by Lily Zante
It is good.
My father beams at me. “I told you so.”
I sigh, a little too loudly.
“How are they treating you?” My father looks at me over his menu.
The employees aren't like the friends I had at college, and I haven't found it easy fitting in. I feel like I won't be here for long. “They're nice.” I lie to him with a smile before filling my glass to the top. “You were right. This is good.”
“You get what you pay for.”
“Yes,” I reply, absentmindedly. Sometimes I wonder how he and my mother ever got together and liked one other enough to get married. They're divorced now, and he's married to a woman who is much younger than him. She and I don't get on at all and, luckily, I don't have to meet up with her in order to see him.
“Your friends are enjoying the Mediterranean. Why can't you do something fun and interesting like that? You can learn so much more about the world through traveling.”
Somehow, I doubt that my friends are learning anything on their yachts and in their multi-million homes all over the world. My father wishes so much that I was like that, instead, I took after my mom. She works, and that's what I want to do.
“Because I want to be responsible and do something I enjoy. Earn a living and pay my own way.”
“Haven’t I always taken care of you?” He signals for me to take a look at the menu which is lying unopened on the table. I should hurry up and order otherwise this meal will drag on for longer than I can stomach.
“You have, dad, but I'm old enough to take care of myself now.”
“What you need is to find yourself a man who can take care of you.”
I gasp in shock. I’ve grown up with his old-world views, and I should be used to them but hearing him say this out loud is like a punch to my stomach. “I can take care of myself. I don't need a man to rely on for my basic survival.”
Amusement dances in his eyes, mocking me. I tried to take care of myself and find a job, but I couldn’t find anything I liked. My father pulled strings and got me my current role, and then he bought me my apartment.
I’m a pathetic joke.
My parents have given me everything I’ve ever wanted, and I’m aware that I have had a gilded life, but I am determined to strike out on my own, even though I am where I am right now because of his help.
I suddenly don’t feel as hungry as I did when I came here. Dinner with my father is not so much an enjoyable experience as it is a torturous procedure to get through.
“How’s Mervyn treating you?”
“Great.” I hope my cheeks don't burn with the lie I've told. Merv hates me. It's not so bad now, but at the start, during my first week, he barely spoke to me. Gerry told me that he’d had his eyes on someone else for the job.
I've never known what it's like to not be made welcome, and I struggled in the first few weeks. It's only because of Gerry that I've stayed there. Also, leaving now would be an admission of my inability to cope.
We order, and eat, and I manage to get through the next hour by asking him about his recent skiing trip to Aspen. I even look excited when he shows me the photos, and I plaster on a smile when I look at pictures of his wife.
“We must have you over for dinner sometime,” he says, as we leave. I nod, faking another smile as we kiss on the cheek outside the restaurant. He says this sometimes, but it never happens. Thank goodness. “Or maybe we’ll meet for lunch at the golf club next time.”
It will be this option, and while it’s better than his first suggestion, my stomach churns. I hate the golf club. I hate meeting him there with his cronies. I know of his wily ways and I wouldn’t put it past him to hope that I might hit it off with one of the privileged little rich boys; the sons of his friends. He would love nothing more than for me to be engaged to someone from that crowd.
It’s strange how different we are. How much I don’t want the type of future he so eagerly desires for me.
Chapter Four
ELI
* * *
Lou’s gone home, and I take a different cab from the airport, but instead of going home, I decide to take a detour and do the unthinkable. Seeing Athena might be a better option for me than going home to an empty place. She won’t be expecting me, but I hope she doesn’t get any ideas just because I’ve gone to see her straight after I’ve landed.
It's been a while since we hooked up, and she's one of my biggest fans. She'll want to reward me on account of me winning this fight. Unlike my sister, Athena watched it.
It's also too late to head to the diner. I can't remember what shift Nina is on, or if she's got night school today. She's got classes all the fucking time it seems like. I don't want to turn up at Frankie's and have that slutty Joni waitress friend of hers come and wait on me. That girl is like a leech and I wish Nina would stop giving her the time of day.
