The Savage Gentleman

by Harlan, Christopher

  I slide inside her sweet pussy and we start to fuck. I push in deep, kissing her neck as I thrust in and out of her slowly. She’s so wet that I fall out a few times and have to reposition myself. It’s not a problem. I slide back in easily and hold her legs up straight in the air as I sit back and pound away at her pussy. The gym is silent except the noise of my balls hitting her ass as I shake her entire body.

  “Fuck, that feels good!” she yells.

  I keep at it until I’m sweating, the beads dripping down my chest. She reaches up and grabs at my pecs as I spread her legs open and bury myself as far as I can go inside of her. I reach down and start using my thumb to rub her clit. She moans uncontrollably. I can tell she’s close, and so am I.

  “I’m gonna come right now.”

  “Fuck, me too!”

  I explode inside of her just as her body thrusts around like she’s being electrocuted. I squeeze every last drop into her before we both collapse onto the canvas.

  “That was amazing,” I tell her, still breathing heavy. “But we should get out of here. Not a good look to be caught, naked, in the gym.”

  “True. How about my place?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “How’s your cardio?” she asks.

  “For the fight?”

  “Nope. For another few rounds with me?”

  For that, I have a never-ending gas tank.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lucas

  I’ve committed the cardinal sin of training camp.

  I missed a session for no reason.

  It wasn’t because I needed rest, or because I hurt myself, it’s because I wanted to spend time with Mila. I could have set my alarm after we got back to her place. Hell, I could have even slept at the gym. Even that would have been less suspicious than staying at her place and just no-showing to training. And it’s not just a no-no, it’s a big fucking no-no, especially for me.

  When I open my eyes and look at the clock I roll my eyes. I hate the feeling of being in trouble because I’m a grown-ass man, but that’s the rebellious side of me taking over. I realize that I have responsibilities to people other than myself once training for a fight starts. I have a nutritionist, sparring partners coming from all over the place, my striking coach, my head coach, and a few other people who all show up to help me be the best I can be.

  Today was supposed to be another spar with Mike. The spar was supposed to be at eight. When I wake up and check my phone it says nine forty-five, and I know that I’m totally fucked.

  Underneath the time are about ten messages from Matt and Mike, asking me where I am, asking if everything’s okay, saying that they’re worried about me because it’s not like me to miss a training session once camp starts. I read them all, but I get the idea—I screwed this up, and now I have to face the music. I’m not going to text them back. This has to be more of a face-to-face thing.

  She’s not in the bed—I can hear her rustling around in the kitchen, and I can smell coffee like a Great White shark can sense blood in the ocean. She rounds the corner as I sit up. “Hey sleepy.”

  “Morning,” I say through groggy eyes. “I didn’t know what time it was. I missed practice.”

  “You go everyday, I’m sure it’s okay if you miss one, right?”

  It’s moments like this when I remember that I don’t have the same kind of job as other people. I’m not normal at all. My friends, my ex girlfriends, even my parents have asked the question she just asked before, and none of them get it. Ah, the fight game.

  “It’s whatever the opposite of okay is. Whatever that word is, that’s what missing practice is.”

  “Oh,” she says. “I didn’t realize. I would have woken you up.”

  “Not your job. I’m a grown man. I should have set an alarm. I was a little. . . distracted.”

  “You sure were.” She leans over and kisses me. The feeling of her lips first thing in the morning is something I could get used to. Her hair is down, and it’s falling against the side of my face as we kiss. I feel everything in my body start to stiffen again. She’s wearing nothing but a tee shirt, and I can’t help but look down her shirt as she leans. Her tits are starting back at me, and she’s over far enough that I can see the hint of her nipples, and my brain is fried all of a sudden. I force myself to look away.

  “I really need to get out of here,” I tell her. “Matt’s going to fuckin’ kill me. He sent me like six texts this morning.”

  “Is it really that big of a deal? Can’t you just text him back and tell him that you overslept?”

  I laugh. I don’t mean to, but her suggestion is so ridiculous that my body just forces me to let out one of those sarcastic and obnoxious laughs. “You don’t know Matt very well. That’s the fighting equivalent of saying the dog at my homework. He has rules, and I just broke one.”

  “He has rules? What does that mean?”

  I don’t have the time to explain the ins and outs of fight camp or the fight game to her right now, but I stop to do the quick version so at least she doesn’t think I’m making an excuse to leave here. Last thing I want is for her to think this has anything to do with her.

  “Think of me and Matt having a relationship like a student and a master from one of those old karate movies from the 1970’s.”

  “You think I’ve watched old karate movies from the 1970’s? You’re funny.”

  I smile. “Sorry. Umm. . . you ever see Kill Bill with Uma Thurman?”

  “Oh yeah, I love Tarantino!”

  Yes! I found a reference that’ll work with her. “Perfect. You remember how Uma Thurman’s character went to train with Pai Mei up in the mountains of Japan?”

  “Oh yeah,” she says. “Wait, Matt’s like that? He hits you and stuff?”

  “No, no. Matt doesn’t hit me. It’s not actually like that, I’m just using a reference for you. He’s not a dick like that old man, but he expects a certain level of respect from me, and he has a few cardinal rules that I never break.”

