

“Uh…” I mumbled but said no more before she continued.

“Junior’s up next. Fightin’ Mickey. Don’t worry when Mickey messes him up. No one beats Mick but Jake. Then again, Jake fucks everyone up.”

This was good news on two fronts, one being Mickey was not fighting Jake and two being that it was likely Jake would win which was something I’d much prefer watching.

It was bad news for Alyssa though as it would be unpleasant to watch your “man” messed up.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She grinned and shrugged, her long blonde locks brushing her shoulders. Seeing this, I bit back my advice that she use a roller brush and not hot rollers as her hair was quite lovely, but it was now arranged in a coiffure that made her head twice the size as it normally was, taking attention away from her very attractive face.

Then again, with the amount of cleavage she was displaying in her tight black dress, it was doubtful anyone but females would be looking at her hair.

“Junior doesn’t care. Trust me. He’s used to losin’, bein’ in a league with Jake and Mick,” she shared.

“That’s good,” I remarked, her grin got bigger and she leaned in again.

“He gets to celebrate after, win or lose. You get me?”

I had a feeling I did so I nodded.

This made her grin become a bright, appealing smile and she leaned in even further. “Nothin’ better,” she said quietly, her eyes dancing. “A fighter after a fight, all that aggression, all that adrenaline still flowing. I love fight night.”

Oh yes, I “got her.”

“Indeed,” I replied.

She moved in a way that she bumped my shoulder with hers in another show of camaraderie as I felt a change in the air.

She twisted and looked behind us.

“Here they come,” she announced.

I looked behind us as well and saw she was correct. Down the aisle, wearing a green satin robe with white lapels, came Mickey. As he did, I noted that only men like him could carry off a robe like that.

And carry it off he did.

I had to admit to feeling a tingle when he made it close to the ring, caught me sitting there, his head tipped to the side in what appeared to be confusion before it cleared. He gave me a highly attractive smile then he entered the ring.

The back of his robe proclaimed him “The Irishman.”

That wasn’t as good of a nickname as “The Truck” but it wasn’t terrible either.

He promptly took off his robe and I saw what I saw at the gym but more of it seeing as he was only wearing boxing shoes and a pair of green satin boxing trunks with a white waistband and little white shamrocks at the outer side hems.

I saw the man who had to be Junior in the other corner wearing white trunks with a red waistband and stripes down the side.

However, he didn’t look like a Junior. He looked like a Bruiser. He was completely bald and seemed bigger and scarier than Mickey.

At once, I was alarmed.

I became more alarmed when Alyssa cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Fuck him up, baby!”

This was tremendously vulgar, though I thought it was kind of sweet when Junior turned his eyes to Alyssa, lifted a gloved hand to his heart then to his lips then punched it out at her.

“Love you, tiger!” she shrieked in reply.

I couldn’t help but grin since I felt this was all very cute.

The boxers danced around their corner talking to men outside the ring and I crossed my legs, tossed my coat in the empty seat beside me and tucked my bag in my lap.

“He’s a southpaw.” I heard Alyssa say as the man in black pants and a gray shirt—also incongruously wearing a ridiculous black bow tie—motioned the boxers to the center of the ring.

I turned to her and asked, “Pardon?”

“Mickey,” she replied. “He’s a southpaw. Left-handed. His power’s on the wrong side for Junior. My man has trained all year with left-handed sparring partners to move up in the league which means beating Mickey seein’ as Mickey’s always number two, Jake’s always number one and Junior’s smart enough to know he’s never gonna best Jake. But I’m not thinkin’ good thoughts. Mick has killed everyone all season. He’s in top-notch shape.”

“If this is the case, isn’t it difficult for you to watch your partner fighting?” I inquired, truly curious and she grinned again.

“This your first fight?” she asked.

I nodded.

“You’ll get me, honey,” she stated. “Trust me. You watch Jake out there, I swear, your panties’ll be drenched within seconds. I’ll be home bangin’ my man’s brains out by that time but if I wasn’t, on my way back to Magdalene, if I saw Jake’s truck was on the side of the road with the windows steamed up, that would not be a surprise.”

This was rather alarming (and crude) news. Therefore I couldn’t stop myself from biting my lip.

She looked at my lip and burst out laughing before she leaned in and advised, “Get ready for the ride of your life, girlfriend.”

Now, I was beginning to fret for a different reason.

Jake simply breathing I found alluring. Panties drenched for a man who didn’t find you attractive was not something I looked forward to.

Luckily, my attention was turned to the ring when I heard a very loud and excited voice come over the audio system. Through this, I found out that Mickey’s last name was Donovan (The Irishman, indeed). They didn’t waste much time after talking up the fighters and the referee having a brief word with them. They went to their corners and nearly directly back to the center of the ring where they touched gloves top to bottom and again.

Then the bell rang and it began.

