Love Tap (29 page)

“Jesus Tate, you smell.”

Lifting my arm I smell under my pit.
Wow, yeah I need a shower.

“Wow, you’re such a lady.” Journey giggles behind me.

Turning toward her I find her setting down a big dish of cheesy lasagna.

“Journey, that is not healthy for Dad!”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, everyone gets a cheat day once in a while.”

The smell of melted cheese and garlic fill the air and my stomach growls. Resting my hands on my stomach I battle with myself. I have weigh in tomorrow, and was told not to eat anything. This is going to be hard, but it’ll be worth it.

Everyone heads to the table, and I remember why I really came over here instead of staying at Camden’s tonight. Dad’s approval. Like that, my appetite is gone. I want to puke.

“How is the training going?” Dad asks, his voice doesn’t sound very excited though.

Playing with my fork, my breath catches in my throat making me cough.

Journey and Dad both eye me awkwardly.

“I um, I got a fight booked.” Taking my eyes from my plate I peek at Dad’s face.

His fork is midair, his eyes sweeping over to mine.

My heart beats wildly, my mouth dry, seconds feel like hours.

He sets his fork down, and interlocks his fingers.

“Where? With who?”

I set my fork down, and clear my throat.

“In Colorado. Kiki ‘Queen Kong’ was supposed to fight Momma Mateia, and they pulled last minute. They had a sold out arena and somehow my trainer Debs pulled some strings, and I’m the fill in.”

Dad’s lips purse, his forehead sweating profusely.

“That must be some strings she’s got to land you something so big, so quick,” Dad chuckles, but it’s not hearty.

“Yeah, I know.” I look to the side of the table in thought.

“You think you’re ready?” Journey asks, her mouth full of food.

I shrug. “I don’t know. How does anyone know they’re ready when you have no idea what is going to happen in that ring?” My voice cracks. I look at Dad, hoping for some kind of guidance. He’s been through this with boxing surely he’ll know.

He scratches the back of his head, his eyes closed. He’s going to snap. I can feel it.

“You won’t know if you’re ready. You’ll never know. Not until you’re either winning, or you’re in so much pain and on your back about to lose.” Dad opens his eyes, looking at me sincerely.

My eyes fill with tears. I just got Dad’s approval.

His hand reaches over, stopping as if he’s second guessing his next move, before clasping the top of my hand.

“Good luck.”

Camden

Tate has been quiet since she got on the plane this morning. She’s nervous. I can tell. I know because I used to be the same way before a fight.

Standing outside the dressing room, I wait for Debs and Thomas to leave. I need Tate alone. I need to break through that focused barrier she’s in so I can see where her head is at.

The door opens, and Debs and Thomas finally walk out. They don’t even notice me.

Going inside the locker room Tate is sitting on the bench, her head in her hands.

“Hey,” I announce my presence.

She glances up, her hair falling in her face.

“Hey,” her voice sounds so small and insecure.

Stepping in front of her I kneel down, my hands on her knees. She’s wearing a black tank top and black windbreaker pants paired with white tennis shoes. She looks great.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask, grabbing her chin to force her to look at me.

She rolls her eyes, pulling from my grip.

“I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m not ready,” her voice cracks. “I’m only here because Debs probably paid someone off, or someone owed her a favor, or who knows what. I’m going to get my ass kicked and my career is going to be over before it starts,” she fumes. Her voice panicked and scared.

Angry with her self-loathing I grab her hands, and push her back onto the bench. Her legs hanging off on each side.

“Show them you belong here. You’re ready for this Tate, don’t be the one to stand in the way of your own victory.” My voice serious, I stare right into her green eyes, telling her the truth.

“I’m so nervous. My hands have been shaking since I got on the plane.” She raises a hand, showing me just how unsteady they are.

I smirk. I remember the jitters, and I remember the only way to cure it. Sex.

I slip my hand under the waist of her pants, and her eyes light up.

“I know how to fix that,” my voice low and husky.

“You’re a funny guy.” She slaps at my hand, thinking I’m joking.

I grin, my hand traveling upwards. “What can I say, I live by making you laugh, then making you moan.”

My fingers graze along her wetness and her face goes serious.

“What if someone walks in?” Her eyes dart to the door, her hand holding onto my wrist.

“Then they’ll get a show,” I shrug.

My fingers slip through her wetness, finding her more than ready for me.

Pushing two fingers in, her body rises with the intrusion. My cock presses against my jeans painfully.

I’d fuck her, but I know they’ll call her name any minute.

I pump my fingers in and out of her, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her hands scratching at my shoulders.

“That’s it baby, relax. You got this,” I whisper, coaxing her to the brink of an orgasm.

Her lips form into the shape of an ‘O’, and her pussy clenches my fingers.

Hooking my finger just right, her hips buck against my hand.

“Oh God,” she drawls out, coming on my fingers.

Pulling my hand out of her bottoms, I suck on my fingers.

“How do you feel now?” I ask with a smirk.

“Better.” She breathes heavily.

The door flings open, and Tate jumps upright.

“They’re calling your name next!” Debs’ voice wavers with excitement.

Grabbing Tate’s hand I haul her out of the locker room and onto the stage.

“You got this Tate. Show that bitch who Tatum Davis is,” I whisper into the back of her head.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tate

Stepping onto the stage, the crowd boos, and some cheer. I suck in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to release, and stop in my tracks. The stage lights beaming a ray of lava across my face has me instantly sweating.

