Page 74 of The Naughty List
“Don’t forget number six,” Addi sing-songs.
Number six.
Don’t fall in love. Sit on his face.
Well, half that one is probable in the near future. But it’s far too late not to fall in love with Jonah. I’ve been some version of in love with him for two years now.
Complex, selfless, damaged man that he is, he’s mine. All mine. And I can’t wait to get him home where he’s safe and I no longer have to share him with the world. Or anyone who wants to punch him in his gorgeous face.
The announcer’s voice is loud on the overhead sound system, but I feel like my head is underwater.
I watch Jonah and the other guy touch gloves, sucking in a breath when the bell rings.
“Open your eyes,” Addi says nudging me in the ribs. “He’s okay.”
I didn’t realize I’d been squeezing them shut. Addi takes my hand in hers while I focus on breathing normally. I’m grateful for the small amount of comfort she provides. I tighten my grip and she does the same.
Jonah and Stryker circle one another for a moment. My heart leaps into my throat and plummets to my stomach in one breath when Stryker lands the first punch to the side of Jonah’s head.
My body flinches inward as if I took the hit.
My eyes close again and I’m praying silently. Begging God to end this quickly, inflicting the least possible amount of pain on Jonah. My mom would be so proud. I didn’t go to Mass with her this year and I think it broke her heart a little. But in my time of need, when I’m completely helpless, all I can think to do is pray my heart out.
So I do.
Addi gives my hand another squeeze. Jonah lands some kind of kick to Stryker’s leg.
And so it goes, back and forth, the two of them trading blows to various body parts for three excruciating rounds.
Every hit Jonah takes I feel down to my soul. I half expect to be as bruised and battered as he is when I look down between rounds.
There’s only a minute left in the forth round when the guys lock up in some type of oddly intimate bear-hug looking pose.
My phone chimes in my purse. The alarm telling me it’s midnight.
“It’s midnight,” I yell loudly. “Jonah!” Addi looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “He promised to end this by midnight. He owes me a kiss,” I tell her.
I was crazy to think that was possible. Jonah’s eye is swollen half-shut, bruised, and bleeding down his face, mingling with the gel-type substance he’s covered in. His sweat-soaked hair is dripping down his forehead.
A loud sound signals the the end of the fourth round. The announcer comes overhead and tells everyone Happy New Year.
Jonah’s head whips around to me. There’s an apology in his eyes.
I shrug and offer him a forgiving smile.
It was a silly request anyway.
I can’t tell what he’s saying to the guys working on him in his corner but he doesn’t have his mouthpiece in.
He’s up and in the middle of the octagon when the fifth round begins. Stryker approaches him looking less bloody but definitely a little world weary himself. Jonah waves him forward, antagonizing him. I glance worriedly at Addi, who wears a similar concerned expression.
Jonah dances around, shifting his weight and causing Stryker to miss him once, twice.
The third time, he dodges a massive swing from Stryker’s left then comes up with a wild warrior yell escaping his throat as he hits him in the right temple.
Stryker goes down and the entire arena is on their feet, me, Mikey, and Addi included.
Stryker’s down and out cold. As in, not getting up.