The good news was, watching Mickey (who Alyssa was correct, even not knowing a thing about boxing, it was not hard to miss he was quite a bit better at it than Junior), my panties didn’t get drenched. It also wasn’t nearly as horrifying as I thought it would be.

It was actually, I found, quite interesting, in a somewhat sweaty, grunting, gruesome way.

Nevertheless, I was glad it only went three rounds and, although I quite liked Alyssa, regardless that she was very loud and seemingly bloodthirsty (not to mention foul-mouthed) as she shouted encouragement to her lover, I was happy to see Mickey’s hand lifted when the judgment came down. Though, in deference to the woman at my side, I only politely clapped when he won.

After spending some time accepting his accolades from the spectators, Mickey didn’t delay in leaving the ring and he also caught my eyes doing it, grinning and winking.

That was lovely so I smiled back.

“What gives with that?” Alyssa asked as Mickey jogged back up the aisle.

“Mickey goes to Jake’s gym,” I answered without telling her the full story but it seemed she understood me (though obviously not fully) when she lifted her chin and said, “Ah.”

She then grabbed her purse and dug out her phone, beeping buttons and saying, “I gotta dash…get my post-fight drilling from my man, so quick, give me your number. We’ll do lunch. Or drinks. Or somethin’. You can even come in and I’ll give you a freebie mani-pedi. I live in Magdalene and got a shop there.” She stopped beeping buttons, looked to me and smiled impishly. “You can tell me how much fun Jake is after a fight.”

“I, well…”

“Hurry,” she urged.

I liked her very much regardless of her loudness and crudeness. Further, I was going to be in Magdalene for some time and didn’t know anyone of my age who wasn’t the wife of the pastor of the local church. Therefore, I quickly gave her my number. I was about to go on and share that she had the wrong idea about Jake and I before she shot out of her seat and looked down at me.

“Jake’s up next. Have fun and don’t leave a wet spot,” she declared, still smiling madly before she bent in, touched her cheek to mine, did the same on the other side then she tottered swiftly away on platform sandals that looked a great deal like the ones Jake’s dancers wore.

I watched her go then I turned my attention to the ring.

Jake was up next, the last fight of the night. Although from their haggard appearance, it seemed a number of the spectators had been there since the very beginning, the air was humming and electric. Like the headline act was about to take the stage at the end of a festival that had been going on for days.

It was not hard to read they liked Jake and this would be proven positive when a chant of “Truck” started low and quiet but gained in momentum until the crowd burst out in applause.

He was coming.

Unexpectedly, I found my stomach was in knots, my legs were shaking even though I was sitting down, my hands the same.

I clenched them together, leaned to the side and looked over my shoulder to peer down the aisle.

Not everyone but a goodly number of folks were standing, chanting, shouting, clapping and through this, I saw Jake.

Midnight blue robe, dark gray lapel, dark gray stripes down the inside seams. He was being followed by a man that was older than him and appeared to have had much the same frame as him, but perhaps fifteen years ago.

Mickey wore a boxing robe well.

Jake in one made Alyssa’s prediction start to come true and I knew this because my legs and hands weren’t the only things trembling.

Something was fluttering in a very private place. A very good private place.

Slowly, even on unsteady legs, I found myself rising to my feet even though I didn’t tell my body to do it. The entire time my eyes were glued on Jake.

Nearly to the end of the aisle, his focus, which seemed to be on the floor in front of him, started shifting to me.

Yes, he wore that robe well and that pre-fight intensity on his face was breathtaking.

That flutter grew.

He caught my eyes and I began to smile.

But my smile froze on my face when his expression changed instantly upon locking on my gaze.

And it was then I felt it.

The heat. The pressure. The stifling, smoldering sensation of Jake Spear’s fury.

His eyes were also heated and I’d never seen them like that. His anger, certainly. But this wasn’t anger. This was extreme.

This was rage.

And I knew instinctively it was not directed at the opponent he would soon be facing.

For some reason, it was directed at me.

He tore his eyes from mine and I stood frozen for long moments, caught in the residual beam of his furious gaze. My body only woodenly moved in a pivot as he walked by me and I watched him enter the ring.

Throughout the pre-fight activities, he didn’t look at me again. And I was so struck by the burning look of wrath he’d directed at me I only had it in me to sit and tuck my purse in my lap.

I vaguely noticed that his skintight workout shirts only hinted at the exceptional, defined, perfect male beauty of his body as he took off his robe to expose midnight blue trunks with dark gray stripes and waistband.

I became more aware of all this as he danced in his corner. Shook out his arms. Jerked up his shoulders. Tipped his head sharply side to side. Punched lightly into the air. His muscles flexing and bulging with each movement.

The vision of all that was him cutting through the haze of his earlier look, I became aware that the flutter was back and growing stronger than ever.

They did the introduction bit and Jake got a loud, boisterous round of applause (even I clapped heartily, though I didn’t shout any encouragement).

