Rolling With the Punches (5 page)

I nodded over to the man on the other side of the arena. "See him over there?" I asked Alexis.

She turned, and her eyes immediately settled onto the boxer. "Oh yeah!" she agreed. "That's one of the fighters! Cecil Rhodes, his name is. He's amazing!"

I was caught off guard. "Wait a minute. You actually know his name?"

"Are you kidding?" came the response. "He's such a catch! He's been fighting for a while, and he's totally undefeated! That's half the reason I wanted to come to this place - do you know how great of a guy he'd be? Half the ladies are just here so that they can throw themselves at him tonight, and think about him in bed later this evening when they go home and finally let their rich boyfriends do their thing on top!"

I was totally surprised that Alexis knew who Rhodes even was, beyond "the guy we were going to see fight," but this just made my news all the sweeter. I couldn't keep my smirking grin off of my face. "Well, guess what I did?" I asked.

"What's that?"

"I ended up walking in to his dressing room - and I totally made out with him!"

Alexis literally squealed, a high-pitched sound of pure delight. "Oh my god, Caroline!" she gushed, grabbing at me as if too excited to keep her hands at her sides. "No way! You're totally just joking with me right now!"

I shook my head. "Not at all!" I replied back, my voice also climbing as her enthusiasm infected me in turn. "And god, he's so hot!"

We both reached out and grabbed each other's arms, jumping up and down together as we both squealed. And then, when we turned to look back at the arena, at Rhodes, he was climbing up into the central ring, ducking his head under the ropes to enter - and he locked eyes with me on the far side of the arena!

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as our eyes met, as I gazed into those deep brown liquid pools. He paused for just a fraction of an instant as he stared back at me.

And then the damn man winked!

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

As Rhodes winked at me as he stepped into the arena, I swear that I felt my heart skip a beat. Damn it, I wasn't supposed to be getting attached like this! Perhaps it was the combination of his shirtless physique and my fragile emotional state, but I suddenly wanted nothing more than to clamber over those ropes that separated us and tackle him myself.

A minute later, however, my view was blocked, as Rhodes' opponent came strolling up and began to climb into the arena on the opposite side - our side.

Previously, I had been thinking about the man, and what I wanted to do to him - or, more accurately, what I wanted him to do to me. I hadn't been thinking about the fight, or even the possibility of what could happen in that fight.

But as I laid eyes on the man's opponent, all of those thoughts and fears suddenly sprang up into my head.

"And now, entering the arena opposite Cecil Rhodes, is Lamar Crusher!" called out the announcer, as the other man stood up in the arena, slamming his gloves together a couple times as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Lamar Crusher was, well, probably the most intimidating man I'd ever seen in my life. The guy was at least as tall as Rhodes, and his jet-black skin already rippled with a thin layer of sweat. He was wearing trunks that were blood red, and he looked vicious, a killer in all respects. Suddenly, I began to consider the possibility that Rhodes, my champion, might not come out victorious after all.

The announcer babbled on, talking about how impressive the two men were, but I could see that neither fighter was listening to the little man any longer. They both had their eyes fixed on each other, and were slowly stepping back and forth, keeping exactly opposite each other in the ring. They were scoping each other out, I realized, looking for any potential weaknesses or advantages. Neither of them was new to this. They were both following years of highly trained and honed instincts.

The little man with the microphone was winding down his speech. I could feel the tension in the air, so thick that I could almost have cut it with a knife. "And now, without any further ado, I think that it's time to get this fight started!" the announcer called out, as a referee, an older man dressed in a black and white striped shirt, climbed up into the ring between the two huge, hulking fighters. "What do you say, folks?"

Around me, the crowd roared wordlessly in affirmation. I stared around at all the men and women, still dressed in their fancy clothes, but now with expressions of hunger, of lust, of desire, clearly painted across their faces. Their baser instincts were showing. They were no longer thinking of money, of stock investments and tax deductions. They wanted to see a real fight, a bloody brawl, and they couldn't wait.

The referee stepped up to the center of the arena, glancing at first Rhodes, and then Lamar, while the announcer wound down his speech. As soon as the speech was concluded, the microphone retracted back up into the ceiling, and the little man in the tuxedo who had been speaking all but dove out of the arena.

"Whew," I heard him comment to a couple of the well-dressed men who came forward to lift up the arena's ropes so that he could duck out of the ring. "Always a lot of pressure, being in there and talking. I always feel like those two are just gonna lunge forward and start attacking each other, with me caught in the middle!"

Glancing up at the men again, I had to admit that the little manager was probably speaking the truth. The referee was now commenting in an undertone to the two men, perhaps asking them to have a nice, clean, fair fight, but they weren't even looking at the striped-shirt man. Both of their eyes were fixed on each other, determined glares plastered across their faces.

The referee, apparently satisfied, stepped back, lifting one hand up above his head. Both Rhodes and Lamar paused, their eyes flicking to that raised hand. The rest of the crowd, in addition, also fell silent as a hush passed over us.

