In Your Corner

by Sarah Castille

  “Fuck. That was beautiful.” He pulls me up against his chest, taking my weight in his strong arms. “I want you so bad I’m tempted to take you right here. Right now.”

  “Please do.”

  He cups my jaw with his hand and tilts my head up. His jaw is tight and tension creases the corners of his eyes. “Not yet.”

  “But…” I slide one hand over his erection, palming his hard steel through his jeans. “You’re so hard. Let me take care of you.”

  “It’s okay, baby. I’m good.” He releases me and helps me straighten my clothes while I lean against the door, dazed, exhausted, and confused. I look out over the sea of heads and spot a flash of gold on stage. “Oh. My. God. Penny’s on the stage.”

  Jake spins around, and for a moment we can only stare at Penny dirty dancing with the lead singer.

  “Where the fuck is Fuzz?”

  I scan the crowd and spot Fuzzy and Shayla frantically trying to get Penny’s attention. “There. Right up at the front. They’re trying to coax her down.” But with the lead singer wrapped around her, and their hips humping and pumping in time to a heavy metal ballad, Penny doesn’t seem interested in anything except the tribute to death metal grinding his cock into her ass.

  “We’d better go give them a hand.” Jake brushes his lips over my cheek. “When you said she was into death metal, you weren’t kidding.”

  We take a few steps out of the alcove and I hesitate. “Wait. I think they’re done. He’s slipping something into her hand.” As the last notes of the ballad fade away, the lead singer spins Penny around and plants a long, wet one on her. All tongue. No class.

  The crowd goes crazy. Penny grins and curtsies. Fuzzy leaps up on stage with the agility of a pole-vaulter and helps her back down to the floor. High fives all round.

  By the time we reach them, the band is halfway through their next song.

  “He invited me backstage after the show,” Penny whispers in my ear after I pull her aside. “His name is Vetch Retch, and boy, can he kiss.”

  I glance up at Vetch. He is well over six feet of skinny scrawniness. Long, unkempt hair falling to the waist; eyes ringed black with makeup; tight, black leather pants that show off his scrawny chicken-like legs. Mick Jagger eat your heart out.

  “You can do better.”

  Penny shakes her head. “He’s a British girl’s dream lad. And look at that face. Stark beauty. Plus, it’s been a dry year, and he’s the lead singer in a famous band. Once I get a picture of us on all my social media, my mates will be seething with jealousy.”

  After the last of the endless encores, Shayla and I go with Penny to make sure she’ll be all right on her own backstage. A huge bouncer wearing a Slugs T-shirt motions her forward with a thick finger and then he points to Shayla and me. “Ladies can join you if they want. We always like the ladies.”

  “He knows I’m a woman,” Shayla whispers as we follow the bouncer along the hallway to a huge, smoky lounge. “What’s Fuzzy’s problem?”

  The backstage lounge is heaving with people, and it takes us a few minutes to find Vetch, sprawled on a couch with a blond tucked under each arm.

  “Hey, dancing girl.” He waves Penny over, and Shayla and I share a glance.

  “He doesn’t remember her name,” I say.

  Shayla’s eyes narrow. “From the dilation of his pupils, I’d be surprised if he remembers his own name.”

  “I don’t like him. Something about him makes my skin crawl.”

  She snorts a laugh. “Could it be that he looks like he just slithered out of a swamp?”

  “Hey, Vetch, you sharing?” The keyboard player, a skinny ginger-topped dude with a tiny goatee slides an arm around Shayla’s waist. Her hands clench into fists and her jaw tightens. Dude is in for a whole lot of pain. I feel compelled to warn him out of the goodness of my heart.

  “You might want to reconsider the position of your arm,” I say to him. “Shilla the Killa is a top-ranked MMA fighter and she doesn’t take kindly to uninvited affection.”

  “What about you?” The deep voice in my ear is accompanied by a cheeky squeeze of my ass. “You a fighter too? Because you got a mouth made for sucking and I have a special treat.”

