He looks more shocked and confused rather than happy to see me.
That’s not comforting.
“I did what I had to do, and then figured I might as well come in and see if you needed anything.” I lied. If I were being completely honest, I would have told him that I really wanted to see him, and that’s why I came in. Plus, I was kind of hoping we’d hang out for a bit after work.
Luckily, I’m only honest in my head. Out loud, I keep everything hidden.
“Cool.” He nods, kind of awkwardly. “Want to grab a quick bite to eat?”
I pretend to think about it for a second, but then quickly respond, “Sure.”
The pub-type place he suggests is walking distance from the studio, and he tells me he’ll meet me there after his shower.
“You don’t need me to hold your towel?” I look at him sideways.
“No. I’m fine. You go ahead. I’ll be right there.”
He smiles and waits for me to leave before he even takes off his shirt.
What the heck? Who is this boy and what did he do with Johnny Braylock? I don’t know if I’m reading something into it here, but I definitely think he’s acting out of character, even for him.
But I don’t argue. Instead, I walk alone to the restaurant, order a glass of water with a lemon, and wait for him.
I don’t wait long; he’s only about seven minutes behind me, and it gives me time to catch up on some random e-mails.
“Sorry about that.” He huffs as he sits down.
“Not a problem.” I don’t look up from my menu.
He’s weird. He’s acting weird. Or else, I’m just thinking he’s acting weird because I feel weird?
Ugh. I think too much.
Or maybe I don’t…
“Listen,” he starts after setting his menu down, “last night was…”
You have got to be kidding me…
“…wrong. It was wrong.”
“Right. Totally.” I awkwardly agree, hoping to not give myself completely away.
“Okay. I’m glad we both agree about that.”
“Absolutely. One hundred percent.” He has to be able to tell that I am viciously lying right now.
“I don’t know what got into me, but that was completely unprofessional and it shouldn’t have happened.”
Oh God, why is he still talking? It just makes it worse.
“Don’t just blame yourself. I was there too.”
“Yeah, but…” He gives me a look, and I swear, he’s thinking: yeah, but you’re you and I’m a movie star and it’s impossible to resist my charms, so I took advantage of poor little you.
I could punch him. I feel a blast of rage surge through my body and I start calculating all the ways I could take him down from this position. I run through the different positions he’s shown me, and even add in a few moves I learned off the internet that I’m pretty sure would be enough of a surprise that I would at least have some leverage over him.
What the hell am I doing? I’m not going to attack Johnny in the middle of a restaurant.
Neither of us says anything more until the waiter comes to our table. Johnny orders a salad with grilled chicken and mandarin oranges.
“Vegetable soup, please.”
The waiter smiles and leaves us alone.
“Just soup?”
“Yeah.” I start to play with the straw in my water.
“With no meat?” He’s obviously very confused by my order, because I am anything but a vegetarian.
“I’m just not hungry.”
“Oh, then why’d you come?” He stares at me, waiting for an answer.
Because I wanted to spend time with you…
Because I thought you wanted to spend time with me…
Because I actually enjoy your stupid company…
Because you suck and I have no idea what the heck changed since last night, but you’re stupid and should like me…
Okay, I’ve become a child. Again, I’m very thankful that I’m not honest out loud. So instead, I simply say, “It’s weird. I thought I was hungry. I guess not.”
And he says, “Gotcha.”
Awesome. Just awesome. Why is Melissa always right?
I finish my soup and say goodnight. I have to get out of there. I have all this pent up energy and anger, and I just can’t look at him any more. He offers to take me home, but I tell him not to worry about it; I’ll be fine.
And anyway, I’m not going home, not after that. I’m going back to the underground fight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I hate admitting that I’m this person, but I’m only human and I need something to focus on. If Johnny doesn’t think it should be him, then all my energy is going toward Juan. So, yes, it might not have been the smartest decision I’ve ever made, but I went to that fight… alone. And then I went again. And again.
And I continue to go for weeks.
They hold this specific fight club four nights a week, but it seems that the competitors only fight once a week, giving themselves a nice enough time frame to heal. The matches are set ahead of time, all days except for Sundays. Sundays are considered “amateur night”. Anyone can show up, and anyone can fight.
I have every intention of fighting on Sunday.
“Today I want to work on something commonly referred to as the Electric Chair.”
I nod my head as Johnny speaks, but am busting inside because I actually know this move. I saw it happen at one of last night’s matches, so I went home and practiced it on my own.
Johnny tackles me from the front, pushing me on my back, with him on top. I smile, as we’ve been in this position before, but this time I know the outcome will be much different.
