Fighting for Flight

he asks. “Sure, yeah.”
He’s still staring, but his smile grows, his dimples forming bookends to his radiant smile. “It’s September fourteenth at—”
“Shut. Up.” My powerful response surprises even me.
“What? Why?” He’s genuinely confused which only endears me to him more.
“Oh, no, I just mean . . . shut up . . . like . . . no way . . . My twenty-first birthday is September fifteenth.”
“Wow, twenty-first. That’s a big one. I remember my twenty-first.” His eyes search the rafters, concentrating. “Actually, I don’t.” Shrugging one shoulder, he smirks. “I heard it was great though.” He runs a hand through his hair with a shy grimace that I find completely sexy.
I fold the greasy shop towel. “How long ago was your twenty-first?”
His eyes narrow on mine. “Raven, are you trying to ask me how old I am?”
Heat warms my neck, rising up to color my cheeks.
“Five years ago. I’m twenty-six.” Comfortable silence fills the air. “Anyway, you should come to the fight. I’ll get you a ticket. Call it an early birthday present.”
“I’d love that. Thanks.”
~*~
Jonah
Thirty minutes with the heavy bag didn’t make a dent in my attempt to exorcise Raven from my head. I thought for sure that spending time with her this morning would work in my favor. Figured if I got to know her better, I’d realize she’s just like other girls. I was wrong.
From the moment she walked into my house to the moment she walked out, she held my rapt attention. Usually when women start talking I zone out, but this girl said things I wanted to hear. She talked about cars like they were family. It was captivating. If that weren’t enough, working together was a breeze. We fell into easy conversation and comfortable silences, as if she were one of the guys—well, one of the guys in a supermodel package. Damn. What a package. Even the garage, with its twenty-foot ceilings, felt small with her in it. No matter how far away I would move, her perfect body seemed too close. Thank God I had to get to training or I’d probably fallen to my knees and begged her to have dinner with me.
This isn’t good. With the title fight coming up, I can’t afford any distractions. Maybe I should put the restoration on hold until after the fight. That should give me time to forget about her. Or maybe I should pull my shit together and stop acting like some teenager with perma-wood.
I can’t blow her off now. I promised her tickets to my fight, and I can’t go back on a promise. Comfort washes over me at the thought of looking out from the octagon on the biggest fight of my life and seeing Raven standing in my corner. This shit is not cool. I’ll get one of the guys to give me a thorough ass kicking before I leave for being such a pansy.
But pansy or not, I’m drawn to her by some unseen force. Everything from my thoughts to my dick gravitates in her direction. Like getting caught in a rip tide, one minute I’m swimming, free to go in any direction, and then I feel a tug. I’m kicking and flailing my arms and legs toward shore while the invisible pull takes me in the opposite direction. No matter how hard I swim, I keep going further and further out to sea.
Yeah, that’s how it is with Raven. One minute I’m free, navigating the waters of my life, and, now, I feel a tug.
“What’s up, man? Where is everyone?” Rex calls as he makes his way to the mats to warm up.
“They should be here.” I answer absently, still trying to pull my head out of my ass. “Yo, T-Rex. You missed a couple.” I motion to my eyebrow and lip.
“Shit, man. Thanks.” Rex removes the small barbell from his eyebrow and ring from his lip and places them on the bench.
I stretch my arms and roll my neck. “Where’s Caleb?”
“He’s here, just wrapping his ankle in the locker room.” Rex motions over his shoulder where I see Caleb making his way to the mats.
“Y’all talkin’ about me?” Caleb’s telltale, country-boy accent echoes off the walls. Owen sneaks up behind him, and smacks the back of his head. “Ow, dick!”
Owen ignores Caleb’s pained remark. “You done wrapping your ankle, sweetheart?”
Caleb rubs the back of his head.
“You guys get warmed up, and we’ll break into teams for grappling.” Owen’s order is all business. He’s one of the best coaches in MMA, and when he gets down to it, he doesn’t fuck around.
“You bitches ready to get your asses handed to you?” Blake strolls toward the mats. Late.
The group grumbles and throws back a number of different taunts and insults before we pair off and take our places. This title fight is an accumulation of everything I’ve been working for since I started fighting. It’s the single biggest accomplishment of my life. And I’ll be damned if a girl is going to rob me of my goal. Never.
A few hours into training and I’m breathing deep. Sweat coats my skin, proving without question that I worked hard. I welcome the burn of my muscles and the flood of endorphins that blur the thoughts of a certain female.
Owen calls time. “Take five and we’ll hit the bags.”
We all grab our waters and stretch on the floor.
Caleb flops down next to me lying flat on his back. “Where are we watching the game this weekend?”
“Not my place.” I swig from my water bottle.
“Jonah’s it is.” Owen decides for the group.
I scowl at him and contemplate sweeping his legs. “The fuck you say?”
He shrugs in my direction.
Blake’s standing, grabbing his ankle to stretch his quad. “Sweet. I’ll bring the pizza.”
“I’ll get the beer.” Rex’s voice calls out from behind me.
“Shit, no. I said not at my place.”
Caleb nods to Rex. “Game starts at three so we should be there by two.”
“Fucking assholes.” It’s like I’m not even here.
Rex’s dumb ass looks right