Jake and his opponent went back to their corners, did some listening and nodding to the men outside the ring then they dance-jogged back to the center, listened to the gray shirted man, more nodding, gloves tapping…

And then it happened.

The bell rang and I watched Jake Spear do what Jake Spear was clearly born to do.

And in doing so, my world combusted.

Everything I was.

Everything I knew.

Everything I’d worked so long and so hard to make real.

I watched the primal beauty of Jake fighting and did it coming out of my skin. It split and shredded and fell away. It did it fast and suddenly it was gone and I was there, sitting, legs crossed, stylish handbag tucked in my lap, feeling raw, bare, vulnerable, electrified, old and new.

The area between my legs was pulsing.

My focus was riveted.

I was gone.

I wasn’t me.

And I was.

For the first time in years, I was me.

And that time was watching the beauty of Jake beating the absolute shit out of the man in the ring with him.

He did this in five minutes.

Five.

I noticed it dazedly on the big clock with the red numbers that was beside the ring in front of the judges.

And he did it after hitting his already struggling challenger twice in the body then his powerfully muscled, sleek with wet right arm went out wide and he landed a blow to the man’s head that would have normally made me swallow with sick. The man’s head jerked brutally, sweat flew, his eyes closed and he hit the mat with a loud thud, not even lifting a hand to break his fall, his big body shuddering from top to toe on impact.

The crowd went wild.

I sat frozen in my chair staring at Jake dancing close to the body on the mat as the referee crouched beside him, counting to ten, his arm striking out to the side with each beat, his mouth moving with the numbers, his words swallowed up on the roar.

He finally stood, lifted Jake’s arm and the crowd got even louder. So loud it was deafening.

Jake, however, did not bask in the glory.

He moved to his corner and left it with no ado whatsoever. He didn’t put his robe on. He didn’t gesture to the crowd.

He didn’t look at me.

I slowly stood and turned as he prowled down the aisle and disappeared at the back of the arena.

Not thinking, not me, or not the me I’d made myself be, I bent and snatched up my coat.

I then moved.

Swiftly, I walked up the aisle. At the top, I looked right, then left and saw a burly man wearing a bright yellow polo shirt with the black word “security” printed boldly over his heart.

I moved quickly to him.

I was unable to get a word in when, his eyes going top to toe, he asked, “Who d’you belong to, gorgeous?”

His eyes came to mine and I stated, “Jake.”

He grinned and stepped aside. When he did, I saw a door behind him. I pushed the bar and went through, hearing him continue to speak as I did.

“Left at the hall, first door to the right.”

The door closed behind me as I practically ran down the hall, turned left and went immediately through the first door on the right.

I saw lockers. A trash bin. A table that looked like a medical table in the middle. A big, workout bag on it, gaping open, Jake’s boxing gloves resting on top. The man that accompanied Jake to the ring.

And Jake, sitting on the table, the man before him, but his eyes cut immediately to me.

I opened my mouth but again was able to say nothing when Jake commanded, his one word like a whiplash, “Out.”

Somehow, I knew he wasn’t talking to me.

I was right. I vaguely noticed the man look to me and back to Jake before he dropped his head, grinned at his shoes and did as ordered.

Jake jumped off the table and moved with him instantly. With both of them coming in my direction, automatically I shifted out of their way, moving further into the room.

I turned back to Jake to see him lock the door.

I knew why I was there and I didn’t. I was scared and I wasn’t. I didn’t feel right and I did. I didn’t know what to do but I still knew what I had to do.

I wasn’t me.

Yet I was.

I opened my mouth to speak, not knowing what I was going to say but knowing I was going to say it.

I again didn’t get the chance.

“You goin’ out with Mick tomorrow night?” Jake growled, his eyes burning into me, his fury saturating the room.

“Not anymore,” I whispered immediately.

“Good fuckin’ answer, Slick,” he rapped out, each word hitting me like a blow at the same time they felt like a caress.

I stood unmoving, locked in place by his scowl, my heart beating hard, my breath coming funny, my sex drenched and pulsing.

Then he moved.

Right to me.

I didn’t. Not a muscle.

So when he hit me, taped hands to my hips, I staggered back on a thin heel and dropped my purse and coat.

But Jake was not going to let me fall. I knew this when he kept going, I kept staggering back, and his fingers clenched into my skirt.

My back hit wall and my skirt hit my waist a half a second before Jake’s body hit mine.

“Panties off, Josie,” he ordered, his voice rough and commanding, and it was good I was against the wall for the quiver his words sent through my legs was so powerful, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to remain standing.

I licked my lips, my sex throbbing so deeply I felt it shudder down my inner thighs and straight up to my throat as I carried out his command. I avoided his hands still clenched in my skirt to hook my thumbs into my panties and I tugged them down.

They slid over my shoes when Jake’s hands came to my bottom and hefted me up.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, my arms around his shoulders and tipped my head back just as Jake’s came down, his mouth slamming into mine.

