Blake: A Bad Boy Romance

by Day, Laura

  Tears filled Ellen’s eyes and she looked away quickly, wiping them with a smile as she turned to look at a heart-shaped arrangement.

  Ivy was not going to be some spoiled teenager who ruined her father’s wedding. She was going to do whatever it took make sure it went off without a hitch. She would help Ellen as best she could and she would work at the hardware store herself if that was what it took to get her father to enjoy his honeymoon.

  “Jonas is going to ask Blake to be his Best Man,” Ellen said. “What do you think Blake will say?”

  “An opportunity for Blake to be at the center of the action, there’s no way he’ll pass it up,” Ivy answered. Plus, she knew Blake would take every chance he could get to tease Ivy. But he would also be good at it. Blake was a lot of things, but he was a good friend and you could always rely on him.

  Chapter Five

  “Blake!” The shout echoed across the gym as all the heads turned to look at him. A short, stocky, but strong looking man jogged over to Blake and threw his arms around him.

  “Hey, Paulie,” Blake said as he returned the hug. “It’s good to see you, old man.”

  And with that, Paulie socked him right in the stomach. “Call me and old man with your guard down, that’s what you get,” he said with a loud staccato laugh. He threw his arm around Blake’s shoulder as Blake coughed and tried to catch his breath from the shorter man’s surprisingly strong punch.

  Paulie pulled Blake over to a corner where a punching bag hung from a chain, swinging slightly back and forth. Blake put his bag down and began to tape up his knuckles as Paulie hurried around him, getting water bottles and pads ready for the training.

  “I saw that Vegas fight; boy you were good,” Paulie said, slapping Blake on the back. “You hung back, you waited and when the opportunity presented itself wham, bam! You push him into a corner and then you give him that kick to the face. I bet that guy couldn’t see straight for a week.”

  The Vegas fight had been Blake’s biggest fight to date. It was a live in front of a screaming crowd and was simulcast on HBO. For the weeks leading up to it he was a celebrity - interviews, photo shoots, and fancy lunches with reporters. It had been great and he was ready for more. The only thing that left a bad taste in his mouth was that Ivy hadn’t noticed. He had his fifteen minutes of fame while she had been looking the other way.

  “Go outside and run around the block. I’ll be timing you and when you come back we’ll do some burpees and get you nice and warmed up,” Paulie ordered as he pulled out his stopwatch.

  Dutifully Blake started jogging making his way to the door and then outside into the misty mid morning weather. He took a deep breath of the wet air. He could taste the rainwater on his tongue and he could smell the wet earth around him. He liked living in the city, and he never wanted move. But it was nice to come out to country, to breath fresh air and see trees above him. He made a right and continued around the block. He was in great shape and his heart rate slowly increased as sweat began to form on his brow. He liked to work out. He loved his job and this was part of it. Working out, pushing his body as far as he could go and coming out stronger on the other side.

  He finished his lap around the block and re-entered the gym where Paulie was waiting. Blake jumped up and then squatted down until he was on the floor; he completed one push up and then jumped up again. He did twenty burpees and even in his excellent shape he was winded at the end when Paulie finally let him stop.

  Paulie was a good coach and Blake was focused and ready to train. When he trained and when he fought, there was nothing else happening in the world. There was only his body, his muscle memory working on its own. Paulie stood behind the large punching bag as Blake brought his fist up and jabbed with his left hand and then his right.

  His mind was blank; he wasn’t thinking about anything. He was just moving, focusing on staying on his feet and hitting the bag as hard as he could. But as he hit and kicked at the bag, he started seeing something else: Ivy, with her long dark hair and her flawless skin, Ivy who always seemed to be making herself smaller, gathering herself up, pulling her knees up when she sat down. She was always protecting herself.

  He remembered the blush on her pale skin. He remembered the way he used to brush his fingers across her red cheek. She would giggle and look away and he would tilt up her head so she had to look at him. He had loved her more than he had ever loved anything else. Blake fell back as the bag hit him full in the chest. “What the hell, man!?” he demanded as he stumbled to his feet.

  “Where’s your brain at?” Paulie demanded. “It’s not here, not in this gym. So where is it?”

  Blake opened his mouth and then closed it, he had no answer.

  “It’s a damn girl, isn’t it?” Paulie asked. “Women, I love ‘em, but women and fighting don’t mix. You can’t be thinking about your girl while you’re punching another man. Women are soft and delicate, they don’t belong in the ring or at training. You need to put her away.”

  “It's’ not-” Blake started.

  “Don’t make any excuses to me,” Paulie spit. “I’ve been doing this my whole life. I know what a man obsessed looks like. But the only thing you need to be obsessed with is tomorrow’s fight. Keep your mind there; think of the ring and the crowd. Think of your opponent. You have a lot of natural talent, but that will only take you so far. Now you need to work on your mental game. You need to learn to compartmentalize. Put your girl in a box and close that box up when you're in the ring and when you’re training. She only comes out when you have the time to really think about her. When you can give her your full attention, that’s when you think about her or she’s going to be the end of you.”