  I look back over my shoulder at the greasy-haired bassist behind me. “Do you seriously think I would waste this mouth on you?”

  A disturbance at the door behind us draws everyone’s attention. Taking advantage of the distraction, Shayla quickly extricates herself from the unwanted arm clasp and sends the keyboard player flying across the room. She doesn’t even break a sweat. In that moment, I want to be her. I want to make men fly.

  She reaches up to high-five me, and the naughty hand disappears from my ass. When I turn around, the bassist is up against the wall with Jake’s hand around his neck.

  “That’s my fucking girl you’re touching.”

  Two burly security guards push their way through the crowd, and I spot three more coming from the other direction. I put a hand on Jake’s arm. “It’s okay.”

  “Get out of here, baby.” He shakes off my arm and his eyes glitter, enraged.

  Nononononono. Too many for him to handle. He’s going to get hurt. “Let’s just go, Jake. He just copped a feel. No big deal. I’ve dealt with worse.”

  “Amanda.” He gives an exasperated shout, his body thrumming with anger. “I told you to go.”

  I tug on his arm and try another tactic. “I don’t need your help. I have the situation under control.”

  And then Fuzzy is there. He puts a firm hand on Jake’s shoulder and murmurs in his ear. Whatever he says has the desired effect. Jake grunts and releases the quivering bassist. He pushes me behind him, and we back out of the room while Fuzzy holds the security guards at bay with the ferocity of his gaze.

  “Are you going to be okay, Penny?” I call out. “Do you want to come home with us?”

  Vetch throws an arm around her shoulder and she smiles and waves.

  “I’m good. Vetch is going to give me a ride home in his limo.”

  Outside the club, we shuffle cars. Fuzzy and Shayla go home together in Fuzzy’s vehicle. Jake and I climb into his Jeep. Wary of Jake’s tight jaw and stiff posture, I don’t even try to make small talk and we drive home in uncomfortable silence.

  When he pulls up outside my house, my stomach clenches, and for once I am at a loss for words. Ever the gentleman, he walks me up the sidewalk and waits until I’ve unlocked the front door and flipped on the lights.

  “I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Thanks for inviting me tonight.” I give him a breezy, fake smile. “It was fun…at least until the end.”

  He rakes a hand through his hair and cocks his head to the side, continuing our painfully stilted conversation. “Yeah.”

  A moment of silence. Something in his expression falters. “I’d better get going. I’ve got a late-night underground fight tomorrow after the gym closes. Gotta get some sleep.”

  “Do you want me to come and watch?” He always wanted me at his fights before.

  “Maybe not the best thing,” he says, his voice tight. “We cut loose on those underground fights. No rules. No restraint. It can get pretty bloody. Some guys lose control.”

  My heart sinks. Something is seriously wrong, and I’m not sure what it is. I watched him at dozens of underground fights before. I was always in his corner. Doesn’t he remember? Or maybe he does but he’s changed his mind about us. Maybe it was a game after all. “Sure. I get it.” I step inside and turn to close the door. “Good night.”

  “Wait.”

  A moment of silence. Something in his expression falters. “I just want to make sure we both know what we want before we start something.”

  Before we start something? The night he kissed me after the renovation party something started for me.

  “What d
oes that mean?” My voice rises in pitch. “You just want to be friends? For how long? Or do you like driving me crazy? Is that the game?”

  His jaw tightens. “I don’t kiss my friends.”

  “You kissed this one.”

  “I don’t want you as a friend.” He brushes his lips over my cheek and turns away.

  What the hell? Does he want me or not? And if he wants me, why won’t he sleep with me? And if not, why doesn’t he want to be friends?

  “I don’t think you really know what you want.”

  He sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. “I know exactly what I want. I just don’t know how I’m going to get it.”

  My heart sinks as he climbs into his vehicle, and for a moment I miss my old life. No relationships. No strings. No commitment. No heartache.

  No Jake.

