Punching and Kissing

by Helena Newbury

  “Aedan O’Harra, you big pile of squidgy goo! You have a pet!”

  He’d gone beet red. “It’s just a bird.”

  I threw my arms around him and hugged him hard. There was a softer side to him. He just hid it very, very well. “You’re just a big softie,” I told him, my face buried in his chest.

  “I’m addicted to hopeless causes, that’s what I am,” he grumbled. But he hugged me even harder.

  ***

  Aedan asked if I wanted to take a day off. “You just had your first fight,” he told me. “It’s fine.”

  I knew he was saying it out of concern and that made it even harder because I really, really wanted to. Nothing sounded better than just crawling back into bed and hiding my face from the world.

  But if I did that, I knew there was a real chance I'd never come out again. I'd lost the fight and only been saved by Rick, wanting to preserve the finale for the main event. Next time, there wouldn't be any such escape. Next time, I had to win or most likely die.

  And that was another problem. I had no intention of killing anyone, but the fight would go on until one of us couldn't get up. Jacki was determined—she wouldn't go down easily and she wouldn't stay down. How hard would I have to hit her, to take her out of the fight? How close would I have to get to killing her? One little mistake, one hard knock of her head against the floor or the wall and I'd be a murderer.

  None of this was going to go away. It would all still be waiting for me the next day and the next. So the sooner I got on with things, the better. I only had fourteen days until the fight, now. I couldn't afford to waste one of them.

  ***

  No one at the gym seemed fazed by my bruises and black eye—if anything, they were still freaked out by the fact I was a woman. And yet, gradually, I was starting to fit in. Maybe it was the sheer volume of time I'd spent there over the previous two weeks, but I felt like I was accepted there, now. Men would nod hello to me when I came in the door. The looks they gave me were respectful—I was one of them. Sure, there were some lecherous glances, but they felt like clean, healthy lust, not that cruel, twisted version the guys at The Pit gave me.

  Aedan went easy on me: punches on the light bag and then the heavy bag, some pad work, some speed exercises. We didn’t do any sparring. We hadn’t been in the ring together since he’d taken me down. Funny, how that had happened only the previous afternoon—it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  I knew he was avoiding it. Before everything had gone right with the sex, everything had gone horribly wrong—not just him accidentally whacking me in the side but my complete failure to be able to hit him. I still wasn’t sure I was going to be able to and, unless I could, we weren’t going to be able to move on with my training. We also needed to change things up and teach me what I needed to know to beat Jacki, now that we knew what we were up against. Dirty fighting, with kicking, grabbing and gouging.

  As the day went on, though, I realized what he was doing: he was building my confidence. Giving me easy stuff to do so that I’d forget how badly I’d lost the fight. Hell, it had only been meant to be a warm-up, something to excite the crowd, and I’d still wound up on my back, bruised and bloody, with my top torn off.

  And I’d had all the advantages. I didn’t know how much of Jacki’s background Rick had made up for the crowd, but it was obvious that she’d learned her moves on the street, not in a gym. I’d had two weeks of solid training—she’d just walked in there unprepared. The difference was, she was tough and I wasn’t. She’d been fighting in her everyday life for years. I was a goddamn tourist in this world.

  Now that she’d seen me, she’d raise her game, too. I remembered that look of surprise when I’d gotten my one good hit in on her. She’d be prepared, next time.

  The hell with building up confidence. I hit that bag as hard as I could.

  We were doing two hundred punches, then ten crunches, which was one of Aedan’s sadistic favorites. The repetitiveness of it gave me a chance to think...about us.

  Us. Just the previous morning, I’d never have imagined using that word about Aedan and me; now, I couldn’t imagine using any other.

