Page 13 of Takedown

She scoffs and moves away from me. I watch her tight ass pace across my living room, and I will my body not to have its natural reaction. I reach out, touch her arm, and she stops walking. When she looks at me again, I see the uncertainty in her eyes. The fire from minutes ago is gone, and the only things left are the vulnerability and unease emanating from her. It’s the same look she had on New Year’s Eve. I’ve noticed it before, and I’ve always wondered why. Why someone so beautiful, smart, and loved by so many people would always have this air of loneliness, but I think I finally got my answer tonight.

“Don’t act like I don’t see you, Mel. Since the first time I laid eyes on you, I saw you. Not just the beautiful face but what’s underneath. The stuff you try to hide from the rest of the world. I see it all, and I want it all.”

She clears her throat, grabbing the strings of her hoodie. She looks away without responding to me.

“You can stay here. You can stay forever, but nothing in life is free.”

She sighs, but she straightens her spine and I watch, transfixed as her fire returns. “Of course,” she says, almost as if she’s disappointed by my words. “How much? And remember, I know how much your rent is so don’t try and take advantage of me.”

A laugh escapes, but my wife doesn’t laugh along with me. “No amount of money can buy it.”

Her eyes narrow. “Can’t buy what exactly? Everyone has their price, Adam. Name yours.”

“I want you to be my wife.” She opens her mouth to argue, but I put my fingers to her soft lips. “And I don’t mean only when your mother is around. I want you to give being married to me a real chance, because let’s face it. Despite what you told your brother and Alex, the two of us know the truth about what really happened in Las Vegas.”

She puts a palm in my face and gives me her back, but she doesn’t deny my words.

“Here’s what I want,” I tell her. “I want you to wear your ring. You will move in here fully. You will contact the post office and have your address changed, and yes, Mel. I know the only change is the apartment number, but I don’t care. And last, but not least, you will take my last name.”

She stops breathing when I finish talking. She turns around slowly, shoves at my chest, and when I don’t budge, she does it again and again.

“Of course, you’d take advantage. No way.” She grabs her suitcase and starts to walk away. “I’ll go stay in a hotel until I get a place.”

“Fine.” I take a dramatic seat on my sofa. She eyes me warily. “When are you going to tell your mother you got drunk, married me, and flew back to Boston before I woke up? You were drunk, right? Isn’t that the story you’re telling everyone?” That stops her in her tracks. She drops the suitcase again, and I expel a breath of relief. “Or you can piss her off by being married to the guy she obviously dislikes. The guy that’s not your type according to her. One year, Mel. I’m asking you to be my wife for one year.”

She assesses me, but she doesn’t make any more attempts to leave. In fact, she unzips the hoodie, revealing a body-hugging crop top that shows just a sliver of brown, smooth skin. I hold my breath while I wait for her next move. “Or,” she says, “we can fight for it. Trial by combat.” She raises both hands and starts to stretch. Her top rides up and I get a view of her bare stomach.

“Trial by combat? Like in Game of Thrones?” I ask, just a little bit confused by the rapid change of subject.

“Just like that, except not to the death. We fight it out. When I win, you let me stay here. You get the couch and play the doting husbandonlywhen my mother is around. Until I move out of here and annul this sham of a marriage.”

“What about if I win?” I cross my arms over my chest, amused by the very idea.

“You won’t.”

“You know I was training to be a professional boxer a few years ago, right?”

She shrugs and waves me off as if my years in the boxing ring mean absolutely nothing.

“Yeah, yeah. Boxing is fake, and you probably weren’t that good since you’re obviously not a professional boxer.” Before I can remind her that she must be thinking about wrestling, she speaks again. “That crap is all choreographed. I’m talking about more of a cage match where anything goes. And Adam, I hope you agree, because I really want to kick your ass for the hell you put me through in Vegas. I’m gonna gouge out your eyes and scratch your face. You won’t be so pretty when I leave a few scars on that mug of yours.” She cracks her knuckles and starts to squat before doing a series of high knee jumps.

“Okay, then. Tell you what? If you can land a single hit, you win. But you have to land that hit before I can grab you.” She starts to do some high kicks. When she does the boxer’s shuffle, I arch my eyebrows and hold my tongue. No need to tell her that her form is wrong or that she’s locking her elbows when she punches.

“Not necessary, but I want to add one more thing. You don’t have to wait for the year to be up when you decide you want out. Just give me enough time to find a place.”

“Done,” I tell her as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

“Come on,” she says. “I’ve been in a lot of fights in my life. I bet you’ve only ever fought in the ring. This boy groped me in the tenth grade, and I kicked his ass. I know I can take you.”

“Yeah, of course you can. Tenth graders and professional boxers are virtually the same.” She snorts, takes a fighting stance, and starts to throw punches, locking her elbows again. “Aren’t you going to stretch?”

Now. it’s my turn to snort. “I think I’ll be okay. So, do you agree to my terms? I agree to yours. You land just one hit, and you can run this apartment. I’ll even make you breakfast every morning.”

“And my laundry. I hate doing it.”

“Deal, but remember what I want.”

“Whatever. I’m not worried about it.”

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