I shin kick his right leg again, aiming for the same spot, but he moves and the blow is deflected up his leg.
He’s a striker. I like that.
I can do the Greco-Roman wrestling thing and jiu-jitsu, but I’m much more comfortable on my feet.
He tries giving me a straight punch to the sternum, but I turn and counter with a hard left to the side of his face. If he’s dazed, though, he’s not showing it.
I step back, keeping my feet moving. I can hit him, but he’s got good stamina and a strong jaw. If he can get me to wear myself out before I can knock him out, he might just win this thing.
He comes at me with a flying knee, but it’s mostly for show and I easily sidestep the strike.
I give him a hard knee to the gut and he doubles over just enough for me to land a solid right uppercut to his jaw, snapping his head back.
He’s unsteady now on his feet and I’ve got this if I just stay smart and don’t let him dictate the pace.
I throw a halfhearted left hook and he takes the bait, leaning in to strike me from the other side, but I duck the blow and hit him right in the mouth with a right.
He stumbles, landing on his knee at one point, but he’s back up and his face is a deep red, his eyes narrow, focused.
He throws a left and a quick right in succession, and then comes at me with a calf kick that I move right into, expecting him to go from the other side.
My leg comes a little off the ground, but I bring it back down just as quickly, using it as my pivot and my other leg comes up and around, cracking him against the side of the head and he’s down.
I’m on top of him, throwing blows, but the ref stops the fight.
It’s not cockiness that has me laughing as I get to my feet and the ref lifts my hand in the air. It’s the pure love of adrenaline that comes from knowing I just kicked the living crap out of this guy.
Three to go.
I’m almost expecting some beautiful scene like you’d see in a Hollywood sports movie where everyone comes in and lifts me onto their shoulders in a celebration of mirth, but if anything, they just want me to get the hell out of the ring so the next fight can get started.
I make my way back into the crowd and wave at Tom as he checks on the other guy.
I’m not going to need his services tonight. The guy barely touched me.
I take another look at the crowd, hoping to see Ash off standing in some corner away from everything, but she’s not here.
That’s okay. She may not love this part of my life and she may never want to come to another match, but at least she hasn’t tried to tell me I can’t do it.
That would be a problem.
I grab my new bag and slip out the front to get some of the cool night air and D gives me a knuckle bump when he sees I don’t have a scratch.
“Didn’t even touch ya, huh?” he asks.
“I don’t even remember,” I smirk.
“So either you did really well or he knocked you stupid,” D laughs.
“I’ll let you know when I find out,” I tell him.
Tonight, we’re holding the matches in what I think used to be a TV repair shop. Whatever it used to be, it’s empty now. Well, except for the large crowd of men and women shouting for each other’s blood.
I was a little nervous about the location, being as it’s right in the middle of town, but there’s no one on this block. Everything’s commercial and everything’s been closed for hours.
My phone rings in my duffel bag, which I set down and unzip.
It’s Ash.
“Hey beautiful,” I answer. “I didn’t see you at the fight.”
“Is it over?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “You wouldn’t believe it, I totally—”
“Are you going to need a ride to the hospital?” she asks. “Or is this going to be something I can swing on my own?”
“I’m almost completely untouched,” I tell her. “I might get a couple of bruises over the next couple of days, but even those should be pretty minimal.”
“You did well, then?” she asks.
“Yep,” I tell her. “I got in there, and—”
“You wanna come over?” she asks. “I can take a look at you, make sure you don’t have any internal bleeding or anything like that.”
“You can do that without equipment?” I ask.
“I can see the signs,” she says. “I never said I’d be able to do anything about it.”
“Well,” I laugh, “that’s a good start anyway. I’ll be over in about half an hour.”
“You can shower here,” she says. “Starbright and her progeny are out collecting mushrooms in some campground outside town and we’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“All right,” I tell her. “I didn’t drive here, so it’ll be a few, but I’ll be over soon.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice finally starting to brighten. “I’ll see you when you get here.”
I hang up and put the phone back in my bag.
Walking back toward the entrance, I ask Big D how I look.
“Walking around in nothing but fight trunks,” he says. “I’d say you look like a damn fool.”
“I wouldn’t frighten the townspeople or anything as long as I put on some normal clothes, though, right?” I ask.
“I suppose,” he says and looks back to the front.
“Something on your mind, D?” I ask.
“Ah,” he groans. “Just female problems,” he says. “You ever been with a girl that thinks you got eyes for everyone else? I’m tellin’ you, girl would think I got a thing for my moms if she wasn’t dead.”
“That sounds miserable,” I tell him. “I’d dump her.”
“Yeah…” he says, his pitch rising as he cringes at the thought.
“I’m telling you, D,” I say, “keep going for the ones you think might kill you in your sleep and you just might wake up one morning to find yourself dead.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his sports jacket and pulls out his cellphone. He barely looks at the device as he unlocks it, and he turns the phone so I can see.
The background is a picture of a gorgeous woman with smooth chocolate skin, pouty lips and other… sizeable assets.
“I get it,” I tell him. “A woman like that tells you she’s a serial killer and you get tempted to help her get rid of the bodies, but if you’re having these kinds of problems in your relationship now, you can only expect them to get worse.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “I guess. Why does she have to be so fine, though?”
I laugh and give him a facetious pat on the shoulder. “I know, bud,” I tell him. “I know.”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy feeling like the guy who’s gotten it all figured out, even if I am, in reality, more in an entry-level position than anything. Still, D seems to appreciate the advice.
At least, that’s what I think he’s trying to convey as he stares past me again, his phone already back in his pocket. It can be hard to tell with D sometimes.
I grab my stuff and go through the front door of the building and find a corner where I can get changed into more normal attire without too much interference. After that, the strap of the bag slung over my shoulder, I leave the building and start walking toward Ash’s.