feels like I’m shaking the hand of a man with a baseball glove on. His handshake is firm and warm and he looks directly into my eyes as he speaks, a slightly cocky smile on his face. I feel the warmth spread from our joined hands through my body and parts of me tingle as the heat finds its way to my most private of areas.
Nico. The sexy name matches the sexy man. It isn’t lost on me that it must kill William to call the man Nico, knowing he has such a befitting formal name available to him. But I think Nico matches the man before me much better than Nicholas. I’m staring at him, but not just because he is utterly gorgeous, I feel like I know him from somewhere. Even the name is familiar, Nico Hunter. I’m sure I know him from somewhere, but the appointment had been with Nicholas Hunter and that name didn’t ring any bells.
“Elle?” William calls my attention back to him. I hope I wasn’t staring for too long. And did I have my mouth hanging open too? That would just be rude.
“Nicholas, umm Nico, has an endorsement contract that he wants out of. My firm has taken a look at it, and it looks ironclad to us from a contract prospective, but we thought maybe you could apply the Weiland case to this.”
Interesting. Weiland was a case that I wrote a paper on in my last year of law school that was published. It was a big deal for a student to get published outside of law review, so I’m not surprised that William remembered the case. The case was about an athlete who had a three-year endorsement contract with a company that sold an energy drink when he signed the contract, but later merged with another company. The other company manufactured a drink that was marketed as a drink to mask the use of performance enhancing drugs. Weiland didn’t want to be associated with a company that touted masking performance enhancing drugs from testing. Unfortunately his contract was airtight. But in an ingenious move by his attorney, rather than sue alleging one of the contract terms was invalid, which he would have lost, they sued based upon a violation of the contract’s moral clause.
So Nico is an athlete of some sort? That’s not surprising by the way he looks. He’s a large man and I can tell he’s in great shape even with a suit covering his body. “Why don’t you give me a little background, Nico?”
I can’t wait to hear his story for some reason. It’s more than just for a prospective case, I’m curious who the man is in front of me.
Nico starts out by telling me that he is in mixed marital arts. I don’t really know what that entails, but I assume he means some sort of karate expert. As he talks I try to take some notes, but I find myself staring at him, unable to move my eyes to the paper to write. When he speaks, he looks directly into my eyes and it makes it even harder to break our gaze. I forget William is sitting right next to him. There’s no one in the room but me and the man with the deep green eyes who won’t give me a break from the intensity sucking the energy from my body.
Regina enters the room with coffee for our guests and I’m grateful for the break as Nico turns his attention to Regina to say thank you. When Nico turns his attention back to me, I glance up at Regina who looks back from the door then looks between me and Nico and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. I pretend to cough to cover my smile with my hand and William offers me his water. Always the gentleman.
Nico picks up where he left off and I take a minute to get a better look at his face before he locks my gaze with his again. I notice a small, healed scar above his left eye and another longer one on his right cheek. They are faint, like they’ve been there for years, but his tan skin color yields a lighter shade to scars, making them stand out more than they normally would. The scars make his face look even more rugged and somehow emphasizes the masculinity of his chiseled jaw. The face belongs to a strong man, a man I can’t take my eyes off of for some reason.
William speaks when Nico is done and his voice finally makes me remember that he’s in the room. I hope I wasn’t drooling while his client was speaking. I try to focus on William as he talks, but my eyes keep wandering back to Nico, who catches me each time. I see an ever so slight twitch at the corner of Nico’s mouth each time, secretly acknowledging that I’ve been caught.
William is able to refocus me by drawing me into a conversation about how the Weiland case could apply. Nico wants out of an endorsement contract he is in because the manufacturer uses child labor. The fact that the man is willing to give up what amounts to a multi-million dollar contract for such a noble cause makes him even more sexy to me.
After almost an hour, William looks at his watch and begins to wrap things up. Nico asks me my opinion on his case and I tell him I need a copy of the contract and some time to do a little research on the company before I can give an educated opinion.
William nods and stands, “Are we on for Thursday, maybe we can discuss it further then?”
“Umm, yes.” I catch Nico looking between the two of us. I think he is observing our interaction.
Nico shakes my hand again and my heartbeat speeds up at the simple contact. He doesn’t release my hand right away. Instead he uses his other hand to motion between William and I and asks, “Are you two a couple?”
I respond no at the exact same time that William responds yes. I look to William and then to Nico, who is still holding my hand from our handshake, and I think I catch a glimmer in his eye that matches the smirk on his face. He’s amused at our answer and I don’t blame him. He finally releases my hand and I find myself oddly disappointed that he’s not touching me anymore.
I turn to William and find he is still looking at where Nico’s and my hands had been joined. His face looks conflicted and confused and I feel badly for the disrespect that I’ve just shown him. He lowers his voice to me, “I’ll see you Thursday?”
I nod, thinking it best to have whatever conversation needs to be had between us in private. I stand at Regina’s desk as the two men walk out the door. Nico looks back at the last second and smiles at me. William never looks back.
I toss and turn all night, unable to get the picture of Nico Hunter out of my head. The man is sexy as hell and it bothers me that I can’t control my thoughts. It feels like I only fell asleep ten minutes ago when I wake up to the music blasting on my phone alarm. I drag my half-sleeping body into the shower and let the cool water pour over me in an attempt to force myself awake. After a few minutes of self inflicted torture, I adjust the temperature on the water and close my eyes to relax into the warmth. It hits me then. My eyes dart open, trying to force out the picture that appeared from the darkness of my memory without warning.
Nico Hunter. Nico “The Lady Killer” Hunter. I was there the night that he killed a man. It was the one and only fight I’d ever gone to. And it all comes flooding back. I referred to the fight as the cage fight, but now that I think about it, it was called MMA, mixed martial arts.
My stepfather is a retired policeman. Sometimes he works security at sporting events, a lot of retired cops do. He had been given two tickets to a big MMA championship fight, and offered them to me. I wouldn’t normally go, considering my past and how I feel about watching people pummel each other, even if it is consensual. But my little brother Max is a huge fan of the sport and I got suckered into taking him. I just couldn’t say no to the excited twelve-year-old who momentarily forgot he was supposed to act cool and was jumping up and down like he did when he was four.
The fight didn’t last long, two rounds. I remember it clearly. It was probably less than ten minutes in total. The pre-fight festivities lasted an hour longer than the actual fight. Our seats were good, only about 10 rows back from the center of the ring. I remember flinching every time one of the men threw a punch, yet I couldn’t turn away. I close my eyes and watch instant replay of those last seconds. Most people think having a photographic memory is a blessing, but in my case it’s a curse. Yes, I remember lots of figures and words, but I also remember all of the bad things I’d rather forget.
It’s as if I flipped on a video and hit play right as those last few seconds play out. I see Nico throw the punch, and then I watch in slow motion as his opponent’s head turns to the side with the force of ten men. He drops to the floor, his head limp and rattling around before it even hits the canvas. The screaming crowd becomes silent and the medical team rushes into the cage seconds after it all happens.
As horrible as it is, seeing that all play out in my mind isn’t what haunts me. It’s the still of the fighter dropped to his knees when he realizes the man isn’t getting back up. He’s shattered. I can’t take my eyes from his face as I watch him break into a million little pieces. I should’ve felt sorry for the man that just lost his life, but I don’t even look his way. I’m fixated on the man who will never be the same. Never. I know it. I feel connected to him for a stopped moment in time.
