Fighter(4)

“We got a tip. He’s fighting tonight, not on Boxing Day—although he could be fighting then too. But yeah.” He finished cleaning up the coffee and frowned at his flannel shirt. Putting his coffee cup on the counter, he decided the shirt had to go. He tossed it on a chair and pulled off his white tee shirt, which had absorbed most of the coffee.

“Oh my,” came a voice from the doorway.

There, holding onto the doorframe with her mouth formed in an O and her eyes traveling slowly down my brother’s body, was my best friend. While I had straight, dark brown hair, Haley had blond curly hair. Almond eyes, tiny little lips, freckles sprinkled over her complexion—she was cute and gorgeous all at once. She had a small frame, boobs she wished were bigger, and slender hips, and she wasn’t the only one drooling. Dylan’s eyes were glued to her. No. Correction: they were glued to her rack.

I motioned to her. “Haley.”

She didn’t answer. She completed her first scan, arriving at his feet, and started back up.

“Haley.”

She held a hand up. “Hold on. Girl’s working here.”

Realizing he was a fine specimen, my brother moved as if he were in slow motion. He started to reach for his flannel shirt, flexing his arm muscles, then turned his arm so his shoulder muscle bulged. The pectorals were next, and last, as he grabbed his shirt, he made sure to suck in his breath and twist to the side so his abdominal muscles were as cut as possible.

It could’ve been a scene out of a sitcom, as Haley wasn’t even trying to hide her reaction. She held a latte in her hand, and while she drank in the sight of my brother, her hand lifted the lid. She let it fall to the floor as she dipped her fingers into the cup, then wiped them at the corner of her mouth.

She was foaming. I got it.

A second later, she glanced at me, biting down on her lip and trying to hold back her laughter. She pointed to herself. “Get it?”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s my brother. You’re disgusting.”

Dylan realized his Magic Mike moment was over and chuckled, buttoning up his flannel shirt at a faster pace. He gestured to the cup she was holding. “What’s that?”

“A latte.”

He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. He started for her, but she held it back and circled the room to me. “It’s for your sister.”

As she gave it me, I beamed. “Finally. The best friend has arrived.”

She rolled her eyes, making a tsking sound, and perched at the side of the couch. Then she studied the mound of ice packs. “Uh, is that good for you?”

Dylan barked out a laugh, slapping his leg. “That’s what she gets for not taking a radio out into the field.”

Haley frowned at him. “What? She gets ice-packed to death?”

He stopped laughing. “What?”

“They said Jaxon is fighting tonight,” I told Haley. “Do you know where?”

She looked back at me with an incredulous look.

“What?”

“Has college sucked all the intelligent cells out of you? It’s Christmas Eve…” She waited, her eyebrows rising higher and higher. Then she made a circling motion in the air. “Come on…”

Christmas Eve. Fighting. Jaxon.

It hit me, and I fell back down against the couch. “Fuck me.” Jaxon was fighting at Sally’s, a hick bar known for their underground fighting matches. They always had a three-day tournament, starting Christmas Eve and ending on Boxing Day.

“Uh…” Haley tilted her head to the side. “I think he actually did that one time right there.”

“What?” Dylan looked back and forth between us. He’d grabbed his coffee cup and now reached for mine.

I pulled it to my chest, shooting him a dark look. “Back off.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

A honking came from outside, and he waved at them through the window. “I gotta go. See you later, and you’d better get all dressed and pretty. You’re going to be seeing your boy later tonight.” He gave us both a cocky smirk as he left, using his back to push open the door.

The second it closed, Haley turned to me. “Tell me you want to go too.”

“Hell, yes.”

We started knocking the ice packs off my leg. When she saw the blanket, Haley grinned and shook her head, but didn’t say a word. When all of them were gone, she took one of my hands, and I pushed up from the couch with the other. Here was the testing moment: could I put weight on my leg or not? I would have to be able to walk.

Holding my breath and my latte, I started standing up. Nope. Daggers of pain shot up my leg, and I cried out. No way. I couldn’t walk. “Great,” I muttered. The pain almost made me drop my coffee. That would be a cold day in hell. Coffee came before everything. “Now what am I going to do?”

Haley thought, then her eyes lit up. She let go of my hand, and I barely caught myself as I fell back to the couch. I screamed at the sudden rush of more pain.

“Oh.” She grimaced. “Sorry about that. But wait…” She ran upstairs, then downstairs, giving me a thumbs-up as she passed the living room. She threw open the basement door, and I heard her going down. She reappeared empty-handed and paused in the doorway to the living room. She scratched the top of her head, then her hand jerked up again. “I got it!” She sprinted back out through the kitchen, and I twisted around so I could see through the window. She was heading for the shed.