Totally Tormented Page 3

  “I don’t fight for a living, yet.” He sighed. “I’m actually a manager at Costco. It pays the bills.”

  I grinned, trying to picture a guy like Jimbo doing a normal nine-to-five. He must have cleaned up pretty good to snag a managerial type job.

  “Sorry if we’re boring you,” Jimbo said to Lindsay.

  “Not at all,” she told him, taking a reluctant sip from her drink. “I’m just…taking it all in.”

  Meanwhile, I looked around and noticed the way guys were checking Lindsay out. Apparently she wasn’t the only one “taking it all in.” Pretty much every man in the room—and even some of the ladies—were stealing appreciative—or in the girls’ cases, jealous—glances at her.

  Why was it that my stomach immediately tightened into knots and I wanted to put my arm around Lindsay? I moved a step closer to her, knowing that I couldn’t truly behave how my instincts wanted me to. I couldn’t act like she was my girl because she wasn’t. And she never could be.

  So then why did you bring her here? And why did you beg her to sleep in bed with you last night, and why are hoping she’ll stay over again? What is wrong with you?

  Jimbo got distracted by a fight being shown on the giant flat screen TV in the other room, and wandered over to check it out.

  I took another, longer, drink from my beer. I didn’t have any real answers and I didn’t want to have to admit it. I felt confused and somehow angry. I wanted to throttle the guys that were eyeballing her, and I wanted to throttle myself for the way I was feeling about her.

  She’s a friend. That’s it. A friend.

  But I knew it wasn’t that simple, and I hated that it couldn’t be. I hated knowing that someday soon, I was going to have to deal with the situation and it was going to hurt.

  Because there was only one way this whole thing could end, and that was with Lindsay and me going our separate ways.

  Not yet, though. Just enjoy being with her while you still can.

  I glanced over at Lindsay and offered an apologetic smile. “I know it’s not exactly your scene.”

  “I’m not some wilting flower, Justin.”

  “I know that.”

  She took a quick sip of beer, so quick that I wondered if she was “faking” it.

  After Jimbo had joked about pissing in the beer, I couldn’t blame her.

  “So,” Lindsay said, “that guy said something about you hitting like a truck. And he had a bruise under his eye. Is he the guy you fought with yesterday?”

  “One of them.”

  Her eyes widened. “How many were there?”

  I took a long pull from my beer and tried to stare down anyone who had the nerve to look over at Lindsay. “I’m not quite sure,” I admitted. “Everything started to blur together after the first three or four.”

  “You fought more than three or four people?” Lindsay shook her head. “Don’t you feel weird being at a party with the same guys who beat you up last night?”

  “First of all,” I said, turning to her, “I didn’t get beaten up last night. I was in a fight. And I’m used to hanging out with the same dude who I might have to punch in the face next week or next month. It’s just the name of the game.”

  “I just don’t really understand it.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” I said. It came out sounding a little sharper than I’d meant it, and Lindsay made a face.

  “I know you think I’m naïve and ridiculous,” she told me, “but the truth is, I just don’t like the idea of people hurting you.”

  I was about to respond to her, when I saw Malcolm Stevens waving me over from the other side of the room. Malcolm “The Pit bull” Stevens was the standout wrestler that had given me hell last night. He looked even bigger and stockier in his long sleeved shirt and jeans. Standing beside him was a young woman, probably around my age. She had long, dark hair, an olive complexion, and pouty lips that quickly turned into a smirk as I looked over.

  Was she his girlfriend, a groupie, something else entirely? Did I care?

  Not really.

  But Malcolm waved me over again and I thought I should attempt to be polite.

  “Hey, this guy wants to talk to me,” I said to Lindsay.

  Lindsay looked away. “Okay,” she said. “Go talk.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was hurt, but I didn’t have time to sort through it, and I was a little aggravated with her for suddenly getting moody on me.

  Still, I’d rather have just been alone—Lindsay and I—than hanging out at this party and feeling like she hated me and we had no business being together.

  When I crossed the room and reached Malcolm, he held out his beer and we clinked bottles. “Cheers,” Malcolm said. He turned to the dark haired girl next to him.

  “This is the new stud at the gym,” he told her.

  “Justin Brown?” she said, looking me over with utter confidence.

  “Do I know you?” I asked.

  She smiled secretively. “No, but I’ve heard a lot about you in the last few hours.

  You’re the talk of the town. What are they calling him, The Viking or something?”

  “The Barbarian,” Malcolm said. “Personally, I like it. It’s got flair.”

  “If you say so,” I replied. I wasn’t altogether sure what I thought of any of this, including my new nickname. JB was fine with me – it was what I’d always been called.

  “I’m Brooklyn,” the girl said, flashing her dark eyes at me.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You’re not very inquisitive, are you Mister Barbarian?”

  “I wasn’t aware there was something I was supposed to be inquiring about.”

  “Well, when you meet someone, it’s polite to ask them a question about themselves. Don’t you want to know anything about me?” She batted her eyelashes playfully.

  Malcolm chuckled. “Brooklyn, he doesn’t give a fuck about you. He’s going to be a star.” Brooklyn turned and gave him a hard punch in his shoulder.

