Page 57 of Nothing To Lose
Tyler is keeping secrets. He’s entitled to them, but it's burning me from the inside out .
Another hit lands, this time to my ribs. It stings, but I don't flinch. I spit blood on the floor and show my teeth again.
My opponent hesitates, which surprises me. I suppose he's used to people flinching, stepping back, showing fear or hesitation when they're around him. That's not me though. I don't give him any of that. I just circle him, waiting.
The fight drags on, the crowd growing restless as I take hit after hit without dropping. Tyler's not going to be happy about the state of my face when I see him Friday. I suppose I probably shouldn’t let him hit me so many more times. But I do love to play with my food.
I step up my game a little, replacing my easy smirk with a more serious demeanor. I make him work for it now, dodging his swings, letting him waste his energy. Dragging out the inevitable. I'm not ready to end this yet. More hits, more pain, more screaming from the crowd. More distraction from the chaos in my head.
I see the moment Hercules begins to slow, frustration bleeding into his movements. I let him land one last hit before I make my move.
Three quick steps. A feint. A sharp hook to the temple. He drops like a sack of bricks, and I'm on him, sitting on his chest, my knees squeezing his jugular.
The ref hesitates, probably debating whether it's better to call it and not risk the fighter's life, or drag it out for the people betting. My opponent isn't moving, though. I give the ref a pointed look and he throws up his arms, calling the fight. The crowd erupts. Money gets passed around, cheers and curses fill the air. I barely hear any of it.
When the big guy regains consciousness, I offer a hand to help him up, thank him for a good fight, and smile when he mutters that I'm a crazy bastard. Then I grab my cut and get the hell out.
The night air is cool against my overheated skin. My ribs throb, my knuckles ache, but my head is clearer than it's been in days. That fucker's face is also clearer.
Fishing my phone out of my coat pocket, I check for any messages. There's one from Anders, responding to a text I sent earlier, confirming some plans at the cafe.
And there's one from Tyler, responding to some texts I sent him earlier today.
Me: I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise.
Kitten: You don't need to be sorry. I understand. You need to be there for your mom.
Kitten: Although you are perfectly welcome to make it up to me if it'll make you feel better ;)
Me: Oh yeah? Anything specific in mind?
Kitten: Well. there's that thing you did with your tongue…
Uuugghhh.Now I'm hard. Away for the second night in a row, standing out in some dirty alley, and I'machingfor him.
Me: You're killing me over here.
Me: Here I was, thinking something sweet and innocent like taking you on a date tomorrow.
Kitten: A date?
Kitten: Tomorrow?
Me: Yeah. I want to take you out and show you a good time.
Kitten: You don't have to take me out to do that…
Kitten: Also, you realize that tomorrow is Valentine's Day, right?
I actually didn't realizethat when I initially texted Anders. He got a good laugh out of that. I think Valentine's Day is a stupid made-up holiday. Then again, I used to think relationships were stupid, too. And yet, here I am, checking my phone like an idiot every five minutes just to see his name. Strangely, I don't hate having an extra excuse to get grossly lovey-dovey under the guise of tradition. I have a real problem with holding back when it comes to Tyler. I have to keep reminding myself it's only been a couple of weeks, and I need to slow down. But that feels impossible when every cell of my body is set to full steam ahead.
Me: Feels like something people in a relationship do.
Me: But don't worry, I'll still do that thing you like.
Me: And then after…
Kitten: You don't play nice.
