I knew he was playing games, but I couldn’t seem to resist falling for it. “It sounds like you’re too much of a punk to say what you mean.” I stepped closer to him.
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and I could see the hate radiating off of him. “I’m saying it, motherfucker. I don’t know how much more clear I can make it. Let’s see, how about I spell it out for you?”
“Go right ahead.”
“I saw your girl last night.”
“I don’t have a girl.”
“Really? ‘Cause you seemed like you were together the other day, dressed up all fancy, looking like fucking Prince Charles and shit.”
I felt my blood starting to really boil now. “So what if I was? What if I was with her? So what?”
He shrugged again, smirking. “I’m just saying, you might think she’s all sweet and nice. But that girl was out hugging on another man, playing you for a chump.”
“Fuck off,” I said, waving at him. But I was stunned, imagining Lindsay with some other guy. I didn’t want her with another guy. I didn’t want her with anyone but me.
“I only say it because I don’t like seeing you clowned like that,” Uriah continued.
“It’s embarrassing.”
I decided to give him a little of his own medicine. “The only thing that’s embarrassing is your shitty kickboxing, Uriah. You’re never going to make it in the fight game. You’re a one trick pony. You’ve got no power, you got nothing. That’s why I’m getting the deal with the UFF and you’re nothing but a backup.”
Suddenly, Uriah was in my face. “You want to see my kickboxing, bitch?”
That was enough for me. I’d been wanting to knock him out since the moment I’d first seen his face. But now that he’d decided to bring Lindsay into it, there was nothing I wanted more than to plant my fist on his jaw and stop his mouth.
I threw a right hook, but Uriah was faster than I expected, and he ducked under the punch. He went for my legs and I sprawled out on the concrete, stuffing his shot.
The two of us were swearing at one another as we fought. It was almost funny, except it wasn’t, because one wrong move and I’d have been waking up in a hospital bed.
I gave him a couple of solid punches to the ribs and heard him grunt. He scooted away and threw a hard kick at my face. I leaned back just in time to keep from getting my head taken off, but he still caught me on the side of my face, right where my cut was located.
I stumbled back a few steps and Uriah came charging forward, throwing punches.
I avoided all of them and threw a stiff jab that smashed him in the nose.
We circled each other warily, hands up.
A moment later, I ran towards him, throwing another powerful hook, looking to crush him into oblivion. He caught it on his forearm, and then I grabbed him in the clinch and rammed him up against the brick wall. I started throwing knees, trying to crush his ribs, but he smothered the blows. He punched me hard in the stomach and I nearly puked my guts out.
All the drinking from the previous two days took its toll and I groaned.
I felt all the energy drain out of me, but I stood my ground. I’m not sure what would have happened if we’d continued fighting, but I didn’t get a chance to find out.
The next thing I knew, there were police sirens blaring and a loud voice shouting for us to move away from one another.
“Shit, the cops,” Uriah whispered angrily, glaring at me as if this was all my fault.
“Stop whining, *,” I whispered back at him.
The two cops got out of the police car and approached us. “What seems to be going on here?” one said, hand on his gun.
“Officer, this is a big misunderstanding,” I said, stalling for time. We were about to be arrested for sure.
“You two boys were just beating the crap out of each other pretty good. I don’t think there’s much to be confused about.”
I glanced at Uriah, and he nodded. “No, we—we’re training partners. We work out at this gym, it’s a mixed martial arts gym.”
“And do you always fight in the parking lot?”
“No, but it was closed so we decided to just warm up for a bit,” Uriah replied.
I had to give the asshole credit, he was quick on his feet.
The other officer was taking the handcuffs out. “This one’s bleeding,” he said, pointing at me.
I touched the cut above my eye and my fingers came away red. “That’s an old cut,” I explained. “We really weren’t fighting, I swear.”
Just as they were getting ready to take us away in the backseat of their cruiser, Coach Jansen showed up. He was wearing a baseball cap and carrying a duffel bag.
“Hello, officers. Is there a problem?” he asked, as he saw them starting to slap the handcuffs on me.
“You know these guys?” the first cop said.
Jansen almost looked like he might shrug and say he’d never seen us before in his life. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I know ‘em.”
“They work for you, sir?”
“I own this gym right here. They train with me.”