  What the hell had happened? Apart from the obvious, which was that he’d taken me up on the roof and fucked seven shades of hell out of me. My knees still weakened when I remembered it. This man drove me crazy, with his eyes and his warm, muscled arms that could wrap around me just right and that accent that turned anything into poetry. And now we were together, in some ill-defined way. It didn’t feel casual, like two friends who drunkenly sleep together and then just move on. It felt very, very un—casual, but was that just me? What was he expecting to happen, now? Why hadn’t we talked about it?

  Actually, I knew the answer to that one. Because we were both scared we were going to mess this whole thing up. It wasn’t just the usual relationship nerves. We both knew something was wrong.

  The sexual tension had been building for weeks. I’d felt it on my side and I’d thought I’d felt it from Aedan, too. So why had it taken him this long? He didn’t strike me as a guy who was nervous about going after what he wanted. The polar opposite, in fact.

  He’d held back because of something else, some deep-seated fear about us getting together. What worried me was that I wasn’t sure he’d conquered it. It felt more like our feelings had just reached the level where they submerged it. But it was still there, lurking in the depths.

  What would happen when it surfaced?

  Aedan

  I watched her pound the bag: hair pulled back into a ponytail, little beads of sweat rolling down her back between her shoulder blades. I’d wanted her to go easy, today, but she was hitting the bag as if she saw Rick’s face on it. She was hurting inside, burning with the frustration of losing. Asking herself what had gone wrong, beating herself up for every little mistake.

  I knew the feeling because I’d been there myself. Every fighter had, the first time they lost. In some ways, it’s a rite of passage. Some people even say it’s better to lose your first than win your first, so you don’t get cocky.

  But none of that applied to Sylvie. She wasn’t a professional fighter and didn’t want to become one. She was doing this to save her brother, nothing more. And yesterday’s defeat had thrown everything into jeopardy. Tomorrow, we had to get on with training. But she wasn’t going to be able to get her head in the game until I got her in a better mood.

  She needed a break. Something that would make her feel good.

  As if in answer, I glanced down at the swells of her breasts under her Lycra top. My cock swelled and thickened.

  Not that. Not yet, at least. She needed something….

  The word felt alien in my mind. Something romantic.

  I’d seen, over the last few weeks, how she never got to do anything girly. All she ever wore were jeans and t-shirts. Her hotel shifts barely left time to go out, so she wasn’t hanging out with her girlfriends, chatting about...I don’t know, guys and... what do girls talk about, anyway? Whatever. She wasn’t getting that. She’d been surviving, these last few years with her brother. Not living.

  She needed to live for a night.

  I knew, deep down, that it was a mistake. I knew the sex had been a mistake, and that the smartest thing I could do was end this thing before we got in any deeper. She still thought I was a hero—what would happen when she realized the truth?

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes, those lips. I was feckin’ addicted to her. And so, however stupid it was, part of me still wanted the fantasy. I still wanted to be with her.

  The only problem was, I had no clue what to do. I hadn’t been on a date in years. I didn’t do dates. I fucked and was gone by morning.

  So I called Jasmine.

  Connor, the other Irishman who trained at the gym, had charmed his way into the bed of some posh cellist on the Upper West Side. I’d thought it wouldn’t last, at first. But, from the few times I’d see them together, they were a cute couple. Anyway, the cellist�
��Karen—had been to some fancy performing arts school with ballet dancers and actresses and people like that. And one night, on a rare night out for me, I’d run into them all and wound up doing tequila shots. Jasmine had been there. She said she was an actress and I vaguely recognized her from that cop show, Blue & Red. And she would have been hard to miss anyway—hourglass body and long red hair. If she hadn’t already had a boyfriend, I would have tried my luck.

  We got talking and kind of split off into our own little corner for almost an hour. Nothing happened or anything—just friendly chat. But by the time I’d walked her to a cab stand and then waited there with her for a cab, we’d gotten to know each other pretty well. And she’d given me her phone number, “Because you’ll need it, someday.”

  Now I did.

  I told Sylvie to take five, found a quiet corner of the gym and dug through my phone for Jasmine’s number. She’d entered it herself, complete with a selfie of her pulling a goofy face. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hey! Who’s this?”

