Pulse Page 2

  “Is he a football player?” I asked.

  She laughed. “No.” She was going to make me guess. I thought about his nice round butt and said,

  “Baseball?”

  She laughed. “No. His name’s Paul Delport. He’s an MMA fighter…one of the best around. Haven’t you ever watched any of his You Tube videos at least?”

  “Maybe, I thought he looked familiar…” I lied. I never watched You Tube videos of the fights. Mark was always trying to get me to watch his and I always declined. Debbie knew I was lying and she laughed and picked up one of the fries on the plate in front of her.

  “You did not think he looked familiar,” she said. “You thought he looked hot.”

  I looked back over at him. I didn’t think I could lie about that. It wasn’t like she’d believe me anyways. “Yeah, that’s true too,” I said. “It is hard not to notice.”

  Debbie laughed again and said, “Have Sam introduce you. I think he’s single.”

  “And out of my league,” I said.

  “Please! It’s hard to imagine why you can’t see yourself the way the rest of us do. You’re freakin’ gorgeous!”

  “You’re sweet,” I said. I looked back at Paul Delport and said, “Maybe Sam can introduce us another time, when I have clean clothes on.”

  Debbie rolled her eyes and pushed the basket of fries over in front of me. I tore my eyes away from Paul and took a fry. I didn’t want him to see the disheveled girl staring at him again. I drank the Crown Royal and Seven-up the waitress brought me too quickly and ordered another one. Then I focused my attention on my friends. Mark Fox had shown up and I saw him and Paul shake hands before he came over to our table and sat down.

  “Well there she is,” he said. “The devil in disguise.”

  “Has she been picking on you again?” Greg teased. He and I had just been talking about what a big baby Mark was for a “tough” guy.

  “She’s mean, Greg. You hired a mean girl. She takes great pleasure in torturing me.”

  “I’ll bet you’ll thank her the next time you stay on your feet in the cage while the other guy is sprawled on his ass, “Greg said.

  Mark looked at me and smiled. “Maybe,” he said, laughing. “But I’m sure as hell going to cuss her when I try to get out of bed in the morning.”

  “If you’re that sore, she’s doing a great job,” Victoria said. “Maybe she needs a raise.” I held up my glass to her and drained the rest of what was in it.

  “At least buy me another drink,” I told my boss. He signaled the waitress and bought us all another round. It was fun working for people that you also had a lot of stuff in common with. It made going to work every day a heck of a lot easier. Greg was married to a nice lady named Yolanda who wasn’t there that night because she had to work. I liked her a lot and she was a little older and wiser than me so she was always a good one to go to for advice. “Where is Justin tonight?” I asked Greg. Justin was his and Yolanda’s six-year-old son.

  “He’s at Grandma and Grandpa’s for a few days. My dad bought him a little bitty Honda 50. Yolanda has a conniption every time he rides it and usually thinks of an excuse why he can’t. So now, he wants to live at my parents’ house.”

  “Oh wow, I think I’d be a little nervous about that too.” Justin was a tiny little thing. I couldn’t imagine putting him on a motorcycle already no matter how small it was.

  Greg shrugged and said, “He’s got all the protective gear and my dad coached him a lot before he let him ride. It’ll only get up to about 50mph…”

  “Only! He’s six!”

  Everyone at the table had to weigh in their opinion on that. It was pretty much a split verdict with the women on the side of caution and the men on the side of motorcycles and speed. After that, the football game on the big screen got exciting and we all turned our attention to it. The excitement in the air was palpable as everyone cheered for their team and I’d all but forgotten that I was only going to have one drink and then go to the laundromat. I stole a glance at Paul every chance I got, drank too much and ate too little. In the final quarter of the game the score was something ridiculous like forty to seven and the bar started clearing out. My friends disbursed one by one or two by two. That was when I started telling myself that I should leave too. My inner self was looking at Paul and telling me to throw caution to the wind and go talk to him. I was a little drunk…I needed one more drink first…

  “Hey, Jessie, I’m taking off. Are you going to be able to get home okay?”

