Hot and Cold Page 4

  “That’d be bad, Gabi. Slow reflexes are a bad thing.”

  “Dulls the pain though, right?”

  “Handling pain was never my problem. I lost on points the last couple times.”

  The silence stretched.

  “Hey,” I said. “That’s not going to happen tonight.”

  “Oh, I know that.”

  “You do? I mean, yeah, good.”

  He chuckled. “I know it because the last person I was with was you.”

  I eased over to the side of the bed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I didn’t see any of the other guys. Troy’ll meet me outside the cage tonight, but we didn’t do our ritual.”

  “What’d you do this afternoon then?”

  “I chilled. I took a drive, warmed up a little bit. Mostly, though, I thought of you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. Knowing you have my back gives me more fire than any hours I can put in at the gym.”

  I could hear the smoke in his words.

  “Aww…” I started, but I had no idea what to say. I didn’t know what I had even done.

  “Anyway, thanks,” he said, “If I make it happen tonight, it’s all because of you. I love you, baby.”

  “I…love you, too.”

  There was only his breathing on the line, but I could hear his smile.

  If you’d told me that I’d first hear those words through the tinny speaker of some dumb phone, it would have broken my heart. But the words turned space meaningless. I could feel him right with me, as sure as the breath in my lungs or the air on my lips.

  The phone clicked off. There was really nothing more to say.

  But there was plenty to do.

  Half an hour later and I was checking the street signs to see if this was my turn. A couple pickups blasting country rap whooped and hollered as they roared past me and hung a right.

  Yeah, this was it.

  The school lot was crowded when I passed it, so I parked off on a side street and walked back. More and more shaved-headed and tattooed guys joined my side as I ventured through the lot and the wide open doors.

  I saw a couple of them nudging friends or staring nakedly at me.

  “Ey, mami,” one called. “You need some company tonight?”

  “I’m taken, thanks,” I squeaked without looking.

  I breathed and tried to swallow the acid feeling I got as the roar of the crowd inside grew closer. It was low, like a lawnmower’s blades. It had a whole different feel than game days at Ann Arbor. The voices were angrier and entirely male.

  I streamed in past the bouncers and needled my way through the crowd quickly. A few of the brushes that passed my body may have been intentional, but I got to my aisle seat intact. I’d paid a heck of a lot to get a seat just south of the VIP section. People with cash were less rowdy.

  Also, I was close enough to see every inch of the ring. It was elevated just a foot or two. Chain fences rose up on eight sides - the octagon, they called it. Tray lights hung over the center.

  A couple guys were already going at it inside: a white guy with almost ivory skin against a tan, maybe Latino guy. Both were sweating, one was bleeding. I tried to pay attention, but the guys were mostly caught in tight hugs.

  I really didn’t see what the appeal of this was, but the crowd around me sure did. They looked straight out of some Animal Planet show on primates: brows crossed, mouth howling in anger, hands fisting the air as they urged on whichever tribe alpha they supported.

  It was a world I didn’t understand, but one I couldn’t ignore anymore. This was Sean’s world – this human jungle. I’d been silly to think I could seal myself off from that part of his life.

  The crowd roared all at once and I jolted in my seat. In the ring, one guy was staring down at the other, who wasn’t moving. I didn’t know much about the sport, but I could understand a knockout.

  Some guys came to help the loser off the ring, and the referee strode in to call the fight. People with mops came in to wipe down the mat. As they worked, bikinied blondes ran in, looking ecstatic and coy as they waved around giant ads. Guys started yelling and beckoning at them, as if the girls would pick them alone out of the entire damn crowd.

  It was a bit too much. I fidgeted on my phone until the referee started speaking on a megaphone.

  “Alright, here’s the fight you’ve been waiting for. Coming into the Octagon now, put your hands up for the Iron Giant. The Tin Man of Michigan. The one, the only Raymond Higgins!”

