DIRTY READS

by Scott Hildreth

  He’s already told me everything about her, but it didn’t hurt to hear it again. I nodded. “Got it, Boss.”

  “She’s been fightin’ amateur for three years, and she’s got about forty fights. She’s undefeated, Jaz.”

  He’s failed to tell me that.

  “What if I lose?”

  “You plannin’ on losin’?”

  “No, but I’m just asking. What happens?”

  “Nothin’. It’ll just be a setback. Be tougher for you to be accepted in the pros for a while. If you keep knockin’ ‘em out quick, it’ll get a lot of people to talkin’, that’s for sure.”

  “It makes a difference if I knock ‘em out?”

  He nodded. “Big difference.”

  “And if it’s quick?”

  “Huge difference. A late round knockout can be dismissed as a tired opponent or a lucky series of punches. But first round knockouts back to back to back? It brings a lot of attention and gives you a label.”

  “A label?”

  He nodded. “They’ll label you a bad ass.”

  “I am a bad ass.”

  “Prove it,” he said. “Give me a good fight.”

  “What if I give you a first round knockout?”

  “Not going to happen with this one, Jaz. She’ll just feel you out in the first.”

  We’ll see about that.

  I shrugged. “You never know.”

  “Ripton! You ready?”

  I turned toward the voice. The referee stood at the edge of the ring, leaning over the top rope.

  “Coming in now,” Ripp said.

  I grinned. “Ripton?”

  He pushed my headgear onto my head and nodded. “Michael Allen Ripton. Don’t act like your name’s Jaz.”

  After he put on my gloves and checked them for rips, I climbed in the ring.

  “What is it?” he shouted.

  I shook my head. “Just Jaz.”

  I hated my name. Who the fuck would name their daughter Beth? Even in school, most of my teachers called me Jaz, and it was how I signed all of my schoolwork. No one called me Beth but my father.

  “Get in the ring, Just Jaz.”

  I climbed in the ring and leaned over the rope. “Wish me luck.”

  He poked my mouthpiece into my mouth. “You don’t need it,” he said with a laugh. “You’ve got mad skills.”

  FOURTEEN

  Jaz

  Day forty-three

  Where a professional fight brings legions of fans and onlookers – all seated in bleachers or seats surrounding the ring – amateur fights do not. There is nowhere to sit, no screaming fans, and no recognition for the winner or loser.

  The fight begins, takes place, and ends with no one other than the trainers of the respective fighters – and the few friends who may have gathered – knowing the outcome.

  I met her at the center of the ring, tapped gloves, and turned to the referee.

  “I want a good clean fight,” he said. “No hitting on the break. No low punches or hits after the bell.”

  I nodded. She nodded. He tapped his hand against the lower band on my shorts. “This is low.”

  He did the same to her. “And this is low.”

  “Understood?”

  We both nodded.

  “Go to your corners and wait for the bell.”

  On my way to the corner, I noticed Ethan standing beside Ripp. On Ripp’s other side, Kelsey stood with his arms crossed. It appeared he was chewing Ripp out for something. Probably Ethan and me being in the ring together.

  Fuck.

  The old man hated me and I knew it. I stiffened.

  The bell rang.

  Shari “Thunder” Rose didn’t scare me. Forty wins and no losses meant nothing more than she got an earlier start on her career than I did. By no means did it mean she was better. We met on her side of the ring, and she did exactly what Ripp said she would.

  Her fancy footwork, shuffling to the side as I approached, and leading with an onslaught of jabs each time I got close enough to touch her prevented me from doing much.

  Frustrated, I continued to be the offensive fighter. Fighting someone who wasn’t willing to stand and fight was one of my pet peeves. Each time, as soon as I was close enough to touch her, she would throw a quick series of jabs and quickly step away.

  Stand still, fight me, you scared bitch.

  After chasing her around the ring for what I expected was half of the round, I grew even more angry.

  Talking through a mouthpiece is difficult – if not impossible – but I loosened my grip on it and gave it my best.

