by Andrea Wolfe
I keep going until I'm totally drained and then I hold myself inside of her. Her arms give out and we collapse against the bag, almost tumbling to the mat.
"Have you ever..." Ally's out of breath, and I wait patiently for her to finish her sentence. "Done this in here?"
I laugh. "Never," I say. I'm surprised at how out of breath I am as well. I feel roughly the same as I did after completing my last set of punches on this very same bag that became our sex furniture.
We're silent for a few minutes. I can't believe how exciting this feels.
"If you've never done this, then why did you have a condom ready to go?"
"I got lucky," I say. "And it was your lead."
She turns and faces me, her expression and smile utterly devious. "No, you started it. I just lowered my shorts and stuck out my ass."
I start laughing again and pull out of her. "God, and I still have to lift weights somehow. You're killing me. We're like a couple of virgins on our honeymoon."
My comment makes her laugh hard.
After dumping copious amounts of water down our throats, I toss the condom in the trash and pull up my shorts. Ally, of her own accord, decides to remain topless, hoping that it will motivate me to finish my workout.
I'm perfectly fine with her decision.
As soon as I start, I hear a familiar voice shouting from the door.
"Hey, Jackson!"
"Shit!" Ally screams and makes a mad dash to hide behind the punching bag, the only place in the whole room she can hide. My face turns red and I start laughing.
"Dammit, Curtis, I totally forgot you were coming." I shake my head in disbelief at my tremendous oversight.
He's standing in the entryway, clad in workout clothes, my faithful sparring partner that's been coming every Thursday for almost a year. He's more than a decade older than me, another fighter I met at one of my early matches. Although I'm stronger than him, his technique is superior to mine.
He's a great teacher. That's mostly what he focuses on now.
We're also in different weight classes, but that's just fine.
Curtis is nearing forty, but he's still in incredible shape and works from home so he has time to maintain his training. He's also got a wife and two kids, which is crazy to me. I don't know if I would ever willingly submit myself to potentially dangerous fights if I had a family waiting for me at home, relying on my income to pay the bills.
But there are lot of other fighters out there doing just that. Every single week.
"It's not like we have a regular schedule or anything," he says sarcastically. "Am I interrupting something?" He shoots me a very sardonic smile.
"Maybe a little," I say.
"I'll come back in a second, okay?" Curtis winks and me and then steps outside. "I probably left something in my car." He walks out the door and slams it shut.
"Can I have my bra, please?" Ally hisses. It's just out of her reach on the floor and she's giving me the most evil, odious look imaginable.
"He's outside," I say. "It's clear."
"Damn you, Jackson," she says, leaning forward to grab her sports bra. "You need to keep me in the loop if I'm going to prance around topless for you in your gym."
"I'm so sorry. I actually forgot. I'm not used to hanging out with anyone so much. It's not like he saw anything, anyway."
"How do you know that?" she asks sharply, pulling the bra back into place.
I shrug. "Well, at least he doesn't know we were—" She gives me a playful, yet solid punch in the gut and catches me off guard. "Hey!" I complain.
"That's for forgetting," she says, defending her honor.
"Are you sticking around?" I ask. "To watch us?"
"For a little while." She heads over and sits on the weight bench, shifting until she finds a comfortable position.
Curtis sticks his head back inside. "May I come back in now? It's hot as hell out here."
"Yeah, it's fine," I shout. "Get in here!"
Curtis comes back in, carrying his water bottle. "Ready to train? I've been working on some new stuff I think you're gonna like."
I stop him before he says anything else. "Curtis, this is Ally. Ally, this is Curtis." I point toward her and she waves from her seated position on the bench.
"Nice to meet you, Curtis," she says weakly.
"Same," he says.
"She's going to be our audience. But she promises to be impartial, right?" I smile and look over at her.
Ally nods. "Fine by me. Do your thing, whatever it is."
Curtis throws his shirt on the floor and we get to work.