  Blake nodded. Paulie was right. He hadn’t seen the bag coming and it wasn’t a small bag. He hadn’t been focused on his training. He had been lazy and complacent and that was the best way to lose a fight.

  “She beautiful?” Paulie asked.

  “Stunning,” Blake answered.

  “Well, when you’re here, I’m the only lady in your life. Take your pretty girl and put her in a room and close the door; she’ll still be waiting for you when you’re done. Go take a lap.”

  Blake nodded and headed for the door. He knew Paulie was right. Blake had been training with him since he was thirteen. As a fatherless child, he couldn’t not get into trouble. He kept getting into fights at school and out of school. Kids challenged him and with every fight he got a little better until he wasn’t scared of fighting anymore. He was good at it and he didn’t miss an opportunity to fight when one came along. He was suspended multiple times and arrested twice, but still he didn’t stop. Finally, a guidance counselor offered boxing as a training for Blake, he said it might be a good way to get Blake’s aggression out. He was right. Blake spent every day after school training in Paulie’s gym. He kept his grades up slowly so he could keep coming to the gym. Paulie was the closest thing to a father Blake had ever had. He had taught Blake how to shave, how to drive, and the right kind of deodorant.

  The cool air outside was bracing, and Blake ran faster both to warm himself up and spend less time outside in the mist that was about to turn to all out rain. Put Ivy away. Not forever, but just for now. Just while I’m training, just while I am in the fight. He knew how important the mental game was. So as he ran around the block he imagined a long hallway with a door at the end in an old fashioned house. He took Ivy by the hand and opened the door and put her inside. He closed the door and ordered her remain there.

  But it was pointless. Even as he was trying to put her away she was popping up in his thoughts. He would see her again tonight and many times after that. He was already thinking about when he would see her next. He sped around the block and back into the gym. He focused on Paulie’s instructions, focused on his muscles as he lifted weights, focusing on each one individually.

  Paulie himself put on the mitts. Blake was worried about him; he had to be in his sixties. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt him, but he als
o could never insult him.

  “Don’t hold back,” Paulie threatened putting the training mitts up.

  “When are you going to get someone else to hold the mitts, Paulie?” Blake asked.

  “When it hurts too much for me to hold them two days in a row. But that hasn’t happened yet. The hardest hitters have been in here and I’ve outlasted them all.”

  Blake squared his shoulders and jabbed at the mitt and then took a full swing at it. Paulie didn’t even wince as he absorbed the hit. Maybe he wasn’t too old just yet. Blake focused on the mitts in front of him and he hit them solid and center square; it was enough to send any man stumbling back.

  He was exhausted by the time he was done. He was covered in sweat and even with the tape his knuckles were bruised and raw. Under Paulie’s direction he stretched and hydrated and finally headed home.

  Ivy and his mom were still gone and it felt strange to be in Ivy’s house without her. But Jonas’ house was nicer than his mom’s apartment and she had moved in three months ago.

  They came home while Blake was in the shower. He was leaning against the wall, letting the hot spray of water massage his back when he heard Ivy enter. Ivy whom he had barely manage to keep out of his thoughts was back with a vengeance. If only she were in here with him, the warm water cascading down her skin.

  No, that was no good. Paulie was right, she was too distracting. He stepped out of the shower and right into Ivy as she was barreling down the hallway. “Have a nice day out?” The blush crept up her chest and over her cheeks as she answered yes and hurried away from him.

  Chapter Six

  Ivy flipped through the channels, skimming past the available entertainment at midnight on a Saturday. Her father and Ellen had gone to bed hours ago and Blake had retreated to his room not long after dinner. Ivy sat back on the couch and stopped at a Law & Order re-run, trying to figure out what year it had been filmed by the actors’ hairstyles.

  “You know, on Law & Order they make it seem like people stumble over dead bodies every day.” Ivy whipped her head around to see a shirtless Blake standing in doorway to the living room. “Every time I go to get a cup of coffee I expect to see a body and I’m always a little disappointed when it doesn’t happen.”

  “You’re disappointed when you don’t find a dead body?” Ivy demanded, ordering her eyes to stay on his face.

  “Not anyone I know or anything,” Blake said as he walked into the living room and flopped into her father’s recliner. “I just want to be the extra in the first five minutes. I would find a dead body, call the cops and my job would be over and I would have a great story to tell. I’m just saying, Law & Order makes it look like an everyday thing and it’s never happened to me.”

  Ivy tried to fight the smile from her face. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the television. But out of the corner of her eye she could see Blake stretched out on the chair. It wasn't fair how he looked without a shirt on. He had a six-pack and strongly defined pectorals all leading to his strong shoulders and then his arms.

