by JJ Knight
Colt squeezes me. “It’s all right,” he says. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
I want to argue that he can’t stop it. His father is out there. And Brittany. Reporters. Opponents. And who knows who else. But I let him hold on to me.
He tugs my orange pouf from a hook and loads it with soap. He starts with the back of my neck, rubbing gently in slow circles. He leans away to reach my back, then slides around to my belly. I stick my face into the spray to get the dirt out of my hair. A light sting lets me know I am injured there too, but just a little. I’m tough, I realize. I don’t need to just think it. I have proof.
This idea makes me want to laugh. I feel the giggle trying to get out. Colt turns me around. “What is so funny?” he asks.
Now I can’t hold back, gulping in air to stop a full-on explosion into laughter. “I-I jumped” — I have to pause to suck in a breath — “from your father’s c-car.”
He pulls me in tight. “It’s not funny,” he says sternly.
I try to straighten up, but I can’t. I picture a cartoon version of myself flying out of the limo into the night. Little stars shoot from my banged-up elbow, and tweeting birds circle my head. I lose control and break into giggles.
After a minute Colt lets me loose, and I can feel the laughter creeping through him too. “Nobody puts Baby in a limo,” he says.
Now we’re out of control, water blasting off my shoulders and into his face, laughing so hard that my belly hurts.
My forehead is on his chest, and I look down. His body is drenched with water and a few surviving soapsuds. I follow the path of a stream through the hills and valleys of his abs. It catches in the perfectly trimmed bit of hair down below.
The length of him reaches out to me, long and hard and patient. I stop laughing then and run a finger from base to tip. Colt goes silent, the mood completely changed. I wrap my hand around him and work in long strokes.
Colt’s hands grip my shoulders. His eyes are squeezed shut. I love making him feel this way. His breath goes in and out in time with my movements.
The slickness from the water and soap make it so easy to move faster. His breathing begins to outpace my hand. He jerks me close to him, trapping my arm between us. His mouth crushes mine. His tongue is insistent, probing. The water crashes down my back and over my shoulders.
Colt’s hands are everywhere. He caresses one breast while reaching lower. His fingers slide back into me, and I almost shriek with how my body responds. I feel desperate for him, wanting to climb onto the ledges and slide over him. But the condoms are out there, and everything is wet.
Then it doesn’t matter, because he’s found my rhythm. One hand spreads me wide while the other presses inside, fingers deep, thumb on my nub. I can barely hold on to him, moving to his pace. He’s slippery, and my breasts slide up and down his hard chest. His head is bent, lips on my neck.
“Yes, baby,” he says, and then I’m over the top. Waves cascade through me, pleasure blasting through my body. I can’t breathe in the hot steam, clutching at Colt’s shoulders, crying out, gasping, muscles quivering as I come down.
Colt holds tight to me, moving one hand to my hair. The other stays firm between my legs, holding me in place until I settle against him. He stays that way for long minutes, waiting for my breathing to slow. I marvel at his control, feeling him hard against my belly. He is so careful, so good.
He bends down and around me to shut off the water. We don’t bother to dry off, moving out of the shower toward the bed. He scoops up his jeans on the way to snatch a condom.
I hold on to his hand, my hair dripping. It is still half in its coils, but I don’t laugh or get embarrassed at this oversight. We are intense, wanting more. I lay back on the bed, and he’s on me in an instant, lifting my legs, dropping his face between my thighs. He probes me with his tongue, and I’m spiraling up again. It’s never over with him. It’s always more.
My hips rise to meet him. He holds my legs with powerful arms, seeking out all the sensitive spots. He finds the swollen bud and sucks on it, sending sparks through my whole body. I want him in me; I want to feel his release. I tug on his shoulders to bring him up.
He allows it, ripping open the package and rolling on the condom. I think again about going to a clinic somewhere, getting on something, but then he’s on me, and sliding inside. We rock together through his long, forceful strokes.
Colt knows how to draw the sensation out. He moves rhythmically, then plunges, and each unexpected jolt takes me a little further into the journey. I open my eyes and watch him concentrate, his brows drawn together. His shoulders bulge with the effort of holding himself over me, pushing, drawing back, and pressing in again. His chest muscles shift with each movement. I am mesmerized, in awe. I seem so slight beneath him.
He reaches for a breast and leans his head down. His mouth closes over a nipple, and I have to close my eyes, just revel in it. This sends me up again, and I can feel the hitches in this stroke, the pulsing. He’s coming to the edge himself.
He sucks deeply on a breast, and I feel a tug, like a string has pulled directly between all the places where we connect. A vibration begins, deep inside, quickly widening and strengthening. When Colt lets go, the tight muscles clamp around him. This orgasm is different, deep inside. I want to weep with it, I am so moved. The emotion courses through me, and I wonder how anyone can live without this. How I did.
Colt settles on me, braced just enough to avoid crushing me with his weight. His heart thuds against my chest. I wrap my arms around him. Whatever happens with his father, with his fights, I don’t care. We have this. Nothing else matters.