A guy to my right ushers me to step on the scale, but I can’t move. I’m frozen as I look around the crowd. Watching them rant and rave over me. So many angry faces are yelling at me.
Why aren’t I walking? I’m making a fool of myself! Move damn it!

Forcing myself, I step forward.

“The challenger, Tatum Davis!” The intercom announces.

Striding further out, I tug my pants, letting them pool to my feet before taking them off. Quickly I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it off.

Instantly a cold chill races up my spine. I’m in front of not only a crowd of people, but cameras, practically naked. I swallow the insecurities catching in my throat.
I can do this. This fight is mine.

Pushing my hair out of the way, I step onto the scale and stare into the distance at nothing in particular.

“One thirty four!” The man announces, and everyone cheers. I step off the scale and make my way to the side of the stage.
Wait, do I put my clothes back on? Debs didn’t tell me.

“Now for the opponent, Kiki ‘Queen Koooooooong!’ The speakers pound out a beat, and the crowd literally screams with so much excitement my ears ring. They clearly love her.

I’d like to say I’m not feeling insecure, but I most definitely am.

She steps out onto the stage with ease, as if she’s fucking floating. She’s clearly done this many times.

Her dark hair is pulled up into a cute messy ponytail, and she’s wearing a red hoody, and black shorts. She undresses quickly, not a care in the world that everyone is going to judge her of every curve and muscle. Her boobs that are clearly bigger than mine are pushed tightly from her black sports bra, and her muscular thighs stretch the thin black material that makes up her bikini bottoms.

She steps on the scale, and gives a fisted wave to the crowd.

“One thirty four!” the announcer tells the audience.

She steps off the scale, her eyes narrowing in on me. She looks pissed. Really pissed. My heart beats wildly in my chest, my fists clenching.
Do I look away? Look at her? Shit, do I hit her?

If she raises her fist I may hit her on instinct.
Will I get in trouble?
She steps right in front of me, her nose almost touching mine. My nostrils flare as I glower at her.

“You don’t belong here bitch!” she sneers, raising her fists. Cameras flash from every direction catching the intense moment.

I grit my teeth, not giving her the satisfaction of getting me riled up in front of everyone.

“Do you hear me?!” she screams in my face, and someone on her team grabs her by the shoulders pulling her back.

“Wow, what a rush! What was going on in your head Kiki?” The announcer tilts the mic toward her, awaiting her response.

She rolls her head on her shoulders, her eyes meeting mine.

“We all know she shouldn’t be here. When I’m done with her, ain’t nobody even going to remember her name.” She points at me, and I swallow the sudden urge to go over there and slam my fist in her face right now.

The announcer steps toward me, mic in hand.

“What do you have to say to that, Tate?”

I smirk, my brow raising. “She might be right. But when you lose on Saturday, nobody is going to let you forget it.” I shrug, and the crowd hollers in my favor. She steps forward like she’s ready to pound me right here. I’m getting under her skin.

I’m ushered off the stage, Kiki right behind me as the announcer reminds the crowd of sponsors and the time of the fight.

“That’s cute, did you recite that in the mirror?” Kiki sneers from behind me once we are out of cameras lenses. My cheeks fume with anger. I want nothing more than to prove to her right here I am more than some girl with a short temper. I mean, I do have a temper, but I also know I can prove I belong here.

“No, I was just telling the truth.” I don’t look back, I don’t stop. I’m afraid if I do, this whole thing will be over before it started.

***

Laying on Camden’s hard chest, I stare out the window.

His fingers lazily graze along my back, and the fingers on my left hand absentmindedly draw circles on his pec, as if I’m drawing a work of art on his silky skin. We didn’t have sex. As soon as we got in the room, we both stripped and climbed under the crisp sheets of the hotel bed and just laid here.

All I wanted was to be next to him. My mind too far gone to even think about sex.

“You did good today,” he whispers, his voice husky from the thick silence.

“I didn’t know what to say or do. I feel… I just want to fight, you know,” I reply, still staring out the window. His chest rises, as an exhale slowly spills from him.

“I know, but it’s a part of it. You need to make sure this is what you want, because if you win… this part of the process, the lights and cameras, it’s going to get worse.” His hand stops as he speaks from experience.

“I know,” I mutter under my breath. Using my hands I push myself up, and look down at him. His hair is a mess from laying on it. Trailing my fingers along his abdomen I come across the scar.

I trace it with the pad of my finger.

“Why won’t you tell me what happened?” I ask, flicking my eyes to his. “Is this why you don’t want to compete anymore?”

Growing irritated, he grabs me by the hips and sets me to the side as if I weigh next to nothing, my breasts jiggling from the movement. I bite at my lip to keep from getting angry. I wish he’d just tell me already.

“Why won’t you trust me? Is it because you think I’ll leave again? Is it that bad?” I push.

He jerks his head my way, his brows pulled together. The look of pain that crosses his face I know I hit the nail on the head. He doesn’t want to tell me because he thinks I’ll leave.

Reaching out, I caress his arm. “I’m not going anywhere Camden.”

“It’s not just that. The way you look at me now, I’m afraid you won’t look at me the same.”

“I love your kind of crazy.”

He sits up on the bed, his fingers tugging his hair.

“I can’t tell you everything, because I can’t—”

“Can’t, or won’t?” I interrupt.

Letting his hands fall from his hair, he tilts his head and gives me a look that makes my toes curl.

“Can’t,” he deadpans. “I was in a fight, and it went horribly wrong.” He looks down at his hands, his mind in a different place. “More than blood escaped me that day. Something evil, something I never thought I was capable of.”