  “So, what’s been up, Ivy?” Blake asked. “Other than our parents dating, of course.”

  Ivy felt herself begin to blush as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Since when was she this nervous around Blake? But then again, he was somehow different than his younger self. He was still cocky, of course, but something else about him was different; Ivy just couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “I went to college at UCLA and then got my MBA and now I work for a consulting firm. I’m actually in Seattle now.” For some reason she found she couldn't look at him and she focused on Sam Watterson yelling at a judge on television.

  “You know I’m in Seattle, right?” Blake asked, sitting forward in his chair. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Because we hadn’t talked since high school,” Ivy said. “We weren’t speaking so I don’t know why I would call you to hang out. Not that I care about high school anymore, it just had been so long, I thought it would be better to leave things the way they were.”

  Blake nodded with a frown. “I would have liked to see you,” he answered. “I tried to call you and get in touch, but you never got back to me, which makes me think you are mad about prom.”

  “I’m twenty-five years old,” Ivy said with a scoff. “I don’t care about that anymore. You’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, putting his hands up. “Want to play the Law & Order drinking game? Every time San Watterson is shocked you have to take a shot.”

  “You’d be wasted by the first commercial break,” Ivy said, and just like that she was smiling again. Blake could do that, be on her last nerve one moment and have her giggling the next.

  “I know you can hold your liquor,” Blake said. He stood up and disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of whiskey and two souvenir shot glasses. He put the glasses on the table and poured two shots just as Sam Watterson said he “couldn’t believe it.” They clinked their glasses together and poured back the shot.

  Ivy shook her head as the liquid burned down her throat. “You trying to get me drunk, Blake?” Ivy asked.

  “I never really had to try at that,” Blake responded. “You were very good at sneaking your father’s booze out of the house.”

  “I got caught more than once,” Ivy said as she tipped another shot into her mouth.

  “And you never learned your lesson.”

  Ivy could feel the warmth of the whiskey spread through her stomach as her cheeks began to flush. Already she was feeling a little tipsy. “You’re one to talk,” she said, turning to face him. “How many times did you get busted for fighting? I know about the times in school, but how many times did the cops pick you up for it?”

  “I never got charged with anything and I made a career out of it,” Blake answered. “You might not have heard about me, Ivy. But I’m actually pretty good.”

  “At fighting? You’re good at hitting another man?” Ivy countered.

  “Yeah,” Blake answered, and then Ivy noticed they were both on the edge of their seats.

  They had shifted to get even closer to each other. Their knees were almost touching, but Ivy was worried about what might follow even if a tiny part of them were to touch. She wasn’t sure she could stop herself. She knew there was a line she shouldn’t cross, but she didn't know where that line was. It might be something as innocent as two knees touching that led to her being wrapped up in his arms.

  Behind her the show was ending, the credits were rolling and Ivy quickly stood up. “It’s late,” she said. “I should go to bed.” She needed to get out of there before she got more comfortable with him.

  “All right,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Ivy went to her childhood bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her. She crawled into her old twin bed and she tried to calm her beating heart. She needed to keep it together; she still had two more days of dealing with him. She needed to try to keep herself together for two more days. But Blake was so tempting. He was so strong and confident and funny. She had forgotten how much fun it was to be with him. He knew her so well; he knew just what to say to get a reaction from her.

  She woke up to him doing push-ups in the living room.

  “Really?” she demanded as she stepped over him. Ivy could not function before coffee. Her hair was a mess on her head and she was wearing a set of pajamas with ladybugs on them. Blake was wearing a pair of loose fitting gym shorts and a tight, black, sleeveless shirt.

  “Gotta stay in good shape,” Blake said even though he was short of breath as he continued to pump out push-ups. “But I love to work out to an audience if that’s what you're into.”

  “Yeah,” Ivy said, crossing her arms. “I’m really into push-ups, so keep going, just do push-ups.”

  “I can do this all day,” he said, but Ivy could hear the hitch in his breath and she could see the sweat beading on his forehead.

  “I’m not into quitters,” Ivy sai
d as she saw Blake’s arms start to shake.

  “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine,” he grunted.

  “I’m on twelve,” Ivy answered.

  Blake collapsed onto the mat he had been working out on. He huffed and puffed for breath as Ivy shook her head. “I did a lot while you were still in bed,” he tried to explain.

  “Sure, whatever you say,” Ivy said as she strolled into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Ellen and her father were gone, both at work.

  “So, you gonna watch my match this week?” Blake asked as he took a heavy swig from his water bottle.

  “When is it?” Ivy asked as she flipped through the newspaper.

  Blake took the paper out of her hand and showed her the sports page. Above the fold was a picture of Blake, going head to head against another man, Marco Johnson. “Friday at 8:00 pm. Prime Time, how have you not heard about this?”