Page 38 of Punchline
“Sorry, Pete!”
The last fight of the night was a middleweight bout between a pair of instructors from each school. The House of Pain’s guy had a ridiculous reach advantage—he was skinny but nearly six feet tall, while Casa Alvarez’s fighter was at least six inches shorter than him.
“Aw, he’s going to get worked,” Ethan muttered.
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Reach is useful, for sure, but there are ways to get around it. If he gets to the inside, he’s going to be able to rip on the taller guy’s body.”
Before we could say anything else, the bell rang and the dance began.
I wasn’t a boxer, but I knew good fighters, and both these guys were good. The taller one did a great job of using his range like a sniper, punching and counterpunching with devastating accuracy, and every shot was a head shot. Theshorter fighter had a good slipping game, but he was having a hard time working in to make his own shots effective. The first round clearly went to the taller guy. The second round was more of the same, with the smaller fighter trying to amp it up and getting inside a few times, but mostly being held at bay by those head shots.
Things changed in the third round, when the Casa Alvarez fighter managed to back his opponent into the corner of the ring. Without an avenue for retreat, Casa Alvarez’s guy got inside his guard and began to whale on him with body blows. It went from messy to ugly fast, and with over a minute left to go, the House of Pain fighter suddenly collapsed to the mat. The ref ran over to check him out, then immediately called for the ringside doctor.
“Ouch,” Ethan said, concern on his face.
“Probably a liver shot,” I told him. “They take a few seconds to catch up to you, but when they do it’s over fast. He’ll probably be fine,” I added when his frown didn’t fade. “The doc will check him out.” I was pleasantly surprised they had a ringside doctor for a smoker—that was responsible. He was probably a student. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
We said our goodbyes to Camila, then walked through the crowd, over broken glass, and past several messy smears on the sidewalk I didnotwant to know about.
As we got in my car, I asked, “Are you good?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said. “I just—I’m so used to hockey fights, it’s weird to see them anywhere but the ice.”
“I felt the same way when I started watching hockey fights,” I admitted. “Did you… have fun, though?”
Ethan looked at me for a second, then unbuckled hisseat belt, leaned over, slid his hand around the back of my head, and kissed me so deeply my ears started to ring.
“So much fun,” he said against my lips as he pulled back so we could catch our breath. He might have said more, but then I realized that the ringing was a siren coming our way.
Time to go.
CHAPTER 13
ETHAN
Not gonna lie—as fun as the smoker had been, I was ready to get Jake some place we could be alone. And naked.
As he drove us back to his place, I reminded myself I’d wanted to tap the brakes and go slow. But also…
I mean, he was wearing that painted-on shirt. And he was just… God, he was so fucking hot. Watching a bunch of fights while we stood in a cloud of testosterone—that hadn’t turned me on. WatchingJakewatching those fights? Fuuuck.
I couldn’t explain it. There was just something about seeing him get that into something, shouting and cheering the way I would at a hockey game—it was hot. His enthusiasm had been contagious, and I’d gotten into it too, but honestly, I spent more of the smoker focused on him than on anyone who was fighting.
Ifhewas ever the one fighting?
Oh hell. That was a thought.
Except I’d gotten the impression that was a complicated situation. That while Jake had competed before, and at incredibly high levels, there was a reason he wasn’t doing itnow. He’d alluded to it. Carson had alluded to it. I thought it had something to do with Carson’s injury—Marek had told me it had happened in a fight with Jake—but none of them had come out and told me the whole story. No one had confirmed or denied it was the reason Jake wasn’t currently competing.
I was curious, but it seemed like a delicate issue. Maybe not one to approach while I was thinking with my dick, which I absolutely was right now. Yes, I wanted to see him fight, and yes, I’d probably come in my pants if I did.
But that was a conversation that could wait.
“So, um… ” I cleared my throat as I squirmed in the passenger seat. “How often do these, uh, smokers happen?”
Jake glanced at me and shrugged. “They happen all the time. Why? Do you want to go to another?”
