“Could be.” Rogers tilts his head. “It is the best natural way of raising testosterone levels. But one most guys can’t pull off. For obvious reasons.”
“That’s what improved my workouts. Not the fucking weight loss.”
“Well,” Rodgers’ eyebrows furl. “Can you…elevate them again?”
I meet his eyes with an icy stare. “Hell, no.”
“Then you know how this works. You’ve got to cut back on sex.” He’s uncompromising.
“I think that would be a mistake.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“I feel more focused,” I complain.
“Sex can do that,” Rodgers admits. “But you never had problems with focus before, so whatever’s going on doesn’t have anything to do with your training.”
“It does for me.” For the first time in my life, I have stability without drama, chaos, or loneliness. That’s worth something to me, even if Rodgers can’t see it.
“Except for young jocks, who sometimes have sex multiple times a day,” Rodgers’ expression is an unfamiliar mix of frustration, disbelief, and irritation. “Every athlete I’ve ever known, coached, or heard about agrees that past age twenty, too much sex impairs training and athletic performance.” He folds his arms in front of him. “And you ain’t twenty anymore.”
“Sure, Coach. Problem is, it works in reverse too.”
“Ah, and now we get down to it.” His hands rest on his waist. “You have a major fight in three weeks. Are you out of your fucking mind? You should be zipped and locked until after.”
“I don’t know about that.” I shrug. “Some guys say it helps them focus. Maybe I’m one of them.”
“Nope.” Rodgers’ jaw clamps shut. He’s biting his lip, trying to control his temper. “A pitcher, goalie, quarterback, maybe. Any job that requires strategic adjustment and rapid physical response.”
“Yeah…so why not me?”
“Because,” he growls, “your job also requires a helluva lot of strength and stamina. For anyone like that, lineman, power lifters, fighters, it’s a fucking train wreck. Testosterone’s just too damn low.”
He’s right and he knows I know it. But I refuse to give in.
“Fine, we can make some adjustments.” I agree.
“‘Some adjustments’? You’ve got a goddamned fight coming up.”
“I’ve always got a fight coming up. Or a training camp. Or weights to lift or a run to do.” I can’t hide my irritation anymore. “Now’s a good time for change. Professionally and personally.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“This guy I’m fighting is a young hot head. Never fought someone ranked top five before.”
“This guy you’re fighting trains like a beast and hits like a pile driver.” Rodgers looks worried. “Now is not the time to change your game plan.”
“It’s the perfect time.” My voice is calm. “Against the kind of opponent I have the best chance with.”
“Usalv, listen—”
“No. You listen.” If I’ve ever yelled at Rodgers before, I don’t remember. “You were wrong about this diet. But I sucked it up and went along anyway. I’m not going along with this. Work with me.” I force myself to calm down. “Please.”
He looks as if he’s just been bitch slapped. In a way, I guess he has. “What the hell do you expect me to do?”
“Well, I’m not going to live like a monk and eat like a stick insect forever,” I assure him. “Come up with something else.”
“Come up with something else? Stop having sex until after your match. Keep your weight at two forty-two.”
“Come up with something else.” I spit the words out through gritted teeth.
“Listen, if you don’t like what I’ve got to say, find another trainer.”
“I’ve been doing this a few years myself,” I reply. “If that’s the best you can do, then maybe it is time.” I pause to meet his eyes and let the words sink in. “Pay me out for my share of the gym, if that’s how you want it.”
He’s speechless, but his face is pale. I know he doesn’t have the money right now. After my fight, if I win, maybe. But not now.
“You are shithouse nuts, you know that? Christ.” He sounds shocked. “How much did you weigh when you were icing it off?”
“Two forty-eight.”
“How much did you weigh when you started having sex? I mean with Lou, of course. It’s just her right now. Right?”
“Just her. Two forty-four.”
“How much now?”
“Probably two forty.”
“Take it back up to two forty-two. But no more than one per week. Let’s see what that does to your energy levels.”
Well, at least that’s something. Truthfully, about two forty-five is the sweet spot, and it’s only marginally better than two fifty in terms of speed. But with the company I keep, it’s all about the marginal edge.
“As for sex…” Rodgers’ tone demands my attention again. “Anything inside a week of the fight is a big hell no. Law of the jungle. You want to fight at this level, that’s how it is.”
“Fine. I’m not trying to kill my career here.” I assure him.
“Then what the hell are you trying to do?”
“Get to a place where there’s something besides a career.” It’s hard for me to admit and it’s the last thing a coach wants to hear.
“You picked a helluva time.”
My sigh sounds loud, even to me. “I didn’t pick anything.”
He gives me a deft nod, then continues. “No sex for forty-eight hours before major sparring. No sex for twelve hours before weight lifting, light sparring, or five mile runs. And for Christ’s sake, you don’t sit at a desk all day. Stop doing it right before you get here.”
I nod. “I’ll do the best I can with my training. And to be fair to Louise.”
“Fair to Louise?” Rodgers rolls his eyes up to high heaven. “Right.”
