Enigma

  “What are you afraid of? The boogie man? You’re an MMA fighter, act like it. Be confident in your abilities. Most people don’t have the training you have. Even I don’t know most of the Jiu-Jitsu moves you know.”

  “Whatever. I’m not a fighter yet, but I want to be more than anything else.”

  “You know what your biggest problem is?”

  “I don’t have the experience yet to be a fighter?”

  “No. You have no faith in yourself. Believing that you are a fighter is more than half the battle.” He pulls into a gas station and parks next to a gas pump. He unfastens his seatbelt and turns to me, lifting my chin with the bent crook of his finger, so our eyes meet. His brown eyes are so dark their almost pitch black. “If you want my best advice— take notes because I will only tell you this once — opportunity does not knock. It presents itself when you beat down the door.”

  “Where are these doors? I’ll knock on them ‘til my knuckles bleed.”

  “Now tell me, who’s a fighter?”

  “I am,” I respond.

  He cups his hand over his hear and raises the bass in his voice. “That didn’t convince me. Who’s a fighter?”

  “I am,” I say a little bit louder.

  “C’mon, Jade. I want the motherfuckers in the Circle K buying beer and hot fries to know who’s in this car. Now, who’s a fighter?”

  I roll down the window and scream, “I’m a fighter, you motherfuckers. Me. This blond bitch right here. I’ll throat punch anyone who doubts me.” I scare a few people with my sudden outburst. A lady on the other side of our pump screams and jumps at the bold sound of my voice.

  His laughter roars through the front seat. His arm reaches for the button to roll the window up because people are staring at us. “I didn’t know you had that in you,” he says still laughing and wiping tears from the outer corners of his eyes.

  “Shit, I didn’t know you knew how to laugh.”

  He laughs again at my comment. “You’re funny. Why don’t you go in and pick out some snacks since we don’t know what’s going to be in the cabin? I’ll come to find you after I pump the gas.”

  I swing the car door open and step outside. Every eye in the parking lot follows me inside, but I strut through the doors with my head held high. I am a fighter, and I will throat punch you.

  I find myself smiling as I walk through the aisles reading labels and placing healthy snacks in the little red basket hanging on my arm. This trip is turning out better than I thought. At least I know he has a sense of humor.

  A few minutes later, he approaches me with two gallons of water in his hands. He peeks into the basket checking out my selections. “Oh yeah, peanut butter filled Clif Bars. Those are the best.” He grabs a handful of packs of organic peanuts and adds them to the growing pile of snacks. “I’m good with what you got. If you’re ready, let’s go.”

  “I’m ready.”

  It turns out, we were only twenty minutes from the cabin. The streets were well-maintained and lit, making the road signs easy to read. The porch light was on when we arrived, and the key was in the mailbox.

  The cabin is small, hinting at its age but it’s also what everyone calls today ‘an open floor plan.’ There is a half bath off to the left of the kitchen, and a staircase leading to the loft.

  I take the snack bags to the kitchen and start emptying it while Kol carries our baggage up to the loft. He stands at the railing looking down at me. “Um, Jade. We have a problem up here.”

  I run up the stairs two at a time and see exactly what he’s talking about, one queen bed in the center of the room. There’s a small cushioned chair next to the window, but it’s old and not meant for sleeping unless you’re a fifty-pound old woman who might fall asleep while knitting. There’s a basket full of yarn with knitting needles stuffed inside it right next to the chair.

  My eyes roam the living room decor, but don’t see a couch to stretch out on. It’s individual chairs that, although they are beautifully upholstered, they don’t look comfortable.

  “I don’t mind sleeping with you, but, of course, there will be rules that we need to establish.”

  “Okay. I can deal with that. Let’s get settled first and we can talk about it.”

  Within the hour, the luggage is put away, the snacks are placed in the cabinets, and we finally sit down to eat dinner. During the process of familiarizing myself with the kitchen, I found fried chicken, homemade biscuits, coleslaw and potato salad in the refrigerator. It must be a gift from the neighbor lady that watches the place.

