Page 66 of The Naughty List
As soon as I arrive at the training facility, Rock looks me dead in the eyes and says, “You know we’re not training to win, Jonah. There’s not enough time. We’re training so you’ll survive.”
My entire life everyone has underestimated me. Maybe the staff here is training me so I don’t get knocked out or worse in the first ten seconds, but I’m giving this everything I have knowing I can beat Stryker. I know him, his habits, his strengths and his weaknesses.
In the past, I’ve been able to focus all of my mental and physical energy wholly on training. It was never something I struggled to do. But this time is different.
Texting Hollis has taken on a life of its own since I left.
At first, the messages were innocent.
I let her know my plane landed safely and that I made it to the training facility in New York.
She responded with a picture of her and the dogs in my bed. To which I responded that I was jealous of the dogs. Hollis Facetimed me to say goodnight and I noticed she was wearing one of my sweatshirts.
The next thing I knew, my dick was rock hard and I was stroking it thinking about being in her mouth again.
Our good morning texts have even turned dirty.
She dreamt about me, which was logical since she slept in my bed. But she keeps teasing me with the content of her dream, promising to demonstrate when I get home if I don’t take the fight.
Now I’m getting my ass handed to me during training while I seriously contemplate breaching the contracts I just signed.
Every day should be the same.
Up early, running, training, lifting, running, training, showering, crashing.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
But Hollis beckons me, sending me cute pictures of her and the boys, making me miss the ever-loving shit out of her.
I’ve never had anyone to miss before.
I don’t know if I like it.
My former manager definitely doesn’t.
Rock glares at me. “For fuck’s sakes, Jonah. What is so important on that damn phone?”
I drop it into my bag and jog over to where the photographer is waiting to snap some promo pictures for the fight.
“Sorry.”
“You got a girl now, or what?” He positions me and I hold my hands up.
“It’s complicated, Rock. It’s been a busy month.”
“I get it, kid,” he huffs out. “But whoever she is, I’m sure she’s attached to that pretty face of yours. So let’s use these next forty-eight hours to work on keeping it in tact, shall we?”
When I get back to my hotel room that night, I’m spent. I take the hottest shower I can tolerate and crawl into bed.
I’m planning to text Hollis goodnight—hoping she’ll send a picture. Any picture. If she doesn’t, I’ll settle for the silly one of her with icing in her hair I took. Seeing her face is all I want. Before I fall asleep and when I first wake up.
Then you should’ve stayed.
I might be the only man alive who rushes off to get his ass beat by a former UFC champion because it’s thelessfrightening option.
I reach into my bag, then pour the contents out onto the floor in search of my phone.
It isn’t in there.