  “Sounds a little crazy,” she says.

  “Not crazy. Disciplined. To fight at a high level, you have to have the kind of dedication most people only dream of. That means being there every day, training your ass off. Missing days can throw off your whole shit.”

  I can see I’m losing her a little. It’s stupid to explain to someone who doesn’t live this life.

  “Well, then you’d better get going, huh?” She leans over again when she says that. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and it’s working.

  “Yeah, I’d better. But I don’t want to.”

  “I don’t want you to, either,” she says.

  It’s too much. I’m a disciplined guy, but right now that discipline is going to complete shit, and at the moment I don’t seem to care that much. I grab her by the arms and pull her forward on top of me and we start kissing. I’m gonna be in deep, deep shit with Matt. . . but, I’ll deal with it later.

  <><><>

  I don’t want to go inside.

  I sit in my car like a total pussy. I know what I’m going to see and hear when I get inside. Judgement. Yelling. Bullshit. None of which are going to help prepare me for my fight with Jason. But I have to face the music like a man.

  It’s one o’clock and I’m beyond late. My bag is next to me, and I grab it and walk through the front doors feeling bad. The first thing I do is scan the room for Matt. When I don’t see him, I get a little concerned, because he’s always either on the mats training with one of the guys, or he’s behind the desk. Right now, he isn’t in either place. Who I do see is Al, my striking coach. He’s working with Jose—one of the up and coming kids in the gym.

  “Al, you seen Matt anywhere?”

  “Look who decided to show up? He’s pissed with a capital P.”

  Here we go. “I know, I know. I wanted to talk to him. Have you seen him?”

  “Yeah, kid. He worked with Mike since you didn’t show up, and now they’re both in the back. He said to send you back there
when you finally showed up, if you did. So, I’d go back there and talk to him if I were you.”

  “Alright, thanks.”

  I feel like a kid being called down to the principal’s office. I drop my bag in the front just off the mats and make the walk of shame into the back office. I open the door and Matt and Mike are sitting there, laughing it up and looking totally normal. Then Mike hears me walk in and the energy gets serious.

  “Kid, where the fuck were you?” Mike’s got that Russian I-don’t-fuck-around vibe to him. He doesn’t know how to mince words, and he doesn’t pull any punches—literally and figuratively.

  “I’m sorry. . . I fucked up, man. . .”

  I don’t even finish before Matt puts up his hand and dismisses Mike. “Would you mind leaving us alone, Mike? We need to talk.”

  “No problem, Coach.”

  On the way out, Mike gives me a cold fist bump, and I give it back. “Good luck,” he whispers as he passes. It doesn’t make me feel any better.

  Matt looks pissed. I’ve known him long enough that I can tell what he’s feeling without him saying it, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to say it anyhow. I sit down and brace myself for a lecture.

  “I just have one question, Lucas. One, and only one, and I need you to answer me honestly, not with what you think I want to hear. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Of course. What is it?”

  “I need to know if you’re willing to do what it takes to be a champion. That’s not the same as asking if you want to be a champion, because everyone wants to be a champion. But I’m having serious doubts as to whether you’re willing to put in what it takes to fulfill the dreams you say you have.”

  He did the parent thing with me—he didn’t yell, and he doesn’t start lecturing me. He pretty much did that thing where your dad tells you that he’s disappointed in you. Fuck.

  “Why are you asking me that, Matt? Why are you questioning me?”

  “Why?” he asks. “You’re not dumb, Lucas. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not dumb. You know damn well why I’m asking you that, and now I need you to answer.”

  I don’t know what to say. The question pisses me off and makes me want to scream. That’s my first reaction—offense. I know that I missed one practice, and I get why that’s important, but is it that serious that my coach needs to question all of my goals and dreams? I’m gonna ask him.

  “It was one practice, man. I get that I fucked up. I’m sorry you and Mike were waiting around for me, but. . .”

  “Why? Why did you miss? And don’t give me that ‘I overslept’ excuse. I’ve heard that one enough. I know better. Tell me the truth.”

  Now I see where he’s going with this. I’m dreading telling him the truth, but I promised him after the last time that I wouldn’t lie to him anymore. I’ll just have to spill the beans and see how he reacts.

  “Alright, I’m gonna level with you, Matt. But I need you to not think that the past is coming back. If I tell you the truth then I need you to trust me that it’s not like last time.” He doesn’t react. No nod, no affirmation of what I’m saying. He just looks at me. “Okay, so here’s the truth. I was with a woman. We were together last night, and I really did oversleep. My phone was on vibrate and I didn’t hear it. That’s the truth. Nothing crazy, nothing like last time.”

  “There were women last time. Quite a few, if I remember correctly.” He’s telling the truth. I used to be a fuckboy and a half—a dark period in my life and career where I thought I was King Shit. Matt remembers it well. He remembers it a little too well for comfort.

  “Yeah, there were. This is different. I promised you, didn’t I?”

  “You did.”

