Page 6 of Hot Irish Halloween

“Penny…” He groaned her name while the movement of his fist got faster until his shower-wet cock couldn’t get any harder, until it twitched and spurted, splashing his cum on the porcelain beneath his feet. He drew out the sensation for as long he could, still strangling it until every last drop of pleasure had been wrung out of him.

Those five years of imaginary sex and staring at videos of Penny Mayfield singing was the longest relationship he’d ever had.

Within the hour, he was at the gym. It was in the old neighborhood, which wasn’t that far from the new, more upscale one he’d inhabited since his finances had improved. It was on the North side, the type of place tourists anxiously asked if they should avoid when visiting Dublin. The answer was always emphatically “Yes.” But it was home to the boys and girls whoneeded this gym. Kids who needed a chance to do more with their lives and focus their energies on something positive, like he was blessed to have had when he was young.

Jack went to the main floor of the gym where the boys and a handful of girls were doing their warm-ups or weight training. Two of the eldest students were in the ring, wrapping their hands and pulling on bigger boxing gloves for a sparring session. Sampson Chin and Doolie Adeyemi. Awesome fighters. If these boys kept up their pace, it was likely they’d both start in the amateur fight league within the year.

Jack studied them and called out his reminders for their sparring session. “Alright, fellas, remember what I said. Watch those elbows, Sampson. And Doolie, if I see you go for Sampson’s bollocks or anywhere near them, you’re out till next week. Remember, it’s us against the world, gentlemen. Get to it.”

Sampson nodded curtly and Doolie rolled his eyes and grinned. The two met in the middle of the ring and tapped gloves, then began circling each other, waiting for an opening.

While watching them, Charlie spoke up. “What’s this I’m hearing about a title fight and a new contract?”

Charlie’s cauliflower ear had taken many a hit over the years, but that didn’t stop him from hearing all the league gossip the minute it dropped.

“Derek ‘The Demon’ La Roque,” Jack said the nickname with a sarcastic eyebrow lift. “Ranked number one. I wasn’t going to mention it, but Trent contacted me last week. Says they want me back for a title shot.”

The current titleholder, an American, was retiring and vacating the title like Jack had done. The speculation on who might replace him was the talk of the MMA world. Of all the contenders, La Roque was ranked highest with eight straight KOs. Trent Jameson, league representative, wouldn’t explainwhy the other top contenders weren’t willing to get in the cage with him.

A deeper, more thoughtful frown settled on Charlie’s wizened face with his sallow-toned skin. He folded his arms, staring at the boys in the ring who had paused to pull out their mouthguards for sips of water.

“What’s with the water? You fellas barely worked up a sweat,” Charlie chastised them loudly. Then, lowering his voice, he returned to the conversation. “La Roque. Huh. Why do they want you?”

Shrugging, Jack rubbed his jaw with his thumb. “I don’t know. Probably just going through the archives until they get someone to agree.”

“I’ve watched some of his fights. He’s got almost no technique. It’s all destruction. You said no, of course.”

That nicked Jack’s pride a bit. After his mother and Bran Valentine, Charlie had been his biggest supporter since Jack’s first day at his gym.

“You don’t think I could win?” Jack asked quietly.

Charlie stood up straighter, jutting his chin. He looked exactly like Popeye the Sailor when he did that.

“You’ll always be the champ inmyeyes, son. You can do anything you put your mind to. I know you’ve been low since—”

“I haven’t been low,” Jack murmured with irritation.

“You have. But you know why you can’t get back in that cage. So shut yer mouth and get back to yer job. Training these lads so they can gettheirshot.”

Jack shrugged off the discomfort he felt at his mentor’s words and chided, “And the girls, Charlie. Don’t forget the girls. It’s not 1802 anymore.”

“Don’t be fresh with me, ya gombeen. I’m not too old to knock you into next week for yer sass.” Charlie went back to the ringand groused to the boys, “Alright, alright. Let’s get serious, lads. Work harder.”

Jack went into his office, trying not to be disturbed by Charlie’s apparent lack of belief that he could beat La Roque in the cage if that’s what he wanted. He could do a fair bit of damage if he amped up his workouts to get his full conditioning back and honed his diet to eat totally clean…

“Fuck that,” Jack muttered. He had more immediate problems to focus on, like finding a goddamned date for the goddamned ball.

He checked emails quickly, then picked up his phone and braced himself when he saw he had a message, someone with the username Rosie345. He hadn’t recalled “liking” or even seeing her profile before, but oh well, he’d have a look.

And immediately, his head went for a spin.

“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.”

It couldn’t be her. Jack squinted at the phone, cursing himself for leaving his reading glasses at home out of pure vanity. As if everyone would believe he had the eyes of a twelve-year-old even though he was fucking forty-three.

He answered her back, squinting harder at the small print, his heart pounding during the entire chat. When it was over, and plans were made, he sat back in his swivel office chair and laughed up at the ceiling with disbelief.

He had a date with Penny Mayfield. His dream woman. It couldn’t be true, could it? He had to be hallucinating. Jack got up from his chair and went out to the floor of the gym.

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