  I had her number, but she didn’t have mine. I must have come up as “unidentified caller.” Would she even remember meeting me? “Ahh...well….” I began.

  “Connor! Shit, did it all go wrong? Listen, I warned Karen those were advanced tips and to practice on a salami first, so don’t blame me if you’ve got teeth marks—”

  “Ah, no,” I cut in quickly. “It’s Aedan.”

  “Oh.” If there was any embarrassment, it was gone in a second. “The boxer, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who quit because—”

  “Yeah.” Shit, I must have told her everything. In my memory, it had been a nice, friendly conversation but I must have poured my heart out. Jasmine was that sort of person—easy to talk to. And there had been a lot of tequila shots.

  She was suddenly all serious. “How’s it going, Aedan?

  “I need some female advice.”

  “My middle name. What have you done and who did you do it to, you Irish rascal?”

  “Nothing! No one!” God, I was actually blushing. She was always like that—flirty and outrageous and yet somehow innocent at the same time. When I’d met her, I’d thought she was the most spellbinding woman I’d ever met. I’d cursed the fact that she was attached. Now I was glad she had been, because—if there was such a thing as fate—it had been saving me for Sylvie. “It’s complicated,” I told Jasmine. “There’s this girl…” I looked across to where Sylvie stood in the ring. She was meant to be on a break, but she’d started hitting the bag again, determined to squeeze every minute she could out of training. “She’s incredible.” I was surprised by how my throat caught. “And she’s had a really tough time of it, and I just want to do something nice for her. Like, romantic nice. Something that’ll make her feel...girly.” I sighed. “Does that make any sort of sense?”

  She told me what to do.

  “Really?” I blinked. “It’s that simple?”

  “It’s that simple.”

  Sylvie

  “Where are we going?” I asked for the tenth time. Normally after training I’d be running off to my maid job. Tonight, I’d called in sick rather than show up looking like I’d been in a fight. I’d presumed we’d head back to Aedan’s apartment and—hopefully—talk about things. But he’d dragged me in the opposite direction as soon as we’d left the gym and now we were in a shopping street. It was evening, but the day’s heat had soaked into the sidewalks and buildings and now it was throbbing slowly out around us, turning the air to soup.

  “Down here,” he said, checking a map on his phone. “Apparently.” He’d changed, after the gym, putting on a blue shirt that matched his eyes. I hadn’t even known he owned a shirt. Thinking about it, it looked suspiciously new.

  We rounded the corner. The next street seemed to be nothing but boutiques.

  “There,” Aedan said, satisfied. “This must be it.”

  “What must be it?” I was looking around for a bar, or a cheap diner, or maybe a sports club. I wondered if he was taking me to see a fight, as some sort of training exercise.

  He took hold of the top of my head and gently turned it to look at the boutiques.

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “We’re going to buy a dress.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You don’t have the knees to pull it off.” I looked up at him to see what the hell was going on.

  “I’m serious,” he told me. “I’m buying you a dress. As a gift.” I could hear how utterly alien the words felt to him, even though he was trying to make it sound as if he did this every day. I just stood there and blinked at him.

  He towed me over to the nearest window. “You’d look great in that one,” he said, pointing to something that was all red velvet and laces.

  I shook my head—in disbelief, not disapproval, because actually it was a pretty awesome dress. “What’s got into you?” I asked. “I don’t have money for stuff like this.”

  “I’m buying.”

  “You don’t have money for stuff like this! And neither of us have time! I’m fighting Jacki again in two weeks! We need to be training! We need to be planning! We—”

  “We need to be taking a break. Especially you.” He grabbed my hands and held them. “Look. I know you’re scared. I know you feel like you’ve gotta work every hour until the fight, or it’ll be all your fault if you lose.”

  I went to protest...and then realized that he’d described exactly what I’d been feeling.