23
I look up at the large clock in the front of the small auditorium. The muffled sounds and muted movement of other students filing out of the exam becomes more rapid as they finish up and head toward the door.
I’m running out of time.
Which of the following drugs is associated with the reaction of Stevens-Johnson syndrome?
A. Lamotrigine
B. Nevirapine
C. Allopurinol
D. All of the above
D. Right? Yeah. Sure? Fuck.
Usalv and I have been humping like rabbits for the last few weeks. For a while, both of us seemed to be waiting for things to get boring, tiring, inconvenient…but so far, that hasn’t happened. In fact, after running out of condoms last week, we decided to change our birth control.
Now I’m paying the price in other ways.
“Just let things take us where they go,” he’d told me after we christened the staircase. The memory of him running around in search of clothes wearing only a towel makes me blush even now. He’d called out to me and we headed up to his room, but never made it.
“Watch your time, please,” the professor warns.
Shit.
Pantoprazole is not used in which of the following cases?
A. Gastritis
B. Peptic Ulcers
C. Zollinger-Ellison syndrome
D. Thalamus hypertrophy
C? No, D. No C. Shit! It’s D, D—I hope.
But the more we’re together, the more I want to be with him. How many times in your life are you with someone who’s seen your scars, quirks, and bad hair days but still thinks you’re the bomb?
My history is hardly vast, but Usalv is a mind-blowing lover. At first I thought it might be a fluke, the anticipation combined with long abstinence for me. The man possesses near superhuman strength, but he’s hyper-aware, like a giant panda tending its Lilliputian-sized young.
I feel great, sleep better, am less stressed, even after a shitty day. He’s easy to live with and so easy to like. Besides all t
hat, it’s good being around him.
But not at this particular moment.
What of the following are chelators used to treat mercury poisoning?
A. D-penicillamine
B. DMSA,2,3-dimercapto-1-propanesulfonic acid
C. Dimercaprol
D. All of the above
D…D? Again? How many Ds are on this miserable test?
“Five minutes,” the professor announces.
Damn it, this is not the way I do things. My modis operandi is hyper-organized and super-prepped. I didn’t even know there was test today. How did this happen? When did my schedule get so screwed up?
Which of the following are symptoms of drug induced photosensitivity?
A. Nausea
B. Scleroderma
C. Onycholysis
D. Hemolytic Anemia
C, maybe? Shit.
“Okay, it’s time. Finish up, please.”
As I make my way to the front of the class, Dr Zimmerman’s eyes lock with mine. She’s a no-nonsense anesthesiologist whose shifts in trauma-ICU occasionally overlap with mine. Her pointed look is a silent indication that she wants to speak with me.
My stride becomes a slow creep, as I hope in vain another student will try to monopolize her after the test.
No such luck.
“It’s Louise, right?” she asks as the final student shuffles out.
“Yes, Dr. Zimmerman.”
“You weren’t here last week and I wanted to check in.” She gets straight to the point, and my radar detects a royal ass chewing on the horizon.
“No, ma’am. I was a little run down and wanted to get some rest before my weekend shift.” Which is the truth, if she doesn’t ask what had worn me down so much.
Usalv and I left the gym together after my taekwondo class finished. We ended up going out for dinner afterward and having sex on Friday morning. Since I had a short shift that evening, I’d slept in and decided to ditch lecture that day.
“Are you still working a clinical schedule?” Dr. Zimmerman’s eyebrows rise above her dark brown eyes in a mixture of concern and disapproval.
“Yes, ma’am. Trauma-ICU.”
“Ah.” She nods in recognition. “That’s where I know you from.” Her face twists into a scowl. “But aren’t you in the DNP-anesthetist program?”
“Eventually I plan to transfer. But right now, I’m in the MSN program, completing the required lecture classes part-time.”
She pauses a moment before speaking. “So the hospital reimburses you for the course work while you’re employed?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, you’ve certainly bitten off a lot to chew, Louise.” Dr. Zimmerman shakes her head. “And I totally get that you need your income. How did you do on the test?”
“Okay, I think.” I shift my feet under me. “But not as well as I wanted.”
“Some of the other students asked me to change it, because they wanted more time for lab work in another required class. We held a vote last Friday. You were the only one not here.”
“I see.” Crap.
“While this class does not have a clinical or laboratory component, attendance at lecture is expected,” she informs me. “I know you have a lot of clinical experience, but the DNP-anesthetist program expects that of its candidates and adjusts the pace and coursework accordingly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice is calm and certain, and I mentally stop myself from crossing my arms.
“Have you considered cutting back on your clinical commitments?” she asks.
“I want to hang on until after I’m admitted to the DNP-anesthetist program and complete the required courses.”
“I see.” She seems disappointed as she hoists her bulky messenger bag over her shoulder. “As I’m sure you’re aware, this course is a critical component of the program. If you attempt to transfer, nothing short of a top grade will be acceptable.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ms. Becker.” She hesitates. “You’ve got a lot of potential, but you’re carrying one hell of a load. Don’t let yourself get too run down.” She stops moving to make pointed eye contact. “Or too far behind.”
