Page 13 of Hot Irish Halloween

Jack leaned forward and propped his elbows on his thighs, examining the two fighters. Even without being in the arena, the hum of energy was palpable, making the hairs rise on the back of his neck and his arms. It was that same energy thatalways precipitated a fight, the blood under the skin stirring and beginning to rush whether you were a spectator or in the ring.

Bautista introduced the two men, drawing out their names, then introduced the referee for the match, who put his hands together and bowed to the crowd. After the emcee’s exit, La Roque and Traynor circled each other for a moment, assessing each other, hands raised. It was Traynor who threw the first low kick, connecting with La Roque’s shin. Another kick, higher, to the waist. A punch landed on La Roque’s jaw.

The dark blonde took more hits, to the face, the torso, and another low kick. He grinned, showing a mouthpiece decorated to look like fangs. Then he threw a straight punch that blasted through an opening in Traynor’s defense, snapping his head back and laying him out cold. Traynor was down, unconscious. That didn’t stop La Roque from kicking his head repeatedly, while shouts of outrage erupted from the crowd.

“Fight’s over, fight’s over!” the ref shouted, scrambling over.

The ref pushed La Roque away and knelt beside the fallen fighter. It was hard to see his face under all the blood. His mouthpiece had been dislodged by the sheer force of the blow and lay near the edge of the mat, dripping crimson. The crowd roared as the medic rushed in along with Traynor’s corner team.

After a few slaps to his face, Traynor sat up. Jack released the breath he’d been holding as Traynor’s team helped him to his feet.

There was a brief consultation between the judges down on the floor behind their table. It looked like an argument as the commentator made rapid-fire remarks about the brutality of the short fight. He wondered if La Roque would be disqualified and if his win would be withheld because of the illegal kicks. But there was another surprise; the emcee bounded back into the ring to announce La Roque had won by KO.

“But it was dirty,” Jack gritted through his teeth. “Why are they allowing this?”

Now Jack knew why they’d called him. Like Traynor, Jack had been the crowd favorite of his time. He’d play the hero character while La Roque was the villain. They’d make a lot of money putting him in the octagon against that savage and not give a fuck which one of them got carried out on a stretcher.

Regardless of why they wanted him, he had to admit it to himself: Jack did miss being in the octagon. Missed the energy of the crowd, but more than that, the wild moments of triumph at a win. It was a high, the sweetest kind.

But the best part had been having something to look forward to, a goal to work toward every day. He hadn’t felt that in five long years. The most exciting thing he had to look forward to now was cracking open the latest high-octane thriller for an all-night read. Or the next action movie coming out on streaming and the bag of crisps he’d eat while watching it. That was it.

Fighting was off the table for him. No one, least of all some shifty-eyed opportunist like Quinn, was going to change his mind.

But despite his even better reasons for staying out of the cage, the urge to crush La Roque unfurled in his chest. He was a disgrace to the sport. A man or woman wearing a title belt should represent honor and good sportsmanship, not fighting prowess alone. La Roque was not an honorable man.

Jack was on a slippery path to contemplating what he’d have to do if he gave into his urge to teach La Roque what the sport was really about. He’d have to ramp up his training to eight hours a day, six days a week, to get his conditioning back. It meant an even stricter meal plan. Maybe….

He snapped out of it when a notification pinged on his phone. Jack picked it up from the coffee table and couldn’t help thehuge grin that pulled at his lips. It was Penny who’d sent a message through the app.

“Hi Jack. Wu-Tang is for the children. I will accompany you to your costume ball orgy as a favor.”

Grinning like the idiot Charlie said he was, Jack wrote back, “No orgy. I like Wu-Tang. If u free tmr, costume shopping at 4, then dinner after. Nice place. I pick u up if u okay with that. Give me address. And here’s my #.”

When Penny sent her phone number and address, he had to shake his head. He wrote back, “Hi neighbor. I’m down around the corner at 15 Wellington Street.”

She’d been living around the corner from him, and he hadn’t run into her before? All this wasted time…

“No way!”There was a brief pause. Then: “You wouldn’t happen to have a puppy, would you?”

“My mam’s dog. Babysitting. Seen us around?”

“The dog was hard to miss. So cute! I want him. Her. Anyway, see you tomorrow. Good night, Jack.”

Hm, she wanted the dog, but not him? He’d see about that.

“Night Penny.”

The conversation ended. He leaned back on the couch and contemplated her picture. The bloodthirsty fantasy of destroying La Roque receded while he lost himself in the gorgeousness of that smile and the excitement pooling in his belly to see her again.

But hours later, he couldn’t sleep. Not knowing she was so close. Jack put his thicker coat and his runners on and took a stroll around the block. The night was dark and cold. Rounding the corner, he took the path he’d been running with Trixie and stopped at the address Penny had given him. Pink rowhouse, middle of the block.

His future was in that house, behind one of those darkened windows.

So close.

“Good night, Penny. See you tomorrow.”

5

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