  “I tried to call Lou, but he didn’t answer. I left a message for him. I suspect he’s hiding not wanting to hear our comments about the one bed.”

  “We’ll make it work,” I say, stuffing a big bite of warm, buttered biscuit in my mouth. Butter runs down my chin, and I must look like a starved heathen. “I grew up in foster homes. We had to share beds all the time.”

  “Really? I never would have figured you for a foster kid.”

  “There were seven of us. Three were the natural children of Linda and Charles Mason. I was the only female, non-biological child. The three boys were of various races. I got along with everyone until their divorce.”

  “There were five of us boys, all white, no girls— thank God. All fostered together, but we were different ages. Shawn is a year younger than me. Tommy, I don’t know if you met him at the hike the other day, but he’s a few years older than me. Tony and Donny were a few months younger than Shawn.”

  “Were? Are they dead?” My throat tightens, not wanting to ask the question, but wanting to know and understand him a little better.

  “Yeah, they died after I left. There was an accident. It bothers Shawn, so we don’t talk about it.”

  “Is that why his restaurant is named Dontonio’s? After Donny and Tony.”

  “Yes,” he says wiping his mouth on his napkin. “You’re very sharp. You pick up on things quickly. That’s a great quality to have.”

  To lighten the somber mood we created, I wad up my napkin and throw it at him, smacking him on the chest. “Why did you say ‘no girls— thank God’ before? That’s not a very nice thing to say in front of me.”

  He picks up the wadded ball from the table and shoots it toward the garbage can. It arcs and goes in the center, scoring a three-pointer. He holds his hands up in air claiming his accolades from the invisible cheering crowd. “I have nothing against females. Trust me, if you knew what Max Porter put us through, you’d say ‘Thank God’ too.”

  He scoops the last bite of coleslaw onto his fork and gently slides it between his full lips. The divot of his lips is symmetrical with the fullness of them. They work in perfect unison together. I watch him chew as time stands still as. If I know anything at all, it’s that Kol Porter has a mouth meant for kissing. A long sigh escapes my lips, and he looks up at me abruptly. I avert my eyes to the floor, pretending to think of anything else besides his mouth.

  Standing to clear his plate, he tilts his head sideways at me. “Are you bored already?”

  I don’t think I could ever get bored of looking at you. “No, I’ve had a long, weird two days,” giving him a small smirk.

  Chapter Eleven - Kol

  SHE’S FUNNY HOW SHE comes out of the bathroom dressed for bed in cut off sweatpants and a long T-shirt that’s two sizes too big for her frame. Her dirty clothes are wadded up against her chest like her T-shirt is see-through. I can’t even tell she’s got skin under that shirt let alone see the soft outline of her breasts.

  She dumps her clothes on the floor next to the bed and hops under the covers, pulling them up to her neck. I wrangle out of my jeans, stomping on them to get the remaining pant leg off. “You don’t sleep naked or anything weird like that, do you?” A small voice asks from halfway under the covers. I finish pulling my T-shirt off and look at her.

  I start to laugh when I see her eyes are shut tight. “Does half-naked count?” One eye squints open in the direction of my voice. “Ha! Ca
ught you lookin’.” She raises the blanket to cover her entire head.

  “I only wanted to see what the definition of half-naked was,” she mumbles from under the cover. After a few seconds, she sits up straight in bed and throws the blanket off her. “Jesus Christ it’s hot under there.” She takes a deep breath in and releases it.

  “Tell me, honestly. Have you ever slept with a man?”

  “I told you I’ve slept with my foster siblings.”

  “I don’t mean for convenience sake, but because you wanted too.”

  “No, I don’t sleep with men.” She stares at me, waiting for my next question. She’s young and gorgeous with a killer body. Who would say no to her? I know she isn’t shy. Maybe she’s...

  “Ooohhhhh, I get it now.” She tilts her head in confusion, and suddenly she understands my thoughts as her eyes widen in shock.