I opened my lips, which was good because Jake’s tongue was already thrusting in.

When I finally tasted him, that deep need I’d had for what seemed ages finally assuaged, his taste so beautiful, so Jake, I whimpered down his throat. My limbs clenching around him, he kissed me brutally and pressed his hips between my legs.

Feeling him hard, the satin of his trunks soft and me so sensitive, I lifted a hand and clutched it in his short hair as best I could and pressed into him as hard as I was able.

His hand left my behind and it was between us. I felt it move then it was back at my bottom, tipping my hips and suddenly he was in. Deep in. Slamming inside me, filling me repeatedly, violently, splendidly, magnificently as he grunted into my mouth and I held on tight for the ride, moaning into his.

Suddenly, I was pulled away from the wall and Jake stayed inside me as he moved us to the table and bent us over it. My back hit the table and Jake continued thrusting, drilling, taking me rough and hard in a locker room at an arena.

And I welcomed every stroke, gasping, whimpering, moaning, clutching with my arms and legs and fingers and sex, any way I could hold him to me, take him inside me, urge him to give me more.

He did. One hand going between us, his thumb moved hard over my aching, wet, sensitized clit and I cried out, at first in his mouth then I yanked my lips free, turned my head to the side and kept doing it while I came, fast, hard, long, the orgasm ripping through me and if I hadn’t already shed my skin, that would have shredded me and I would have been born anew.

Jake’s hand moved from between us and both of them slid up my inner thighs, the tape wrapping his hands coarse against my soft skin. He caught me behind the knees and yanked my legs high as he lifted his torso away and captured my gaze, his blazing, his eyes a remarkable midnight blue, his handsome face nearly savage with passion.

He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

And he kept taking me, pounding between my legs and it was arguable but this might have felt better than the time before and even during orgasm. Being in the moment, not lost to it, feeling every stroke, every inch, the power of his body, his fingers clamped tight around the delicate skin behind my knees, his grunts filling the room.

Then it happened. He drove in one last time, the entire table moved several inches and his head snapped back, the corded column of his throat exposed to me, veins standing out in his neck, his groan of release was loud and so unbelievably gratifying, it felt like I’d moved not a mountain but an entire range.

The Rockies.

The Himalayas.

The Andes.

All three.

His head dropped, his neck bent deep so I had a view to the back of it and his fingers clutched the backs of my knees as his hips powered out and in for one last glorious thrust that felt divine.

Finally, he stayed embedded.

He didn’t move.

I didn’t either.

Moments passed.

Suddenly, the effect of the last twenty minutes started reversing. Something was coating my skin. Covering me. Smothering me.

“Jake,” I whispered as he stayed in position, neck bent, apparently studying our connection.

The instant I said his name, his head shot back, his hands released my legs but they did this curling them around his back and he dropped his torso to mine.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

I opened my mouth but didn’t say anything when his hand came up, cupped my cheek and his thumb pressed against my lips.

“Don’t,” he repeated. “Don’t say anything, baby. Don’t think anything. Don’t be anything but with me. Not until I get you safe. Not until we can talk this out where I know you’re good. Promise me that.”

“I don’t—” I started, my lips moving under his thumb, but I stopped when he pressed in with his entire body.

“Promise me that, honey.” He was again whispering.

He held my eyes with his now beautiful blue ones and I let him do this for long moments.

Then I nodded.

I barely got that movement in before he pulled out. I felt my lips part at the unwelcome but still lovely sensation but I didn’t get to process it.

Jake reached beyond me to his bag. He came back with a towel and his eyes held mine as he gently pressed it between my legs, cleaning him from me.

I knew my face got soft because that felt rather nice and I knew this because his face reciprocated the gesture.

I couldn’t see me but I still would argue his look was better.

He tossed the towel somewhere I couldn’t see. I felt his hands working at his shorts before his fingers were at my hips. He yanked me roughly off the table but he didn’t let me teeter. One arm slid around me tight and held me to him as his fingers worked my skirt, yanking it back down. Then both hands were to my waist and I was up and my bottom was planted on the table.

Once he got me there, I watched him move quickly. His back to me, he went through the room, first picking up my purse and coat then moving to the wall to snatch up my panties.

I bit my lip when he did this and not in embarrassment. It was highly titillating watching Jake in boxing trunks seize my panties from the floor by the cinderblock wall where he’d first taken me.

It was not romantic in any sense.

But having been the one who experienced it, I knew it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me. In fact, I knew if any other woman had had it, she’d feel the same.

Yet, I was uncertain.

There was something wrong.

Something that needed to be made right.

This thought made my lips move and they moved to call a quiet, trembling, “Jake.”

He was on his way back to me and at his name, he did this swiftly. He dumped my purse and coat on the table beside me, wrapped a taped hand around my jaw and dipped his face close as he shoved my panties in his workout bag.

When my eyes went from his bag to his, he instantly started speaking.