  “Stand still you scared bitch,” I hissed.

  A response wasn’t necessary. Her eyes said it all. She didn’t like it. She stopped dancing around and threw a wild right hook that missed me by a foot.

  “I’m gonna knock your ass out,” I taunted.

  She shook her head and threw a straight left. I leaned left and the punch swung past the right side of my face. While she recovered from throwing the punch, her left side was unprotected. I threw a hard right hook into her ribcage.

  She responded with an uppercut, catching me on the chin. And, for the first time in my boxing career, someone caused me to go blind from a punch.

  I shoved my gloves into her chest and pushed her off. My sight returned almost instantly.

  God damn, you hit hard.

  Snot ran from my nose and tears rolled down my cheeks. As ridiculous as it seemed to admit it, it was exactly what I needed. I felt myself fill with rage.

  Angry and seeking revenge, I stepped forward. She began feeling me out with shorts jabs, trying to lure me in. Ripp was right, if I got in close and stayed there for any length of time, she’d try and catch me with a hook as I broke away.

  And if she did, I’d be in serious trouble.

  But there was no way I could beat her if I wasn’t throwing punches.

  I swung a wild right hook into her arms, attempting to clear them from blocking my target. I wanted a straight shot at her face.

  She threw a left hook into my ribs, and I didn’t even see it coming. I countered with an uppercut that fell short.

  As follow-ups, we both swung left hooks at the same time, hers a narrow miss, and mine caught her on the shoulder, knocking her off-balance. I followed with a right hook to her ribs.

  The shock expressed in her eyes was enough for me to know she didn’t like what she was getting, but I wasn’t in the ring to make her happy. A hard left hook into the center of her stomach made her eyes bulge, and the sound of the bell prevented me from going any further.

  “Bitch!” I grunted as I turned away.

  I stumbled to the corner and leaned down. Ripp pulled my mouthpiece and gave me a shot of water. “What the fuck are you doing? Trading punches?” he asked. “You can’t do that with her. She’ll knock your ass out.”

  I shook my head. “She hits hard as fuck.”

  “And what were you doing? Talking shit?”

  “Uh huh. She wouldn’t fight.”

  Kelsey stepped around Ripp and glared at me. “You a boxer, or a brawler?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “I asked you a question, Spaz. Which is it?”

  “A little of both, Sir.”

  He pushed Ripp to the side and looked right at me. Wearing striped sweats and a white tee shirt, he looked angry, tired, and surprisingly tough for his age. “Looks to me like you’re a brawler. Going toe-to-toe with a girl like her will get you hurt. Now get that right heel off the fuckin’ deck, you flat-footed little shit, and maybe you’ll have enough power to hurt her.”

  “Forget you even know this bald headed prick for right now. Watch my right foot and my hips.” He threw a demonstration punch, twisting his hip in an exaggerated fashion as he did. “As your arm extends, twist on the ball of your god damned foot like your putting out a cigarette.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said.

  “You’ve got power, Spaz. Now go knock her arrogant ass out, I’m tired o
f watching you two dance.” He slapped his hand against Ripp’s shoulder. “Put in her mouthpiece in, Dummy.”

  Ripp shook his head and put in my mouthpiece.

  And the bell rang.

  FIFTEEN

  Jaz

  Day forty-three.

  I rushed to the center of the ring, and she met me with a hard right cross, missing my head by the thickness of a hair.

  Oh, now you wanna fight, huh?

  I threw a flurry of punches in response, showing her just how quick – and how powerful – I could be.

  She stumbled back a step.

  I didn’t want to beat her, I needed to. For me to quickly advance in the sport, I needed to knock her out and get noticed.

  I wanted the label, like Ripp said.

  Bad ass.

  I took one step toward her and swung an uppercut. The punch blew past her, and in anticipation of her countering with her signature left hook, I threw a right in hope of knocking it astray.

  Her left didn’t come, and my right caught her hard on the side of the face, causing her to stumble again.

