by S. J. Blaze
“Well friends, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I hate to disappoint my dearest heart.” He stages his charming smile and ushers me to the dance floor. Coen’s eyes forgotten.
Taking my drink, he nearly throws it onto a nearby waiter’s tray. After finding the perfect spot, he kisses my knuckles lightly then wraps my hands around his neck. “Mmmmmm.” He pleasantly sighs then rubs his nose in the crook of my neck while pulling me into him by my waist. “Have I told you how stunning you look tonight? Breathtaking!” He grinds his hips slightly, still mindful of where we are. “You’ve done beautifully tonight. Just having you in my arms makes all of this seem tolerable.” He chuckles, as if he told me some inside joke. I smile, though he can’t see me. He’s easy. He’s safe.
We dance for several minutes before I feel a presence and hear someone clear their throat. Again, I lock up. Andrew pulls back to see the intruder.
“Son, forgive my imposition. Charlie, you look lovely this evening.” The elder Carpenter smiles warmly my way.
“Thank you, Governor Carpenter. You look dashing yourself.”
“Please, I told you to call me William. Andrew, I hate to interrupt, but there are some friends of mine I’d like you to meet.” He gives Andrew that look which says, you’re coming with me whether you like it or not.
Andrew nods then leans down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be back. Wait for me.” He winks and then he’s swallowed in the crowd of black and white.
I’m about to step off the dance floor and find something to entertain myself with when someone grips my wrist. He pulls me towards him and beams. “Ah, we meet again, love.” This man? This cocky man? Where the hell did he come from? He was clear on the other side of the room.
“Mr. Collins,” I greet him, while trying to loosen his hold and back away. He pulls me even closer so my face is firmly in his chest. He’s nearly a foot taller than me, even in these magical shoes and I can’t help but breathe him in or I could willingly asphyxiate. Both seem like viable options in this moment. Nope, breathe him in I do. He smells delicious. Darn, I should have gone with the latter option. I take another deep breath of Coen, to make sure I didn’t imagine that delicious smell. Snap, he’s still good.
I feel the chuckle coming from his chest. “I believe I told you to call me Coen, love. How are we going to get to know one another if you insist on such formalities?” He smiles and looks directly into my eyes tilting his forehead closer to mine. His icy eyes have warmed slightly and almost appear to sparkle in this light. Black tux and icy eyes, such a beautiful contrast of color. I’m charmed and dumbstruck by his appearance. I need to get away from him.
As I’m contemplating my next move, I hear him say, “No!” All the warmth is gone, replaced by that icy chill. He tightens his hold and continues. “We’ve just begun.” I shiver. His effect on me is alarming.
“You look exquisite, love. Without your glasses, I can see the storms brewing in your magnificent grey eyes.” With that eerily strange sentiment he continues staring into them. Searching? Hunting? I have no idea.
The glasses he spoke of are fake. I only wear them at work. It’s part of the image I attempt to propagate. Tonight I’m not hiding behind my clothing. Nope. My Oscar de la Renta strapless sweetheart gown in cream looks striking against my lightly bronzed skin. My dark hair is tied up in curls around my head, leaving my shoulders bare. My eyes are heavy with shadow and my lips are a strong mauve. Tonight, I feel beautiful and strong. Or at least I did until I got caught in Coen’s fishing line.
He clears his throat, trying to garner my attention, and rubs his thumb over my brow. “You’re thinking too much, love.” He then wraps his hand around the back of my neck, extending his long fingers to encompass it entirely. His hand is smooth and although his hold is tight, it feels surprisingly comforting.
He lifts my left hand from his chest and begins kissing the fingertips. Then, he stops and pulls them back to take a look them. “Hmmm?” He looks confused as the sound comes out deep in his throat, reluctantly. I know what he notices, and I wait for the inevitable question. But he doesn’t ask. Instead he kisses them once more and places my hand back where it was. He finds my eyes again and continues the hunt, this time with purpose. I’m a puzzle he’s desperately trying to piece together. Good luck with that one, Cocky. I’ve been trying for the last twenty-one years with no luck.
