~Sean~
Wednesday night I made sure the VIP room at C’est La Vie was reserved for Hadlee’s birthday.
It was the last thing I did before I caught my flight to Atlantic City for what the critics are saying is going to be the second biggest fight of my career. I’ve been trying to steer clear of the media coverage of the events leading up to the fight, but yesterday, in my hotel, I got hooked on the ESPN coverage and was pleasantly surprised that the odds are in my favor.
All right. Not really surprised. I kind of figured they already pegged me as the winner.
The truth is, I am a scrapper. A junk yard pitbull. Punches don’t frighten me or do any permanent damage. And when my opponent knocks me down, if he manages to knock me down at all, I get back up again with speed, and dodge the next punch sailing at me with agility.
I remember the night of my first fight. How miniscule the crowd was. How inexperienced me and my opponent were. I like to think of the few pro-am matches I fought as learning experiences. Mainly because I fucked up in so many ways. Don’t get me wrong, I still won those fights, but I did leave them with some hefty injuries.
First thing I learned, always cover your chest. Body shots hurt like a bitch and broken ribs take forever to heal. You try not breathing for months and see how you like it. Second, nobody puts Seany in the corner. Haha, Dirty Dancing I know. Never let your opponent pin you in any of the four corners of the ring. And if you do, head down, gloves up. Lastly, quickness is your dude. Your BFF. It has to be with you at all times.
I like to use my speed to my advantage. Yes, I throw in a few combinations. Some single jabs. But mostly, I move around the ring a lot. It tires my opponent and give me the opportunity to strike. I’m like a venomous adder. I slither to the right. To the left. Then BAM! I strike with ferocity, throwing my famous right hook and leveling my unworthy opponent.
A loud knock echoes through the room. I know it’s Murph at the door so I just shout, “It’s open!”
Murph attends all of my fights as my body guard. Not that I really need one, but every boxer has his posse. You know like his pit crew. It’s a lot like Nascar really. Minus the cars. And rednecks with missing teeth. “You ready?” the big lug asks and when he turns I notice he’s already wearing his Team Reilly jacket.
“Somebody is overly excited,” I say with a chuckle. My fight isn’t for eight hours and Murph’s already good to go.
“Joe sent me to up to bring you down for the weigh in.” Murph gives me the get a move on it look and with that I hop up from the bed and follow him through the door.
We walk down the hall. The red carpet and gold walls, blurring in my vision. When we come to the bay of elevators Murph says, “Have you seen the ring girls? Holy shit man! They are fucking dime pieces.” He takes in a deep breath. “I’ll bet you’ll be getting lucky for days after this fight.”
“That’s if I win,” I add.
Murph looks at me incredulously. “What the fuck is going on with you man?” He jerks me by the shoulder. “You’re normally a cocky prick when it comes to your matches.”
I shrug. “Just trying not to count my chickens before they hatch, you know?” And I throw in, “No I haven’t seen the ring girls.”
I tune Murph out as he begins to describe the size of one of the ring girls cans, and when he speculates on the exact circumference of the other one’s tight round ass. In the past, I’d be thoroughly intrigued by the descriptions and
have fantasies about slapping that tight round ass while I’m hitting it from behind, but since then my thoughts have changed.
My taste in women has changed.
The only woman I’ve been able to think about since I’ve arrived is Hadlee. I’ve thought about calling her. I thought about popping over to her place right before I caught my flight to Atlantic City. But I didn’t. I should have. But I didn’t. Part of me thought she needed the space, you know. I know that when I had a breakdown in the past, I needed time to be by myself. I needed the space to sort out my emotions and feelings.
I figured females probably wanted the same things, right?
Murph tsks and shakes his head. He has an amused look in his eyes and I nod at him as the elevator door opens. “What?”
“You, man.” He laughs and we walk inside the elevator.
“What about me?”
“There’s something going on with you, dude. First of all, you were ignoring me when I was describing the ring girls sweet, sweet ass. And for the last few days you’ve been out of it, staring off and pretty much tuning out everything I fucking say.”
“I have not,” I scoff.
“You have, dude. What the fuck is up with you?”
“Nothing,” I say slowly. “I just have a lot on my mind with Teagan and the fight and all.”
“Right.” Sarcasm drips from his vocal chords and I know he doesn’t buy my bull shit for a second. “You know what I think it is?”
The second I open my mouth to ask him what, the elevator stops and the door swings open. In walks a woman in a pant suit with cascading auburn curls and a smooth almond complexion. She wears a corset beneath her suit jacket and my gaze centers on her full breasts that are spilling over the top. We make eye contact. She scans me with a sweep of her hazel eyes and bites her bottom lip with a smirk. And she smells fucking delicious too. Like cranberries and maple syrup. I inhale deeply as she turns around and ignore the sound of Murph chuckling in the corner.