by Jinx, Hondo
Marvella was the same way with him. The harder he worked, the more she threw at him. The better he did, the less patient she grew with anything he still needed to improve.
Whatever Marvella threw at them, Johnny and Freddie pushed through it—together, when the trainer allowed them.
And every night after they wrapped up their stairs and thanked Marvella and slipped her a little money, they walked back to Freddie’s together before parting for the night.
One night as they lingered outside her apartment, Johnny said, “So are you ready to kiss me yet or what?”
Freddie frowned. “Sorry, Johnny. Not quite yet, okay?”
He held up his palms. “No problem. I said I’d wait, I’ll wait. But know that I want to. Bad.”
She grinned at him. “So do I, Johnny. Really bad.”
“Which begs the question…”
“I promised somebody, okay?”
Johnny just looked at her for a second. “You promised somebody? A male somebody?”
Freddie laughed, shaking her head. “No, nothing like that. A female somebody, okay? Marvella, if you want to know the truth.”
“Marvella?” Johnny said with a stab of irritation. “Why does she care?” But even as he posed the question, he remembered the conversation in the boiler room.
“Let’s not get into it, all right? Let’s just say she knows me better than I know myself, maybe. And she’s looking out for me, for us.”
“Bull,” Johnny said. He’d been hanging out with Freddie every day for a month. It was time for Marvella to leave them alone. “What harm could possibly—”
“Trust me, Johnny,” Freddie said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.
“I do,” he said. “And I’ll wait. But hopefully not too much longer.”
“No,” she said. “Not much longer. At least not for Marvella. But I still need to talk to Mom.”
“You have to talk to your Mom?” Johnny hadn’t been back to the apartment since Mrs. Lopez had caught him staring at Freddie’s sister.
Freddie nodded. “And Lennie.”
“Your sister? Why?”
“She’s my twin,” Freddie said, as if that explained everything. “Look, Johnny, I’m sorry. I promise I’m not leading you on. I’m really not. I want to kiss you. But I don’t just go around kissing guys, okay? Like I said, I might take my time, but that’s just because I like to do things right. If I kiss you—”
“I know,” Johnny said. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Do what you gotta do. Take whatever time you need. I’ll still be here, waiting on you.”
“Thanks, Johnny,” Freddie said, and came into his arms, hugging him fiercely.
For the better part of a minute, he just held her there, loving the feel of her in his arms.
Then they went their separate ways for the night.
Walking back to his place, Johnny felt frustrated. Not with Freddie. He didn’t understand her hesitation, not after so long, but he believed every word she said.
No, his frustration was with himself. He didn’t like showing impatience.
With a different girl and less on the line, he might draw a line in the sand. And that would be okay. Just tell her straight up, ‘Look, you gotta choose.’
But not with Freddie. They’d been very open with each other all along, and he trusted her.
They were headed somewhere together, somewhere wonderful. He was sure of that. All he had to do was wait.
So yeah, he felt dumber than hell, showing impatience, which was, of course, weakness.
Johnny usually got back to his place around 10:30 or 11:00. Then he ate dinner alone, usually making do with meat and cheese, raw vegetables, and fruit. Having the mini-fridge made life easier, but he had no stove and lacked the energy and aptitude to cook anyway.
Most nights, it was all he could do to eat anything before showering and falling into bed.
Some nights, he woke to sounds outside and groaned, knowing Millie was raiding the dumpster again. This was confounding, since he continued to tip her with outrageous generosity not just when she did his laundry but also when she gave him room service, which was every day when he left the motel.
So why was she still digging around in the dumpster?
Maybe she was crazy. Or at least eccentric.
Old habits die hard, and strange habits rarely die at all.
To make matters worse, on those nights, Millie tended to blast her classical music, too. Maybe dumpster diving drove her into some kind of mania.
One hot night as June was coming to a close, he received a different kind of interruption. He awoke to a gentle knocking at his door. Sitting up in the darkness, he heard someone calling his name.