The mood has intensified. I need an out and now. Plus, I don’t want Andrew to see me in this strange Coen embrace. I give myself an internal pep talk and school my features. Purposely softening my face, I smile sweetly. “I’m afraid I’ve had too much champagne this evening. Would you excuse me while I visit the facilities, Coen?” I plead with my eyes while nearly fluttering my false eyelashes off my face.
His entire face lights up as he gives me the most dazzling smile I think I’ve ever seen. It’s pure light, emanating from deep within, like his soul is the sun, barely contained. Its only release is with this majestic smile and maybe in those eyes. Damn those eyes. This guy is dangerous. That smile could melt my frozen heart that I’ve worked so hard to preserve. I can’t have that.
Reluctantly, I pull away and walk out of the ballroom straight into the women’s facilities. There’s a seating area off to the side, away from the toilets, where a couch is waiting patiently for me. Thank goodness. I could use a moment off my feet. My head is spinning. I’m flashing images of Coen repeatedly, trying to connect this newest conundrum. It doesn’t help that I have a photographic memory. I see everything. It’s like watching TV and clicking through the channels at an insane pace. Image after image. All of Coen. Smiling. Thoughtful. I’m looking, searching, to no avail. What does he want with me? And better yet, why?
I’m interrupted from my deep Coen drowning when I overhear a conversation in the toilet area.
“I can’t believe Andrew Carpenter is off the market. That guy had so much potential,” a lady shrills, her Boston accent thick with alcohol.
“I know, Dena! I’m devastated. He was such a good lay, too. He told me he doesn’t do the whole commitment thing. Just a regular fuck. I don’t see what makes her so special? I have fantastic tits. He loved them!” she coughs out, her voice rough. Maybe she’s a smoker or maybe older, I can’t tell from here. Andrew is ten years older than me. Maybe he wanted a woman closer in age?
I’m having trouble following their conversation. How does our dating pull him off the market? I’m not even sure if we’re officially exclusive. So, fuck away old lady!
“I don’t know, sweetie. They haven’t even been together that long. But you know what we heard. He said she’s the one. He wouldn’t tell his dad that unless it was serious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he popped the question soon.”
“Dammit! Could you imagine me on his arm in public? I bet he’s gonna be President one day. I definitely see him in the Governor’s seat at the very least. First lady of Mass. Or shit, of the free world. God, I missed the boat there! Fucking cunt! Let’s go find that chick and trip her. She deserves a good face plant for taking my gig!” She sniggers and snorts. Such a lady.
“You’re so bad, Dee!” She joins in her laughter as they make their way out of the room. I briefly see the back of them as they walk past.
I’m still sitting there dumbfounded. I don’t view the old witches as a threat. It’s the part about Andrew and marriage that has me shaking. He’s the first guy I’ve really dated, and I use that word loosely. Yes, we’ve had a few dinners together. He has also swung by the office to bring me lunch. Sweet guy, right? A couple of weeks ago we even had lunch with his dad, as he was unexpectedly in town and Andrew wanted to catch up with him. I guess that sounds a bit suspicious now. At the time, I assumed he was being thoughtful. Sweet, thoughtful Andrew.
I’m too young to get married. And do I really want to spend the rest of my life in a shadow? He’d control everything. I wouldn’t be me anymore. I’d be on the political trail nonstop, with people analyzing every bit, every blob, every bulb.
They’d dig up my past and that sure as shit can’t happen. Air. I need air. I can’t breathe.
My hands immediately go to my neck. Fuck, I might be at the start of a panic attack. I need to get out of here. I haven’t had one in so long I’m not even sure what to do anymore.
Focus. Breathe. In, out. One, two, three.
I feel a trickle of sweat rolling down my spine. I finally move to the sink and rush my hands into the cool water. That’s better. Looking at myself in the mirror, I shake my head. Breathe. You can do this. I’ll end it with him. No big deal. Sure, he’s sweet and I enjoy his company but he’s just another guy. When I’m ready to give this dating thing another go, I’ll find myself another man.
With a renewed purpose, I make my way towards the door and walk right into a wall.
“Whoa there, love. You okay?” the wall, also known as Coen, asks while steadying me. I guess I’m still not fully grounded. “You get lost in there? Hey…” He tilts my chin up with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes flicker back and forth between each of my eyes. He’s searching. His other hand slithers around my neck locking me in this position.