  “Sure.” I looked up at Greg and smiled. He smiled back and said,

  “Have the bartender call you a cab, honey, okay? If you need a ride back for your car in the morning, Yolanda or I will bring you, just call us.”

  “Sure,” I said again. He leaned down and kissed my cheek.

  “I mean it, do not drive.”

  “I won’t,” I said. I watched him go, once again thinking about how lucky I was to work for such nice people. After he was gone I looked over and saw Sam talking to Paul again. I told myself it was now or never. I went over and casually said, “Hey, Sam.”

  “Hey, Jessie, this is Paul Delport. Paul, this is Jessie Cooper. She’s one of the assistant trainers at the gym. You might be lucky enough to work with her sometime,” Sam told him. “She’s great.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. Paul’s pale blue eyes gave me a quick once-over, probably still wondering why my clothes were such a mess.

  His face was impassive as he said, “Yeah, you too.” He turned back to the television and as Debbie came back from the bathroom, Sam said,

  “Hey, Debbie and I are going to take off. Are you okay?”

  “I’m good,” I told him. I gave him a hug and Debbie a kiss on the cheek and watched them go. When they were gone I turned back to where Paul was now sitting alone at the bar. I sat down on the stool next to him where Sam had been and ordered another drink. When he heard my voice he turned and looked at me. He still didn’t say anything. It was slightly unsettling.

  “Good game?” I asked. I knew it was a terrible game. That was why all of my coworkers had given up on it and gone home…but it was a conversation starter.

  “No,” he said.

  Okay, so I guess you have to be talking to someone interested in conversing in order for a conversation starter to work. I wasn’t quite ready to give up though, so I said, “So are you new to the gym? I hadn’t seen you there before today.”

  He proved that he was the king of one-word answers. “No,” he said, before returning his attention to the big screen. It was obvious that he’d rather watch the end of a terrible game than make conversation with me. I wasn’t the type to try and force myself on a guy. I stood up off the stool and the room spun a little. Damn it! I was going to have to get a cab. I fished into my bag for my phone and realized the week just got better and better. I remembered running out of the house like a crazy person that morning…without charging my phone, still. Shit!

  “Excuse me,” I said to the bartender. He was at the other end of the bar tending to about ten young college types that had just come in. “Hey! I was just wondering if you could call me a cab!” He acted like he didn’t hear me at all. “Hey!”

  “You need a ride home?” I heard Paul’s smooth, masculine voice behind me and turned back toward him. He was standing up, looking at me, waiting for an answer I suppose.

  “I was just going to have the bartender call me a cab,” I told him. “I didn’t charge my phone last night and that was why I was late to work today. I was so frazzled about that and wearing dirty clothes that I forgot to charge it again.” I stopped there because I realized once again I’d given too much information and his eyes were beginning to glaze over slightly. “Anyways, I just need to call a cab. I had a little too much to drink.” I was trying hard not to slur my words and sound like a drunk. I didn’t think it was working.

  He shrugged and said, “All right. It didn’t look like the bartender was paying much attention. I’m
leaving so I thought if you want a ride…”

  I suddenly wanted a ride very badly. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” The man of many words just shrugged again. That could have meant anything, but I took it as an “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, accepting before he took back his offer. “I only live a few blocks from the gym.” He acknowledged that with…well, nothing. He just headed for the door and I followed him.

  I followed him out to the parking lot. He didn’t look back to see if I was there even once. I could’ve been lying passed out in the doorway of the bar and the guy would’ve never known. I was not even a little bit surprised when he stopped next to a big, black Ford F-350 with a lot of chrome. I couldn’t imagine him in anything else.

  “Nice truck,” I said. He unlocked my door and pulled it open. He didn’t say “Thanks,” but I thought I saw a miniscule trace of a smile playing around his lips. Lucky smile, I’d like to play around those lips. Geez, I’m drunk. Hopefully something stupid like that doesn’t slip out on the ride home. I reached up to grab the pull bar and haul my drunken ass up into the truck. Once again I was humiliated as Paul had to take me around the waist and practically lift me in.

