Paradise Fought: Abel (3 page)

“I…I can’t pay for the semester,” she said, then looked up in surprise as if shocked she’d told me the truth. “That’s really none of your business, though, or your concern.” The edge to her voice lingered with a hint of tears. She was clearly at the end of holding it together. She wiped a hand through her blonde locks, forcing the hair roughly back from her face.

“I can help,” I said again. Then I held up my father’s gold card. Her eyes opened wide. Her throat swallowed. My vision focused on the curve of her neck. My mouth watered a bit, longing to taste her skin. I wanted to punch myself as my body responded to her. I was making a fool of myself, and she probably saw evidence of my desire for her. Her attention, however, remained on the card in my hand.

She looked briefly over her shoulder at the older woman, who remained behind the counter, but had returned her focus to the computer screen before her.

“What would I owe you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Besides the money.” Blue beams of distrust pelted me, but I didn’t immediately respond.

“Think of it as a loan. Just pay me back when you can,” I said, shrugging.

She didn’t believe me. It couldn’t possibly be that simple, her narrowed eyes said as they continued to stare.

“You must want something in return. Some sort of interest or guarantee that you’ll get your money back. Get your money’s worth,” she snipped.

I was shocked.
Did she think I was buying her? Did she think I’d pay her for sex?
I’d already paid for that experience, and my body shivered to recall, momentarily, the embarrassment.

“It’s just a loan,” I replied again, hoping to sound earnest. I didn’t want anything from her.

“It can’t be that simple,” she stated again, peering over her shoulder to see that the older woman had her eyes on the computer screen but her ears on our conversation. I dragged her closer to the main door.

“I’d have to repay you somehow,” her voice shook. It implied that she might do anything I asked, albeit unwillingly. Her head wasn’t into the game her body of sin was able to play. Slowly, a plan came to me.

I did need help. I had no pertinent experience with women, and I needed to learn what made them tick. I wanted to know what they desired. How they liked it: how to flirt, actually. It was all part of a persona I was developing. I didn’t have the smooth moves I’d seen others use. I didn’t have the charisma of my older brother. I’d been in the shadows, but I hadn’t been observant. I needed an instructor. Popular, pretty Elma Montgomery, who was rumored to have her share of sexual experience, would be the perfect tutor.

“Actually,” I responded, drawing out the word.

“I knew it,” she muttered, looking down at her worn boots. Her hair fell forward, and she released the hand on her bag to push back wisps of blonde near her face.

“I need a tutor.”

Her head shot up. Bright blues glowed in puzzlement.

“What kind of tutor?” Her questioning eyes narrowed again.

“Someone in the ways of biology or chemistry.”

Opening wide, her eyes didn’t blink.

“Weren’t you like the brightest guy in my biology class, freshman year?”

Huh?
So she did remember me, just not the
me
from the beach, and that’s why I needed help.

“Well, it’s more like personal biology.”

“Oh.” Her lips twisted into a knowing smirk, and her shoulders fell. We were back to step one, where she would give in to me, but didn’t exactly want to. This wasn’t what I was asking. While my fantasy would be for Elma to fall at my feet, the reality was that would never happen. I needed her help to attract
other
women.

“Look, this isn’t coming out right.” I paused to peek at the woman behind the counter. She’d been staring too long at her screen without movement, giving away the obvious nature of her eavesdropping.

“Maybe you could just agree, and I can promise there’s no funny business. I could then pay for our classes and we could get out of here.” I tweaked an eyebrow in the direction of our nosy listener. A slow smile captured Elma’s rosy lips. She bit it as she contemplated what I suggested, then gave me the slightest nod.

“Really?” I responded too eagerly. Her shoulders slumped again and her eyes questioned me. “I mean, really. Okay. Hang on.”

Walking over to the counter, I handed the woman the gold card.

“Elma Montgomery,” I stated sternly. She stared at the card then looked up at me. Her eyes slit behind her glasses. She took the card briskly out of my hand and swiped it through the machine attached to the computer.

“And Abel Callahan,” I added in a whisper, motioning for her to swipe it a second time.

If I thought I was going to make a speedy getaway, I was wrong. My savior caught up to me, half way down the walk, outside the finance building. He was quick and a large hand wrapped around my upper arm.

“Whoa, sister,” he said, slightly out of breath. “You almost got away from me again.”

“What?” I questioned. I had no idea what he meant:
again
.

“Never mind,” he muttered, his hand still on me. I looked down at it and he immediately released me. My eyes pinched as I realized I didn’t mind his hand on my skin. There was something nonthreatening about him. He seemed rather innocent, studious, actually. His shirt was buttoned almost to the top and tucked into his pants. The sleeves secure at the cuffs. His jeans were snug and hugged him well. He wore dark rimmed glasses that screamed smart. Brown boots looked too new on his large feet. It was like he had the right parts but the wrong combination.

His blue eyes were soft and easy to look into. They practically spoke to me, but I had no idea what he was saying. His dark hair was disheveled, a bit shaggy, but cool looking. He kind of looked like a pop star, which was a little too sugar sweet for me. His form was questionable. It was hard to tell what kind of body he had under those clothes. He looked rather preppy, like half the guys at this university. I didn’t want to think about it. I’d just sold my soul for another semester.

“So when do you want to do this?” I asked. His blank stare told me he had no idea what I meant.

“Us,” I said, pointing between him and me.