“Stick with me,” he urged.

My voice was still trembling when I agreed, “All right.”

“All right, baby,” he said gently before he dipped his head and touched his mouth to mine.

And this time, having had him, having given him me, that touch was even sweeter.

After that, he wasted no time. He turned to his bag, dug out a workout jacket in navy blue and shrugged it on. Hands still taped, he tugged out a matching pair of pants and yanked them on over his trunks.

He zipped up the jacket before he pulled me from the table and grabbed my coat. He held it up for me and I turned in a circle, gliding my arms into the sleeves as he settled it on my shoulders.

Once my coat was on, he grabbed the strap on his bag, dropped it on his shoulder and dug into a side pouch, pulling out his keys. He then snatched up my purse and handed it to me.

I took it.

He took my hand and dragged me to the door. He unlocked it and dragged me out.

Immediately, he hauled me close, his hand dropping mine to clasp me around my shoulders and pull me so tight to his side I had to turn slightly, pressing my front to him to accommodate the demands of his arm.

Not only for comfort but for connection, I was sliding my arm around his waist when it happened.

I knew they were there but I was so affected by what just happened, in a fog, I didn’t really notice all the people milling about the hall until the clapping started, the hooting began and then someone close by shouted, “Fuck yeah! Class plowed by The Truck!”

We stopped so abruptly I swayed and I dazedly watched Jake’s hand slice up, long finger pointed at something.

I looked to where he was pointing and I saw a man in an unbecoming tracksuit (Jake’s was much better), his face paling as Jake clipped out supremely irately, “Shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

His mouth was partly open when Jake made this command but it clamped shut and his lips thinned, such was his intent to clamp it very shut.

Jake moved us again and it was when we were about to hit the door to the outside that it penetrated that the applause, hooting and that comment were not about congratulating Jake on winning his fight.

It was congratulating Jake on doing what it was clear many had heard us doing in the locker room.

Good God.

“Jake,” I whispered yet again and it was trembling even more this time.

He pushed out the door and ordered quietly, “Josie, stick with me.”

I said nothing but I stuck with him mostly because he was holding me so close and he was so determined to get us where we were going I had no choice.

We made it to his truck. He beeped the locks and had me in before I could blink.

With shaking hands, I buckled in as he tossed his bag in the back and pulled himself behind the wheel.

“My car is here,” I told him something he had to know.

He looked to me even as he turned the key in the ignition. “We’ll come get it tomorrow, honey.”

Tomorrow?

I didn’t ask. He was engaged in backing out of his parking spot and with that behemoth of a vehicle, I thought his attention should be focused on this endeavor.

I looked back out the windshield when we started moving forward.

It wasn’t until we were on our way, headed back to Magdalene when I noticed he had his mobile in his hand. And I noticed this only when I heard Jake talking into it and I looked to him to see he had it to his ear.

“Con?” A pause then, “Yeah, son.” Another pause then, “Yeah, I won. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Listen, I’m not gonna be home tonight.”

I drew in a sharp breath and saw Jake’s eyes flash to me then back to the road and he kept speaking.

“Curfew’s still solid, bud. You’re on the honor system tonight. Don’t disappoint me.” He was silent a moment and then, “Okay, Con. See you tomorrow.”

I heard him disconnect and the instant he did, I stated, “Jake, we need to talk.”

“We’ll talk when we get you home, Josie.”

“I think we should talk now.”

His mobile hit the console; he grabbed my hand and pulled it so it was resting on his hard thigh.

He then repeated, but did it changing one word and doing it in a tender voice, “We’ll talk when we get you home, baby.”

I said nothing.

He held my hand tighter.

I blanked my mind.

We’d talk when I was home.

Home.

In silence, he drove us to Lavender House.

Jake collected his bag and then he collected me, even though I had my belt off, the door open and was nearly out of his truck by the time he made it to my side. He still lifted me down right before I was about to jump.

He walked us to the house, opened the door with his key and then he walked us in.

As in in.

After locking the door behind us, he walked us straight to my bedroom.

It was then a strange, wondrous, frightening, confusing night got more of all of that.

But mostly the wondrous part.

This was because after he turned on the bedside light, he dropped his bag, took my purse and let it fall to the floor and slid my coat off my arms to join them. He then hooked me about the waist and walked backwards to my bed, taking me with him. He fell and landed on his back, I landed on him and he immediately rolled so he was on top.

Only when he had us arranged did he declare, “Now you’re in a safe place, we’ll talk.”

I was in a safe place.

I was in the only safe place I had.

And Jake brought me here.

“We had sex,” I told him something he could not have forgotten.

“Yeah, we did,” he agreed, his eyes holding mine, his assessing, warm, but also guarded.

“In a locker room,” I went on.

“Yeah,” he again agreed.

All right, there wasn’t much more to explore with that except, well…everything and I didn’t have it in me to explore that everything just yet.

“You were angry with me before the fight,” I stated, though it was a question.