  “Ow,” he said, wincing. “That actually hurt.”

  “Nice form,” I said, meaning it. “You hit with good technique, turned your hand over and everything.”

  “I’ve been watching people fight my whole life,” she said. “I picked up a few things here and there.”

  I was slightly intrigued. She was objectively pretty, kind of reminded me of Katy Perry with the dark hair, full figure, and a bit of attitude. She seemed interested in me, too. In the past I would have been all over her. But for some reason, I just couldn’t make myself get too interested.

  Instead, I caught myself trying to steal a glance behind me to see what Lindsay was doing.

  My stomach curdled.

  Somehow, in the short time that I’d been away from her, she’d been approached by Tim “The Sting” Young and Virgil Jones. Tim was the Heavyweight Champ in the UFF and Virgil was a contender at Light Heavyweight. They were both good-looking guys, slick, charming and confident. Tim was especially worrisome, because although I’d cleaned Virgil’s clock yesterday, Tim had been a different beast entirely.

  Lindsay was looking up at both of them as they spit game at her. She seemed to kind of be falling for it, actually. She laughed hard at something Tim said, covering her mouth as her cheeks reddened.

  “Is that your girlfriend?” I turned to find Brooklyn watching me with a crafty smile playing at the corners of her lips. “She seems to be enjoying herself.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I said, but the words came out harsh and acidic.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Brooklyn folded her arms and leaned back against the wall. I realized it was just her and I talking with each other. Malcolm had become engrossed in conversation with some white dude with dreadlocks and a cast on his arm.

  I wanted badly to see what was going on behind me with Lindsay and those guys.

  Why was she laughing? Did she actually find those idiots funny?

  “I think you li
ke her, though,” Brooklyn said, cutting into my thoughts.

  “We’re just friends.” I took another sip of my beer and turned away from Lindsay. “She’s not my type.”

  “What is your type?”

  I shrugged. “Rough, knows what she wants, isn’t afraid of anything. And doesn’t play head games.”

  “Everyone plays head games.”

  “I disagree.”

  “You’re playing them right now, with what’s- her-name over there.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Brooklyn straightened and moved towards me suddenly. “Prove it, then.”

  “Prove what?”

  “Prove you’re not into that girl. Prove you aren’t with her. Kiss me on the lips, right now.” Her voice had turned a little huskier, and when she moved toward me, she leaned forward just enough so that I got a view of her ample cleavage.

  “I’m not going to do that,” I said, shaking my head and putting the beer to my lips.

  “That’s because you’re lying.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “Maybe not to me, Justin Brown,” she said, leaning back against the wall again and taking a slow sip of her drink. “But you might be lying to yourself.”

  “You can call me JB,” I told her. “And I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  But she had a point. Why was I spending all of this mental energy on someone I knew I couldn’t be with? Was I just trying to torture myself?”

  “Whatever. It looks like not everyone is as timid as The Barbarian,” Brooklyn laughed, as she looked past me.

  I turned around in time to see Tim and Virgil leading Lindsay out of the room.

  “What the— ” Instinctively, I moved after them. I caught up with Lindsay in just a couple of strides, grabbing her wrist. “What are you doing?” I said.

  She spun, pulled away from me. “What’s your problem?”

  “Where are you going?”

  Tim and Virgil were watching us now. Virgil laughed. “Relax, dude. We were just going to show her Quarry’s awesome game room.”

  I didn’t even pay attention to him. I looked at Lindsay. “Are you drunk?”

  “No, I’m not drunk! I’ve hardly even had a beer. I’m totally fine.”

  “She’s fine, JB,” Tim said. “So why don’t you chill?”

  “I need to talk to you for a second,” I told her. “Now.”

  “Fine,” she sighed.

  “Come on.” I led her away from those two bozos and down to the first floor, where everything was quiet and calm and we could have some privacy.

  “Why are you acting like a jerk?” she said, the moment we were alone.

  I paused before answering. Seeing her standing there, the light from the window cascading over her shoulders, she looked almost angelic. It stunned me momentarily—

  and a voice inside my head screamed, KISS HER ALREADY! WHAT THE HELL IS

  WRONG WITH YOU?

  But I gathered my senses. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, Lindsay. But I know those guys—the ones you were talking to. They’re not nice guys.”

  “It was harmless.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know. Like how I knew you were harmless.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong about me.”

  That quieted her. She closed her mouth and looked down, her eyes wandering as if trying to come up with something to combat my logic. Finally, she spoke again, softly, in something close to a whisper. “You brought me to this stupid party. What do you expect me to do, Justin, stand in the corner all night while you talk with to the cute girls?”

  “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you here, Lindsay. Let me call you a cab.”

  Now she looked up at me again, and the hurt in her eyes was unmistakable.

  “You’re not leaving with me?”

  I did want to go with her, but I knew that nothing good would come of it. I couldn’t be her boyfriend, as much as I might like the idea. The best I could do now was protect her from me, from this world. Send her away and then do my best to stay away from her. “I can’t leave with you. This is my job, it’s where I’m meant to be. But it’s not where you’re meant to be.”

