Grace for Drowning

And fitting with that goal, tonight my partner in crime behind the bar was Jonah. He'd grown on me a lot, recently. When I first started at Charlie's, he'd struck me as just another immature player who'd happily chat up anything in a skirt, but there was something vaguely charming about his shamelessness. No amount of rejection seemed to stem the tide of one-liners and pick up attempts. All in all, he was fun to be around, and I figured that as long as he didn't push the issue too far, he was harmless enough.

"First fight?" he asked, during one of our rare lulls.

"Yep."

"Did Charlie give you your goggles yet?"

"Goggles?" I asked.

He frowned. "I guess that's a no. That's okay, there's a spare pair here." He reached under the bar and fished out a pair of clear Perspex goggles, the kind you'd typically find in a woodworking shop.

"What the hell are these for?" I asked, turning them over in my hand.

"You don't know?" I shook my head. "Oh, shit. Well basically, when you work these fights, you're supposed to put on a pair of goggles. Stops you getting blood in your eyes. Something to do with OH&S."

I felt a lump building in my throat and I glanced at the arena, which was at least fifteen feet away. "Blood? But they're all the way over there."

He stared at me like I was an idiot. "It's a fight, of course there's blood. These guys hit hard. I mean, some nights are worse than others, but you'll always get at least a few splashes. Ever wonder why the Charlie's tees are black?"

He let me dangle like that for several seconds, images of the two of us painted scarlet-red from head to toe playing through my mind, before bursting out laughing. "Works every time."

My cheeks turned hot and I aimed a not-too-gentle punch at his shoulder. "Not funny," I replied, although I felt a smile tugging at my lips.

"If you'd seen your face, you'd disagree," he replied. "In all seriousness, don't worry. These nights are fun, and if you get into any trouble, I'll take care of you."

I rolled my eyes. "My hero."

The room filled quickly, and by the time the first fighters were announced, there wasn't a free seat to be seen.

A familiar voice rang out through the room. "Ladies and gentleman, welcome to another action packed night of Final Blow." Charlie stood in the center of the cage, a microphone in hand and a giant grin plastered across his face.

The crowd roared in response. Logan had told me the room held five hundred, but I swear to God, it sounded like a Yankees game from the inside.

"We've got a fantastic show for you this evening," continued Charlie, "including one new face from all the way over in Chicago."

A few audience members let out good natured boos.

"Now, now, be nice, folks. We're all friends here. And on that note, I'd like you to give a warm welcome to our first fighters tonight. You've seen them both before, but never in the ring at the same time. In the blue corner, we've got a fan favorite. A local boy. He's two hundred pounds of raw punching power. Give it up for Joe 'Kitty Cat' Thomppppsssson."

The rumble from the bleachers grew louder still, and Charlie drank it up. He'd always seemed reserved to me, but he was every bit the showman now, his voice rising in a trembling crescendo that made me think of the boxing matches my dad used to watch on TV.

Jonah leaned over until his shoulder lay against mine, which wasn't difficult considering how cramped it was behind the bar. "You know why they call him Kitty Cat?"

I shrugged. "Because it's so intimidating?"

He shot me what I'd come to think of as his panty-dropping grin. It didn't do much for me, but I'd seen plenty of women go weak at the knees before it, so maybe I was just missing something. "Because whenever people knock him down he seems to always wind up on his feet."

"And here I was expecting some joke involving the word 'pussy.'"

"Then you obviously don't know me very well. I'm nothing but serious when it comes to pussy."

I laughed. "And there it is."

By now, Charlie had welcomed both men into the ring. They were shirtless, and while neither quite had Logan's sheer size or tone, they each cut rather intimidating figures. God, when did I start comparing all men to Logan?

After a little more ceremony and a touching of their thin black gloves, the two men took a few steps backward, and the fight was on. I'd watched Logan train a lot, but that didn't prepare me for the reality of this sort of combat. This wasn't a gentleman's game in any form. Almost any kind of damage they could inflict with their body was allowed. The men circled one another, probing and testing, before one of them would snap forward like a snake to land a bone shuddering punch. Each impact left me wincing in sympathy, but somehow they soaked up the punishment.

One of the men seemed eager to take things to the ground, but the other kept him at bay with a lightning quick array of punches and kicks. They slugged it out like that for several rounds, and it felt like neither really had the edge, but moments before the bell rung for the third time, one of those punches connected, and the other man dropped like a stone.