“What happened? Talk to me.” His touch is soothing, but my emotions are still flailing.
I feel the flush spread along my face and downward. I’m probably all glistening, too, and not in a pretty look-how-sexy-I-am way. No, probably in the I-just-left-the-gym-and-I-need-a-shower way.
“Mr. Collins...I’m sorry. Didn’t see you there. I’m…I’m fine. Yes. I’m fine.” Geez, I sound like a moron. “I mean. What I meant, is that I need to go. Not feeling great…” Then I whisper conspiratorially, “Menstruation issues.”
He makes some weird noise, almost like a smothered laugh, which slipped out. He smiles and bites the inside of his cheek. Jerk! I’m not liking you, Cocky!
He looks relaxed. Not like the Cocky from yesterday’s boardroom fun. His eyes are a light crystal blue, not as icy as I’ve usually witnessed, and even they look like they’re smiling at me.
His thumb moves slowly back and forth across my cheek. His other hand kneads the muscles in my neck. My breathing slowly regulates and my heart rate decreases. He’s soothing me. Calming me. Bringing me back down to earth.
He puts his forehead onto mine and stares into my eyes, his smile lost. He runs his nose along the bridge of my nose and his breathing feathers along my lips. I can nearly taste him. Whisky or is it scotch? Should I ask? Would that be rude?
He abruptly closes his eyes and the pressure on my forehead increases.
“What are you doing to me, love?” he barely whispers.
“I…have to go,” I whisper back, not wanting to burst this little bubble we’ve created, but desperate to be free of it at the same time. “Coen?”
“Right, love.” He takes my hand and leads me away from the restrooms. We stop at the coat check and grab my cover. It’s early March and the chilly air would knock my frozen ass over in my strapless getup. Never letting go of my hand, he directs me to a tall man standing just inside the doors. His posture alludes to military training. By his stance, I’m guessing Marines. He’s got that vibe about him. A rule guy and probably armed. “Davis, would you please take Ms. Paz home. She’s not feeling well.” He says this last part while smiling at me. Clever.
“Love, this is my right hand man, Davis. He’ll take care of you.”
I look at him, somewhat saddened that he won’t be joining me. “Okay?” It’s a question. I’m not sure if I should go with Davis or grab a taxi. Andrew had a limo commissioned this evening, so I don’t have my car here. My options limited, I guess Davis looks like the best bet.
“I have to stay. I’m giving the opening remarks tonight, but Davis will get you home safely.” He smiles, grabs the back of my neck, and kisses my temple. “I’ll see you soon, love.” He winks and lazily walks away, his hands in his pockets. I guess it’s my turn to stare because that’s exactly what I do…I stare at his retreating form wondering what in the hell am I doing?
Davis, now next to me, clears his throat. “Ms. Paz, the car is ready.” He doesn’t smile but I can tell it’s his way. I follow him out of the door and to a waiting Town car. He opens the door and ushers me in. After I give him my address to head downtown and onto Portland Street, I text Andrew letting him know I came down with a stomach bug and had to leave early. I’m sure he’s so caught up in his political swag he doesn’t even know I’m gone. Maybe he gave the old witch another go.
Davis doesn’t only drop me off at the curb, he walks me inside my building. Coen wasn’t messing around when he said Davis would get me home safely.
There I’m greeted by my boy, Freddie. “Good evenin’ sweet thang. You have yourself a pleasant night? Bring your boy a treat?”
Freddie’s one of the door men at my building and I tend to spoil him. He’s my favorite, after all.
“No goodies, I’m afraid. But I’m starved. You in the mood for some pizza?”
I’m not big on eating alone, so when I know my boy’s standing watch, we sometimes spilt a pie.
Plus, I ducked out of the fundraiser before I got fed and I’m hungrrry!
“Hell yeah, girlie. Hook us up!” I smile and wave while heading for the elevator.
“You always have dinner with your doorman?” Davis asks once we’ve entered the elevator.
“Not always but he’s fun to hang around with and I don’t feel like eating solo tonight.”
He nods. The elevator doors open and he ushers me to my condo. He waits patiently until I’ve unlocked and opened the door before wishing me a pleasant rest of my evening and heading back.