  My eardrums nearly blew out as the arena exploded. A compact, efficient-looking black man strode stiffly into the arena and took his spot in the center. He didn’t wear a trace of a smile.

  My skin prickled just looking at him. He didn’t look like he would go down easy. I hoped the robot analogies were talking about his manner and not his metal fists.

  “And going up against him, the once and future prince, the beast of the north, the Irish Tiger himself, Sean Smith.”

  I shot to my feet, whooping and clapping. It just came to me at the sound of his name.

  Sean strode in, his rippling, shirtless body stiff and proud as he nodded to his fans.

  You’ll get what you came to see, that look said.

  He took the center, but looked around. His gaze passed over me, went wide then shot right back.

  He softened a moment, like some shifting mountain peak. For a moment, the room was gone and it was just us looking at each other.

  “You got this, baby,” I mouthed.

  His lips tugged up, broke into an arrogant smile. He nodded and turned back to his opponent. His face went suddenly serious.

  I’d watched one other fight in my life. I’d never been to boxing or wrestling matches at school. I didn’t even play the Wii version like Gina did now and then

  I still knew that the fight was already over.

  The bell rang and Sean came out swinging. The crowd’s murmurs shut off like a flip was switched. For all their bravado, actual ring aggression this early must be unheard off.

  The Tin Man of Michigan or whatever had his arms up blocking each of the blows, but he winced with every thump of Sean’s fists and shins.

  Sean, on the other hand, looked intense, but not angry. It was like watching a sculptor or a painter trying to gain the perspective he was after.

  With every blow, sweat sprayed off him. He came closer and closer to that perfect angle. His opponent wasn’t even returning blows, just trying to absorb the fury. It might be the right strategy, but not today. Not against Sean.

  He hadn’t been lying on the phone. There was some fire in him, and it burned brighter the longer he went. I wasn’t silly enough to think I was the cause of it. Those hours and hours of practice had turned him into some kind of nuclear reaction.

  But maybe I’d been the one to set the bomb off.

  The bell rang after a dozen minutes, and the two men went off to their corners. The Tin Man rubbed his dark arms. Even on his skin, which was deeper than mine, I saw purple bruises. He lay almost collapsed on his chair.

  Sean just sat in his corner and stared back. He was a hunter held back from his prey. I felt a cold dread even watching him.

  They came back for round two, and, to his credit, the Tin Man glared back at Sean. Unfortunately, this Tin Man had too much oil, cause his limbs seemed to sway outside his control.

  The bell clanged and Sean feinted in. The guy darted back, but Sean just grinned.

  He did it again, and this time, the guy hesitated between moving and blocking.

  It was a bad call. Sean struck him squarely below the ribs. Even, I groaned.

  After that, it was like watching a lion chase a wounded gazelle. The guy tried to move and block, but everywhere he went Sean was already waiting. He delivered blow after blow, and then, when the guy was heaving and there was blood when he spit, Sean landed a punch directly on his chest.

  The Tin Man dropped wheezing to his knees, then sank to the floor. It looked li
ke death, but I knew that was just the solar plexus. Sean had literally taken his breath away.

  The referee counted to ten, but Sean just paced up to my side, grabbed the cage and beamed out. The light at his back cast him as shadow, but I could see his teeth sparkle. He ticked his head, as if to ask: Will that do?

  The referee was shouting his name now, calling him back to the center to announce his victory. The crowd chanted for their champion. Sean stayed put.

  I knew what he wanted. Without wondering if it was allowed or legal, I got up and walked towards the cage. A thick mound of a bouncer held a hand out at the front of the aisle, but Sean yelled a couple words at him and he moved away.

  I walked up to the cage. Sean took a knee and his face was right next to mine.

  The chain-link fence sliced his gorgeous features up, but the man I was looking at wasn’t broken. No, he was more whole than ever.

  And so were we.

  With the whole crowd watching and roaring, I clasped his fingers through the fence, pressed my lips through and kissed him.