“Thank you, Dr Zimmerman.”
She nods, and without another word, turns her lanky frame and descends the stairs to the exit. I watch her depart, then shuffle back toward my seat to collect my things. Instead, I collapse with a tired thud back into the chair.
Well, that sucked.
It’s clear from Dr Zimmerman’s warning that I need to get it together. That means toning down my relationship with Usalv so that I can reprioritize my nursing studies. But now seems like the wrong time to take our relationship for granted.
Things have never been better for me. But what about for him?
He’s the only man I’ve lived with…but is what we’re doing considered living together? Or are we just roommates who have sex?
By now it’s obvious to me that I’d like it to be more. After all, friends with benefits is not a situation I ever aspired to be in. But what if that’s all this is to Usalv? How do I convince him to take a chance on us while I’m pulling back from him at the same time?
I plant my forehead between the laced fingers of my hands.
Of course, there’s always the possibility that he’s just interested in keeping things casual. If that’s all he wants, then when and how do I break away before it burns out and leaves me an emotional train wreck?
I groan. Aloud, I think, and look up to check the room again to see if anyone heard me. Instead, I find myself alone and overcome with an urgent need to get the hell out of here.
Sweat pools in the arch of my philtrum, and I rub it off my face with the pads of my fingers. The humid Chicago summer prevents the air conditioner from working well in the mat rooms, and I’m forced to stop beating my favorite human dummy senseless and drag the giant room fans out.
It’s early Saturday morning, in the lull before the morning classes start. My first choice was to run in Oz Park, but an erratic summer thunderstorm tanked those plans. On a normal Saturday morning, I’d just go back to bed, but after yesterday, I’m avoiding Usalv.
After the test, I hit the university library until it closed, then crept home and slept downstairs in my own bed. He’s still confused about my short shift Fridays so I don’t think he realized I’d come home, and we didn’t speak before I left again this morning.
All part of my plan to try and get my head straight.
“Morning, Louise,” a familiar voice calls as I wrestle with an industrial sized fan in the corner of the mat room.
“Hey, Coach. How’s it going?”
“It’s getting there. Got a minute?” The tips of his black athletic shoes loom into my line of sight as I push the cord into the outlet.
I stand straight and peer over his shoulder at the gray wall clock behind him. It tells me I’ve got about twenty minutes to finish a thirty-minute workout.
“Can it wait? I can come find you after morning classes.”
“Afraid not,” he tells me and shakes his head. “Things will be too busy then.”
And with that, my desperately needed early morning workout goes to hell in a handbasket.
“Okay,” I sigh. “What’s up?” I move out from behind the fan and stand in front of him.
“Anyone else here yet?” He turns to look at the entrance.
“Not yet. Just me.”
“Good.” The news makes Rodgers tense rather than relax. His stance leaves me with an uneasy feeling for the second time in twenty-four hours.
“Have you seen Usalv today?” He glances around the room again.
“Not so far.” I’m relieved to tell him the truth. “Was he supposed to be here today?”
“I thought so.” He glances back toward the door again. “But he said he wanted to try switching his schedule around a bit.”
He did? “News to me.” I reply. “Maybe he went for a run?”
“Thought the weather wo
uld put him off.”
“Maybe he plans to wait it out. It is Saturday, after all.”
“Did he tell you that this morning? Was he there when you left today?”
I’m stunned by the question and assess his uncomfortable expression for a few moments before answering. It’s clear he wants to talk about more than Usalv’s schedule.
“He hadn’t come downstairs before I left this morning. We haven’t seen each other since yesterday.” It’s the absolute truth.
“Christ, Louise,” Rogers grunts in frustration. “I know you’re staying with him.”
“That’s right,” I admit. “He’s helping me out while I look for a new place. So what?”
“So what? So, based on his shitty morning workouts, it’s clear you’re sharing more than a TV and microwave.” He folds his arms and I watch his fingers clench the top of his forearms.
“That’s none of your business, Terence.” I’ve never called him that before, but here’s hoping he finds my presumption intrusive. “And I don’t have to stand here and discuss this with you.”
“Louise, wait.” I try to walk away, but his hand brushes my forearm. “We’re all a little old for bed checks here.”
“Thank God for that,” I reply. “What do you want from me?”
Rodgers laces his fingers together and wraps them behind the nape of his neck. “I need your help. With Usalv.” He focuses on the ceiling while he speaks.
“My help?” I’m stunned.
Rodgers nods. “His morning workouts are as flat as tonic water after New Year’s.”
My stomach sours with dread. “What do you mean, flat?”
“No energy. No stamina. No aggression.” He explains in a worried voice.
“Have you talked to him about this?” I ask.
“Yep. Says it’s his damn diet.”
“I believe him. He complains all the time about it.” It’s the truth. The first time he came to the old apartment, he’d bitched about it. That seems so long ago now. “He says he’s sleeker but weaker. He doesn’t like feeling that way in the ring. Did he tell you that?”
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