I wonder if he walked me to my door for safety reasons or so he could tell Coen exactly where I live. I’m guessing both. Quickly calling the order in, I then strip myself of the beautiful ensemble I’ve been paraded in all night and jump in the shower. Dressed in sweats, my hair up in a wet, messy bun, and my face clean, I head downstairs for the pizza that’s calling me.
Downstairs, I’m laughing so hard with Freddie and stuffing my face with pizza, I don’t even realize that a new face has joined our group. I guess I'm not sure how long I’ve been down here gabbing for but enough time must have lapsed for Coen to finish his time at tonight’s event. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up, he looks relaxed.
“Save any for me, love?” He picks me off my chair, sits down, and places me on his lap, all while leaning over and biting my pizza. I can’t help but laugh.
“Do you mind? I was eating that, Mr. Collins. Didn’t they feed you at that fancy shindig of yours?”
“I never mind, love. And no, I wasn’t fed. I was in too much of a hurry to see you. So now you’re obliged to feed me.”
“So that’s how it works?”
“Yep, that’s how it works.”
He winks and eats more of my pizza. I reach over and grab him his own slice. I may be all about philanthropy, but not when it comes to my food, especially pizza.
Freddie, Coen, and I talk, laugh, and eat for another hour. I’m having so much fun I’ve completely forgotten how hideous I look. But I can’t find it in me to care and Coen doesn’t seem to mind. He catches me on my third yawn and tells me it’s time for bed. Ordinarily, I hate being told what to do. Instinctively, I want to argue. But right now I don’t think, I just follow, as he steers me to the elevators and to my condo.
“Sweet dreams, love. I’ll see you soon.” He kisses the top of my head, winks, and walks back to the elevator.
Plopping down on my bed I stare blankly at my ceiling. I only met this man yesterday. YESTERDAY. Why is he lingering in my thoughts? Why does he keep calling me ‘love?’ What’s with that? Is he conditioning me? Love, kisses, see you soon?
Am I Pavlov’s dog turned Coen’s plaything?
I let him in too much tonight. Thanks to my internal meltdown over Andrew, I didn’t stand a chance against his wit and charm. I need to be stronger. Tomorrow is Friday and I have a very long day ahead of me. Not to mention some much
needed relief approaching. I need to stay focused and sharp, not be a mindless twit with Coen drool.
My last thoughts before drifting off to sleep, was that Andrew never checked in on me. But Coen did.
Chapter Three
My hair is in two tight French braids down the crown of my head and tucked in. I’ve got my black face paint running a streak across my eyes and I’m sporting my tiny black boy shorts and my black sports razorback bra with pink piping. I just need my hands wrapped and I’m ready to go.
It’s Friday night.
Fight night, baby.
And I’m on the docket tonight.
I’m pumped, so freaking pumped. I need this tonight. This week has been outlandish and I’m dying for release.
My legs are shaking relentlessly while I wait on this hard metal bench in the locker room. It smells in here; like fungus filled feet mixed with body odor and sweat. It would be nearly nauseating if I didn’t love it. But I freaking love this shit! I love what it represents. I love what’s waiting for me.
No, I’m not in some fancy ass auditorium with TV sport’s anchors giving tonight’s play by play.
No way. This isn’t the UFC. This shit is unsanctioned. Back alley and through the busted door with a password type of unsanctioned. They’ll be no weigh in. No press conference. And certainly no billboard with my face on it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m not here for the fame nor the notoriety. I’m not even here for the purse. But I am here!
I watch Tony pace back and forth. Back and forth. Even though he’s agitated, I find his pacing hypnotic. He doesn’t usually come to these things with me. That’s usually Tank’s job. Tank Remmington is my mentor, my trainer, and now he’s the UFC’s golden child, which blows for me. Because he’s got to be squeaky clean and nowhere near here, where I need him.
That leaves me with Tony, Tank’s right hand man and younger brother. Although Tony has no beef with the unsanctioned fights, he has a thing about female fighters. He’s okay to train us, he’s even okay to spar with us, but he can’t stand to see us beat and bloody. I get it. Some people don’t like watching female fighters. That’s usually why we’re the opening act and not the main event. I’ll go on early and be out the door in no time.