Page 50 of Uppercut Princess
I have a feeling he still wants to ask me who I am, but instead, he asks, “You like football?”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, more comfortable with this line of questioning. “I like fighting. I like competition. I like the idea of winners and losers.”
“So, you like things black and white? That rarely happens.”
“In sports it does.”
“In the game itself, maybe, unless you have corrupt referees or unfair rules. Directly outside the competition itself, there can be so much gray. I’ve done some dirty shit in the name of football.” He jams his hands into his pockets.
“For football? Or for you?”
“For me, I guess.”
Footsteps sound on the stairs. Glancing over, I find Johnny stomping up them, taking his suit jacket off and throwing it on the railing. Blood is spattered all over his crisp white shirt.
I don’t know how to feel about this. I’m not going to lie. A sick satisfaction rolls through me that Johnny kicked the guy’s ass for calling me a whore. If that’s why he did it.
It’s like the same question I asked Oscar. Was it for football? Or for you? I have a feeling Johnny didn’t kick the waiter’s ass because he insulted me or even because he wanted me. It was all about his own ego.
Johnny walks in finally, unbuttoning his soiled white shirt. Some of the blood has even seeped through to his wife beater underneath, which he chucks off next until he’s standing there in just his crisp linen pants, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake. He comes up to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, glancing away.
“Don’t worry,” Johnny says, voice softening. “He’s been dealt with now.”
My stomach turns over. I don’t want to know the extent to which Johnny “took care” of the situation. But if it wasn’t me standing here, it would be someone else. This is just another day in the life for them.
“I have to help Magnum with this,” he says, motioning back toward the door they took the waiter through earlier. “Brawler will take you home.” Johnny glances over at Oscar to make sure he’s gotten the message.
Oscar nods. “I’ll call you later.”
With that, Johnny disappears into a side room to retrieve another white shirt and then leaves Oscar and I alone again. Downstairs, the crowd breaks up. I watch from up top as Brawler pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. Beside me, Oscar is just putting his away, so I know he’s sent the message to him.
“I can go home by myself,” I try feebly, knowing it’ll never work. Especially not tonight.
“You’re too cute,” Oscar says, his playful personality back again. “Not going to work.” After a beat of silence, Oscar presses his lips together. “Johnny realizes what he has.”
My face heats, then all the warmth drops to my stomach the longer Oscar just stares at me. My mind is screaming to tell him that Johnny doesn’thaveme. That’s not how I work. That’s not what I want Oscar to think. But at the same time, Oscar’s a part of the Crew. Anything I say here could be used against me.
I close my eyes, making myself change the subject. “What did they do to him?”
Oscar breathes out, his dark eyes returning. He searches my face, and I think he finds the answer to what I really want to hear, but he surprises me with what comes out of his mouth. “You don’t want to know.”
Oscar and I wait in tense silence together. Neither one of us is willing to look away from the other, but we also don’t step across a line. It’s like we’re toeing a boundary line, each one of us placing it somewhere between us. I don’t know about Oscar’s, but mine keeps moving closer to him, allowing me a little freedom. I’m just not willing to step over it.
After Brawler finishes downstairs, he comes up to tell us he’s ready. I’m relieved because the tension between Oscar and me was getting a little too much. But instead of Brawler breaking it, he makes it worse. His stare stops on me, snagging there like he wants to look away, but can’t. Eventually, he forces himself to, and all three of us stand there awkwardly.
Oscar catches my eye, jaw ticking. I don’t know if it’s because he just witnessed what happened between me and Brawler or if he’s still drawing his own line. “I’ve got to go.”
When he passes Brawler, he whispers something to him that’s just out of earshot. I don’t bother asking them what they’re saying because I know they’ll never tell me, so instead, I follow him down the stairs. The two groups part ways once we’re outside, Oscar striding toward the bus stop while Brawler and I stop in front of a sleek, black car.
I just stare at it. Even when I’m not around Johnny, he’s everywhere I go. He’s got his “goons” watching me. I can’t leave the apartment unless I’m with one of them. He’s a part of every aspect of my life, even how I get home at the end of the night right down to the shoes I wear.
I yank the car door open and slide inside. My anger’s returning, so is the feeling of being trapped and called out. Of having to kiss Johnny when he wants, whether I want to or not.
Brawler watches me on the way home as I fume, but he doesn’t say anything. Johnny’s watching him, too. This car is not the time and place to trust if I was going to put my faith in him. It’s too risky.
The car slows. Once again, I throw the door open and immediately start for my apartment, leaving Brawler to catch up with me. I take the stairs, stomping up them. When we get to my apartment door, I wait for Brawler to open it because there was no place to put a key or cell phone in this dress, and I don’t carry a purse. I laugh, but it’s not a real laugh. It’s not a kind one or to denote that I’m happy. It’s the kind of laugh that means I’m going out of my mind. I can’t even open up my own fucking apartment door.