  My vision narrowed. All that mattered was that I stay on the offensive, continually bringing the fight to her. If I did, she could only react. An offensive attack on her part, at least during my attack, would be all but impossible.

  The ring became small, and only what was right in front of me was all that was in my view. All of the background noise became dull and distant. My breathing and my heartbeat were the only sounds I could hear, and they were almost deafening.

  She threw a right cross, missing me completely. Her left jab fell short.

  I looked her in the eyes.

  She seemed distant. Confused. Uncertain.

  You’re hurt, huh?

  Well, hold still, I’ve got something for you.

  I crowded her, pummeling her with everything I had. She provided nothing in response, unless stumbling into the ropes was her defense. While I continued to pound her mid-section and face with repeated rights and lefts, the referee stepped in.

  He grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Are you alright?”

  She nodded.

  Not for long.

  I cocked my right hand. The referee released her and stepped away.

  I shuffled my left foot forward, moved my right back slightly, and twisted my right shoulder back. Pivoting on the ball of my right foot just like the old man said, I lifted my heel and threw the punch hard, bringing the power of my chest first and pivoting my hips right behind it.

  The punch hit her square in the jaw.

  She flew into the ropes, sprung forward, and fell to the mat face-first.

  I glared down at her.

  If you know what’s good for you, you won’t even try to get up.

  The referee rushed between us, turned her over, and looked down.

  She didn’t move.

  He waved his arms over her.

  The fight was over.

  Fuck yes.

  I’d beaten the unbeatable by a knockout.

  With my hands held high over my head, and feeling like I was floating well above the clouds, I rushed to the corner.

  Ripp was dancing some weird victory dance, and Ethan was waving his hands in the air cheering. I spit out my mouthpiece. “I did it. I knocked her out. I’m on my way to being a bad ass.”

  I had never felt so much pride in my life.

  Ripp stopped dancing. “God damn, you dropped that girl like a bad habit.”

  I pressed my forearms into the sides of my head and pushed my headgear up. “Sure did.”

  “Great fight, Jaz,” Ethan said.

  “Thanks.”

  My eyes darted around the edge of the ring, looking for Kelsey. Thirty feet away, walking toward the offices, the back of his white shirt and his gray hair were unmistakable.

  I didn’t care if he liked me or not, I was at least going to force him to remember me. “Kelsey!” I shouted.

  He stopped and turned around.

  “Thanks,” I screamed.

  Without acknowledging what I said, he turned around, raised his right hand high in the air, and flipped me the bird.

  I love you, too.

  SIXTEEN

  Jaz

  Day fifty.

  Ethan was fighting, and he assured me he was fighting to win this time. Ripp and I were watching it together, and it seemed he had his doubts in Ethan’s ability to win.

  “This kid Ethan’s fighting is a beast,” Ripp said. “He should have gone pro two years ago.”

  “Why hasn’t he?” I asked.

  “I think he likes hurting people.”

  Ethan stood in the center of the ring, taking instructions from the referee. I was excited to see him fight, and if his prediction was correct, I knew it might cause Ripp to give him a little credit. He predicted a knockout, and we placed a bet on it. If he lost, we weren’t having sex for a week. If he won, he got to have sex, on my terms. If he knocked him out, he got the sex of his choosing. Hoping he wasn’t mistaken about the knockout, I stood excitedly at the edge of the ring.

  Ripp folded his arms in front of his chest and sighed. “I’d like to slap the shit out of Ethan’s trainer. He’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Fuckin’ Brockman? Because he is,” he said. “He’s picked some fights for Ethan that he shouldn’t have. Ethan’s got a fucked up record now.”

  I wanted to tell him the truth, but I was sworn to secrecy. “Well, maybe he can redeem himself tonight. We’ve been sparring in my living room.”

  He shot me a crazy look. “You what?”

  I grinned. “Sparring. Ethan and me. Maybe he’s picked up on a few of my tips.”

