Page 21 of Sterling Fight

“I’ll be here.” Her feet kick again, and she offers a warmer smile before I leave.

Once on my Harley, I have time to reflect. Ten days doesn’t feel like enough time to get back in Genie’s good graces. To re-spark an old friendship. To re-kindle what I once hoped could be more.

However, I’ve been given a second chance. Somehow. Someway. And I’ve learned to fight. This pretendship, as Genie called it, is a match I could not, would not, lose. I’d already lost Genie once before.

I have ten days to prove myself. Ten days to date my fake fiancée.

I haven’t felt this fire inside me since I was eighteen years old. This desire to claim what I want. To believe in a future for the first time in a long time. A future that involved more than simply existing but living.

When I arrive at Mack’s, I’m primed for my match this evening. I’m looking forward to the battle. The adrenaline rush and the endorphin high. That moment my body turns into a machine. One I control.

My movements are practiced; my skills honed. Nothing feels like the swift release of a left hook or a right uppercut. The contact of glove to glove doesn’t spur me on as much as the mental challenge. The unknown of my opponent’s moves. The anticipation of it. The excitement rises from counteracting him. A war rages within me, and the win is always bittersweet.

But tonight, it’s not about bringing someone else down as much as pulling myself up.

Victory feels a little sweeter this evening.

Genie Webster is in my home, waiting for me. This time, I won’t disappoint her.

9

[Genie]

“Now what?” I mutter to the emptiness after the soft click of the entrance to Judd’s garage announces he’s left the building.

I remember saying to Judd I’m better at making messes than cleaning them up and I’ve certainly made a mess of things now.

I’m wearing his mother’s ring.

I’m hiding from my mother in his home.

And I’ve agreed to dating him, pretending we’re engaged for ten days.

What the eff-ity are you doing, Genie?

“Marching to the beat of my own drum,” I say to the empty room. “And now I’m talking to myself.”

I clamp my lips shut, realizing I’m still doing it. As I slip off the highbacked stool, I finally kick off the shoes that match this ridiculous costume of a dress I wore today.

“How did I get myself into that mess?” I mutter once more to the cavernous space deciding what difference does it make if I talk to myself. The point is no one is here to hear me.

How did I get into this dress and how will I get out of it? Then I’m hit with the reality that I don’t have a change of clothes. I don’t even have my phone.

I should call my mom. Just fess up to the truth. Judd isn’t mine. But my thumb tucks into my palm and rolls the gold band from the underside, righting it so the purple gemstone stands proudly on my finger.

It really is pretty.

Quickly, I glance away from the ring and decide I should eat. That whiskey I slammed earlier has gone to my head and a woman can’t survive on cinnamon rolls alone.

Circling the large island, I open Judd’s industrial-looking, double-door fridge to find it stocked full of fresh vegetables and fruits, plus an array of electrolyte drinks and protein juices. The selections are too healthy, and I’d need to be creative to compile a meal.

My day has been complicated enough.

“Wine it is, then.” I reach across the counter for my glass, then pick up Judd’s and pour his into mine. Holding the very full stemless glass to my chest, I wander the great room, taking it all in a second time.

The soft looking couches. The over-sized fireplace. The view of the lake.

The late-afternoon-slash-early-evening remains light a little longer as the season creeps toward summer, roughly halfway between the official start of spring and the end. The trees surrounding the lake are mostly awake, the green appears dusty in the fading light of another day.