***
Ally
I watch the two men duke it out for an extended amount of time. It's tense, but no matter how much they appear to get carried away, they never go too far and actually inflict any real damage.
It reminds me of dogs playing, how they pin each other down to the ground and viciously snap their razor-sharp teeth at each other's throats and then reverse positions and start all over again. And they end the day wholly intact, no wounds whatsoever.
The real fights, I figure, are not so playful—and I don't know what to think about that yet.
My embarrassment proves to be a short-lived thing. I feel my cheeks getting hot whenever I think about it, but I'm not panicking. There's a good chance he saw something. But I also can't come up with a reason to give it any additional thought.
I'm still shocked about what I did. It's really unlike me. When I imagine myself sticking out my ass like I did, I feel like a caricature of my real self. Like a dirty cartoon character.
Still, I did it—and then he did me.
I focus on their technique, impressed by how much of a formidable foe Curtis is, even though he looks so tiny compared to Jackson. I'm five foot five, and he's only a couple inches taller than me. But he's all solid muscle.
They mostly ignore me; I do the exact opposite—at least until I've seen enough.
I lift some weights to pass the time, doing some shoulder exercises and some crunches on the mat. I catch Curtis looking at me, but I can't gauge whether he's actually sleazy or not. Jackson doesn't seem to notice, so I drop it.
After the initial excitement wears off, I tell Jackson I'm going inside to watch TV. They've got another hour left, so it makes sense.
I zone out on the couch and sit there, watching random shows on Netflix, soaking up the air conditioning.
I feel pretty weak, so I help myself to another protein bar from Jackson's overstocked drawer. I try the cookies and cream one this time. It's far better than what I had earlier. It actually kind of tastes like cookies and cream.
Jackson's crazy if he thinks that the cookie dough one is the best.
The bar brings me a much needed energy boost, but I still feel fatigued. I lay my head on the pillow and start to doze off. I don't normally take naps, but this constant exercise-and-then-have-mind-blowing-sex thing is wearing on my body.
I don't fight the feeling, and before I know it, I fall asleep.
I wake suddenly, unsure of how much time has passed. I don't remember having any dreams. I rub my eyes and sit up. It's still light outside. I can hear laughing from the back porch. I don't know where my phone is, but I want to check it for missed calls. And in my lightheaded state, I forget that I stayed over last night.
Maybe it's in my car, I think. I fell asleep in my shoes, so I stand up and head right out the front door because I feel too woozy to interact with anyone just yet.
It's very nice, cooler than the last time I was outside. A cool breeze penetrates the warmth. I walk to the car and open the door—nothing. I suddenly remember that I was showing Jackson pictures of Angela last night, and therefore, the phone must be inside.
I'm ready to head in when I see a group of rabbits bounding across the yard. They head toward the back and so I follow them. They're so cute it almost makes me sick. They freeze up every time I get close, hoping that I haven't noticed them. And then when they feel it's safe, they race away,
hoping to use their superior speed to their advantage.
And with me, that definitely works. I can barely follow them with my eyes, let alone my feet.
I decide to walk toward the laughing that I hear, and as I get closer, I start to overhear dialogue. Initially, I turn around, not wanting to intrude. But I can't stop once I've started.
"Dammit, Jackson, how do you always get the hot ones?" It's Curtis's voice and he sounds a little drunk. "You don't even have to try!"
"Don't say that," Jackson says. "I'm not better than anyone else."
"Yeah, except you get new pussy every week. Shit, her tits are out of this world. She's hot as hell. Were you screwin' in there before I got here? Wish I had a woman like that."
My heart is pounding in my chest. What's Jackson gonna say? Will he sell me out?
And, just as I suspected, Curtis had seen me. Or maybe he hadn't. I couldn't figure it out. He just said "tits," not "bare tits." The more I thought about it, the more my head spun. Not "uncovered tits," just "tits." They were always there, covered or not.