  “Thank you,” I said. He responded to that by closing the door and going around to his side and getting in. I slipped on my seatbelt as he started up the truck. As we pulled out of the lot he asked, “Have you worked for Greg long?”

  Wow! Conversation! “Not long,” I said. I was getting sleepy now, so it was even harder to manage my words. He seemed to suddenly be interested in talking to me though, so I was going to do my best. “I graduated from USC this past June. Greg had given me an internship while I was still in school, so between that and my permanent job now, it’s been about a year I guess.”

  He nodded and said, “Greg’s a good guy.”

  “Yeah, he is. I got lucky.” My head was beginning to feel almost too heavy for my neck to hold up. I only prayed that I wouldn’t get sick. “Sam was actually my savior. He was one of my part-time instructors at USC and he introduced me to Greg. I love working there and they’ve all become really good friends. I owe him a lot.”

  “Yeah, Sam’s the best conditioning trainer that I’ve ever had,” he said. “He definitely knows what he’s doing. He knows the difference in his athletes too. He doesn’t try to train me like a baseball or soccer player.”

  That was actually one of the most valuable things I’d learned from Sam myself. “How long have you been fighting?” I asked him.

  “About eight years,” he said.

  “Eight years? Were you in middle school when you started?” He laughed. The change in his face that the laugh brought about was enough to send my stomach rushing up into my throat. He was gorgeous.

  “I was eighteen when I started. I was a wrestler in high school.”

  As I was doing the math in my alcohol soaked brain, I felt my eyelids trying to close. No, no no! That would be just too embarrassing. I could see it now, passed out, drooling and in dirty clothes to boot. I had to fight it.

  “So are you any good?” I said, realizing that no matter how hard I tried my words were still running together.

  He laughed again. I liked it a lot. He really should do that more often. “I’ve won a few championships and tournaments,” he said.

  “Like what?” I asked. Most athletes loved talking about themselves. This guy was obviously not most athletes. It was like pulling teeth to get any information out of him.

  He said, “When I was twenty-one I won a King of the Cage Championship. I went to Japan in 2010 and won the UFC Japan Tournament there, and last year I won the UFC TUF Middleweight tournament.”

  “Amazing,” I said. It was the last thing I remember saying. I hoped…later on anyways when I sobered up, that it was all I had said. My mouth is sometimes uncontrollable when I’m awake and alert. God only knows what I might say when I’m out of control of it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I woke up with a pounding headache and cotton mouth. God, I hate it when I let myself get drunk. I know better, I don’t drink that often and so when I do, it doesn’t take much. I rolled over slowly, trying not to make myself nauseated on top of everything else. That was when the panic started to settle in my chest. I wasn’t at home. I sat up too fast, and set the unfamiliar bedroom into a spin. I sat really still until it stopped and then I took another look around. I realized I was sitting in a king-size bed in my bra and underwear in a definitely masculine bedroom. Damn it! What the hell did I do?

  I sat there for a long time, racking my brain. Who did I leave with last night? I vaguely remembered promising Greg I’d take a cab home…but then he left…and Sam and Debbie left…Oh God, what did I do? I wasn’t in the habit of going home with strangers. As a matter of fact, I could say that at twenty-three years old I hadn’t done it yet. Surely I didn’t do it last night. I wouldn’t have…would I? I looked around the room. It was neat for a man’s room, but obviously male. There was a big framed poster on the wall of a fighter with a giant UFC title belt draped across his shoulder. I was sure I knew who that was, but my head hurt too bad to come up with a name. The mirrored dresser was covered with men’s deodorants and colognes and the furniture was all dark, heavy wood. There were wooden blinds on the two windows and sheer blue curtains hanging on them that matched the comforter I was covered up with. None of that really gave me a clue about where I was. Shit! Oh God, I remember Mark was there last night. Did I sleep with Mark? Oh God, I hope not! He’s my client. How unprofessional would that be? How would I face him? I’d have to quit my job!