  “Fine. I’m leaving.” She turned and walked out the door.

  “Lindsay!” I followed after her. “Hey, I’m calling you a cab. Where are you going?”

  She kept walking down the steps. “We’re in Brookline, not Southie. I can take the T home or even walk. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Lindsay, please. Try and understand—”

  She was starting to run now. “Just leave me alone, Justin!” she yelled, and then she rounded the corner and I knew it was a waste of time to keep chasing after her.

  ***

  Some hours later, I’d had another three or four drinks and hung out with Malcolm and Jimbo, who were both really cool guys. We hung out in the game room and played pool, while Brooklyn watched and made little snarky comments.

  I could tell she was interested in me. What surprised me was that I didn’t feel much interest in her. She was attractive, she was dressed in a sexy little outfit, she obviously had a rocking tight body. And she wasn’t dumb either. In fact, she was very quick-witted.

  These were all qualities that I normally liked in a girl.

  But for some reason, I just wasn’t concerned with giving Brooklyn any attention.

  Finally, it was getting late enough that people were starting to leave. I was feeling drunk and a little depressed. I kept wanting to text Lindsay, just to make sure she got home okay.

  Leave it alone, I told myself. She doesn’t want you bugging her. It’s for the best.

  Brooklyn had been watching us play pool for nearly an hour. When Jimbo left to go to the bathroom, she walked over to me. “So, what’s the deal? Are you just totally indifferent to me or what?”

  I leaned on my pool stick. “I’m not indifferent. I’m just tired. I went about a million rounds last night.”

  “That’s no excuse.” She smiled and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I’m going home. Want to come with?”

  I thought about it. A million possibilities flashed through my head. I pictured her naked, on top of me, both of us sweating, doing it like a couple of animals. Then I imagined afterwards, how I’d lay next to her and figure out when I could get the hell out of there without seeming like an asshole.

  “I think I’m too tired and beat up,” I said. “Can I take a rain check?”

  She made a surprised face. “It’s not often a guy says no to me. Especially someone who works for my dad. But have it your way, Justin Brown. Have it your way.” And then she walked out of the room, her hips swaying as she shook her ass provocatively.

  Malcolm watched her go and then whistled, looking back at me. “You do realize that Quarry’s daughter wants to fuck your ever living brains out, right?”

  “That’s Quarry’s daughter?”

  Malcolm laughed. “Hell, yeah. And she’s hot as hell. What’s wrong with you?”

  I was stunned. “I just…fuck. I had no clue.”

  “That girl is something else. She’s like the perfect woman. Hot as shit, knows fighting inside and out, and not too shabby in the brains department, either.”

  I sighed and rubbed my face. “I’m just not thinking straight lately.”

  “Obviously not.” Malcolm shook his head and took his shot. “Every guy in the damn gym has hit on her at one time or another and she’s never shown an ounce of interest until you came along.” He chuckled to himself. “And then she chooses the one clown who couldn’t give a fuck about her because he’s stuck on some other girl.”

  “I’m not stuck on anybody.”

  Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Sure you’re not.” He laughed. “Keep on telling yourself that, brother.”

  A few minutes later, I’d lost my taste for the game and the beer. It was time to go. As I was leaving, someone clapped a hand on my shoulder like a vice. I turned around
and saw Quarry there, looking at me with a strange expression on his face. For an instant, I wondered if Brooklyn had said something bad about me. And then he grinned.

  “Did you have fun tonight?”

  “Yeah, I did. Thanks. Awesome place you’ve got here.”

  “Thanks. I built it with my blood and bones. Almost literally.” His flinty eyes seemed to look into my soul. “Every brick, I paid for in brain cells and hemoglobin.”

  “That’s a grim picture.”

  “It is what it is. Warriors are born to fight, and we know that the body is just currency.”

  “I’d like to keep as many brain cells as possible, though.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong business.”

  I shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Quarry moved closer. I could smell stale beer and chips on his breath. “You can be great, man. Great. Do you know how many guys can say that?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Almost nobody,” he replied. “I wasn’t great. I couldn’t have been great, either.

  And out of my whole team, there’s not one guy right now that can be at the top of the sport. Not even Tim, and he’s fucking awesome. But he’s just—he is what he is.”

  I wasn’t sure if Quarry was being serious, or maybe just drunk. After all, Tim was a professional and he held the heavyweight belt. “Well, thanks for the compliment. I appreciate it.”

  Now Quarry leaned in even closer. “You’ve got a responsibility to your own potential,” he growled. “You have to do everything—I mean everything—to bring out the best in yourself. No matter what. No matter what it takes. Just like Lance Armstrong did everything it fucking took to be the best.”

  “Yeah, but he cheated.”

  This made Quarry smile. “He was also the best there ever was in cycling, and I guarantee you he wouldn’t trade those years for anything in this world.”

  “I guess.” My head was starting to spin, a combination of the alcohol and not resting as much as I should have after fighting last night.

  “Now you think about what I said and I’ll see you back at the gym tomorrow.”

  “Okay, see you, Coach.” I walked down the stairs, said goodbye to Z, and left the house and the party behind.