Page 53 of Hot Irish Halloween

“Still the hottest owl I’ve ever seen,” she’d declare, then kiss him and keep going.

Jack had already gotten used to having her within touching distance ever since their weekend at the FitzGerald’s. It was even harder now not to hover, trying to anticipate what she might want or need so he could provide it. A foot rub, a back rub, giving her twice the usual serving at dinner. That sort of thing.

After about a week of that, Penny had had enough.

He was sitting on the couch reading one of his books. Penny had just finished setting up the last of the Christmas decorations and was critically examining her garland work. She’d done it in a flurry with only days left to go until the holiday.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Looks grand. This book says pregnant women are prone to getting Charlie horses. Those hurt like a bastard. Come sit on me lap and watch TV with me. I can give you a calf massage.” He put the book down and patted his thigh.

All his concern was rewarded with a huff and her hands on her hips. “Look, you’re doing the most. My legs are good. I am good. I’m going to the disco to play for a little while.” That was what Penny called his gym since she started using it to practice, it being the only soundproofed room in the house. Jack got up from the couch, ready to follow, but she halted him with a hand to the chest. “Nope. Not you. Just me. Go read a book. But notthatbook. One of your fun ones, where everybody knows kung fu and people get murked.”

Reluctantly, he kissed her, squeezing her butt and then giving it a smack before she went.

“Alright. Go enjoy your practice. But if you get a twinge, I’m here.”

Barely hearing a thing after she closed the door, Jack got settled on the couch with Trixie at his side. He did pick up a Tom Clancy as she suggested, but ten pages in, he was restless. MaybeJustice Leagueagain? He put the book and his glasses down and clicked on the TV, going to the screen with the streaming channels. The SportsZone app was right there, beckoning him. Maybe he’d watch a fight or two.

His hopes to watch a good match were soured instantly upon seeing La Roque’s smirking face on the screen for an interview with one of their anchors, former champ Atlas Walters. The same man Jack beat for his first title. They were public enemies but privately liked each other a lot. Walters was a good man.

It said the interview was live. Jack’s eyes flickered to the hallway off to the left leading to the gym. No sign of Penny. He clicked on it and leaned forward.

“…. alright, alright, so…what’s the latest? What’s the latest, man?” Walters asked in his fast-paced New Yorker accent. He always had a smile on his dark bronze face that hinted at mockery. He was pleasant, even jovial with the guests and the other anchors, but always managed to pass out underhanded insults disguised as jokes. “Last time you were here a month or so ago, you said, and I quote…” Leaning over an index card, Walters read, “’The title fight with Jack Valentine is on. I will meet him in the cage in March of next year. And I will destroy him.’” Walters leaned back in his swivel chair and grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. “And I will destroy him. Whew!” La Roque kept grinning. “You said there’d be a match. We’re a few days away from Christmas. New Year’s is next week. Where’s the match, man?”

“There will be a match,” La Roque said, a red flush creeping up his neck.

Jack smirked at his discomfort. “Fucking liar.”

“C’mon, man, come on,” Walters said briskly. “There haven’t been any formal announcements from league representative Trent Jameson or the head manager Beau McAllister. No pressers with Valentine and no contracts signed. No comment from his agent, his manager, or anybody on his team. From what we hear, he’s out living his best life running his gym. Even heard a rumor he just got married.”

Jack grinned at that. He loved his privacy but didn’t mind one bit if people believed he and Penny were already husband and wife. Briefly, he wondered if someone from the ball had spilled that rumor.

Walters continued. “It looks to me…. like Jack Valentine ain’t even thinkin’ about you, man. You mean nothing in his grand scheme of things. You are so far off his radar, you — you might as well be on a differentplanet. What would he have to gain by getting back in the cage with you?”

Walters placed the flat of his palm on the desk for emphasis. He waited for La Roque’s response with a quiet air of enjoyment at his embarrassment.

“We have history.”

“What history?” Jack and Walters asked simultaneously.

Shrugging, La Roque continued smiling. “He knows what he’s done.”

“Like bleedin’ hell I do,” Jack exclaimed to Trixie, who looked up at him quizzically. “And they callmepunchy?”

“Don’t play the Sphinx, man, spill it!” Walters demanded. When he got nothing else from La Roque, he moved on. “Okay, so y’all have history. I still don’t see him getting in the cage with you when he’s got nothin’ to prove and nothin’ to gain.”

“Every man has something to prove.” La Roque turned to the camera and stared into it. And damn, if the hair on the back of Jack’s neck didn’t fucking rise at those flat eyes and that fuckinggrin. “Yeah, he’s doing real good. I’ve seen his house and his nice, cushy wife. But I think marriage has made him as soft as her ass. And by the way, you might want to redefine successful. She’s kind of a drop from them fly model types he used to date.”

Motherfucker.

“I’m gonna warn you once. We don’t allow negative comments about peoples’ significant others or their families on this show,” Walters interjected sternly. He propped his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “Back to the facts. Jack Valentine retired at the top of his game after three successful title defenses. He was one of the highest, if notthehighest paid mixed martial arts athlete in the world with a reported net worth of over $225 million when you add his endorsements. He brought in revenue for the league in excess of $500 million from all accounts. And he did all that by the age of thirty-eight. The man still has an extremely high favorability rating among fans. Kids are still walkin’ around with his face on their shirts.”

La Roque listened to this recitation with a deepening brick-red flush mottling his entire face all the way up to his hairline.

“Now you’re thirty. You’ve got nothing but KOs under your name in the amateur leagues and in the pros. You’re top-ranked and you’ve got the potential for a great career ahead of you. But you have some problems. You’ve got a reputation for fighting dirty. You’ve got more disqualifications than you have wins. How can you hope to get anywhere near as successful as Valentine did by the time he retired if you keep this up? Now I’m not insulting you — no, no, no. I’m just asking because you don’t seem to want to let this particular challenge go when it’s getting you nowhere. What could Jack Valentine possibly get outof facingyouin the cage that would be worth coming out of retirement for?”

“His balls back.”

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