  “Noooooo! I’m not a lesbian.” I laugh at the look on her face.

  “It’s okay if you are. I don’t have a problem with it. To each their own, you know. I’m pro-LGBTQA...” I stop and think for a second, did I miss a letter. “Yeah, that’s right. LGBTQA.”

  “I’m not, now stooooooop it,” she whines. “I like men; they just don’t like me. Okay?”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “What? That doesn’t make sense to me. I like what I see. Are you hanging out at the blind association?” She laughs and starts to toss her pillow at me, but gently tucks it back behind her instead, fluffing it up and leaning back against it.

  “Most men want the Barbie doll. You know, the dumb blond arm candy. They want a girl to be seen and not heard. I’m not like that. Don’t get me wrong, I love to get my hair and nails done, but I also want ponytails and barbells. I don’t want to have to depend on a man to walk down a dark street at night. If my legs can take me there, then I want to go and not have to worry about my safety first. Am I making sense?”

  “Yes, I get it. You want to be who you are without judgment.”

  “I want to be drop-dead gorgeous...and smart...and strong, all at the same time. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “You’re right. There isn’t anything wrong with that, but most men don’t want Barbie. They may think they do, but they don’t end up with Barbie.”

  “Then why do they act like they do?”

  I slide under the sheet and tuck the blanket between us making a barrier wall to ease the worry in her eyes from earlier with seeing my boxer briefs. I reach over and pull the lamp string, pitching the room into total darkness.

  “I can’t answer your question. I honestly don’t know. Why does anyone fall in love with who they do? Is it really love when in twenty years you’re just going through the motions of life, and you’re more like roommates than lovers? The once hot attraction has fizzled into a cold memory. Is that love? Are comfort and convenience love? Is habit love?”

  She rolls onto her side, facing me in the dark. “I don’t think so. It sounds more like affection than love.” Her hot breath heats my shoulder. “It also sounds like you’ve never been in love.”

  “There are very few things I love.”

  “Name them then.” She snuggles deeper under the covers getting more comfortable on her side. I can feel her legs brushing mine through the sheet that separates us. Her fingers pull the blanket down a bit so she can talk over it. “We’re supposed to be getting to know one another, so tell me. What does ‘The Enigma’ love?”

  I roll onto my side and face her taking a few moments to think about it. What do I love? Not much. No one’s ever asked me to make a list. “I love winning my fights. I love how my body feels after sitting in an ice bath after a hellacious fight, although I don’t like sitting in the ice bath. I love the peace and quiet of early morning runs, and I love Buckeye ice cream.” I sound so shallow. Surely I can come up with better responses than these.

  “What about people? You didn’t name anyone.”

  “That’s because there isn’t anyone. I have affection for a few people, but like you said, that isn’t love.”

  I know she’s a child of the system too. It’s hard to get close enough to anyone to love them in that situation. The county loved to move us around, trying to make the right family fit unless they had a damn good reason not too. Max Porter made sure his reason (let’s just call it what it was, a bribe) was air-tight.

  I adjust my pillows to see the outline of her face a little better with the small sliver of moonlight coming through the clouds into the far window. “Okay, it’s your turn. Spill the whole list. I’m sure it’s lengthy.”

  She giggles in agreement. “Yeah, it’s pretty long. Let’s see. I love a good bargain that keeps me within my meager budget. And of course, I love a great mani/pedi. One of my favorite things to do is go to the beach at the end of the day and let the tide roll over my toes while I read a book. I love good hair days. I love the smell of lavender and coconut, but not together —that’d be gross. Oh, and the smell of clean laundry.” She sighs heavily again before hugging the corner of her pillow into her chest.

  “May I point out that you didn’t mention anyone in particular either?”

  “There isn’t anyone special person in my life. But if you want to hear something from that list, I guess it would be...”

  “Wait. There’s a separate list for that?”

  “Oh, yeah. You ready? I’ll give you the best one since that’s all that matters anyway— I love that tingly feeling you get when you first kiss someone.”