For a brief second, he fantasized that it was Freddie, come for her first kiss and more, but he knew that wasn’t the case.
First of all, Freddie wasn’t the type to go back on her promise to Marvella, no matter how badly she wanted to. And second of all, she had never seen his room; she wouldn’t know where to find him even if she wanted to.
When he went to the door, he saw Sylvia outside, holding a pizza box, and spinning in a slow circle on her roller skates, her blond tail wagging furiously.
Chapter 32
He opened the door.
“Hey, Johnny!”
“Hey, Sylvia. What time is it?”
“It’s I-want-to-see-you o’clock,” she said, and batted her long lashes at him.
“Otherwise known as?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Two? Two-thirty?”
He groaned. “Hey, not to be rude, but I gotta get up in an hour or so.”
“You working night shift?”
He shook his head. “Training.”
Sylvia shivered as if a cold wind had just blown across the balcony. In reality, it was extremely hot and muggy, and a fine sheen of perspiration twinkled across her alluring cleavage.
Alluring, but not that alluring. When you run on four hours of sleep, you can’t afford interruptions. Also, there was the matter of Freddie. Sure, she was holding back, asking him to wait, but in saying he’d wait, he’d implied a promise, and he wouldn’t jeopardize that now.
Sylvia pouted prettily for a second. “Please, can’t I come in for just a little bit?”
“For what?”
“I brought you something,” she said with a bright grin, and hefted the box. Loose slices slid inside.
“Thanks, but like I told you, Marvella laid down the law. My pizza-eating days are over for a while.”
“You don’t have to eat anything,” Sylvia said. “That’s my job. And I didn’t bring pizza. Go ahead, look at what I brought you.”
She bumped the box into his chest. Again, he heard what sounded like a loose slice slide over the cardboard inside.
Johnny took the box from her and lifted the lid.
It wasn’t a stray slice. It was a pair of silver handcuffs.
When he looked at Sylvia, she was staring up at him with a playfully submissive expression, wrists out, one crossed over the other. “Please, Johnny. Please handcuff me to your bed and fuck my mouth. I’m done for the night. You can leave me there and use my mouth again when you wake up. My mouth will be your fuckhole until you go to work, okay?”
“Thanks, but—”
“Please, Johnny?” she pleaded. “I want your cock so bad. In my mouth, I mean. Remember, I’m still a virgin.”
“I remember,” Johnny said.
“You can strip me and use my body. Just not sex-sex, okay? Other than that, anything goes. I’m yours to do whatever you want with.” Then she turned and winked over one shoulder, shaking her shapely ass back and forth. “I have another hole you can use, too.”
Johnny groaned again. This time with desire.
This beautiful, horny blonde was offering hours of wild pleasure. Freddie wouldn’t even know.
But you would, Johnny told himself.
He could practically hear Paul and Annabelle scream as he closed t
he lid and handed the box back to Sylvia. “Sorry, Sylvia. I really appreciate the offer. You’re gorgeous and sweet. But I met somebody.”
Strangely, Sylvia brightened at this. “Congratulations!” Then, leaning past him and looking into the darkness of his room, she said, “Is she in there? She can fuck my mouth, too.”
Johnny just stared at her for a second, then picked his jaw off the ground. “No, she’s not here, Sylvia. Look, I appreciate the offer—really—but I’m serious about this girl. Truly. I think there’s something there.”
Sylvia tilted her head, her smile fading. “I don’t understand. I’m only looking for a little fun, no strings attached. What’s wrong with that?”
She had a point. What was wrong with that?
Freddie, that’s what was wrong with it. He was developing feelings for her. Real feelings. With every passing day, even in the absence of physical intimacy, those feelings deepened.
In fact, he’d never felt this way about a girl before, not even long-term girlfriends, not even girls he’d thought he...
Holy shit, he realized, standing there before a beautiful girl begging to blow him, I’m in love with Freddie.