  “And have I done anything to break that trust before today?”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “Right, then can we not Chicken Little this whole situation? The sky isn’t falling. I’ve trained every single day for a month. Never missed a session, never flaked out, never been late to even a single day, have I?”

  “No.”

  “So where is all of this coming from? Are you still treating me like I’m the same guy from a few years ago?”

  “It’s hard to forget all that.”

  Ghosts of the past come back to haunt us. The ghosts are our own creations, but that doesn’t make them any easier to deal with. A few years ago, I let my ego run out of control. I thought I was better than I was—thought I was more successful than I actually was, and I started surrounding myself with the type of people I should have avoided at all costs. I hung out at clubs late into the night when I should have been resting, I slept around with every random fight groupie who wanted to bang me, and I got into a little trouble with the law. Matt’s never forgotten what came of that, and what he had to do to get me back to where I am now.

  “I know it is,” I tell him. “I get it. But this isn’t the past. I’m not fucking around like I was then. I didn’t take anything seriously back then and now it’s all I think about. I swear, man, you don’t have to worry about me like that. My head’s in the game.”

  Matt can be very silent. His silence means different things, depending on what he’s thinking or feeling. Usually I can tell if it means he’s angry, or disappointed. But I can’t tell what he’s thinking right now. I keep eye contact with him and wait for him to talk.

  “Alright. I’m gonna trust you. But I always remember those times, Lucas. They’re not easy to forget. Talk is cheap. You have to show me with your actions that you’re as serious as you say you are. No more missed sessions unless it’s an emergency, and even then, I want the courtesy of a text or call. And next time you abandon your training partner—who’s working with you for free, by the way—he won’t stick around for the next camp. Just giving you a warning. There are consequences for things like this.”

  “That’s fair enough. I get it.”

  Matt extends his hand and I shake it. I can’t make any more mistakes or he might not train me for this camp, and I need his Master Splinter mind in order to win my title from Jason. I have to control things with Mila. I start to walk away when Matt calls out to me.

  “Hey.” I turn around at the sound of his voice. “Who’s the girl? She must be something special for all this.”

  “Oh,” I say. “No one you know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lucas

  The day after I promise Matt I won’t miss any more sessions, I meet up with Mila for coffee at a little café in the city. I have practice later, so I wear an old watch that I never wear, just to make sure I can leave in enough time to get to the gym. The last thing I need is more shit. I have a fight coming up, and I need to be focused on my training and my opponent.

  My whole mind should be on him. I should be watching footage, putting a picture of him up in the gym so I can look at it when I get tired. All of that should be happening. Don’t’ get me wrong, I’m focused. Training is going well, my diet is on point, and the early pounds are starting to drop off of me. That’s all happening.

  But there’s Mila also. And she’s not just a back-of-my-mind kind of girl. She’s renting space in my head, and since we’ve spent so much time together she’s on my mind even more. But now it’s more complicated than just a casual thing—now I’m thinking about her so much I’ve missed practice and gotten into some deep shit with Matt. What am I doing?

  I don’t have time to think about it. I got to the café ten minutes ago and grabbed a seat outside, and now I see her approaching, looking sexy as ever. “How bad?” she asks. I texted her after the whole thing just to let her know that I had a great time the other night. When she texted me back to ask how everything went with Matt, I was super cryptic, and texted her back ‘I’ll tell you another time.’ I didn’t want to talk about it yesterday because I didn’t know what to say. Today is ‘another time’, and I still don’t know what to say.

  I stand up and hug her. I can’t help myself, I take a deep breath of her hair as she
leans into me, and as soon as I smell her sweetness I’m right back to that place I was the other night—lost in her. “Not as bad as I thought. Could’ve been worse. It got a little tense.”

  “Okay, I have to ask.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything when it was happening because you seemed really stressed, but what’s the deal with missing a practice? I don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

  “You’re a teacher, right?”

  “Well, not at the moment, but yeah.”

  “Imagine if your students had a big test or project that you worked really hard to help them prepare for. You spent hours in the classroom getting them ready, and then you missed a bunch of days of work right before they were going to present it.”

  “That would be terrible. I would never. . . oh.”

  “Exactly,” I tell her. “Now you get it. Only instead of letting my students down, it’s my head coach, my training partners, even my family.”

  “Oh, I meant to ask you before. You just reminded me. Speaking of family, how do they feel about your. . . career path? I don’t know what to call it.”

  I smile. “You mean how to do my parents feel about their son throwing knees and elbows at people for a living and barely making ends meet? They’re proud as hell, of course.” I have to laugh at my own joke, even though it’s not a real laugh. It’s more of a no-other-emotion-fits-the-moment snicker, and when she senses the sarcasm in my voice she looks at me, waiting for me to finish. “Oh, you want a real answer, huh?”

  “Kind of,” she says. “But only if you want to talk about it. I was just curious.”

  This is weird for me. It seems shallow and dumb, but I’ve never really opened up to a woman before. With the personality that I have, and the amount of time I spend in a gym, I’ve never had a legit relationship. I’ve been with a lot of women—especially when I went through my fake celebrity faze a few years back, and I’ve dated a little, but nothing where a chick was asking about my family or my life outside of the cage.