I text Athena to see if she’s free.
She replies within two seconds with a firm 'yes.' Even if she had plans I have a feeling she would cancel them for me.
She opens the door, wearing a flimsy see-through negligee under which she’s only wearing panties. I can see everything.
My cock springs to life, yelling 'hello.’
“Hey, babe. This is a surprise.” She pulls me in, slams the door shut. “I knew my man would win.”
“Did you?”
“You sure bet I did, babe.” She gives me a big, sloppy kiss before I’ve even had a chance to put down my luggage.
With the visual of her almost naked body still fresh in my head, and her tongue deep in my throat, all I want is to fuck her right now. She’s not only an expert in bed, she can also read my mind. It’s why her hands unzip me quickly, and she holds my cock as if she’s been hungry for it ever since our last meeting.
“Did you miss me?” Hope intensifies in her voice.
“Take it off,” I say, my voice gravelly with need. She’s stroking me, setting off the pop and crackle of the sizzling sexual heat which zips through me. I’ve been like a tightly wound spring, and Athena’s hands slowly unravel me. I'm old school. When I prepare for a fight there are no sexy times. I focus. No pussy, nothing; just pure training and getting ready.
“Don’t you like it?” She pouts, pulling at the fabric of her flimsy negligee with her free hand. “I bought this for you because I know—”
I slide my hand underneath it and trail my fingers up her warm skin until I cup her breast. Her pointy nipple presses against my thumb. “I’m not a man who needs the extras.” I pull her top over her head and toss it away. It’s skin to skin contact I crave. Her face lights up like a Christmas tree.
She can’t take off her panties fast enough, and when she stands before me in all her naked glory, I see that she’s shaved too. I smell the scent, vanilla and roses. She got herself ready and has been waiting for me. One text was all it took.
Finding Athena like this is worth coming home for. “I missed you, babe,” she says, her fingers clasping my cock as my luggage falls to the floor.
I grab her hand and push her against the door, before lifting her leg high. I’m tempted to drop to the floor and push my face between her legs, but I’m so hard, I need to fuck her. There’s no time to play with her clit. I need this. Her pussy, my pleasure. It’s just as well that I don’t need to wine and dine her, and that we don’t need to talk, or take it slow, or have foreplay before sex. In my heart I’m aware that this isn’t right.
Athena isn’t so different to me. She’s had a hard upbringing, too. I should feel bad that I’m using her to satisfy my needs, but she doesn’t seem too upset about it. So I don’t feel bad at all.
All I want is to fuck her hard. Her bedroom eyes stare back at me, telling me that she wants what I want. “It’s been a long time, Eli…” She presses her lips against mine and we tongue fuck; the heat and intensity fuelling us both. And then I thrust into her. I can’t get the penetration I need, even with her leg lifted high up in the air. Her eyes fly open as I grab her butt
ocks and lift her. She sinks down, impaling herself beautifully on my cock until I’m buried to the hilt inside her sweet hot flesh.
I thrust into her hard, banging against the door, making the tell-tale rhythmic commotion. It’s her front door, and I hope nobody is walking past the hallway outside otherwise they would be worried. The banging is loud, rhythmic, her wails grow increasingly louder, increasingly dirtier. It turns me on even more, the way she mewls and groans, it makes me want to never stop.
“Baby…” she moans as I pound away, weeks of no sex driving me to the edge of insanity. Her eyes turn glassy, her mouth opens, her lips so inviting. Her breasts bob up and down, and I slow down my thrusts so that I can pay them some attention. She moans in appreciation as I lick and suck each one with the same fervor. She squeals when I suck one a little too hard, and then I thrust again. She comes, her muscles tightening over me as she shivers and shudders to a halt.
