Page 42 of Forgotten Comeback
Chapter
Seventeen
Taylor
“Name?” The bouncer greets me at the warehouse entrance.
“Taylor McKenna.”
I’m given the green light and enter the huge space, at least twice the size of the rave club. Looking around, my forehead crinkles with confusion, because in the center of the stadium seating is a boxing ring.
Wandering to the back, I find a man setting up the bar. “Hi, I’m Taylor. Here to bartend.”
“Welcome. It’s a packed house tonight, so be prepared,” he tells me.
“For what, exactly?” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought I was working a rave.”
He shakes his head. “Boxing. It can get loud and hectic. Just try to keep up as best you can. Everything’s served in plastic cups. We don’t need bottles flying if things take a turn.”
“Are you expecting things to take a turn?”
What the hell has Gavin gotten me into?
He shakes his head. “Just playing it safe. Beer, wine, and shots.” He nods to the bottles. “Cash only.”
“Got it,” I say, walking around behind the bar and familiarizing myself with the setup. “Who’s fighting tonight?” Not that I know any boxers by name.
“The Spider and the Hammer are the main event. Six featured fights before we get to them.”
The Spider.
That reminds me of Gavin’s tattoo. A spider with a skull for a body. It was pretty badass, but never in a million years would I tell him that.
Doors open, and spectators begin filling the stadium, making pit stops at the betting cage across from us before ordering their drinks.
An older gentleman with a suit and headset appears, pointing to me. “You.”
“Me?” I point to myself, looking around.
“Our ring girl was a no-show,” he says in a thick Jersey accent. “You’re up.”
“Holdup. What do you mean, ring girl?”
“You wear a bikini, smile, and walk around the ring holding the round number over your head. It ain’t rocket science.”
“I don’t have a bikini,” I point out.
The man holds up two microscopic scraps of fabric with the tags on them.
“No fucking way.”
“Pay you a thousand bucks,” he offers.
“You’ve got yourself a ring girl.”
It’s moments like these I question my life choices as I sidestep a puddle of blood. The bartender forgot to mention that this isbare-knucklesboxing.
Ignoring the catcalls, I make my turn around the ring, where a man holds open the ropes. I duck under and through, praying my tits and vag don’t slip out of this itty bitty bikini. My cheeks are sore from smiling, but I keep my lips upturned as I walk down the steps and strut to my seat.
