by Jamie Knight
I grab onto her and we sit there in the quiet. I can hear the traffic on the street as well as some people laughing and yelling drunkenly.
“Stupid motherfuckers,” I mumble.
“Oh, Jake,” she says. “You need to be more at peace with the world.”
“I guess so,” I say.
Amanda sighs and in a few minutes she’s asleep.
I just want to hold onto her forever and never let anything bad happen to her.
Ever.
Chapter 19
Lincoln
I go home the next morning and just sit around and think. The fight with César Ramirez is coming up and I haven’t given it any thought. The word on the street is that I’m afraid of him; that I’m an injured has-been who simply doesn’t have the guts to face him, or that I’m just an outright wimp. He’s even made vague statements that I’m afraid of him because of his physical prowess.
El Latino Monstruoso, he calls himself: The Latin Monster. He’s a handsome dude with light chocolate skin and a jacked slender body. He’s half Puerto Rican and half Italian, and he’s got dark good looks. Hairy-chested, muscled, charismatic and arrogant, he’s the fan favorite.
I, on the other hand, have lost favor with my fan base. In some ways I’m the hero of the all-American, redneck segment. Just a good ol’ boy for the good ol’ boys.
I don’t want to disappoint them, but I also don’t want to seem like I hate the guy or that I’m afraid of him. In many ways, my nice guy yet tough persona has gotten me far. And I don’t hate Ramirez—I just think he’s a big douchebag.
But business is business and I need to get in shape. I run over to John’s to grab Rex and decide we are going to do some running. Some of the guys I work out with are against cardio. They say it destroys all the muscle work you do; that it pumps up your estrogen level up and gives you a girly voice like those recent Olympic gymnasts.
Fuck, those gymnasts are some of the most jacked-up motherfuckers in an elastic and taut way, skinny or not.
Some of the dudes I hang out with can be so ignorant. It makes me think I need to reassess the social circle I travel in.
I show up at John’s and before I can even knock, Rexie bounds out the door. He raises himself and puts his paws on my shoulders and licks my face.
“I think he missed you,” John said.
“I guess so,” I say and coax Rexie down.
John hands me the dog leash.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he says.
“Thanks, man,” I say, giving him a hug.
“Any time,” he says.
I put Rexie’s leash on and he can’t stand still.
“Wanna go for a walk?”
Rexie barks and barks and wags his tail so hard his butt swings wildly back and forth.
We run for several blocks and I clear my head. I think of nothing. Just the pavement in front of me and Rexie steadily keeping up beside me as he jogs along. His tongue lolls and he has that happy-dog-smile look on his face.
At the busy street corner, I stop and wait for the walk light. I’m sweating so I pull off my t-shirt, wipe my face and chest with it, and shove it in the back of my shorts.
Two college girls approach and wait for the light as well. One of them talks about how hard her genetics exam was while the other whispers something in her ear.
I’m not really paying attention, but I look over at them and they smile and laugh.
“Mornin’, ladies,” I say.
They say nothing and laugh again.
The walk light flashes and I run off with Rexie. As I start to cross the street, I hear one of the girls say to the other “he’s hot.”
I smile, glad they think so, but my heart and my cock are taken. I only want Amanda. I continue to run for about another few blocks as I circle back and head for home. As I approach my place my phone dings and vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and look at it.
It’s a text from Bill, my agent.
“Take a look at this,” it reads. I click on it and it seems like an on-line ad. César Ramirez stands against a black background with his hands crossed over his hairy pecs. “Is Lincoln Drake afraid of the Latin Snake?”
I laugh. The Latin Snake? What happened to being the Latin Monster?
I dial Bill.
“Hey, Lincoln,” he says. I can hear him smoking and coughing. He’s probably on his seventh can of Coke by now. When it comes to personal hygiene and dental care, he’s low on the list. But he knows more about wheeling and dealing in the MMA world and everyone wants him for his agent.
“Hey,” I say. “Just got your text.”
“Whaddya think?” he asks and lapses into a coughing fit.
“I think it’s hilarious,” I say.
Honestly, I don’t know what to think but it is good press, for both Ramirez and me.
“I’m fuckin’ pissed at you!” Bill says.
I can hear him stand up as the metal office chair screeches against the tile floor in his office.
“Sorry,” I say.
I’ve learned to tolerate Bill’s moods and to soothe him when he’s like this. He’s like having another girlfriend, except one with a penis.
“Are ya gonna fight this motherfucker or not?”
“Funny you should say that.”
I sit on the front steps of my place. Rexie plops down on the ground and pants after our run.
“So what is it?” he asks and takes another drag of his cigarette.
“I’m thinking about it.”
I hear nothing on the other end.
“Bill, you there?”
“Oh, my Gawd!” he says.
“What?’
“Ramirez is running another ad about you!”
“Just now?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s two in a row just this morning!”
“OK,” I say.
I hear Bill laugh, then cough, then wheeze.
“We can really use this to our advantage!”
I had already drawn that conclusion but it’s best to let Bill think that he’s come up with the plan himself.
