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I couldn’t see him clearly because he kept his head dipped and he was wrapped in a long black robe. So my reaction to him was odd to say the least.
My seat was close to his corner and I had no trouble seeing him as he prepared to climb into the ring.
He towered over the other men by inches, and when he removed the hood, his unruly black hair gleamed in the lights. The crowd, on hearing his name went wild but it was nothing compared to the cacophony that erupted when he climbed into the ring. But I was frozen in my seat as the crowd cheered and writhed around me in their excitement.
Muscles rippled under his silk robe, quickening my pulse, and when he shucked the robe, I was sure I whimpered out loud. His stance emphasized the force of his thighs and the slimness of his hips.
His whole body rippled with tension as he slowly turned in a circle to greet his fans. Facing his corner, he stood there, devilishly handsome.
My eyes refused to leave his beautiful face. The set of his chin suggested a stubborn streak and his lips looked firm but sensual. His dark eyes didn’t miss anything and when they met my unwavering gaze, my heart stopped altogether. He carried on past me, but, seconds later, his gaze returned to me and held.
I couldn’t look away as my face heated with arousal, although it should have been embarrassment. Even when his coach spoke to him, I felt like he struggled to move his attention away from me. When he finally did, I felt bereft, sad even, though my eyes stayed on him.
And then it was like he had switched off in the ring. Everything that had caught his attention was gone and he was focused solely on his opponent. I gasped as the bell rang and the two men closed the distance between them. His fists flew like lightening and I clung to my seat unable to tear my eyes from the bloody scene as the two men grappled around the ring. I wanted to stop it but a part of me wanted to watch as the excitement of the crowd beat through me.
I cried out when Stryker took a strong cross to his chin, his head reeling to the side before he planted his feet and swung back. The crack could be heard over the crowd and Stryker’s opponent swayed on his feet before he toppled to the mat.
Throughout the fight he held my attention and when the announcer held his arm up in the air to state that he was the winner, Stryker’s eyes scanned the crowd until he found mine.
Our gaze was only broken when Patrick stood in front of me. “Let’s go.” He took my arm and led me out of the arena, much to my disappointment.
I had so many questions but knew I couldn’t ask them of Patrick. He kept glancing my way, but I refused to acknowledge him for now. My mind and body was in turmoil as I wondered about the larger than life fighter.
I certainly knew whom I would be researching when I was alone. First though, I’d have to sit through drinks with Patrick and his friends. I shuddered and stared longingly down the street at my escape. All I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts and I sighed as we headed into their favorite wine bar. For some reason, tonight’s drink felt wrong being in this place with piano music softly playing as affluent men and women sat on the plush couches and chatted. After the violence of the fight, and with how raw I felt, loud music in a bar with others from the arena would have felt right.
Then again my head probably wouldn’t have held up under that, because it now throbbed with just the piano music.
I rubbed at my brow and tried to catch Patrick’s eye, but his back was toward me, which I was sure he’d done deliberately.
Sighing, I leaned back and watched the group around Patrick. He threw his head back and laughed at something someone said…clearly he was in his element. I, on the other hand, wasn’t. It was a bone of contention between us and I was never as social as Patrick would like me to be with his friends. It always took a lot of persuading on his part to get me to go out as a group. I had no interest but I’d discovered that it was so much easier just agreeing. I mean it was only a few hours, and half the time I wasn’t even sure Patrick wanted to be with them, or me.
Tonight had been different though as I’d practically begged to go to the fight. I’d never been included on fight nights before so I’d probably thrown a wrench into Patrick’s usual plans.
With a heavy sigh, I glanced around and realized that although I was in the group, it was like I was on the outside looking in. At least that was how I felt…alone in a sea of people. What made me sad was that the one person I should be able to talk to, was the last person I wanted to.
I glanced at Patrick again and smiled when he acknowledged me, he didn’t come over. My smile slipped. He knew that I wanted to leave, which was why he stalled by pretending to be interested in the conversation he was currently having. The asshole. He just didn’t want to leave and possibly miss something.
I couldn’t remember the last time he actually showed some concern for my welfare, and I knew that sounded self-centered, but it was true. We were supposed to be getting married in a few weeks and both of us had left the planning to our parents. More specifically my parents. And that right there told me we shouldn’t be getting married, at least to each other.
It all started a month ago when I thought to hell with it and gave in to my mom’s constant phone calls. I’d had enough and told he
r to do what she wanted and just send me a schedule so we’d know when to be where. What I’d really wanted to say was, “The weddings off.” If only it had been that easy I could have moved on with my life. But the thought of ending things made me sad. I did care for Patrick but I wasn’t in love with him…I wasn’t sure if I ever was. I read and write about love all the time, but I’d never felt that all-consuming passion. The one that made me ache for a person or where I couldn’t imagine life without him. I stared at Patrick. The problem was I could imagine my life without Patrick and most of the times, it looked a lot better than life with him.
Neither of us had used the ‘love’ word, which made me wonder why Patrick would ask me to marry him. We enjoyed each other’s company, at least when we were alone. Once we added anyone else, especially his friends, it was like that familiarity we had just shut off. I always felt unwelcome even when they smiled and invited me to sit and chat with them.
His mother, Rosemarie, would make me feel welcome, but it always felt ‘strange’ as though there was something that underlined our being together.
Millie had a lot to say about Patrick’s parents, and she was the one holding me together because I felt close to shattering.
Patrick talked about our future whenever we were alone and he had it all planned out. How many children, what I would be doing when the babies came, what he wanted for his career, and even where we would live at each stage of our marriage. I would find myself close to hyperventilating when he went on…I didn’t want my life planned right down to the minute. He never asked what I wanted, never even asked if I agreed with him. Everything was about his five-year plan and knowing how fucking anal he was, he wouldn’t be willing to change them for anyone.
My mother loved Patrick, and she hadn’t stopped telling me what a catch he was. The only reason she thought that was because she was thinking about grandchildren and how handsome or beautiful they’d turn out because of Patrick’s good fortune in the look’s department.
I just wished my life was so much simpler. No private education, no family money, no mother wanting her daughter married off to supply her with grandchildren. My biggest wish as a child had always been for my dad to work a nine to five job and be home in the evenings and on the weekends. I would have traded all the wealth and privilege I’d had as a child for my dad.
My wishes never came true.
“Bunch of assholes.”