  “I know because I’ve been there,” he said. “I understand. But the fight can’t be the only thing in your life or you’ll burn out. That’s why I had to get you out of the gym.”

  “But why this?” I asked, waving my hand at the store windows. “Why not just take me for a beer?”

  “Because you deserve nice things,” he said softly.

  I stared at him, my heart swelling in my chest. It had been a hell of a long time since I’d worn anything other than jeans. The girly, dress-buying, nail salon side of me had died with my mom. And I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.

  “Okay,” I said grudgingly. “But maybe not that one. I’m not sure all the laces are...me.”

  “I kinda like the laces,” Aidan said with a wicked grin.

  I pulled him to the next store. “How about this?” I asked. It was white and long and silky and just about the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.

  “That could work,” he said, grinning. But he wasn’t looking at it as much as he was looking at me—at my own stupid smile. He just wanted me to be happy.

  “Aedan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  ***

  When we came out of the store, I had not just the dress but shoes to go with it. The bill would have fed me for a week, which was exactly why I’d barely bought myself any new clothes in the last few years—I hadn’t been able to justify it.

  And he’d known that, somehow. It was scary, how well he could read me.

  I pulled him close, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, and hugged him. It was the first time I’d managed to get Jacki’s face out of my head all day. “Thank you,” I said again. “It’s lovely. I’m not sure where I’ll be able to wear it, but—”

  “You can wear it right now,” he said. “We’ve got a table booked for eight.”

  ***

  The restaurant wasn’t super-posh, thank God. I would have run screaming if it had been. It was friendly, with small tables and lots of candlelight, but still upmarket enough that the dress fit right in. I felt almost glamorous. I was self-conscious about my bruises—my eye, especially, was pretty much impossible to hide with make-up. But most people’s attention seemed to be on Aedan. I wasn’t surprised. The shirt couldn’t hide his muscles. He was imposing as hell, even dressed up. “Are you sure you can afford this?” I asked as we sat down.

  “It’s no problem. Go nuts.” He opened the wine list and his eyes bulged. “Maybe not too nuts.”
/>
  “Do you know the last time I went somewhere where there was a wine list?” Probably before Dad died. “Seriously—this is great.”

  It was the best I’d eaten in a long time. After months of noodles and discount breakfast cereal, I’d been getting used to the heavy protein of the boxer’s diet. But this was different again: delicately-cooked fish and steamed vegetables, rich sauces and luxuriant desserts.

  “You look amazing,” he told me.

  I grinned. Walking in heels had taken some getting used to again after nothing but sneakers—my legs were going to get their revenge the next morning. But I felt a million miles away from the scared, bruised girl backed into a corner. I’d escaped, just for one night. And Aedan looked so damn gorgeous with his muscled forearms stretching out the fabric of his shirt and those big blue eyes regarding me over the top of his wine glass. I noticed a couple of people eying him up—although, weirdly, they looked almost hostile. Jealous of me, I presumed.

  The whole dress shopping and dinner thing still had me reeling. After the roof, I’d been worried that he’d only wanted me for sex. But now he was taking me on an actual date.

  Something was wrong, though. We’d been happily chatting away for weeks during training but now it felt like everything had changed, and neither of us knew how to act around the other.

  “Sorry,” he said after a while. “I’m not good at this. I mean, I haven’t done it much. Recently.” He looked away and rubbed the scars on his neck. What the hell happened to him? I wondered. “But I never was good at this stuff. Talking.” He grinned suddenly. When he smiled, his whole persona seemed to soften. “Not like Carrick.”

  I leaned forward eagerly. “You said your brothers were spread out around the country?”

  He blinked, as if surprised that I’d remembered that. “Yeah. All over.”

  “You don’t see them?”

  He shook his head. “They’re better off without me.” And the scary thing was how much he obviously believed it.

  “Why? Why would you say that?” I reached across the table and took his hand. “Aedan...you’re a good guy. What happened to make you think you’re not?”