“Ya think so?” I ask and smile to myself.
“Call ya back!” he yells and hangs up.
The sun was almost at its noon high. Rexie is almost asleep on the ground. I think of Amanda, my run and even César Ramirez in all of his goofy masculine prowess.
What he doesn’t realize (or maybe he does) is that he’s just given me the best press I’ve received in a long time.
“I think I’ll call him up and set up a date,” he says. “For the fight, that is.”
I shrug.
I don’t know how to tell him this, but I’ve actually been thinking of retiring. I want to be in good health, and happy with Amanda.
I know he’ll think I’m a pussy though.
“Hold off,” I tell him.
“He said he’ll fight you anywhere, any time,” Bill says. “All we have to do is say the word.”
“I’ll let you know,” I say, and hang up.
It’s decision time, for a lot of things. And I’ve never been great at making decisions.
Chapter 20
Amanda
Ah, bliss! Finally, a much needed day off. It’s the long Thanksgiving weekend, so Anne, Margie, Catharine and I go out to Sushi Heaven. It’s Anne’s favorite place. We always tease her about it being ironic, that a place called Sushi Heaven is located in the Hell’s Kitchen area of Manhattan.
We sit down and look at the menus.
“For someone who doesn’t like fish,” Margie says and looks up at Anne, “you sure do like fish.”
“Margie!” I say and slap her lightly on the hand.
“That’s OK, Amanda,” Anne says. “Sushi is good fish and doesn’t smell like dirty clam chowder from 1992.”
“Oh!” I scream. “And how would you know?”
“I don’t, and I don’t want to know,” he says.
We all laugh and then just then our server comes over.
“How y’all doin’
today?” she asks.
“Just fine, just fine,” Anne says.
“Glad to hear it.”
Anne orders the tuna tataki while Margie gets a bento box and Catharine gets a dragon roll.
“Seaweed salad for me,” I said.
“Is that all, honey?” the waitress asks.
“Umm, could I have some fresh avocado as well?”
“Sure thing, honey, be right back.”
“That’s all you’re getting?” Anne asks.
“Yeah.”
“She’s watching her figure for Lincoln,” Margie says and sips her ice water.
“Stop!” I say.
“You know,” Anne says. “You really shouldn’t be dating your clients.”
Margie looks at her and cups her chin with her right hand.
“At least she’s dating someone at all, unlike some of the rest of us,” Margie says.
Anne turns red and fumbles.
“Um, I mean, I guess you’re right.”
“Um, like, yeah,” I say and try to downplay it, but I must admit I’m a little hurt by what Anne just said.
And I’m rather surprised that it’s Margie who has my back when it comes to something as frivolous as falling for a guy. I’d have thought that she’d be much more practical, warning me about problems I might encounter in the professional arena, like Anne just was.
The server brings our food and places the dishes on the table.
“Here, honey,” she says to me. “The chef placed the avocado to the side for you.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“I can have him mix it in for you if you like?”
“No, it’s perfect.”
“He just wasn’t sure if you wanted it mixed up with the seaweed.”
“It’s wonderful,” I say and smile at her.
“Let’s just say Amanda’s in the weeds!” Anne jokes.
Margie shakes her head and I say nothing.
They and Catharine gossip about several of our friends while I continue to say nothing. I look out the window at a really hot guy jogging down the street with a dog that looks like Rexie. I could have sworn it was Lincoln, but in my state of mind I’m probably imagining things.
“So, what do you think, Amanda?” Anne asks.
“About what?”
“About what Ramirez has been doing to intimidate Lincoln?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I say.
They look at each other. I eat my salad and say nothing to perpetuate their awkward silence.
“Are you alright?” Margie asks.
“I need a breath of fresh air,” I say and get up to use the bathroom.
I splash water on my face. I am really upset about Anne’s accusation, when she’s supposed to be my friend. Is she implying that my “coming on” or whatever you want to call it to Lincoln makes me some slutty, vamp-like whore?
I want to cry but I immediately pull myself together.
“Don’t do this to yourself, girl,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. “Don’t let her get to you.”
I come out of the bathroom and take a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse and slap it on the table.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t feel well and must leave.”
Margie and Catharine and Anne look at me with mouths agape.
I exit the restaurant and walk hurriedly to my car.
“Amanda! Amanda!”
I turn around. Anne is running toward me and catches up with me.
“Amanda,” she says. “What’s wrong?”
Se holds my shoulder.
I say nothing.
“Are you mad at me or something?”
I look her up and down and say nothing. I get in my car and drive away.
Goodbye, Anne, I think to myself. Ms. Perfect, Ms. Know-It-All who has all the answers.
I look in my rearview mirror and see her standing there with her hands on her hips, watching me drive away.
“Fuck you, Anne,” I say aloud as I pull onto the highway exit and head for home.
When I get home, I read my texts.
From Anne: Sorry, didn’t mean to say that about Lincoln. I just worry for you because he seems kind of hot and cold. I would hate for it to get you into trouble at work, if you two aren’t even a for sure thing yet, you know?
