He sets his fork down, and interlocks his fingers.
“Where? With who?”
I set my fork down, and clear my throat.
“In Colorado. Kiki ‘Queen Kong’ was supposed to fight Momma Mateia, and they pulled last minute. They had a sold out arena and somehow my trainer Debs pulled some strings, and I’m the fill in.”
Dad’s lips purse, his forehead sweating profusely.
“That must be some strings she’s got to land you something so big, so quick,” Dad chuckles, but it’s not hearty.
“Yeah, I know.” I look to the side of the table in thought.
“You think you’re ready?” Journey asks, her mouth full of food.
I shrug. “I don’t know. How does anyone know they’re ready when you have no idea what is going to happen in that ring?” My voice cracks. I look at Dad, hoping for some kind of guidance. He’s been through this with boxing surely he’ll know.
He scratches the back of his head, his eyes closed. He’s going to snap. I can feel it.
“You won’t know if you’re ready. You’ll never know. Not until you’re either winning, or you’re in so much pain and on your back about to lose.” Dad opens his eyes, looking at me sincerely.
My eyes fill with tears. I just got Dad’s approval.
His hand reaches over, stopping as if he’s second guessing his next move, before clasping the top of my hand.
“Good luck.”
Camden
Tate has been quiet since she got on the plane this morning. She’s nervous. I can tell. I know because I used to be the same way before a fight.
Standing outside the dressing room, I wait for Debs and Thomas to leave. I need Tate alone. I need to break through that focused barrier she’s in so I can see where her head is at.
The door opens, and Debs and Thomas finally walk out. They don’t even notice me.
Going inside the locker room Tate is sitting on the bench, her head in her hands.
“Hey,” I announce my presence.
She glances up, her hair falling in her face.
“Hey,” her voice sounds so small and insecure.
Stepping in front of her I kneel down, my hands on her knees. She’s wearing a black tank top and black windbreaker pants paired with white tennis shoes. She looks great.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask, grabbing her chin to force her to look at me.
She rolls her eyes, pulling from my grip.
“I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m not ready,” her voice cracks. “I’m only here because Debs probably paid someone off, or someone owed her a favor, or who knows what. I’m going to get my ass kicked and my career is going to be over before it starts,” she fumes. Her voice panicked and scared.
Angry with her self-loathing I grab her hands, and push her back onto the bench. Her legs hanging off on each side.
“Show them you belong here. You’re ready for this Tate, don’t be the one to stand in the way of your own victory.” My voice serious, I stare right into her green eyes, telling her the truth.
“I’m so nervous. My hands have been shaking since I got on the plane.” She raises a hand, showing me just how unsteady they are.
I smirk. I remember the jitters, and I remember the only way to cure it. Sex.
I slip my hand under the waist of her pants, and her eyes light up.
“I know how to fix that,” my voice low and husky.
“You’re a funny guy.” She slaps at my hand, thinking I’m joking.
I grin, my hand traveling upwards. “What can I say, I live by making you laugh, then making you moan.”
My fingers graze along her wetness and her face goes serious.
“What if someone walks in?” Her eyes dart to the door, her hand holding onto my wrist.
“Then they’ll get a show,” I shrug.
My fingers slip through her wetness, finding her more than ready for me.
Pushing two fingers in, her body rises with the intrusion. My cock presses against my jeans painfully.
I’d fuck her, but I know they’ll call her name any minute.
I pump my fingers in and out of her, and her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her hands scratching at my shoulders.
“That’s it baby, relax. You got this,” I whisper, coaxing her to the brink of an orgasm.
Her lips form into the shape of an ‘O’, and her pussy clenches my fingers.
Hooking my finger just right, her hips buck against my hand.
“Oh God,” she drawls out, coming on my fingers.
Pulling my hand out of her bottoms, I suck on my fingers.
“How do you feel now?” I ask with a smirk.
“Better.” She breathes heavily.
The door flings open, and Tate jumps upright.
“They’re calling your name next!” Debs’ voice wavers with excitement.
Grabbing Tate’s hand I haul her out of the locker room and onto the stage.
“You got this Tate. Show that bitch who Tatum Davis is,” I whisper into the back of her head.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tate