“I…” His voice trailed off as he gawked at me. His expression changed from confusion to shock.

“I didn’t
buy
you to sleep with you,” he said, a touch of disbelief in his voice. His face turned crimson, then fell. “Why, have you done that before?” It was my turn to be surprised and offended.

I turned on my heels and began stomping away from him. He was too quick and he caught me again. His hand on my arm halted me. This time he didn’t release me when I peered down at his fingers wrapped around my bicep.

“Look. I need help,” he blurted. His face pinked a little, and it was sweet. “I don’t need help with sex. I need help with before.” His tone dropped, and he looked side to side to see if anyone would hear him. I took his meaning.

“You don’t know how to do foreplay?” I questioned in a loud whisper, trying to hide my astonishment.
How could anyone have sex and not know a touch of foreplay?

His face pinked again.

“Not that,” he said, sounding like a child. “The flirting. The dating. The…other stuff.”

I was stunned. I stared at him, taking in his features again. He was kind of cute, leaning toward the potential for good looking. He couldn’t possibly need help with this request. The confusion on my face made him speak.

“I don’t know how to flirt.” The words swirled between us.

“I don’t understand.” I didn’t. I didn’t know what he wanted from me.

“I need lessons how to be…cool: with girls. Call it a tutoring session. I need to learn how to be…seen.” His voice took on a touch of sadness. He couldn’t possibly be serious. I continued to stare at him. My mouth might have actually dropped open a bit, and I noticed he was watching my lips. It was a little exciting the way he stared at them. I licked them and his pupils dilated, filling in more black over the blue. His expression changed. Knowingly, he blinked when he realized I was teasing him. His lip quirked up and a dimple showed in his cheek.

“I need to date you,” he blurted. “To learn how to do, what you just did to me.”

For starters, he escorted me to class, even though I hadn’t actually agreed to his proposal. I prayed anyone who saw us would assume he was just a guy in my class, and he was walking with me, as in next to me. I peered over my shoulder occasionally. I didn’t want to be seen with my new friend.

Abel, he said his name was. I didn’t catch his last name. He seemed sweet enough, innocent almost. I vaguely remembered him from Biology 101. He was my lab partner, but Cruz Farenbach was in that class. We were an item, until we weren’t. I had ditched the dork for a dick. I almost failed biology. When Cruz got what he wanted, or enough of it anyway, I became his yesterday when I thought he was my future. He didn’t care for me, if he ever did. I had thought he was the love of my life, or something close to that. We were together almost the entire freshman year, and I gave everything to him: my body and my heart. What I got after him was a reputation. I was going to need it presently to get what I wanted, which was answers about my brother. I had a plan.

I was a double major in dance and business. My goal was to own my own studio someday. Professional dancing was out. I wasn’t tall enough. Besides, I’d seen too much behind the scenes from my brother in the fighting industry, not to mention “performance dancing,” if you could call it that, was my current profession. I didn’t want it to be long term, though. Joey would be punching his coffin if he knew what I did. It was one of the reasons I wanted to follow through on completing my degree.

“Don’t be like me,” he’d warned me, “You don’t want to be fighting your whole life.”
He didn’t mean it literally. He was the fighter. He’d been fighting since my father left us, after he beat our mother and Joey became her savior, only to receive a beating himself. He was only thirteen; I had been six. He was a Montana; I was a Montgomery. My mother apparently couldn’t get out of the M section of the alphabet. From the point of his rescue, he took up boxing in high school and perfected his skills. He became everything to my mother.

I couldn’t say I loved the fight. I loved the energy, though. The excitement. The enthusiasm. It coursed through my body, pumping my blood. When I’d watch my brother, I learned to get past the crunch of bones and the sight of blood. I anticipated the sound of victory. The Mountain was good, until the one time he wasn’t. I was convinced that match had been fixed, though, and I needed answers.

I required a way into
the
know
; those who were connected to the underground. An illegal boxing circuit was hidden at Preston University. Located roughly two hours south of the famous Napa Valley, Preston’s foundation was California Ivy League. Spanish style buildings stood classic and pristine white across a beautiful campus, with mountains cresting in the background. It was a university, rich in history, with dark secrets. Fighting. Gambling. Hustling. It wasn’t what one would expect, which is exactly why the circuit got away with it.

I needed an invitation to be on the list when the call went out, when a time and a place were announced for the fights. It was always unplanned, always unpredictable, and I needed a way into the circuit circle. Abel was going to be a problem. It turned out he was in my class: Human Anatomy 101. It was a science requirement for me. Abel said he was getting a degree in Kinesiology, so this was an elective for him. He sat next to me, pulling out a pen, a notebook, and his iPad. I watched him as he straightened and realigned items, which weren’t out of order. His legs were stretched out under the desk, and one bounced uncontrollably. He sat back in the auditorium seat, but he didn’t look casual. His hands fidgeted while the pile remained perfect. I placed my hand over his to halt his movements.

“Relax,” I commanded. At the same time, I touched him, I saw Thor enter the auditorium style classroom.
Theodore Thurston. His name held power as he was the son of some government official in central California, but that held no weight in the fighter rings around Preston University. He majored in underground fighting, despite his political science course of study. Thor was carving a path for himself and he was going to be my ticket. I needed to get close to him, in order to make that coveted secret list. I was hopeful he could connect me with a fighter, if not
be
the fighter, I desired.