  It tasted like metal and sweat and blood. I’d never serve the flavor up in a dish, but it was one I could get used to.

  It tasted like victory.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Ms. Williams, tell us what you’re presenting.”

  Part of me knew that this room was nowhere near the size of an arena. It had three small kitchens, a few rows of tables for some audience and the judging table before me. It couldn’t be bigger than the first story of our house.

  It still felt like I was in a damn coliseum.

  The head judge twitched his dark mustache. “Ms. Williams?”

  “Uh, sorry,” I said. “Sorry. Cooking haze.”

  “I can definitely how that would happen,” the woman to his right said. “That’s a hell of a kick you put in here, girl! I already smell it.”

  She was the local celebrity: Shaunda Jones of the KRDC nightly news. I focused on her and began to speak.

  “Judges, what I have for you today is a Detroit style gumbo, with a side of jalapeño cornbread and biscuits.”

  “Detroit style gumbo,” the third judge said. He was a teacher at the local culinary institute. He wore a tweed suit and looked mildly offended.

  “It’s my own take on a Southern classic,” I said. “I replaced the pepper sausage for a milder but richer German garlic bratwurst and added some other spices to thicken the soup.”

  The words sounded solid. I’d presented before Sean one last time, and he’d had me knock out all the technical stuff.

  “We have two breads,” the head judge said. “Why?”

  He tried to look serious, but he had a big, red face, and a body to match under his chef’s smock. Of all the three, he was the one I most wanted to win over. He ran his own three star restaurant in Detroit. If I impressed him, maybe I could get into his kitchen next summer.

  “I wanted a place to store all the heat I’d removed from the soup, so I put it in the cornbread,” I said. “The biscuits work as a palette cleanser. They present two different textures that both work well with the soup.”

  “Hmph,” he said and dashed out a quick note. He glanced at the other judges. “Alright, shall we?”

  “I think you’ll enjoy it.” I almost sounded confident.

  The three dipped into the gumbo. The reactions were predictable. The instructor scrunched his face up and peered deeply into the bowl before reaching for another bite. The TV reporter made exaggerated slurping sounds and shoved a biscuit into her mouth.

  The chef simply looked thoughtful. He took a few more bites, then started scratching out notes.

  I couldn’t bear to watch. I just wanted to go huddle in a corner and wait to be called in, but there were cameras on me. Local news only, but still.

  “Hey.”

  I turned toward the whisper. Sean had gotten up by the front table and stood there arms folded. He had on his suit, which I’d told him was being overdressed, but he looked confident and that made me feel it, too.

  “You’re going to need an agent after tonight,” he’d said as we drove to the show.

  “Chefs don’t have agents.”

  “Then you’ll be way ahead with me.”

  “I don’t see how hiring a MMA fighter as my agent is gonna help me, whether he’s a champion or not.”

  “You think they’re going to argue with a guy with a body like this?”

  I chanced a look from the wheel to see him flex in the suit. It broke through my tension and I laughed. “I think I’d still take Troy if I ever needed an agent.”

  He shrugged. “Your loss.”

  “Besides, even if I win, I’m not going to drop out of school this semester. I still need to head back in two weeks.”

  His voice sank a bit. “No, I didn’t think you would.”

  The conversation had tapered off after that. I looked at him now and just wanted to run into his arms. Why was I even wasting time on this competition? Soon we would only have the weekends together. I should be spending all the time I could with him.

  He must have seen it in my eyes, cause he winked and tipped his head at the door. I took a step, but he held up a hand.

  Soon, he mouthed. Soon.

  A couple minutes passed. The judges said some nice things and asked questions, and I answered quickly and cleanly. They murmured among each other.

  Finally, one by one, they sat back.

  “Mark,” the head judge said. “You want to start?”

  “I don’t think there’s much to say,” the instructor said. “It was interesting, and it did not offend me.”

  The crowd tittered, but my pulse sped up. That was practically a perfect mark from him.