“No, babe, I was pissed,” he answered.

Oddly, I completely understood this distinction.

“Are you angry now?” I inquired.

He stared at me.

Then he inquired in return, “Do I look angry?”

“No,” I answered.

“Fuckin’ my woman who’s wearin’ the sexiest fuckin’ dress that’s ever been in that arena, doin’ that for the first time in the arena’s locker room, it bein’ hot as fuck, all that shit tends to make a man get over bein’ seriously fuckin’ pissed and it does it fast.”

I let most of that slide in order to get to the meat of the matter.

“What did I do?” I asked.

He blinked before he repeated, “What did you do?”

“Yes, Jake, what did I do?”

He stared at me a moment before he answered, “Slick, you’re mine and you made a date with another guy.”

“Yes, I’m yours, Jake, but not that way.”

He kept staring at me then he looked around the room, most specifically at the bed we were on, before he looked back at me.

“You’re not mine in that way?” he queried.

I saw his point.

Yet at the same time, I did not.

It was my turn to stare at him for a moment before the words came out of my mouth. And when they did, they came out soft, timid, hopeful and scared.

“Am I yours in that way?”

Understanding, sweet and beautiful, washed through his features. He dipped his face closer and lifted a hand to frame the side of mine.

“You are,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes to fully feel his words moving through me then opened them and pointed out (still timid, still hopeful), “I thought you liked big hair and big…other stuff.”

His head cocked slightly to the side. “What?”

“You said—”

He interrupted me.

“I know what I said, honey. I also know you didn’t like hearin’ it and I further know since you called me after you walked in Lydie’s bedroom, the way you were mine stopped bein’ the way and the way you are mine started.”

“I think I might have missed something,” I admitted.

He grinned a small, sweet grin, his finger beginning to stroke me at my temple as he said, “I was goin’ gentle, baby, but I also thought I was being obvious.”

“You weren’t,” I shared and his brows went up.

“You hold hands with many guys?”

I didn’t. Not with any.

“No.”

“Sit tight close to them at a football game?”

“Um…no.”

“Lounge on the couch with ‘em, your head on their chest?”

I was again seeing his point.

“Oh,” I whispered and his grin came back, bigger this time.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Oh.”

This was all lovely, marvelous, the fact that Jake was telling me that when I had been pretending, it had been real.

I was still uncertain.

“But I don’t have big hair or big—”

I stopped talking when his face got very close and his finger stopped stroking so all of them could press in.

“Baby, you got everything.”

I stared into his eyes, not needing to close mine to fully feel the beauty of that washing through me, and whispered again my, “Oh.”

He studied my face, spending particular time at my mouth and I began to hold my breath in hopeful anticipation before his eyes came back to mine.

“You burn hot like that all the time?” he asked softly.

I knew precisely what he was referring to.

“Never,” I answered softly.

That got me another grin, this one lighting his eyes in a way I felt acutely and pleasantly in one particular part of my body.

His grin died and his lips commanded, “You gotta call Mick.”

My eyes slid to the side as I replied, “It would appear I do.”

“Babe,” he called.

My eyes slid back.

“You gotta call Mick,” he repeated.

“Okay, Jake,” I agreed.

“First, we’re takin’ a shower,” he announced.

Oh my.

He wasn’t quite finished.

“No, first you’re cuttin’ this tape off my hands. I got you naked in a shower, I want more than my fingertips. Then, I’m eatin’ you. Been hungry for you since our dinner at The Eaves. Got my shot, not waitin’ any longer.”

At that, a pulse beat through my entire body.

He still wasn’t finished.

“Then we’re crashin’. Tomorrow you can call Mick.”

“Okay, Jake,” I agreed again, this time breathily.

“You sleep in one of your nighties. I pick the blue one unless you got something better.”

I said nothing.

However, the blue one was dirty.

But I had something better.

“No panties,” he finished.

I squirmed under him.

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

I held my breath again.

His eyes came to mine.

“Time to shower.”

I said nothing mostly because I didn’t have a chance.

I was off the bed and following Jake out the door because his hand was clamped around mine and he was dragging me there.

Though, dragging was perhaps an incorrect word since at that point I would have gladly followed him anywhere.

But especially the shower.

* * * * *

Jake closed his mouth over my clit and sucked deep. I felt the pressure release just as his tongue lashed hard.

It was then I came.

Still coming, I felt him cover me and surge inside.

Dazedly, my orgasm still burning through me, I wrapped both legs around his thighs and my arms around his back. He planted a hand in the bed, arm bent so he stayed close, his mouth working my neck, his cock thrusting deep.

I took him for a long time, glorying in the feel, the smell of his clean skin, the power in his movements, the bigness of his body, the noises he made that rumbled into my flesh.

Suddenly, I felt his teeth sink gently into the skin around my jaw, scrape softly down to my chin, the sensation odd yet captivating even as it was titillating and intimate.