The fight was about to begin.

Up above the ring, a loud bell rang a single time. The referee dropped his hand down in a chopping motion, as if swinging a flag. The fighters both leapt up, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

The fight was on.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

As the crowd cheered, both men began slinking into motion, slowly stepping to the side to circle around each other in the ring. Neither man advanced forward, towards the center; they were both wary, neither willing to open up their guard and risk an early knock-out. Instead, they seemed to be almost doing a dance in which they were both equal partners, moving around in circles and watching like hawks for any opening in their opponent's armor.

This continued for at least a couple minutes, as the crowd cheered and booed and called out indecipherable cries. Around me, I could feel the surge of anticipation in the upper crust. They wanted to see action, attack, pure vicious energy.

Finally, Lamar was the first one to make a move. He slowly took a half-step forward into the center of the ring, and then burst into a lightning-fast lunge. I gasped, feeling my heart leap up into my throat as his gloved fists jabbed out. The blows were so fast, I swore that they blurred.

But as fast as the man was in his attack, Rhodes was faster - or perhaps he was waiting, knowing that this was coming.

Rhode dodged lightly aside, and Lamar's fast attacks merely struck at the empty air. And that lunge, that vicious attack, also meant that the man was compromising his defense. And Rhodes was quick to capitalize on that opening.

As Rhodes dodged off to one side, his own fists, hovering in front of his chest, went jabbing out. He wasn't putting the full weight of his body behind the blows, and they were offset by his moving away, getting out of the way of Lamar's swings first and foremost. But Rhodes still had at least two hundred pounds of mass, and that wasn't anything to write off.

His first punch missed, but Rhodes' second punch connected on Lamar's lower ribs, swinging down under his guard to land on the man's black chest. Again, it wasn't the most powerful attack, but I still saw Lamar briefly wince, and he cut off his own flurry of punches to dodge out of the way. Clearly, he didn't want to experience that again.

It wasn't a knockout blow by any means, but the crowd roared, and it was unmistakable. Rhodes had drawn first blood. He had landed the first blow, and this match was now his to either win or lose.

The fight continued, and we watched with bated breath. It soon settled into a rhythm; the two fighters would begin slowly, dancing around each other and searching for an opening. At some point, one of the two fighters would see a chance, and he would go lunging forward, fists up and ready to strike. Sometimes he would connect, sometimes he would miss, and sometimes he wouldn't be quite fast enough to dodge the counter-attack that was almost always right on his heels.

Both of the fighters got in blows, and they were both beginning to tire. Even though they both kept up their fronts of stone faces and eagle-eyed glares, I could see that neither was quite as fast, as agile, as they had been at the beginning. Both men were seeking to tire out the other.

It was a battle of attrition - the only question was who would tire first.

I might be injecting my own bias, but I thought that Rhodes was still winning, if narrowly. He had gotten a few more hits in on Lamar, and especially in the last couple exchanges, he seemed to be a little faster to dodge than the other man was with his blows. On the other hand, he was panting hard - and one hit, on his upper thigh, seemed to be causing him a great deal of pain. He wasn't quite limping, but he definitely was favoring his other leg. I was new to this whole boxing thing, but I was certain that this injury could spell trouble.

Lamar knew it too. The other man's eyes would occasionally dip down to that leg, and he seemed to be trying to attack Rhodes from the opposite side, forcing the man to put his weight on his injured leg. Rhodes was putting up with it so far, but it could give way at any point. And if Rhodes went down, I somehow knew that the fight would be all but over.

The fight felt like it had been going on forever. I glanced up at the clock hanging over the arena, and was stunned to see that only a little under a half hour had gone past. With every moment charged with so much tension, each second felt like an eternity.

Yes, Rhodes was definitely limping now. He was trying his best to hide it, but my eyes were pinned to his face, and I saw a couple momentary flickers of pain wash over him. My heart leapt up into my throat. What if he went down? What if he took a hit and was out? Even though my attraction to this man was purely physical, I wanted more than anything to see him win, to get to catch up with him afterwards - and maybe even have sex with a champion!

I wasn't the only one to see that wince of pain, it turns out. Lamar must have spotted it as well, for an evil, twisted grin suddenly bloomed across his face. And with his fists up, he lunged forward, charging heavily across the arena. He was bearing down on Rhodes from the perfect angle; with his injured leg, there was no way that Rhodes would be able to dodge out of the way in time...

Lamar's fists came up, swinging around in an unstoppable arc. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't seem to move my eyes off of the scene unfolding in front of me. That blow was coming in towards Rhodes, and there was nothing I could do about it.

But then, suddenly, Rhodes wasn't there any longer.

For an instant, I couldn't understand what had happened. It seemed like an impossibility. The man had dodged aside, much faster than I, Lamar, or anyone else had expected him to move! Around me, I heard a collective gasp as everyone sucked in a breath. How in the world had he done it?