  “Shaunda?” the head judge asked next. “What about you?”

  “You know how I feel, Harold,” she said. “This is the best damn soup I’ve ever eaten. And this cornbread, mmm mmm. I need another stomach just to fill up on it.”

  The crowd split between applause and laughter this time. My heart pounded in my ear. I waited for Harold.

  “As for me,” he shook his head at the soup. “I’m left at a loss.”

  He paused for an excruciating moment, then glanced up.

  “How’d you do it?”

  “What?” I said meekly.

  “It’s wonderful,” he said. “This mix that you used. Fiery and mild. Sour and sweet. New and old. It’s just a fantastic set of flavors and textures.”

  The crowd hollered behind me as much as any cooking show crowd could, but my mind wasn’t even here. It was back at the moment I got my first reaction - the most important one, from the man I cared most about.

  And he’d given it without saying a word.

  “I just got lucky,” I said, beaming at Sean. He looked like it was taking him every ounce of strength not to run over.

  “Well, it seems we did, too,” the head judge said. “Now I can run the numbers, but cooking’s not about that, and they’re certainly not needed in this case. Gabrielle, you are the winner of this year’s Cordon Competition.”

  The world blew into a happy haze of applause and camera flashes and trophies and handshakes. It wasn’t until Sean finally strode up and hugged me up into the air that the joy finally hit me. He kissed me right there in front of the audience.

  The head judge handed me a business card and extracted a promise for me to call. We took the check and the trophy and carried it out into the sunny lot.

  “I told you not to sweat it,” Sean said, rubbing my shoulders.

  “I recall I told you the same thing,” I said. “Neither of us listens.”

  “Just another thing we have in common.”

  My dark sedan was parked off in the employee lot of the studio, which lay barren now that it was the weekend.

  I opened a rear door and beamed as my statue glinted in the sun. It was a small thing. It wouldn’t give me a ranking of nine in the Midwest like Sean’s win did. But it was a start. That’s all I could ask for.
>
  As I placed it gingerly in the rear seat, a hand landed firmly on my butt and shoved me in after it.

  “Hey, what the-“

  I squirmed to turn around. Sean climbed in after me and shut the door.

  “These things are roomy,” he said, looking around.

  “Sean, what the hell?”

  “I didn’t want to wait to give you your victory present,” he said. “Especially considering I’ve got it right here with me.”

  I was frustrated for the second it took me to figure out his meaning. Then I became keenly aware that I was already on my back, with my skirt half up my waist. He was looming over me like King Kong - a hard dark wall, blocking my path.

  “The windows are tinted too,” I said softly.

  “Frankly,” he said, clambering atop me. “I wouldn’t have a given a fuck either way.”

  His body came down on mine, and his kiss found my neck. My lips moved uselessly in a sigh, my body coming alive all at once. This was how he had taken me the first time we met. Now, it was in my car.

  This was a promise that we would go on.

  I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him harder on me. His muscles stamped themselves on my body.

  I wanted as much of him in me as he could fit. I wanted to know his strength better than anyone in a cage ever would.

  His hunger moved to my chest. He pulled my shirt up and off. My own voice rang in my ears as he pulled down my bra and descended on my tips in one by one. He went back and forth, licking hot and blowing cold, until I felt as hard a diamond.

  I pawed his handsome face, but I couldn’t hold him back if I wanted. He had a hunger for me. I could only watch myself be consumed.

  Sean’s attention moved down. He flipped open my skirt. His steam breath lapped at my center. His kisses moved closer.

  I cried out as he finally pushed my panties aside and flicked across my entrance. He nuzzled in and sucked me between his lips.

  My world exploded white hot. I bucked and writhed. I felt full of a pulsing electric beat that had nowhere to escape.

  “Mmm,” his voice wound up my body. “I like this wet quality you’ve added to the flavor. Could you bring it out more for me?”

  “Mmm hmm,” I said as his tongue bore in deeper.