Chapter Three
On Monday, I head to Buster’s feeling heavy. Colt said when he left the morning after the fight that he was going to Santa Barbara to meet with his father. He would try to stay in touch, but things would undoubtedly be intense.
I didn’t hear from him all day Sunday. I texted two simple, cheerful messages. But mostly I sat with my friend Zero at his apartment, mindlessly watching TV shows. I can’t even remember what they were, just that I sat there, eyes glazed. Zero is good that way, letting me be.
When I turn the corner, I see a huge truck parked in front of the gym. A crew is moving equipment, punching bags like the ones we just installed. I can’t tell at first whether they are taking new stuff in or moving it out.
Then Buster comes out the door. He motions for them to move the truck around the corner to the back. This makes sense, as that is where the big delivery doors are.
I want to break into a run but force myself to keep a steady pace. The workers pull up the ramp to drive it around. I don’t recognize the company, but when I see “Santa Barbara, California” under the logo, I get a terrible sinking feeling.
Buster spots me and waves. “Hey, Jo,” he says. “You might want to go help them sort the new stuff from the old.” His expression is grim.
“I thought we had all the new equipment in.” I’m still hoping it’s a delivery.
He runs his hand over his bald head. His Buster’s Gym T-shirt is faded to a dull gray. He’s big and muscled for an older guy, but his weathered face looks tired. Finally, he says, “The Cure is pulling Colt out of my gym.”
I look up over the windows. The sign I hung a couple weeks ago, one that read “The Gunner trains here,” with pictures of Colt, is gone.
“Where is he going?” I ask.
Buster leads me inside. The entryway is a disaster, boxes and chains and loose weights in every corner.
“Back to his fancy personal gym.”
“In Santa Barbara?” I ask.
“He’s already there.” Buster kicks a box out of his way. “I’m shutting down today while this is going on. I’ll have to take stock once we see what stays.”
My mind is buzzing. Colt is gone. His meeting with his father must have gone horribly wrong. I don’t want to say any of that to Buster. I simply ask, “Will they disassemble the practice cage?”
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“Too much trouble,” Buster says. “We get to keep it.” He bends down to push a stray barbell out of the doorway to the weight room. “Though I’m not sure if we’ll have enough members to pay for that whole new room. Lots of ’em joined just because of Colt.”
“How can he do that?” I cry. “Don’t you have a contract? You built all this stuff!” I am so mad at Colt’s father I could scream. I wish I hadn’t leaped from that limo. I should have jumped him and taken my chances. A good jab to his face would have felt good.
“He wrote me a check to cover the costs for a year,” Buster says. “We’ll be all right for a little while. I sent Brent to work at another gym, one my friend owns.” He surveys the weight room. “Be a good girl and make a little sign for the door that says we’re closed today for remodeling or something.”
“Okay,” I say. I’m dying to go in the addition, to see what they are doing. I feel violated, like they are taking away my memories. This is where I trained with Colt. Where I got to know him. Where I let myself fall for him.
I guess I should be happy Buster kept me instead of Brent. I hurry back to Buster’s office to look for paper and a marker. While I’m there, I tap out a quick text to Colt asking how the meeting went and why he is leaving Buster’s.
When I screw up three signs in a row, I realize I’m angry. Colt is part of this. He can tell his father to forget it. If he trains in Santa Barbara, I won’t see him. It’s almost two hours there if you have a car, which I don’t. We barely see each other outside the gym, with his schedule. Now I won’t see him at all.
I tape a sign to the front door and twist the lock to keep people out.
I pick my way through the scattered weights in the main room and head into Colt’s addition, built just for his training. The practice cage is untouched, like Buster said. A lot of the bags are already gone, though, and the fancy mats.
Buster sits on one of the benches, watching the men walk equipment out. “I guess I could add more seating, host some matches,” he says, probably to himself as much as to me.
I sit next to him. My beautiful rows of kettlebells on their special shelves are mostly gone. “Doesn’t he have enough equipment?” I ask.
Buster shrugs. “This was all the latest stuff.” He pats my knee like a father might. “Or maybe he had an attachment to it.”
But Colt hasn’t talked to me. He didn’t warn me. His attachment should be to me.
I jump up to pace around the fight cage. I want to explode. Colt hasn’t answered a single text, so I do something I’ve never done and actually call him.
It rolls immediately to voice mail. Hearing Colt’s voice on the recording soothes me, though. “Hey,” I say softly, so Buster can’t hear. “What’s going on? It’s okay to call me. The gym is shut down.”
I hang up. Surely Colt’s father can’t have such a stranglehold on him that he can’t call.
The men get up on a ladder to take down the speed bag where Colt first taught me how to do a punching pattern. Something inside me blows, and I dash across the room. “Don’t touch that one!” I yell. “That one stays!”
My voice has so much force that the guy actually jerks his hands away from the wall brace.
“I think this one is supposed to go,” he says.
“Tell The Cure McClure he can call me personally if he has a problem with it staying. Tell him the bruised cherry is ready to fight back.”
The worker backs down the ladder. “You know, it’s fine. They said anything you fought over, to leave.”
“Who is they?” I demand.