  I finally realized that I wasn’t getting anywhere sitting in the strange bed in my underwear. I had no idea where to begin looking for my clothes though. I stood up and pulled the light blue comforter off the bed and wrapped it around me. Like the intruder I felt like, I tiptoed over and cracked open the door. All I saw was a hallway, still no clue where I was. There was a picture of a pair of boxing gloves on the wall. The evidence that I’d slept with my client was piling up.

  I could hear the soft sounds of a television down the hall. I had to get this over with, so I followed it. When I got to the living room I was surprised to see a kid sitting on the blue couch. Everything there seemed to be blue…The young boy’s attention was glued to the sixty-inch television in front of him and he was playing what looked like a fighting or boxing game. He was maybe ten…or eleven or twelve…I knew nothing about kids. He was cute. He had dark hair and little freckles across his nose. Geez, what the hell was he going to think about a strange woman coming out of his…Dad’s bedroom? Oh man, I hoped there wasn’t a mom around somewhere too. I started to turn back around but it was too late to make my escape. The little boy was staring curiously at me now.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey,” was his reply.

  “I’m Jessie.”

  “Victor,” he said. Then he turned his attention back to the game.

  I looked up on the mantle behind the television hoping maybe there would be a picture there to solve this mystery. Victor was obviously not a talker. He reminded me of Paul Delport. Oh my God!

  “Victor?”

  He looked back up at me. “Yeah?”

  “Is Paul Delport your dad?”

  “No,” he said.

  Whew! That was a close one. If I went home with Paul, there’s no doubt I’d slept with him. I wasn’t a slut, but I was no fool either…

  “He’s my uncle,” Victor said.

  I felt my face lose all of its color. I was about to ask the boy another question when I heard the front door open. I looked over to see Paul coming in. He was in a pair of running shorts and a tank top. He had his iPod tucked in the waist band of his shorts. He had on his running shoes too. My brilliant detective skills deduced that he must have been out for a run. Unfortunately, even in my state of panic, his gorgeous masculinity did not go unnoticed.

  “Hi,” he said, glancing at Victor who didn’t even look up. He looked
back at me and I wondered what he was thinking about the fact I was standing there wrapped up in his comforter.

  “Hi.” I forced myself to be polite; it was his home after all. Can I see you in the…” I looked around and saw a door next to a little dining room table and four chairs. “The kitchen?”

  He motioned toward the door without speaking. No big surprise there. I was beginning to notice that talking was either not his best quality, or not his favorite. I went through the door and he followed me.

  With the lump back in my throat I said in a whisper, “Did we sleep together?”

  He didn’t smile, but I got the impression he wanted to. I was glad I could amuse him. “No,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s good.”

  “You fell asleep in the truck. I had no idea where you lived. I tried to wake you up, but you didn’t even flinch until I got you in the apartment and laid you on the bed.” Those were the most words I’d heard him string together at once since we’d met. When I processed that he had to actually carry me into his apartment from the truck and I got a visual of that in my head, I almost died of humiliation. Oh dear God, how much more humiliating was this going to get?

  “What about my clothes? Why am I in my underwear?”

  “You said your clothes were dirty,” he said. That time his lips quirked up on the edges.

  “Oh, they were!” I was so excited that I remembered something and I started babbling again, “My washing machine is broken; It’s been broken for about a week. That’s why I looked so disheveled this week and my clothes were all wrinkled…Wait a minute…You took them off me because I said they were dirty?”

  “No. You took them off yourself,” he said. He turned to the refrigerator and pulled something out that looked like a green protein shake. He shook the container and took a long swig off of it. Then he said, “Your clothes are on the chair in the corner of my room.”

  My face was on fire. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so embarrassed or ashamed of myself. Here I was accusing him of taking my clothes off and I was too drunk to even remember what had happened. Shameless!