I want to love her, I want to feel something for her, but I can’t feel all the things she wants me to. I hate myself for it. She lets me have sex with her whenever I want, she thinks this is an even partnership, but I don’t feel the same. And she never complains.
She drops her head back, resting it against the door, taking a moment, catching her breath. The sight of her, in deep ecstasy, her face and neck flushed, makes me harder. I thrust hard a few times, then grunt as I come inside her.
“Eli… babeeee…”
I rest my head against her shoulders, needing to inhale, and feel her arms come around my shoulders.
I’m boneless, and I’m in danger of dropping her.
“Stay like this… just for a moment…” she pleads. She wants the connection to last longer. I want to move apart, but I let her have it.
“I’m going to fall,” I warn her, before setting her down slowly. I pull my boxers up. She’s still leaning against the door in all her naked glory. She has a beautiful body and she’s everything a man like me could want.
But it’s not what I want, maybe because she puts herself on a plate and offers it to me every time we meet.
I want more. Something classy. I want more than sex. A conversation, to laugh and joke about the same things. I want a woman whose smile will turn me on, not just the sight of her naked tits and ass. The sex gets boring sometimes. It shouldn't. It's just sex. But there is no connection, and I must be getting old or something, because I feel the need for connection more than ever. Maybe because Nina and I never really had the most fundamental of human relationships and connections to start off with. It’s like we’ve been on a hamster wheel trying to reach a place that is always out of bounds.
It’s also why I want the belt, the accolades, and the glory. I want to prove that I’m a winner, and not the loser that many see. If only Lou would do his part and put me in the running for the bigger fights. I'm sick of being sidelined.
Most guys don't care, but I feel like I've missed out on the basic human rights: safety, love, belonging and esteem. I’m sure there are a couple more, but these are the ones that make or break you, and I’ve been broken a long time.
I stare at Athena. She’s got her hand on her heart, looking all content and happy. “I missed you,” she murmurs.
“Yeah?” I pull up my zipper, needing to go home and shower.
“You came to me straight from the airport.” She looks deliriously joyful.
“You gonna stand there like that all evening?” It’s a shitty thing to say, and I hate that I said it. She lifts her head and a flicker of sadness passes through those dark irises. I’m about to apologize when she leans towards me and puts a finger to my lips, her other hand on my shoulder. “I haven’t seen you for a long time, Eli. Stay with me tonight.”
“I can’t.” She’s my relief. My comfort. My place to vent. But now I want to get home and eat and go to bed. I’ll be back at the gym tomorrow morning. “I have to go.”
“Come to bed.” She takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom. She just let me have sex with her and now she’s offering more of the same.
I follow her, because it’s an easy choice to make.
I want to shower and eat and unpack, but Athena's lying on the bed with her legs apart, and my cock says 'hello' all over again.
Chapter Five
ELI
* * *
My nose wrinkles at the familiar mustiness of the gym as soon as I enter. For the briefest of seconds I wonder if it's time I moved on, found a better place to train in and a better manager.
A chorus of applause rings out seconds later. I take a bow, seeing everyone clapping. Lou sits in his office, oblivious to all this and looking glum, but that's nothing new. He has the resting face of a skinny bulldog.
Jake and Santos, my sparring partners, high five me and pat me on the back. A few of the regulars at the gym swarm around me. I spend a while talking with the guys and we end up almost reliving the fight again, round for round.
Just talking about it now makes me feel superhuman. I beat Igor Koshkin, I knocked him out. I should be moving on to bigger and better things. I should be moving up.
When the guys tell me how awesome I am, and what a great track record I have, they build me up. I look over to Lou's office, see his smug face, and wonder why that man can't see it. I have a goddamn ace track record but you wouldn’t think so looking at the guy who calls himself my trainer and manager.
I'm on fire this year, and still he doesn't want to put me forward for any of the bigger fights, but I have plans, and I have goals, and with this win behind me, I want to move on to better things. I want a shot at something worthwhile.