There was no dissenting voice in his mind. He loved Freddie. Really loved her.
And that decided the moment.
Because love—even undeclared love—trumps lust. At least for Johnny.
So no matter how tempting it was, he would not defile two of Sylvia’s three holes.
“No can do, Sylvia. Sorry.”
Sylvia shrugged and smiled. “Oh well. No sweat. I just thought it would be fun. But you know what they say. Plenty of fish in the sea and plenty of fighters in Fight Town. Bye, Johnny!”
He watched her skate off with her perfect ass and boxed-up handcuffs, looking like the tail end of a horny teenager’s wet dream.
He assumed his refusal had cost him subscribers and knew he would catch a ration from Paul and Annabelle, but to hell with them.
He was grateful for a second shot at life, but he hadn’t asked to be anyone’s life replacement system. He genuinely appreciated his riders’ support, but he was more than a fuck puppet.
To him, this was real life, and right now, he wanted to share that life with Freddie. He wouldn’t risk that. Not for his hornier subscribers, not for a bit of fun with a depraved young beauty, not for the credits that a night of kinky hedonism might earn him.
Paul and Annabelle could shove their data up their asses for all he cared.
Sure, he hoped to provide great life experiences for his subscribers. But he would do that by living the life he wanted, not by trying to build his life around what he thought they wanted.
And what he wanted was simple.
He wanted Freddie.
So he stuck to his guns and continued to train with her, and on the weekend, as June melted into July and Freddie invited him over to watch some old fight tapes, explaining that her sister was out of town training with some white-bearded kung fu master, he put on his best shirt and went over.
Mrs. Lopez was much friendlier, making him wonder if there was truth to what Freddie had said about her mom and coffee.
He tried not to stare at Freddie, who had just returned from work and was still wearing her blue bikini when he arrived.
“Thanks for coming, Johnny,” she said, and taking his hand, led him across the small apartment toward a figure seated upon the balcony. “I want you to meet my dad.”
Mr. Lopez sat in the wheelchair on the balcony. Johnny figured the guy was only in his early forties, like Mrs. Lopez, but his hair was completely gray. A thick pink scar stretched across the top of his head. He sat stiffly in place like someone twice his age, even older, and stared off into the distance with blank eyes, his mouth slightly ajar.
Freddie leaned close to her father and kissed his cheek, which was clean-shaven. Mrs. Lopez and her daughters were clearly keeping up with the man’s hygiene and honoring his dignity. “Hi, Daddy. I want you to meet someone,” she said, rubbing her father’s stooped back.
You can tell a lot about a girl by how she treats her parents. And this goes double for how she treats her father.
Suddenly, witnessing that simple act of tenderness and understanding all that it implied, Johnny loved Freddie even more.
“Daddy,” she said, “this is my friend Johnny.”
Johnny swiveled around in front of the man.
Freddie’s dad stared up at him, something coming into his eyes, his mouth dropping open another inch. A sound like a winter wind groaned up out of him.
Johnny wasn’t going to just stand there grinning like some awkward little boy. Mr. Lopez had been dealt a bad hand, but he was still a man and still deserved his dignity and Johnny’s respect. Johnny reached out and took her father’s hand in his and shook it firmly yet gently, looking the man in the eyes. “It’s good to meet you, sir.”
Watching from the slider, Mrs. Lopez smiled and wiped at the corners of her eyes.
Freddie put a hand on her father’s shoulder and smiled. The man moved his gaze with glacial slowness from Johnny to his daughter.
“Johnny’s a fighter too, Daddy,” Freddie said. “He’s the one I was telling you about, the one I’ve been training with.”
Mr. Lopez groaned again, and his eyes dragged slowly from Freddie back to Johnny. With great effort, he lifted his hand to Johnny, who shook it again, looking the man in the eye once more.
