Foster: You’re a lady-killer.
Me: Fuck off.
Foster: Ha-ha. You ready for next weekend?
Me: Nah. I’m canceling.
Foster: Wtf?!? You’re almost the frontrunner.
Me: They’ll find someone else to fight.
Foster: You’ll kick yourself if you miss it.
Me: I’ll be fine.
Foster: Yeah. Right. Don’t come crying to me after the fact.
Me: Whatever. I’m out. See you when I see you.
Messages like these are a clear reminder that what Isabelle and I have can end before it even starts. I’m not the kind of guy they write fairy tales about. I want her now, but she can’t expect a happy ever after with this beast.
Because that’s what I am.
A beast.
A fucking animal, brutal, violent, and sadistic.
Later in the afternoon when Isabelle is up at the main house with Pops, that reality hits me again. I watch the two of them as they sit on the balcony outside admiring the view. She has a mug of hot peppermint tea cupped in both hands, sipping from time to time. Coffee is her drink of choice, but she mentioned waking up with an upset stomach, and explained that she might’ve been fighting a flu or cold all week. It’s blazing hot outside, yet she sits in the sweltering heat, wearing a long sleeved off the shoulder sweater and shorts. It’s sexy as hell. Pops says something to her and she looks over the top of her mug to pay attention to whatever he’s explaining. Then she smiles at him and takes a few more sips before continuing their conversation.
I don’t know what they’re talking about, but her answer causes Pops to let out a booming peal of laughter that makes it inside through the closed French double doors. I love that they can make each other smile, and hope that one day I can be the one that brings laughter to her face.
But I have my doubts that I can be that guy for any period of time.
I sit inside, letting the cool air of the central air conditioning do its work. I need to keep my cool. As I look out at them, Isabelle turns and waves for me to go outside to be with them. I smile broadly but shake my head, mock fanning my face so she knows it’s way too hot out there. For me anyway.
My mind is still on Foster’s message about the underground fight I’m going to miss. It’s not been three hours since I texted him saying that I’m going to cancel, and I already want to kick myself.
Who am I kidding?
Fighting is like breathing to me.
I can’t do without the thrill of all that adrenaline flowing through me, the feel of pain that tells me I’m still alive and able to throw another punch, jab, or kick, or the overall uncertainty of living moment to moment because no one who enters the ring knows if they’ll stay alive long enough to get to the closing bell.
That’s who I am.
Not this mild-mannered, watered down version of myself that Isabelle has seen so far. Although, she knew about the fights back then. She hated knowing that I did underground fighting, and detested seeing me after leaving the ring with a busted face, cuts and bruises all over my body, or having to be seen at a hospital to take care of any internal bleeding, or worse, broken bones. She couldn’t handle knowing that side of me. Since we’ve reconnected, she hasn’t asked me whether or not I still fight, and I haven’t volunteered the information. Sooner or later it’ll come up. She’ll find out and she’ll hate it, and who knows how she’ll react when I let her know that I have no plans to stop fighting for good.
The same way I won’t put a label on what Isabelle and I are, I hope she won’t put conditions on our friendship.
Time will tell.
14
Isabelle
It’s late. The clock in the pool house living room reads after midnight. My parents have been here for a few hours, but due to their busy schedules all week, they turned in early with the other older couples who showed up to spend time with Mr. Steele. For the most part, they’ve left Knox and me to ourselves, which I appreciate.
It’s only Mom who’s been giving me some strange vibes. She consistently nudges my arm or winks at me when she thinks no one else is looking. I pulled her aside to get to the bottom of it, but all I got from her was a reiteration of how excited she was that Knox and I are hitting it off. I’ve made it clear to her that we’re friends and nothing more, but maybe I need to be more convincing. If turning into a convincing liar is possible at this late stage of the game.
I still can’t believe that I told Knox about wanting more last night. By more, I meant something physical, not a relationship or anything that’ll lead to heartache. Though I’m not built like a man. I can’t fuck and move on. I’ve done a good job so far of avoiding another fuck session with Knox, but that doesn’t mean I’m heartless. It’s actually the opposite. One time with him and I was addicted. I figure that postponing round two for as long as possible will allow me not to become totally hooked on this man. There’s no universe where being the crazy stalker chick is a good look on a woman.
“Tired yet?” Knox asks from his deck chair right beside mine.
“Not really.” We’ve been looking out past the infinity pool, watching the high tide as tall waves crash down on the surf. From the angle where we sit, a stretch of shoreline and other mansions are in view. The Fourth of July isn’t until Sunday, but one of the homes over there have kicked off the celebrations early with a breathtaking display of fireworks that fill that section of night sky. “It’s so lovely out here. I’m not ready to turn in
