Page 2 of Beyond the Cage
K.O. turns around and heads for the gate, not even waiting for the ref to call the fight. Kicking the gate open, he begins removing his hand wraps as he makes his way down the stairs. When he steps off the last one, he glances in my direction. He stops, focusing on something.Oh, shit. I think he’s looking atme!I can still see the rage in his eyes as his glare travels over me from head to toe. I don’t know what else to do, so I stare back at him. He snaps his eyes away, clenches his jaw, and marches off.
“Did you and K.O. just share amoment?” Chels asks.
“Please! Did you see the look in his eyes? He’d much sooner kill me than anything else.”
“C’mon.”
“Thank God. I can’t wait to get outta here.”
“Not yet, honey bunches. We’re goingbackstage.”
She waves her pass at me with a smile, grabs my hand, and pulls me along behind her. What’s entertaining about bruised, broken, and bloodied men? I need to have a serious talk with this girl. When we get ‘backstage’, I look around warily. The place reeks of blood, sweat, and testosterone.
“Chels –”
“Have I told you how great your booty looks in those shorts? I wish I had that much junk in the trunk.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” I roll my eyes at her.
I know she’s trying to butter me up, but she’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. I got that from my momma, along with my hips, thighs, and boobs – all the essentials. I love my booty and my legs. That’s why I love wearing shorts. Tonight, I paired black low-rider, cotton shorts with a white bandeau and a black, waist-length, cotton jacket. Chelsea wanted me to wear heels but I chose my black, high-top Converse instead, because I’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. Looking around, I start to feel underdressed, because the other women here are all dolled up. Whatever. They’re probably just groupies anyway, trying to bang one of the fighters.
“You’re just saying that because you know you’re gorgeous.”
I guess. I didn’t always see it that way. Growing up bi-racial in a predominantly white neighborhood was no walk in the park. I was never the right shade – too dark for the white kids and too light for the black ones. I finally gave up trying to fit in and just did my own thing. Chelsea Tanner was one of the few who didn’t care. She walked up to me on our first day of elementary school, held my hand and asked, “You wanna be my friend?” We’ve been going strong ever since. She’s like a sister to me, the ivory to my ebony…or ivory to caramel? She’s quite the ivory, too. At 5'9", she towers over me by four inches. She has long, brown hair, and hazel eyes that are just like mine. Whereas I’m curvier, she has the body of an athlete – lean and toned.
“Look, it’s Johnny Gordon! Let’s go talk to him,” she whispers excitedly.
“You go. I see a Kit Kat in that vending machine that’s calling my name.”
While I make my way to the machine, she heads over to Johnny. I dig in my pocket for some money and insert it into the slot. When I press the button for my chocolate, the machine whirs but doesn’t dispense it.
“Stupid machine!”
Before I can kick it, a huge fist comes crashing down on the front of the machine, scaring me witless. My Kit Kat falls from the shelf. I look over and my eyes meet with someone’s naked chest. No, not someone…him. My mouth goes dry as my gaze travels over the tribal tattoo covering his left pectoral and part of his shoulder. To me, it’s a bunch of swirls and symbols, but I’m sure there’s some meaning behind them. Two Chinese symbols sit vertically on his right side. Tipping my head back, I find K.O. Jackson staring down at me. Holy shit! The man’s a giant! However, he’s even more gorgeous up close. He is a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade on a scorching, Texas summer day. His grey eyes are no longer filled with rage. They’re…blank. But for some reason, I can’t look away. They’re almost silver, just glinting at me. I blink up at him, not knowing what to say. His gaze travels down the length of my short frame before meeting my eyes again. Reaching down, he retrieves the chocolate bar and hands it to me.
“Thank you.”
He nods and walks away. A chill runs down my spine – a good one…averygood one. Wow. Not a single word and yet he’s managed to have me totally enthralled. I shake it off and try to find Chels. Spotting her on the other side of the room talking to some other fighter, I head in her direction.
“Excuse me.”
I turn toward the voice. It’s another monster of a man – blond, buzz cut, and dressed in a black suit. There’s an earpiece jutting out of one ear, making him look like the frickin’ Secret Service.What didIdo?
“Yes?”
“Mr. Jackson would like you to join him in his dressing room for a drink,” he replies.
“Mr. Jackson?” I raise a confused brow.
“K.O.”
“Me?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise. “Are you sure?”
He smiles. “Yes, I’m positive.”
I glance over at Chelsea. She’s completely forgotten about me, and the mandoesintrigue me.What harm could one drink do?
“Okay. Lead the way.”