I loved it.

Then he again buried his face in my neck, surged inside one last time and groaned into my skin.

I’d touched him throughout, my hands coasting across his hard muscles and sleek skin. But when he climaxed inside me, I wrapped him tight and held him close.

I gave him time, waited for his body to relax into mine, listened to his breathing even and only then did I turn my head and say to him words the likes of which I hadn’t said to any man for twenty-three years.

“I like you very much, Jake Spear.”

He lifted his head and looked down at me and I saw I was wrong earlier.

His face sated and relaxed, his eyes warm, his cock still inside me, that was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in my life.

He didn’t return my sentiment.

He did something better.

He dropped his lips to mine and kissed me, deep, sweet and long.

I held him close and kissed him back.

He broke the kiss in a gentle way, brushing his lips against mine before he murmured, “Gotta see to business. Be back.”

I nodded.

He gently pulled out, sliding his nose along my jaw as he did so in a way that made my belly drop and tingles slide over my skin and not just the skin at my jaw. Then he was out of bed. He tossed the covers over me and I watched him walk naked out of the room.

I curled to my side and kept my eyes glued to the door, my mind blank and languorous, my body just the latter and I kept staring at the door until he returned.

Then I stared at him.

He had an amazing body.

Unbelievable.

Exquisite.

That body joined mine in bed. He turned out the light then turned me into his arms.

“You good?” he asked into the top of my hair.

I stared at the shadowed wall of his chest.

“Josie?” he called when I didn’t answer

“I’m afraid,” I admitted softly.

His arms pulled me closer and I felt his lips on my hair when he answered, “Beat that back, honey. No reason to be scared. Not with me.”

I kept staring at his chest as I continued with my admissions.

“There are things to know about me.”

“And you got time to share them with me.”

I took in a halting breath and put pressure on to pull away but Jake’s arms went very tight, one hand sifting up into my still-wet-from-our-shower hair and he held my face pressed to his chest.

Not able to look at him, I didn’t give up.

“They’re difficult to take.”

There was a heavy pause I didn’t like very much before he remarked, “You get Lydie talked about you.”

I closed my eyes.

I knew.

Now I knew.

He gave me a squeeze and his voice lowered, when, still talking in my hair, he said, “She talked about you.”

Good God.

God.

Feeling the burning sensation in my chest, I decided I needed to let that go.

For now.

Now, I’d move on to something else.

“Something happened to me tonight, Jake,” I whispered.

“Tell me,” he whispered back.

“I can’t. I don’t know what it was.”

“When did it happen?”

“When you started to fight.”

His arms convulsed before he asked, “What did it feel like?”

“Like I was coming out of my skin.”

“Coming out of your skin?”

“Yes.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Good,” I told him. “Very good,” I went on.

He said nothing for long moments before he inquired, “Why’d you come to the locker room?”

“I…” I started, about to tell him it was to find out why he was mad at me but that wasn’t it.

I just didn’t know why I did it.

“Was in there maybe two minutes before you showed,” he stated when I said no more.

“I…” I began again but stopped again.

One of his arms left me, his hand came to my chin and he tipped my head back.

His eyes caught mine in the moonlight. “Babe, I was pissed at you but lookin’ back at it, not pissed and havin’ seen that look now more than once, you walked into that room lookin’ turned way the fuck on.”

Oh dear.

“I was,” I whispered.

“So you came in there to get yourself some.”

Did I?

Oh God.

I did.

“I—” I started again but stopped this time because his body was shaking and in doing so, it was shaking me and the bed.

This was because he was laughing.

“Jake?” I called. “Are you laughing?”

“Oh yeah,” he rumbled, his voice filled with humor and even though I heard him, he confirmed, “Fuck yeah.”

“I’m uncertain what’s amusing.”

His arm went back around me and he used both to slide me up his chest so we were eye to eye.

He still had a smile in his voice when he asked, “You think that instead of you comin’ outta your skin tonight, maybe it wasn’t that and instead you dropped the disguise?”

“What disguise?”

There was no smile in his voice at all when he said gently, “The one you been wearin’ for a long fuckin’ time, baby.”

Yes, Gran had talked about me.

I said nothing but I did something.

I slid down the bed and hid, doing this by pressing my face back into his chest.

“How ‘bout we talk about that later,” he suggested, still speaking gently.

I again said nothing but I indicated agreement by nodding.

He gathered me close in his arms again and stated, “Glad you get off on me fightin’.”

I took in a deep breath and gratefully accepted his subject change. “I met a woman prior to your bout. Her name is Alyssa and she warned me that would happen.”

“Alyssa. Surprised I didn’t hear her moanin’ through the walls before I came out for my fight. More times than I could count over the years, before the door closes on her ass, me and a bunch of boys have seen her drop to her knees and start to blow Junior just freein’ his dick from his trunks enough for her to latch on.”

It would seem that fighters and their partners were very blunt when discussing sex.