  Her eyes go soft, and she’s got this distant look in them like she’s reliving a particular moment. A quick, sharp pain punches my chest at that thought. Our breath mingles, and without thinking, I reach for her chin and tilt it up brushing my lips against hers. She tastes like cinnamon. Her lips open slightly as she kisses me back tentatively. I lean in further, taking the kiss deeper. The blanket bunches up between us as my arms pull her into me tighter. I want to feel her against me. Our tongues touch and I rip the blanket from between us, breaking our kiss accidentally.

  The cloudy night clears and moonlight floods the room. I want to kiss her again, but I ruined the moment and don’t have a good reason to other than wanting to. My face looks to hers, and her eyes are luminous in the moonlight. She smiles shyly lowering her face again. Was she kissing the guy in her memories or me?

  “Don’t do that.” I crook my finger and lift her chin again to look at me.

  “Do what?” Her small voice breaks across the small space between us.

  “Hide your face from me like what we did was wrong.”

  “Did you want to kiss me?” I blink at her a few times.

  “I don’t recall a first kiss ever giving me a feeling like that. Maybe that only works with teenagers or in the movies.”

  “So you didn’t feel it?” Her head lowers, and she turns away from me again.

  “Hey,” I run my hand down her long hair, and brush her cheek with my finger as I push some stray hairs behind her ear. “Look at me. Talk to me. I felt something. I don’t know exactly what it was, but I know I want more of it.”

  I nudge her with my elbow, but she doesn’t move. She’s stiff as a board.

  “You know what, let’s lie down and sleep. We’re both tired. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

  She remains where she sits, not moving a muscle. The tension of the previous moment fills the room. I know this move. She’s overthinking. Looks like we have more in common than I thought. Sliding back under the sheet, I rebuild the blanket wall of trust between us.

  I do my best to get comfortable and close my eyes letting her know we’re good. Remaining still so that she can drop her guard, I sneak a peek at her from half-closed eyes every so often to check on her. The muscles in her shoulders are finally relaxing, and within a few moments, she gives up and settles in for the night.

  She rolls to her left away from me, leaving her hair scattered across the blanket that separates us. It smells like coconut and sunshine. I fall asleep thinking about palm trees
and hammocks with her lying beside me.

  I’VE BEEN AWAKE FOR hours; ever since she trespassed over the blanket wall and put her face on my chest. She’s sleeping sideways, completely stretched out as far as her long legs will allow. The sun comes up over the trees and illuminates the room we’re in. Her soft breathing matches my heartbeat, and for once, I don’t feel the need to escape. I’m content and relaxed. That’s a first.

  It’s Tuesday, and we have to be back at the gym Friday afternoon for another media blitz with my opponent. I mentally start running through my pre-fight checklist and realize I can’t do half of them because I’m not home with my stuff. Shit. This had better not be an omen.

  The birds chirp in the trees outside the windows, and she stirs. I close my eyes pretending I don’t know she’s lying on me. I feel her fingers peel from my skin as her head lifts. Slowly, she rolls over trying not to shake the bed.

  Ahhh, finally. My bladder tells me to make a run for it, but I painfully push the limit of my kidneys and hold off a few more minutes. When I can’t stand it anymore, I sit and bend sideways stretching the kinks out of my back before standing and heading into the bathroom.

  When I return, she’s dressed and folding her dirty clothes into her luggage. Her long hair falls forward like a waterfall, hiding her face from me.

  “Good morning.” My voice is rough and gravelly making her jump. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Good morning. I did, thank you.” She fits the flap over the corner edges and zips her suitcase closed and walks to the bathroom with her toothbrush in her hand. My eyes follow her and watch the closing of the door steal away my morning view.

  I dress for my morning run as quickly as she did, and bend over to tie my shoelaces when the door creaks open again. Bare feet pad across the wood floor and stand directly in front of me. Ten purple toes are aligned, waiting for me to look up. My eyes take their sweet, Southern time traveling up her legs only to see her business face.