Page 15 of Never Kiss and Tell

“How is that?” Jake asks, pointing at the almost non-existent bruise on my cheek from when I allowed Sam, my trainer, to get a punch in the other day.

“Fine. Big fight coming up in a couple weeks,” I say. “You know, you can still get in on it, if you need some cash?”

Jake shakes his head. “No. Not for me. They’ll probably put me up against you in some sort of new-guy hazing. I don’t want to get my ass kicked.”

“I’d only knock you out the first time.”

Jake’s eyes flash briefly before he gets the joke and chuckles. “Let’s just say that you did and leave it at that.” He starts walking to his car. “Hell, you can even tell everyoneyou won.”

Practice, this morning was rough as hell. With the heat outside coasting toward the nineties, the small metal building MMA training is held in might as well be a sauna. Full of sweat-soaked men fighting each other, it’s even hotter inside. I ran through the punches, the kicks, blocking Sam, barely thinking of what I was doing.

No. I have something else on my mind and it starts and ends with the little blonde that would soon be sharing a wall with me. Why couldn’t Andi become friends with someone who wasn’t so fucking exhausting? My mind doesn’t know whether to focus on the perfect ass or the faux sweet attitude. It’s like staring into the sun for too long. It’s pretty, but it’s still trying to kill you.

After practice, I shower at the gym and head over to Mawmaw’s house to take her to brunch. It’s our weekly tradition since I started going to the gym. Mom’s mom doesn’t have much family, save for Andi and I, and Andi’s always busy. I take her to brunch and whatever errands she needs to run. Today, it’s getting her hair done. Later, we find ourselves at a table in Mawmaw’s favorite little restaurant — some French place I can’t pronounce. It’s laden with old ladies, gossiping about their friends and staring at me like I’m some kind of anomaly.

One woman, around Mawmaw’s age, approaches us while we’re eating the sandwiches we ordered and asks me if I’d likeher grand-daughter’s number. I decline. I try not to talk about getting laid in front of my Mawmaw. Something about it just seems weird, you know? And disrespectful.

But, to my dismay, Mawmaw chastises me as soon as the woman walks away. “Charles, when are you ever going to settle down with a nice girl?”

I grit my teeth, taking my time to chew on the egg and ham sandwich, called aCroque Madame. One of Mawmaw’s favorites, but also one of Mom’s.

“I don’t need to, Mawmaw.” I shake my head, wiping my mouth on my napkin and taking a drink of sweet tea.

“Oh, nonsense. You can’t be alone forever.”

Ouch. I chuckle, and rub at the heat grazing up the back of my neck.

“If I settled down, it would just take my time away from you.”

Mawmaw seems to regard this with great thought. “Well, I suppose you’re right, but if you found a good one, she could come with us.”

Bullshit. What woman in their twenties would willingly come to a brunch with me and my grandmother? Not any that I know of.

“As long as you don’t go with that white-haired girl, again.”

Priscilla. Mawmaw hated her and I think Priscilla felt the feelings were mutual. It was one of our deciding factors for splitting. She hated every one of my family members in her own special way. None of them like her, even to this day. Andi begged me to end things, I can’t tell you how many times, but I stuck with it because that’s the type of man I was when Mom wassick. Priscilla was the only thing that made me feel like a human being during that time and not just some hollow shell, caring for his mother.

“Now, why not, Mawmaw?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Or, so I thought.

“You were angriest with her.”

My gut clenches.

“That wasn’t her fault.” That’s a lie. Some of it was. When I caught her cheating with that rich prick, I spent the weekend in jail.

Mawmaw shakes her head. “There was something about that girl that was off. She was a mean little thing.”

Mawmaw looks down at her plate, troubled. Sighing, I reach across the table and place my hand over hers, earning a smile. “Don’t worry. Mawmaw. I’ve sworn off blondes for the rest of my life.”

Bailey

The house where I will be staying for the next five weeks is one of those shotgun houses you always hear about when people talk about the French Quarter. It’s two bedrooms, four if you include the two in Charlie’scave, with one upstairs and one downstairs in the back. It comes with a small pool that I will probably never use because I don’t want to risk running into Charlie and one of the many women Andi told me he likes to bring home. Unfortunately, I’ll have to share a wall with him, as the bottom bedroom is right next to the bathroom. Can’t wait to hear him with some poor girl that gets to spend the night with him.

Not that I think he’s bad in bed. On the contrary, I have a feeling if I fell victim to that trap, I wouldn’t be able to walk without a limp the next day.

The worst part of sleeping with Charlie would be the use ‘em and lose ‘em attitude the next morning.

After Andi leaves, I step through my new abode, taking inthe décor that most definitely came from Andi. Bright hues of blues oranges, and greens contrast against dark cherry wood and bright white trimmings. The couch is a bright cobalt blue velvet that looks like it’s never been sat on. It’s paired with a yellow chair that somehow seems to match perfectly. The kitchen, albeit smaller than the one at home, is adorned with a tin mosaic ceiling that shines my reflection back to me. Everything about this place feels rich. Not money rich. Rich in color — homey.

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