  “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’, right?”

  I shook my head.

  The bell rang. “Good luck, Babe,” I shouted.

  Ripp glared. “Babe?”

  I shrugged.

  “You two are fuckin’?”

  “Shh, the fight started.”

  Ripp grumbled something and turned to face the ring.

  Ethan’s opponent was built just like him. Tall, with long arms and covered in muscle, he looked like a lean version of Ripp. His head was shaved, he was covered in homemade tattoos, and he had a tuft of hair on his chin.

  He and Ethan clenched in the center of the ring, and Ethan shoved him off, swinging an uppercut as they parted. The punch barely missed. Seeing Ethan fight was a huge turn-on, and even if he lost, there was no doubt I’d be so horny at the end of the fight that I wouldn’t be able to make it until morning without having Ethan fuck me.

  “God damn,” Ripp said, still focused on the fight. “If that would have connected…”

  His opponent came at him with a barrage of punches, connecting many of them to Ethan’s mid-section. A right cross from Ethan landed on his opponent’s eye, sending him stumbling.

  “This is a fucking fight,” Ripp announced excitedly.

  Yeah, it sure is. My pussy’s loving it.

  “It looks like it.”

  With every muscle in his body taught, Ethan continued to swing power punches at his opponent, connecting half of what he was throwing.

  “Ethan’s a slugger. He’s fast and unpredictable. If he could just focus,” Ripp said. “He’d be a good fighter.”

  “You think he’s a bad fighter?”

  “He ain’t bad, he just needs some direction.”

  Ripp no more than spoke, and Ethan connected a hard right cross in the face of his opponent, knocking him back several feet.

  “Holy shit, he’s got him on his fuckin’ heels,” Ripp shouted as the man stumbled to regain his footing.

  Ethan advanced toward him, and as soon as he was within arm’s reach, swung an uppercut directly into his chin. The powerful punch sent his head back like it was on a swivel.

  The fighter’s legs gave out and he fell down to the mat, hard.

  “Holy shit. He ain’t gettin’ up from that,” Ripp sa
id.

  The referee waived his hands over the unconscious fighter, signaling the end of the fight. The entire thing lasted no more than a minute and a half.

  I was soaked.

  “Great fight, Babe!” I shouted.

  “Back to the Babe thing,” Ripp said. “What the fuck’s going on there? You two dating?”

  I shrugged.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I don’t think we’re dating. We’re just hanging out. And fucking,” I said with a laugh.

  Ripp raised his hand between us. “I’ve heard enough.”

  “No fuckin’ on fight nights,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the ring.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Sex’ll make ya weak. No fight night fuckin’.”

  “It loosens me up.”

  “No. Fight. Night. Fuckin’.”

  “Fine.”

  Ethan went to his corner, and talked to his trainer, waiting for the other fighter to be able to stand up. So far, he had yet to get up on his feet.

  “So, Ethan’s trainer is a dumb ass, huh?”

  “Sure is,” Ripp responded.

  “Why don’t you train him?” I asked.

  “Haven’t got time.” Ripp said. “But if he keeps fightin’ like this, I might make time.”

  Ethan commended the challenger and walked to our side of the ring.

  “Great punch,” Ripp said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Looked good. Keep that shit up, and you just might make a champion.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  Ethan locked eyes with me. “So…”

  “So…what?”

  His excitement was apparent. I wasn’t sure if it was about winning the fight or earning the right to fuck me any way he wanted. “You ready to go?” he asked.

  “Something going on I need to know about?” Ripp asked.

  “We made a bet,” I said.

  Ripp cocked an eyebrow. “What was it? The bet?”

  Ethan shook his head.

  “It’s okay, he knows,” I said.

  Ethan stared in apparent disbelief. “Oh.”

  I turned toward Ripp. “Ethan said he was going to knock the guy out. I didn’t believe him. So we bet. Sex any way he wants it if he knocked him out. And, he knocked him out. So…” I shrugged. “I guess anything goes.”