Before he can explain what I should do next, I wrap my feet around his one leg as I use all my might to push him up by his ribs. At that point, I check him under his arm, and sneak my body through the trap door I have created. My head is now at his knee, and I straighten my legs so that he ends up in a split. I continue to straighten and stretch him until he taps out.
“Where did you learn that?” He scrambles away from me.
I jump to my feet, not even trying to hide the immense amount of pride I feel. I almost say it: that I’ve been sneaking away to the underground fight, that I now know those tunnels like the back of my hand, and that I have every intention of fighting on Sunday.
But then I realize I can’t tell him. If he knew I was doing all of that without him, he would throw a fit. He would give me all that crap about it not being safe, and how I’m reckless, and then he would start calling me “kid” again.
I hate it when he calls me “kid”.
So instead, I just say, “google.” And I smile.
I can tell he doesn’t believe me, he thinks there is more to the story. But still, he cautiously nods. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.” I try to seem unfazed, but inside I am reeling. I’m excited and yet nervous, and completely out of my element.
We continue to train. I’ve actually gotten quite good over the last few months, and it’s finally starting to show. He continues to put me in submissive positions, and I continue to escape. Down, and up, down, and up, down, and…
We’re down; we’re on the ground. His knee has my knee pinned out to the side, his arm has my arm secured above my head, and his other arm is wrapped under my ribs. We’re close, too close, and my body is arched toward him. I can feel a twinge of pain in my chest as I try to subdue the wanting feeling my body is offering.
Johnny’s eyes are locked on mine. He seems lost, maybe even hurt, and I’m sure mine look the same way. I don’t want to move from this position, but something needs to happen, or else I’m pretty sure we’ll stay here forever.
“Kiss me.”
I don’t mean to say it. I don’t know why I do. But, there’s something there. I can’t deny it, and I honestly don’t think he can either.
“What?” He asks as if he thinks he imagined my request.
“I sai
d kiss me, Johnny. You want to. So do it.” I whisper with full intent.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Caroline.” My body takes more of his weight, and I know he’s torn. He’s closer, allowing himself the ability to take advantage if he so pleases.
So what’s holding him back?
“If you would just do what you so obviously want to do, then I wouldn’t have to tell you to do it, now would I?” I’m talking to him as if I’m angry. I guess, in a way, I am. He turned me down. He had no right to do that. For so long, he had been the one actively pursuing me. What right does he have to completely flip the switch once I decide to go all in? I’ve been harboring these confused and angry feelings for too long now. I’m sick and tired of it.
Johnny subtly licks his lips, but continues his stare. He’s still unsure. He’s still deciding.
And then he’s gone.
He grabs my ribs and flips me onto my stomach, sprawled out in all directions. He puts his full weight on me and lowers his lips to my ear.
“I said, don’t fucking tell me what to do, Caroline.” His growl is fierce, and while it should frighten me, I find myself more turned on. I want to give it back to him. I want to start this fight.
And I do.
“Then fucking tell me what you want from me.” I close my eyes, trying to take in the pain from his weight pushing me into the ground.
My arms are pushed up above my head and he locks my wrists in his grip. He spreads my legs, and I can feel him becoming hard against me.
“I told you what I want from you.” The Welsh God whispers as his fingers tickle down the side of my arm, my ribs, my waist, and land on my hip. They dig into my skin and my body warms to the idea of him.
“You told me you wanted to be professional.” I harshly tease, as I arch my pelvis back, pushing into his growing pleasure.
“That is still what I want.” His fingers dig deeper as his grip on my wrists tightens.
He deeply moans as I arch back again, and again. “Doesn’t feel that way.”
He pushes into my push, and I can feel his breath grow hotter on my shoulder. He rests his head against me, and his hand begins to travel under my stomach. I suck in, allowing him to sneak his hand down, if he so pleases, to which he takes the hint quite nicely. His finger slips inside of me, and I tighten around him. He kisses my neck: nipping at my skin between each shoulder blade. I begin to pant, wanting him to know that I desire more.
“Johnny, take me.” I whisper, all anger gone from my voice.
He slips my thin, tight shorts down my hips, kicking them to my ankles, and bites down on my shoulder as he fills me. He makes sure I take all of him, and I scream out in response. I roll my hips with his movements, encompassing every last bit of him.
“Tell me you’re mine.” He grumbles into my ear.
I play along. “I’m yours.”
“Say it again.” His voice deepens, ever so intense.
“I’m yours, Johnny. I’m all yours.”
He slowly pulls out, teasing me with the anticipation.
“Tell me you need me inside of you.” He nips at my earlobe.
I cry out, “I need you inside of me.”