Her father nodded, and something passed between the two men—acceptance, Johnny thought, and mutual respect—and Freddie kissed her dad again and led Johnny inside, where they retreated to Freddie and Lennie’s room, a tiny space painted pink and decorated with posters and pics, many of which showed the two sisters with their smiling heads pressed together.
On one side of the communal dresser towered a tall boxing trophy. Next to this stood a shorter boxing trophy from which hung two medals.
“Nice,” Johnny said, examining the awards. Reading the plaque on the taller trophy, he said, “Hey, outstanding boxer, any weight class. Pound for pound, huh?”
Freddie grinned. “That was a good night.”
He shifted his eyes to the freestanding shelf loaded with shining trophies, most of which displayed little golden women throwing kicks.
“And these?”
“My sister’s,” Freddie said, frowning at the trophies. Then she grinned. “She’s always been a showoff. Most of those are from karate tournaments. Lennie kicked major ass point sparring, but she never really loved it. She hungered for full contact. Said point sparring was like drinking non-alcoholic beer. All flash and no real impact.”
Freddie left the door to her room open, and they watched Sugar Ray Robinson spank Floyd Mayweather, Jr.
After having watched several Mayweather fights back in his old life and having endured all the hype with Mayweather declaring himself the best ever, it was fun to watch him get schooled by the real pound-for-pound greatest fighter of all time.
Throughout the mismatch, Freddie’s mom bustled about the apartment, dusting and tidying the already spotless space and, of course, glancing in to make sure Freddie and Johnny were behaving themselves.
Mrs. Lopez also popped in three different times to ask if she could get Johnny something. The first two times, he politely declined. The third time, he asked for a glass of water.
He was glad he did. Not so much for the water but for what Mrs. Lopez said as she handed it to him. “Here you go, Johnny,” Freddie’s mom said with a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Life was good.
And then, a week later, as July went from hot to scorching, with the temperature in the gym climbing past 100 degrees, Marvella looked at Johnny with a slight grin and said, “Well, you’re finally getting what you want, kid. You want to spar a few rounds?”
Chapter 33
Johnny stood in the corner chomping on his mouthpiece and shaking out his arms as Freddie massaged his shoulders and Marvella whispered in his ear.
“Nice and easy, kid. Jab, move your head, throw combinations. You go ahead and box like you do, but you hurt him, back off. This ain’t a real fight, and he ain’t Jobbo, you feel me?”
Johnny nodded, staring across the ring at his opponent, Andre, a tall, rangy guy around his weight who had a few fights. Johnny had seen him around the gym and knew him well enough to nod at. Andre twisted from side to side, holding his long arms out laterally like the rotor blades of a helicopter.
“Gotta get inside those long arms,” Freddie said. “Slip his jab and go to the body.”
Johnny nodded, ready to roll.
The bell rang.
Johnny and Andre met at the center of the ring, touched gloves, and stepped apart. Then Andre started with the jab.
He pumped it out, moving laterally, trying to stick to the center of the ring.
It was a good punch, long and crisp, more annoying than damaging, but a minute into the round, frustration was building in Johnny.
He was trying to do what Freddie said, trying to slip inside and work, but Andre was too quick. Every time Johnny tried to get inside, that flicking jab was in his face.
It didn’t hurt, but it blinded him for an instant and interrupted his rhythm, and then Andre was moving again, taller and faster than Johnny, more agile.
“Don’t just follow,” Marvella called. “Cut off the ring.”
Johnny responded instantly. Instead of plunging ahead, he stepped forward at an angle, cutting off Andre’s movement.
Then that quick jab bounced off Johnny’s forehead again.
As Andre circled away, Johnny realized his attempt to cut off the ring had worked. Sure, Andre had stayed out of the corner with his quick jab and feet… but he had moved in the exact direction Johnny had known he would move.
Johnny hadn’t done anything because the jab had peppered him again.
A missed opportunity.
But that was okay. Because boxing isn’t about waiting for your opponent to make mistakes. It’s about creating those mistakes, creating opportunities, then working your will on your opponent.