The Grind

Chapter Four

Just shy of 3 months had swiftly come & gone. We spent ample amounts of time together, and the easy casualty between us still stool firm. The whirling wind of our relationship only just picking up, and I was intently reading the stark, yet mysterious novel that was Colton Ritter. He was romantic in the brawniest way, always keeping a solid arm around my waist when we explored the crowded sidewalks on our outings together. Or on the rare occasions he decided to sleep over, he'd never settle to sleep in any position other than nestled into my back, his warm steady breaths exhaling into my hair, & limbs locked around me. At times, I had to assure myself he hadn't forgotten my name, he just preferred referring to me as "his girl" instead.

The fight was two weeks away now. Two painfully anxious, grueling weeks away. Rightfully so, he'd delicately began to isolate himself a bit, applying his metaphorical "game face" makeup, if you will. However, tonight he had promised to skip out his usual third training session of the day & spend the evening at my place instead. I tidied the throw pillows on the sunken leather couch on my way to answer his knock, and fluffed some fingers thru my hair. He crossed the entryway with a wet peck to my lips & dropped himself to be seated on the center cushion of my couch. How on earth a man could make a sweat stained, beat-up hoodie look like a 3-piece suit, was an enigma I'd yet to solve.

"How's my girl?" he smiled, using two fingers to playfully seduce me to fill the empty spot next to him. I made a pit stop grabbing the remote control so I could ready the DVD I had rented for us, then plopped beside his now relaxed frame.

"Perfect now," I answered with smiling satisfaction, nuzzling into the warm crook under his arm.

We'd barely made it 10 minutes into the movie before the tongue I'd been biting to keep quiet, broke free, "How's the training coming? Is your hand still giving you trouble?"

Earlier in the week, I'd met him at Mac's per his request, & found him wincing as the trainer pressured his obvious swollen mitt. He brushed off my evident concern, saying he'd just "over did it a bit," but the trainer shot me a secret look, indicating that it indeed was something I should probably be concerned with.

"It's all good, babe. Nothin' to worry yourself about, honest. Relax, huh?" He held up the wounded hand, wiggling his fingers as if to prove to me he was as healthy as a horse.

I nodded my head at the obvious lie, resisting the urge to push the issue of my growing regard for him. My silky legs tucked under me, I lifted from the couch to retrieve some popcorn from the kitchen, strategizing the best way to mind my own business would be to excuse myself from the room for a brief moment or two.

I couldn't have made it 3 small strides in exit before I heard, "Hey 2-1, think fast!" referring to the peeling vinyl number on the back of one of my dated team sweatshirts from high school.

Not allowed a moment to resist, he'd pounced from his seat, captured my limber body, & heaved me over his stony shoulder, adding a saucy pat to my rump for good measure. I squealed with pleasure as he whisked me off in the direction of my bedroom, shouting giggly words of objection mixed with powerless slaps to his widespread back along the way. We entered the bedroom threshold where he chucked me atop the plush white duvet of my full-size bed. My arms outstretched slackly, he situated himself above me, dangling studiously nose-to-nose with my face. I closed my eyes lazily with desire, anticipating the puffy lips I knew were coming to me.

"Highlight of my day about to be what's between those soft legs of yours, Livvy," he purred, causing me to shiver involuntarily as his gifted hands slid toward a southern destination.

The moment couldn't have been more laced with passion, and yet the wandering mind of mine I often coursed for overthinking, wouldn't slow down.

"Colt, are you sure your hand's okay? I just wanna make sure you're in perfect condition for Mendez."