No, he definitely saw them. That's what he means. What guy says "uncovered tits" when joking with his friends?
I shake my head in disbelief. And I really dislike the word tits.
This situation is thoroughly confusing for a number of reasons. I mean, if we're just friends with very short-term, very beneficial benefits, why do I care about this stuff? I don't need to be invading his private conversation, whether I intended to or not.
And everybody's got a friend that always asks too many questions or provides too much information. That's just the way it works.
This will all be over soon and I'll put it behind me, I tell myself. Just another experience.
Jackson laughs, penetrating my chain of thoughts. "I'm not giving you any details, man. That's that."
He's doing the right thing! My heart starts joyfully fluttering.
"But you always give me details!" Curtis pleads. "Let me live vicariously through you. I'm married and old. You're like a fuckin' rockstar, man. Did you pick her up after the fight last week or something? Is she some new ring girl?"
I'm uncomfortable with these things Curtis is saying, but I can't move my feet. They're cemented to the ground. I'm going to need a jackhammer.
"I really like her," Jackson says, and I let out a sigh of relief. "She's not from a fight, and I'm not gonna kiss and tell, no matter how much you beg me."
I abruptly turn around and head back inside, satisfied with the outcome. Curtis starts whining again, but my curiosity is sated.
Am I really satisfied with this?
Is Jackson getting too attached? As I walk inside, I kind of wish that he had shared the juicy details because it would have suggested that he's not too serious about me and that this will end with a clean break, as it should.
But shit, I don't want him telling other people about our sex life, do I?
I sit down on the couch try to push it out of my mind. I feel drunk and I haven't even had a drop of alcohol.
These arrangements are a hell of a lot harder than I would have imagined. Everything that used to make sense to me is now vague and nebulous, a clear advantage one day, and a terrible setback the next.
Their muffled laughs still audible outside. I head into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. Jackson notices me through the window and pokes his head inside. "Ally, do you want to join us for a beer?"
"Not a beer," I say. "But I'll drink my water." I sulk outside, not all that thrilled about joining their conversation after what I just overheard.
The two of them joke around for a few minutes until Curtis's phone rings and he's apparently talking to his wife. He rolls his eyes the whole time, but finally acquiesces to whatever she's requesting. He ends the call and then turns to Jackson. "Well, shit, buddy, the old ball and chain needs me to come back. Kids are driving her nuts. Next week then?"
"Most likely," Jackson says. "I'll let you know."
I'm kind of relieved to hear that Curtis is taking off.
"I'll try to make it to the fight on Saturday. Always excited to see you dish out some whoop-ass, brother. But Jenny's in-laws are gonna be in town, so I can't guarantee anything."
Jackson laughs and they both stand up.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Ally," Curtis says. "You keep old Jackson here in check for me, all right? Deep down, he's nothing but a big baby."
I feign a smile and nod. "Yeah, of course I will. Nice meeting you too."
They walk out past the garage together, and then Jackson returns alone. I don't move the whole time, transfixed by the slowly setting sun.
"He's a little crazy. I'm sorry," Jackson says. "He's like a business associate, and he's always wanting to 'go out for drinks' when business is done. But I could only have one because of my weigh-in tomorrow."
"Sure," I say quietly. "And you were wrong about the garage—he definitely saw something." The words come out before I think about them.
Jackson's expression turns pallid, like he knows exactly what's up. "Wait, were you listening to our conversation?"
I shrug. I'm kind of in too deep right now, and I figure there isn't much I can do. "I heard some things," I say. "But I didn't mean to."
"Well, Curtis is kind of obnoxious sometimes. He says sleazy things, but he'd never actually cheat on his wife. And I didn't say anything anyway. My lips were sealed." He pauses, looks down at the ground, and then returns his eyes to mine. "I thought you looked a little out of it."
"Can I just ask what that's like? I mean, you've been with a lot of women, right?" Curiosity has overtaken me. "You used to tell him about it?"
