Werewolf Love Story

Practice was a bitch. Mo, my trainer, kicked my ass. These five hour practices have to stop once I'm champion. That's a long way off considering I only have one professional fight behind me. I knocked the poor guy out in less than a minute, but I know I have a long road ahead of me till I get to the top.

I'm a mixed martial arts fighter in the state of California.  I was a collegiate wrestling champion for Arizona State, and after college there isn’t much one can do when your only skill is wrestling other guys on a cold, hard mat.  So I went into mixed martial arts training and got quickly addicted to the sport.  So much so, I decided to make it my career. 

Practice was rough tonight because I was still nursing a pretty serious hangover from the New Year’s Eve party I went to the night before. I hardly ever drink, but there are certain events in the year that qualify as drinking nights, and New Year’s Eve definitely qualifies. 

The year is 2006, and I had just turned 22 years old.  College was a breeze for me; I zipped through my four years and got a degree in Theater Arts. Yes, that's right, I said it; I'm a mixed martial arts fighter who also has a Theater Arts degree. I took every kind of class when I was at Arizona State and I found my acting classes were the most fun.  And, I’m all about fun.

Tonight wasn't about mixed martial arts or theater. Tonight was about unwinding at my favorite dive bar.  I wasn’t sure if I was going to drink, considering I drank half the tequila in Mexico last night, but I still had some party left in me and I needed to feed the beast.

My muscles hardly get sore anymore unless I take a pounding in the gym.  Tonight, I took such a pounding.  I recently installed a huge Jacuzzi-style bathtub in my apartment.  So I figured I’d check out the ambiance of the bar and maybe have a tiny little drink. Then I go home and soak my overworked muscles and joints. 

I wanted to go to a bar that I knew I would have zero chance of getting into a fight. I have to admit, I love to fight and my specialty is douche bags. I’m not talking about the clueless guy who is socially inept and tends to stick his foot in his mouth repeatedly at a bar when it comes to talking to women. I'm talking about the meathead, the abrupt bully who is always trying to cut you down to build himself up. I'm about six feet two inches tall, and have a pretty thick physique. I have an exceptionally small waist in comparison to my shoulders, which gives me a nice ‘V shape’. My looks have been compared to a younger Hugh Jackman with more of an edge.  I have to admit, I love the ladies, and they seem to love themselves some Tommy.  Guys on the other hand, especially guys in packs, seem not to be so Tommy friendly. I usually keep to myself because frankly I could fight every night of the week if need be.

So, my dive bar of choice is a place called Shiners, because everyone knows my name and respects my contribution to society.  Especially how it is my goal to make sure all woman know that they are delicate, beautiful creatures and I’ll do all I can to make sure each one is satisfied.  I like all women, big and small, black or white.  They are all God’s creatures and if the night is right, they can be the lucky chosen to make a run at my hot tub.  But don’t misunderstand my intentions, I'm not sexist. I love and adore women and I'm a gentleman to the utmost degree. But, I am usually on the prowl, and the cuter my prey is the more I raise my game. My game is simple.  I'm the bad boy. Sometimes quiet, sometimes outgoing, but never the braggart. I usually just give tidbits about myself and allow their imaginations to the rest.  It seems to be working for me.

I pulled my black Mustang into Shiners parking lot. The bar is about two miles from my gym. I work out in Anaheim Hills at a gym that specializes in mixed martial arts training. The parking lot was unusually empty for a Thursday night, but then again it was New Year’s Day and most people were already in bed after a long day of watching football and pigging out. I didn't have the luxury of eating like a pig being I had to keep my weight around 175 pounds.

I got out of my car and stepped on the crushed gravel they called a parking lot. It was a reasonably cool evening so I decided to grab my leather jacket from the back seat of my Mustang.  It went good with my white t-shirt and blue jeans. I showered and cologned up at the gym and I looked and smelled like a warm summers day. I blew my breath into my hand, it was warm, and that wasn’t good.  It was Altoid time! I reached in my left pocket and pulled out a container of wintergreen Altoids.  I tossed a couple in my mouth.  Mmmm tastes like candy. Considering Altoids were the most I splurged on my diet all day, I thought it would be okay to knock back a couple more.   

I put my coat on, straightened my clothes and then looked at myself in my driver side mirror. My eyes were a tad red from my workout but I didn't have any eye drops, so I decided not to worry about it. My dark brown hair seemed a tad messed up, but then again I can’t walk into a bar looking immaculate.

I walked across the parking lot and counted a total of five cars.
Was there anyone inside?
Worst case scenario, I could chat it up with Megan, the bartender. She was cute and was well-endowed and I could at least get my flirt on.