He slams his hips, jumping both of our bodies forward on the mat. My screams echo throughout the large gym, and even though the thought crosses my mind that anyone could enter at any time, I don’t care. I want to enjoy this. I want to enjoy him. I want to live in this moment of ecstasy.
And I do. And I do again. And I meet his thrusts, and match his moans.
And then we lay there, together, as we did before, neither wishing for our bodies to ever separate. I feel his light kisses on my neck and my shoulder, and I sigh out a hum in response.
“Spend the night with me tonight.” Johnny whispers right into my ear.
I want to, I can’t deny that, but I stop myself from giving my instinctual response. Johnny had made it clear that he wanted things to be professional between us, and although I was able to swerve him from that in a moment of weakness, I can’t trust that he won’t just as quickly recourse back to his moral high ground. I can’t rely on that, so I must keep with my initial focus.
On Sunday I will fight.
Therefore tonight, I must study the matches.
“I can’t tonight.” I roll from his grip. “I have plans.”
“Plans?” He looks at me, seemingly hurt.
“Yeah, plans.”
It’s all I say before composing myself and walking toward the gym door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It’s now Saturday, and Johnny and I have been going through our normal end-of-the-day routine. I’m exhausted. The week has been nothing but training, working, watching matches until all hours of the night, and then getting up early for work again.
Johnny has been asking me very suspicious, yet unobtrusive questions regarding where I’ve been and why I’m so tired. I simply shrug him off, or pretend to sneeze so I can easily change the subject.
“Your protein shake, sir.” I smile as I hold out his shaker for him.
He takes it from me, but grabs my hand in the process. “Come to dinner with me.”
“I can’t tonight.” I shake my head, pulling my hand away from his tightening grip.
“Why?” It’s not a question. It’s a demand.
“I have plans, Johnny. Live with it.” I defend my choices.
He takes two steps forward, backing me up against the wall of his trailer. I’m not scared of him, this is just something we do now. He tries to exert his power over me, and I tell him to back off.
I always win.
But today, he’s not backing down.
“What is going on with you, Caroline?”
“Is it too much to think that I have a life outside of you?” I sort of laugh it off.
He fires right back. “Is it too much to think that maybe I want to spend some time with you when we’re not at work?”
I give it right back to him. “Well you should have thought about that before deciding that you wanted our relationship to be professional.”
His face drops, and I can see him come to some sort of realization. “That’s what this is about? The professional comment? I thought that was what you wanted.”
“Come off it, Johnny.” I can’t even look at him. I try to sidestep away from him, but he shoots his arm out to the wall, caging me in.
“That’s all you have to say about this? I make one comment, and now I can’t hang out with you, but I’m allowed to fuck you?”
I give him a snarky smile and quickly nod. “Yup. That’s about right.”
His face reddens as his anger heightens, and he slams the heel of his hand into the wall.
“Why are you getting so worked up?” I remain calm. “It’s like the best of both worlds. Let’s not forget: you’re leaving soon. Then this whole thing will be over for good, so let’s just be adults about it.”
I expect my comment to push him off the deep end, but I swear, there’s a point I’m trying to make.
Maybe the point, though, is to myself. I just got out of a relationship. I can’t just jump into another. So what’s wrong with casual sex? Why does it need to be this territorial thing? Why, when I’m the one enforcing it, is it, all of a sudden, not okay for him?
But most of all, why do I so desperately want to drop everything, run into his arms, and tell him that I’ll be his for as long as he’ll have me, and if he asks me again, I’ll drop everything and move to New Zealand?
Blah: sometimes my emotions make me want to throw up.
Luckily, I don’t say any of that. Much to Johnny’s chagrin, and a little bit to my own, I manage to steal away. As I approach my car, Josh Mandelbaum calls out, stopping me in my tracks.
“Josh. How are you?”
“I’m good, Caroline. I’m glad I caught you.”
“Oh yeah?” I don’t know what this means, but I’m a bit nervous. Did he read my work? Does he have notes? Suggestions? Or is he going to try and f
ind the nicest way possible to tell me I should give up my dream of being a television writer?
“Listen, I don’t want to hold you up, but I wanted you to know I read the packet you sent me.”
“Oh right!” I oddly act as though I forgot I sent him anything. “Give it to me straight, Josh. What did you think?” Oh God, I want this moment to be over so badly so I can go home and drink an entire bottle of wine.
“Honestly?” He smiles.
“Honestly.” I try my hardest to smile back.
“I really like your style.”
“What?” I say, just a little too quickly. I didn’t expect that to come out of his mouth.
“Yeah,” he continues, unprompted. “Your structuring could use some work-not much, just a little-but the dialogue and characters are very strong.”
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