Jackson gives me an annoyed look. "Not as many as you'd think. And yeah, I've told him some things. But just general stuff. It always makes his day."
"What does general stuff mean?" I ask, intending to sound harmless.
"Well, general stuff," he repeats. "Like 'I fucked the hot blonde backstage.' I'm not giving him every detail or anything. And I'd never tell him anything about you, I swear."
"I believe you," I say. "I just don't know anything about this stuff."
"Well, fine." He looks uncomfortable, like I've forced him to reveal a very shameful side of himself. "You're also not a guy."
"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to be snooping around or anything. I went out to grab something from my car, and then I heard him talking about me and I froze up."
Jackson laughs. "Yeah, just ignore him. He's my sparring partner, that's all. And I'll try to remember better next time."
"I guess I'm just glad he didn't show up ten minutes earlier." I say, realizing that our close call could have been much worse than it was. I laugh nervously at the thought.
We head inside and have a quick shower and dinner—again, he's eating so little and it's driving me crazy; but I know it's not my place to tell him how to train—before retiring to the couch to watch several movies back-to-back. After so much activity today, it's the only thing that makes sense to me.
And then Jackson carries me into his bed and slowly makes love to me until I can't see straight anymore.
Although I haven't been home at all today, I'm not about to go there now.
***
Friday morning, we wake together and go for a run. I decide to head home after that, just to check in since I don't want my family to panic. Jackson seems fine with this; he's got this unshakeable notion that he's under-trained and overweight, so I allow him to do what he needs to do by himself.
Plus, he has to go do his weigh-in for the fight tomorrow, so he promises to call me as soon as he's done.
I park on the street since my parents' Honda Pilot is in the driveway with the trunk wide open. My dad is going in and out of the house and he barely seems to notice me as I pull up. I remember that my mom told me they might be leaving for the weekend and suddenly put two and two together and wind up with four.
"Hi, dad," I call as I get out of my car. He's inside again before I get a res
ponse.
I climb the steps of the porch and carry my backpack inside. I nearly collide with my dad. He's carrying his golf clubs, and dressed in a pair of khakis and a striped blue golf shirt. "Oh, hi, hon," he says. "We're just packing." He's got some fresh stubble on his face, a definite indication that he's on vacation.
"Oh yeah," I say. "You're going up north this weekend then?"
"For a few days at least. Your mom wants to do some shopping, and I want to do some golfing. We're meeting Mark and Ann Benton up there too. House to yourself. Don't party too hard," he says jokingly, disappearing out the front door.
I turn and almost run into my mom, the second parental obstacle that nearly topples me. "Hey, mom," I say. She's got a good sized Vera Bradley leather handbag slung over her arm, and appears to be struggling with it.
"Hi, Ally," she says. "I left the number for the cabin on the counter."
"You guys won't have your cell phones?" I ask. Somewhere in the middle of the interaction, my dad sneaks in and grabs my mom's handbag off her arm. It all happens automatically.
"Reception gets spotty up there. Anyhow, we're running late. We'll be back on Monday. Love you!"
I nod at her tidbits of information and give her a quick hug. "Okay," I say. "Love you too. Try to have some fun. Let dad relax for once."
"I'll do my best," she says and heads out the front door. It automatically closes with a thud and a few minutes later I see their vehicle zooming out of the driveway. I sigh and sit down at the kitchen island. It's so weird having my old house to myself after being gone for the last couple of days.
It reminds me of how lonely my place is going to be in Boston when I get back. Ugh.
I take a shower and then do some easy reading on the back porch, catching up with the characters in the fantasy novel I've been reading in my limited free time. The constant activity of animals makes it hard to pay attention sometimes, but eventually, I manage to finish a couple of chapters in the book.
I take a break to check my email; I haven't looked at it in a couple of days.
I scroll down through Boston pizza offers until I find Max's latest message. I don't bother clicking it after seeing the preview in which he says I'm sorry about two-hundred times. I delete it.