However, that wasn’t what concerned me.

What concerned me was that I might have become the new Alyssa of the adult boxing league that night.

Therefore, I mumbled, “At least you locked the door.”

There was a moment of silence before he called, “Babe.”

I didn’t reply. I quite enjoyed Jake fighting and although I would never have guessed it, I much wanted to see him do it again.

Alas, I couldn’t. I couldn’t show my face again.

It would be mortifying.

“Josie,” he called again.

“I’m tired,” I told him which wasn’t completely a lie.

“Baby, look at me.”

I took in another deep breath before I tipped my head back and looked at him.

He was already looking at me and he didn’t delay in speaking when he caught my eyes.

“I get that was probably not your thing but outside of that assclown bein’ an assclown and mouthin’ off, I’ll tell you how that felt for me. You’re beautiful. You’re classy. You’re sweet. You dress fuckin’ cool and unbelievably hot. I KO’d the third seed in our league in five minutes and I was prouder of walkin’ out of that room with you, knowin’ everyone knew you were mine and just how you were mine, what I could do to you and what you could give to me, than I was at watching him hit the mat.”

“That’s absurd and beautiful, both at the same time,” I blurted.

I saw his white teeth in the shadows and knew he was smiling when he advised, “Grasp on to the beautiful part, Slick.”

“I’ll make an effort to do that, Jake.”

I watched his face get closer then I felt his mouth on mine. He kissed me, it was again deep and sweet but it wasn’t long before he broke contact with my mouth and lifted his lips to touch them to my forehead.

He then dropped to his back but took me with him, holding me close to his side.

I wrapped my arm around his flat stomach and rested my cheek against his chest.

“You get on with Alyssa?” he asked when we’d settled.

“She was lovely, albeit loud and foul-mouthed.”

“She’s the shit. Good woman. Good mom. Good to Junior.”

“She asked me for my number,” I shared and his arm around my back gave me a squeeze.

“I’ll talk to Junior. Get hers. She doesn’t call you, you call her. You got me, the kids, but women need women at their backs and she’d be a good one.”

I didn’t have very many women at mine, but the ones I had, I knew this was true.

“I’ll call her if she doesn’t call me.”

That got me another squeeze before he murmured, “Good.”

He fell silent.

I stared at the shadowed angles of his chest.

I did this for some time before I whispered, “Jake?”

“Baby, we’re good,” he whispered back, answering the question I hadn’t yet asked. The question that had me most afraid. The question that might lead to what we’d done being a foolhardy act which would mean we’d lose all we’d built. And even in the short time we’d had, we’d built something beautiful I never wanted to lose.

I just wanted to build it higher, stronger and keep it forever.

“What’s next?” I queried.

“Don’t know, Josie. Just know whatever it is I want you to be a part of it and I hope like fuck you want the same.”

I closed my eyes tight and pressed my cheek hard to his chest.

I wanted the same.

I very much wanted the same.

But I didn’t expect Jake to want it.

Clearly, he did.

And I didn’t know how to feel the feeling I was feeling. I’d been content for so long I forgot how to feel happy.

I turned my head and my lips moved against his skin when I noted, “You like me too.”

His hand slid up my spine to curl around the back of my neck when he replied, “Oh yeah, honey. I like you too.”

I swallowed the emotion that was clogging my throat and dipped my chin into my neck so I could press my forehead into his skin.

His hand tightened on my neck and he urged, “Go to sleep, Josie.”

At his command, I opened my eyes, turned my head and settled in. “Okay, Jake.”

He moved his other arm to wrap both around me and I settled deeper into him. With effort, I relaxed against him and it didn’t take long before one of his arms slid away, the other one loosened, his hand resting lightly at my waist, and I knew he was asleep.

I wasn’t asleep.

The last time I got what I wanted, what I really, really wanted was when Andy came to sit by me in lunch at high school.

And that didn’t work out very well.

Somehow, it had happened again.

I’d been happy then.

I felt happy now.

Right alongside utterly terrified.

This thought seized me and I rolled away from Jake to turn my eyes to the window.

I couldn’t see the sea from where I was in the bed, but I could see the inky sky and bright shaft of moonlight.

I was barely away from him but for seconds before Jake rolled into me and I felt his arm curl around my belly.

He did nothing more. He said nothing. His breath was even. His hold was again loose.

“Jake?” I whispered.

He didn’t reply.

He’d rolled into me in his sleep.

I stared at the view and seeing that view, lying in that bed, Jake holding me in his sleep, it came to me that Gran gave this to me.

Gran gave it to me.

All of it.

She knew what she was doing from the very beginning.

So it was safe.

And it was mine.

On that thought, I felt the tension slide out of my shoulders and away from spine, my lips curved up, my body pressed back into the warm hardness of Jake’s and my eyelids dropped.

Thus on that thought, I fell asleep for the first time in over two decades doing it carefree.

And doing it happy.