Buster comes up behind me and holds my shoulders. “It’s okay, Jo,” he says. “Let it go.”
I can’t take this another second. I stomp through the addition and back into the weight room. I can’t believe this is happening. I snatch at the loose weight discs lying on the floor and begin to shove them on their racks. Working helps, and by the time I have warmed up, I’m feeling better. In a bit, I’ll strap on some gloves and take aim at one of the old bags. Then I’ll really work it out.
The room looks better. I sit on one of the benches and tug my phone back out. I’m about to call Colt again when I realize the screen is black. I push the power button, although I know it is charged.
When the screen comes up again, the message blinks on with two words I should have seen coming.
“Service disconnected.”
Chapter Four
At the cafe across the street, Zero slides into a booth next to me. He’s not off work yet, but his boss isn’t around.
“How’s my Jo Jo?” he asks. “Long day?”
I stare at the useless phone in my hands. Zero smells like a mix of fancy skin cream and diner food. He’s been such a good friend through all this. I almost wish he had a drag show that night for us to attend, a fun distraction. I might even let him dress me up again. Anything to avoid having to be me.
“Colt’s gone,” I finally say. “Back to his regular gym in Santa Barbara.”
Zero’s head snaps up, and he fixes his dark eyes on me. “What has he said to you?”
I show Zero the screen with “Service disconnected” across it. “He hasn’t said anything.”
Zero jumps from the booth so fast, I think his boss must have come in. When no one else appears in the cafe, I ask, “What is it?”
He pulls his own phone out. “I have his number. I got it when I told him where you lived. In case he forgot the knock or couldn’t get you to open.”
“Have you talked to him since then?”
Zero’s face moves into one of his acting expressions. He thinks he can hide things from me, but I always know. “Zero. Tell me.”
“We did have a conversation once on a small matter.”
“You hid this from me?”
He scrolls through his messages. “He just wanted to do something for you, and I gave him a suggestion.”
“Zero! You have to tell me!”
Zero looks up over his phone. His eyes are soft, chocolate brown, set deep in his perfectly smooth face. I can see the woman in it, the one he plays so well at his shows. “That was weeks ago. The big thing is that I can text him. What should I say?”
“Tell him my phone is disconnected.”
He sits down again and begins typing.
“And that his asshole father tried to take my speed bag.”
Zero frowns. “Really? That’s important?”
“Just type!” I want to pace the room, but twist a napkin around my fingers instead. I’m so anxious.
Zero sends the second message. “Anything else?”
I shake my head. “He probably won’t get those for a while. He’s training.”
“If he gets them at all,” Zero says. “Super dad seemed pretty hard core.”
I shred the napkin into bits. “Colt has got to break free of that. It’s not like he’s sixteen.”
Zero slides out of the booth. “I have to check on my tables. Can I bring you something to eat?”
I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m just going to sit here.”
His phone buzzes, and we both jump. “Well, that was fast.” He stares at the screen. “Uh-oh.”
“What is it?” I’m so stressed out, my head feels like it’s going to pop off.
He turns it around. He has two identical messages, auto-generated responses from the phone service. Both say:
This caller is unavailable at this time.
So, Zero is blocked too. He gives me a quick hug and races off to his customers.
I nod absently and stare out the window to Buster’s Gym across the street. The blacked-out windows look like the entrance to hell. The way things are going now, maybe they are.
Chapter Five
I am totally unenthusiastic as I head to the gym the next morning. I feel adrift, like I have nothing to look forward to.
Buster is by the front desk. He nods at me as I pass. I go into the girls’ bathroom to stick my hoodie in a locker. One other is being used, closed and l
ocked. I doubt it is Brittany, but I rush back out anyway. Even seeing her would be a relief. Maybe I could learn something.
But when I get to the weight room, I see that it’s Lani who is there. We trained a little together before Colt took me on. I don’t know her outside the gym.
She sees me and cocks her head in her sympathetic way. Her brown hair is pulled back tight. She’s trying to do a few more pull-ups. When I start to roll weights to the racks, she jumps down.
“Hey, Jo,” she says, tugging off her workout gloves. “What happened here? You guys were closed yesterday.”
“Colt pulled out. He’s back at his old gym.”
For a second, her expression completely changes into rage. I’m startled by it and take a step back.
She sees my surprise and forces herself to bring it down. “I would be so mad!” she says. “What about you? Your training?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure what to do. I guess I’m done.”
“Of course you’re not!” She grabs my arm and drags me through the accordion door to the addition.
My throat tightens up when I see the half-empty room. The silence seems to echo with Colt’s ghost. I can hear his grunts as he punched the sparring pads. Even Brittany’s voice seems to remain behind.
“You got a good variety of workouts, didn’t you?” Lani asks.
“Sure. I trained with Colt a few hours every day.”
“So, you can keep doing them on your own.” Lani tosses her weight gloves onto a bench.
I walk under the empty chains that used to hold all the various types of punching bags. “I’m not sure if my heart’s in it anymore.”
I don’t tell her that Colt hasn’t tried to reach me at all. I stayed close to home last night, just in case. How hard could it be for him to drive down?