From Margie: You ok, honey, what’s wrong? I told Anne she said a shitty thing to you about dating clients.
From Catharine: WTF was up with Anne, so sorry she’s being such a bitch! Love you!
I delete both Margie’s and Anne’s texts but keep Catharine’s – she’s always the only one who truly gets me, anyway. Honestly, I’m mad at Margie as well. That shitty comment she made about my watching my figure for Lincoln pissed me off as well.
She knows I don’t feel so comfortable about my body, since I’m a plus sized girl. She also knows I get nervous about being naked with a man, especially one as hot as Lincoln, and I find myself questioning why he would want to be with me, or that he’s playing a joke on me, or that he’s just fucking me for sex and doesn’t want to be in a relationship with me.
What really bothers me is that I know Lincoln doesn’t want to go to Odessa, and after he told me about what happened to him as a kid, my heart aches constantly. It is just one raw wound. I sit on the back porch and look out across the city as tears stream down my face.
I stand straight up, telling myself to knock it off. I do not want to be here when Margie returns.
And I will not be here when Anne shuffles in with that pathetic and apologetic hangdog look she assumes when she knows she’s fucked up.
That might work with the string of guys she dates, but it won’t work with me, Miss Anne!
I gather an overnight bag and stuff some clothes and toiletries in it and take off. I don’t have to be at work until Thursday, so if I’m gone for a few days it won’t matter.
I get back into my car and drive out of the city and up near the river in Westchester County. I find a cute out-of-the-way hotel that I know a lot of couples go to for weekend getaways and check in.
The room is quiet, cool, and cozy. I turn the television on for some stupid background noise and take a shower. I dress in just a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I plop onto the bed. My eyes are heavy with hurt and anxiety.
When I wake up, it’s already nine o’clock. I’ve slept for about four hours!
I get off the bed and my stomach growls. I’m hungry. I barely ate my nice salad at Sushi Heaven because I left in such a huff. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.
My mother always tells me not to starve myself, even though she does the same thing. She’s always skipping lunch, and then wonders why she feels dizzy by late afternoon.
I look in the mirror in the bathroom and study myself.
I feel and look fat. I’ve always been worried about my weight. The yo-yo diets didn’t help at all. It’s not that I’m unhealthy. I’ve just always carried some extra pounds. I’m no stick but I don’t consider myself obese. But the way I’ve been feeling about myself lately, I just don’t know.
I know that Lincoln says he likes my curves, but I also see the way every single woman who’s so skinny she looks like she could be a model glances at him and tries to flirt with him, and I just feel insecure.
I call to see if room service is still available.
“Yes, ma’am, the kitchen is open until eleven o’clock.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am, there is a menu on the desk in your room, but if you find nothing to your liking, the chef will be happy to make whatever you’d like.”
“Thank you,” I say again and hang up.
Some people can just be so nice.
I go over to the desk and sit down in the chair and turn the lamp on. I open the menu and look through it. Lots of pasta dishes… not really in the mood… I’d love a burger… oh, look, they have a filet mignon… or even a nice baked chicken with asparagus and mashed potatoes….
>
There’s a hard knock on the door.
I’m thinking that it’s room service but I didn’t order anything. Maybe they’re here to take my order in person. The way they run this place so friendly and all I wouldn’t be surprised. I open the door.
It’s Lincoln.
“Hey, babe,” he says with a very stern look on his face. “What happened to you?”
He stands with his arms crossed over his chest and legs spread apart.
“Lincoln,” I say. “How did you find me?”
“I have my ways,” he says.
He still looks very serious.
I don’t know what to say.
“So, aren’t you gonna let me in?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He’s wearing his sneakers, a very tight pair of faded and ripped jeans, and a black hoodie.
He looks as cute as always.
“Why are you so serious?” I ask.
He comes over and grabs me by the waist and pulls me to him. I can feel his hard cock pushing into my groin.
“I was fuckin’ worried about you,” he says and kisses me.
“Don’t be,” I say.
We both sit at the edge of the bed. He tells me how Anne texted him and how she said I left them in the restaurant and they’re worried about me and blah, blah, blah, I don’t care. I’m still mad at Anne.
He says that he went to my place and Margie told him that when I want to get away, I come up here. I used to work at White Plains Hospital as a nurse, and I like the serene environment of upstate New York. Well, more “upstate” than the City, anyway.
“I just needed some time to myself,” I say.
“I figured that,” he says, and leans back onto the bed.
I get a text from Catharine.
I promise I didn’t give up any info on where you were! That was all Anne and Margie.
I know, girl, I text her back.
Then I turn off my phone.
Lincoln has taken off his hoodie while I was looking at my phone. His t-shirt is too short and it rides up his torso. I see his tight, hairy six-pack, which he’ll naturally have to shave if he fights.
I hate when he shaves his chest.
That reminds me. I still haven’t even found out about this fight the girls were talking about at Sushi Heaven. Talk about embarrassing – to not even know what’s going on with the guy you’re supposedly dating, when your friends know because they pay more attention to sports.