I opened the door to the bar. The door had peeled off paint on the outside, and they covered the inside with big beer advertisements.

I peeked in and Jonsey, the doorman, was there sitting on a stool looking bored to death.  He was a rather large man with a giant head. He looked like he could be an extra in a motorcycle movie. 

“Tommy, what’s up, brother?” He stuck out his fist and bumped it with mine.

“Not much, Jonesy.” I knew I wouldn’t have to show my ID, and I was actually glad not to.  I had been going to the bar since I was eighteen. If they’d ever wanted to see my real I.D. they would know I had pulled the wool over their eyes for three years with a fake one.

Just like I expected, there was no one in the bar except a couple usual local drunks. They were a couple of old guys that would talk your ear off if you let them.  I walked to the bar area and Megan was behind the counter looking as hot as ever. She was wearing a hot, black skin-tight top with a pair of cut-off jeans shorts. The girl sure knew how to get a tip.

“Hey Tommy, have a seat, cutie.” She seemed genuinely glad to see me probably bored to tears.

“Trust me there is only one cutie in this bar and it sure as hell isn't me,” I said, as I sat in the stool.

Megan smiled at me flirtatiously and said, “Jonsey is looking hot tonight.”

“Yes he is.  No one is quite able to pull off the mullet with a goatee and sideburns like Jonsey,”

“That’s for sure. What can I get you, Big Boy?”

I hesitated and then said, “I’ll have a Patron. Make it a double shot.”  Sometimes I like to order a drink to impress, but it’s hard to impress a bartender.

“Sure thing.” Megan grabbed a Patron bottle from the back of the bar.  She had to tilt her body up to get the bottle and thank God she did. I caught a glimpse of an ass cheek. Wow, that did the trick! I will put that image in my mental vault and whip that baby out as needed in times of solitude.

I'm not a verbal pig, so I definitely didn't let on that I was pretty turned on by her little reach-up-to-grab-a-bottle performance. A woman like Megan knows she’s hot and works it for all she’s got. If I was to comment, it would just put me in a category of every hard up creep that comes in here.  If Megan didn’t work here and I had met her out in the real world, I might have hit on her. But there was no way I would do anything other than harmless flirting. I make it a point not to shit where I eat. 

Megan turned around and poured me a double shot and set it in front of me along with a couple of limes and a salt shaker.

“You know me so well, Megan.”

“I aim to please.”

“I know you do.” I put a little salt on my wrist and cut a lime in half.  “Here’s to the New year!” I licked the salt, downed the double shot and sucked the lime.  It went down smooth, Patron always does. “Slow night?” I asked.

Megan smirked at the idiocy of my obvious question. “I expected it,” she said. “I have no idea why the owner even has this place open. He gives us two vacation days, Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Well, I'll tip you good.”

“I know you will, you always do,” Megan looked over my shoulder and then paused. “Don't look now, Tommy, but a ‘Ten’ just walked in and she’s all alone.”

“Wow, a ‘Ten’ even.”  I didn't look around.

“She's hot.  I'd do her.”Megan said, plainly.

“She is either really hot, or really nasty,” I said, under my breath. Hot girls tend to make out with odd looking chicks at parties.  There’s something about a bad, genuine hard ass chick that turns on straight girls. But those girls do nothing for me.

“She definitely hot! Turn around, you chicken-shit.”

“I'm not chicken-shit, I'm savoring the moment. I like to pace myself.”

“Well, Mr. Pacer, you blew it. She just left.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” I turned around and saw the door close. I looked at Megan and gave her a look that said ‘this girl better be worth going to the parking lot to check out.’

“Go see for yourself,” she said, and began wiping down the counter.

I got up and hurried past Jonsey and went outside. I opened the door and right beside the door on the right was a beautiful brunette. She was sexy in a hot playboy centerfold way, but still had enough girl next door in her to tell she was grounded.  At least I hope so, you never know with girls from California. She was looking at her phone and making a text message.  I decided I better do something, so I didn't appear like I had only come outside to see her. I took a couple steps to the left and pretended to text on my phone.

I mouthed out loud what I was supposedly texting to give the illusion I was real interested in my make-believe text.  I had to play it like I was completely unaware of the hot brunette that I was standing next to me in the parking lot.  This kind of move hardly ever works, but it was worth a shot.

I took my time and eventually looked over at her to see that I and the brown haired beauty were about fifteen feet apart. She caught me looking in her direction and I gave my sincerest, warmest smile.  Her eyes locked in on me. Bingo! She was interested.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“I don't think so,” I said. “Why?”

“I don't know, maybe it was just the way you were looking at me.”

“How was I looking at you?” I said, laughing.