People see me as the underdog. Hell, for all of Lou’s posturing, he might, too. But I’m not. I’m not a loser. I have grit, and steel, and hands of stone.
“Welcome back, son,” Ernesto says. His warm smile is a great thing to walk into coming in from the cold Chicago streets. “That was a great fight.”
“Thanks.”
“Koshkin never stood a chance.”
“I wanted to take him down in the fifth but the fucker got back up again.”
Ernesto smiles, his kind brown eyes full of not just admiration, but pride—as if my win means something to him personally, as if he is as proud of me as my own father would be, had I known the guy.
I guess I better head into Lou's office—see who I’m fighting next—but Ernesto doesn't move. He's the handyman around this filthy hovel of a gym, and it seems to be a full-time job because he’s always around, fixing up something or other.
I turn to leave but he gives me a pointed look. “What?” I can see there's something he wants to prepare me for. I brace myself for some bullshit to come out from the press. Something I might have missed in the local papers.
“Luis Perez failed the drug test.”
My eyebrow lifts in surprise. “You're kidding me.”
Ernesto shakes his head. “It's decided. He's out.”
“Garrison has no challenger?”
“They're looking for one.” Because his tone is soft, because it is subdued and cautionary, rather than excited, I already know. Ernesto rests a hand on my shoulder. “Easy, son. Calm yourself down.”
I fought Perez two years ago and I almost won. When I heard that he was up against Trent ‘The Tank’ Garrison, I flipped. Two years on I know I can go the rounds with Garrison, but Lou seems to think otherwise.
“Eli, get on over here.”
Behind Ernesto's back, Lou's standing at the door of his office, motioning for me to come over.
“You didn't hear it from me,” Ernesto mutters.
I storm into Lou’s office. The TV is on. I stare into Trent ‘The Tank’ Garrison’s face. He’s the current heavyweight champion of the world and he’s mouthing off about Perez dropping out of the fight. “I don’t blame him. Perez has chickened out, simple as that. He’s too scared to get into the ring with me.” The guy hunches up his muscles. He’s in a gym that looks way better than this one. State of the art equipment. Nice walls. Shiny m
irrors. I notice these things because I’ve seen peeling wallpaper and dirty places all my life.
Garrison continues his assault on Perez.
“Come on now, Trent.” The interviewer shoves a mic closer to his face. “We need this fight. Who do you have in mind?”
Garrison’s manager steps in and says they can’t discuss that yet, as they are in talks. Lou turns the TV down so that I can barely hear.
“Hey! Turn it back up. I wanna know who they’re considering.”
“What does it matter? Let’s sit down and talk about your fight.”
My brows push together in disbelief. I yank the chair out and sit. “The one I just had? With Igor? I beat him. I knocked him out.”
“We need to work on your technique—”
“For fuck’s sake—”
“Language.”
I stare up at the screen. A photo of Montel Moore flashes up. He’s the same build as me, been in the game a couple of years longer than me, and apparently has a manager who believes in him.
Lou turns the TV back up again. It seems that Moore is a possible contender. I blink and push out of my chair. Anger surges through me and it’s like I’m going to erupt. “Montel Moore?” I jab a finger at the TV screen then clasp my hands at the back of my head. “Montel fucking Moore?”
“He’s a good fighter. He’d be a good choice.”
“I’m a good fighter. Why don’t you put me forward?”
Lou laughs. “Maybe one day, Eli…”
“No. Not one day. I’m ready now. I proved it.” Garrison might seem like a long shot to the rest of them, but I know I can take him.
Lou’s beady eyes narrow even more. “You want to fight the heavyweight champion of the world?”
I stand tall, stick out my chest in a yes-the-fuck-I-do stance. This guy is meant to be my manager, my mentor, my trainer. He’s supposed to believe in me. “Yes I want to fight the heavyweight champion of the world,” I parrot, completely pissed off by the question. “Put me forward.”