  Chapter 12

  SAY IT AGAIN

  I do nothing the next day. No drafting documents. No checking emails. No billing time. I just sit and stare at the wall and wonder how I screwed things up so badly. As Ray says, what man doesn’t want to have sex with a willing partner? And if he wants to take things slow, why is he driving me crazy? Platonic, I can do. Sex, I can do. What I can’t handle is limbo.

  At the end of the day, Penny returns from dropping off the mail with a process server in tow. He serves me with Farnsworth’s defense to my complaint. The voluminous document is two weeks early, unbelievably vicious, and so detailed he must have had an entire stable of associates working on it night and day. My heart sinks through the floor. But the worst is yet to come.

  “Have you seen this?”

  Penny holds up the cover letter and points to the signature at the bottom. My jaw joins my heart on the floor.

  “Oh. My. God. He has Evil Reid working the case. I’m doomed.” I toss the documents on Penny’s desk and grab my coat. “I think I’m going to go and play in the traffic.”

  “I have a better idea.” Penny grabs my arm and pulls me back. “It’s Friday night. Why don’t we go out and have fun?”

  “Fun?”

  “Yes.” She beams. “Fun. You remember what that is?”

  I slump against her desk. “We had fun at the Slugs concert the other night. And I’m not really in the mood for fun. I’m tired and hungover. I think I’ve lost Jake. And now I’m the subject of a vicious ten-million-dollar countersuit from one of the most powerful law firm partners on the West Coast who says I propositioned him and then irreparably damaged his reputation by spreading false rumors.”

  “All the more reason to go out.” Penny slams her desk drawer closed and turns off her computer. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  Penny flags down a cab since neither of us is up for a seven-block walk in stilettos. Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of Death’s Dungeon, a small, divey death metal bar in the Lower Haight. Everyone is appropriately dressed in black, unlike Penny and I in our work wear.

  While we wait in line, I strip off my jacket, roll up my sleeves, pull out my ponytail, and undo a few buttons on my blouse. “You could have told me what kind of bar it was. I have a death shroud at the office.”

  Penny laughs. “If I gave you too much time to think, you wouldn’t have come. And look at me.” She gestures to her cream blouse, flared pink skirt, and kitten heels. “I’m not worried.”

  “That’s because they seem to know you here,” I mutter as the bouncer unclips the velvet VIP rope to let us through.

  The smell of vodka, funk, and pot hits me as we walk deeper into the gloom. Shirtless bartenders mix cocktails at the bar and a group of metal heads play beer pong in the corner. Death metal band posters are plastered over the walls and swag litters every surface. The cocktails have names like Slime-Trail, Pound Smash Face, Maggot Brain, and Infested by Evil. I order a shot of sweet and tangy Filthy Girl while Penny sips her Bloodbath.

  I so love the cult of death metal.

  Seeing me wince as yet another heavily distorted guitar riff blasts through the speakers, Penny assures me that the DJs know their tech house and minimal, and maintain a good vibe between death metal sets.

  Filthy Girl in hand, I follow her through the haze to a red velvet booth near the back with a good view of the raised, central dance floor. “Nothing like some death metal music to cheer a person up.” I slide into the booth beside her.

  “No sulking.” Penny pokes me in the side. “First, you knew what would happen if you filed a lawsuit against Farnsworth, and the Amanda I know would relish the challenge. For most people, taking on a powerful partner who intends to crush you like a bug under his heel would be a terrifying, gut-churning experience. For you, it’s fun. So enjoy it.”

  I gulp down my Filthy Girl and wave to the waitress to order another. “What’s second?”

  “Second is a lesson on the fragility of the alpha-male ego.” Penny grabs a handful of Spawn Droppings. “If a man feels the need to throttle some guy who touches your ass, you stand back and enjoy the show. You don’t tell him you have the situation under control, even if you do.”

  My breath catches and I have an “aha” moment about what happened between Jake and I last night. He doesn’t just want me to open up, he wants me to need him, too.

  “I didn’t even think about it. I’m used to looking after myself. ”

  Penny finishes off her Bloodbath and nods her head to the beat—at least I think there’s a beat somewhere in the noise. “That’s why you need someone strong enough to take control. Now you’ve found him, your problem is letting go.”

  “Now who’s the man whisperer?”

  The DJ finally loses the death metal vibe and spins a hip-hop tune that entices me onto the dance floor. Penny joins me, lamenting the lapse in death metal sets.

  As I wiggle to the beat, I decline offers of drugs, sex, blow jobs, and “titty squeezes.” I gently break the news to several guys that, in fact, I am not hot for them. And no, I do not wish to get a “visual” on what they are “packing” or host a “face party” between my “tits.”

  I dance. I drink. I dance some more. So much fun. So much time wasted. How did I forget how much I liked to dance? And why isn’t Jake here with me?

  Someone pinches Penny’s ass. His face makes five new friends, and she doesn’t even miss a beat.

  After dancing through a few more songs, Penny suddenly squeals and waves at someone coming in the door. I watch her bounce her way through the crowd to a knot of people near the bar, all clustered around Vetch and the band. Vetch smiles when he sees her and pulls her in for a long, wet, tongue-down-the-throat, don’t-care-who’s-looking kiss.

  And…I’m outta here.

  Although Penny hadn’t expected Vetch and the band to show up after she sent him a text from the office, she’s okay with me leaving her alone with the band, especially when she catches the bassist giving me an evil look. A few moments later, I’m in the quiet comfort of a cab, my ears still ringing from the noise.

  “Where to?” The cab driver looks over his shoulder after I close the door. With his blue eyes and soft face, he reminds me of Fuzzy’s dad. Fuzzy’s dad reminds me of Fuzzy, who reminds me of Redemption, where Jake is fighting tonight. I check my watch. Even if traffic is bad, I still have time.

  Should I go?

  My heart skips a beat. Somewhere deep inside, I know he wants me to be there. And I want to be there too. At the very least to be in his corner, but more than that, I don’t want to throw away our second chance. Not yet.

  ***

  Over an hour later, I stand in front of the side door to Redemption. The parking lot is empty and only a faint glow shines through the windows. Underground fights are unsanctioned fights and have to be kept on the QT.

  The cab driver patiently waits for me to go inside. Even though everyone knows Redemption is a respectable club, at this time of night in Ghost Town, there are not many
respectable people around. Last chance to change my mind.

  After a few deep breaths, I open the door and cross the threshold. The gym is dimly lit by emergency lights on the perimeter walls and the spotlights hanging over the cage. As I inhale the fresh scent of disinfectant and stale sweat, I spot Blade Saw, Obsidian, and Rampage talking in the corner.

  My steps slow as I near the group. Why am I here? How can I even contemplate getting close to yet another person I am sure to disappoint? And yet, in the brief time we’ve been together again, Jake has been kind, attentive, and caring. I can’t stop myself from believing he feels something for me. That his waiting game is not a game at all. That I’m not just a bit of fun. So I close my eyes and let myself believe. And I keep walking.

  Rampage sees me first and jogs across the floor to greet me. “’Manda! Haven’t seen you at one of these fights for…well forever. Renegade’s in the changing room. Does he know you’re here?”

  His eyebrow lifts when I shake my head, but he doesn’t pry. Instead he introduces me to Fists of Fury, the small, wiry Irishman with thick, black hair who took over Jake’s class while he fondled me on the mats, and the Minotaur, a massive hunk of muscle with a neck so short and thick he can’t fully turn his head.

  Blade Saw is first in the cage. He is pitted against a huge boulder of a fighter from the competing club. He wins his fight in thirty seconds. Then he does a crazy dance around the ring. I can’t help but laugh.

  “Finally, a smile,” Rampage says. “Renegade is up next, so that’ll give you something to keep smiling about. He’s fighting Axe Man. Same weight class but a more experienced fighter and a submission expert.”

  Jake crosses the mats to the cage. His orange fight shorts hug his perfect ass like a second skin. His pecs ripple as he opens the door to the cage and I breathe out a sigh. I’ll never tire of looking at his perfect body.

  “Let him know you’re here,” Rampage says, pushing me forward.