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“Ah, okay, that makes more sense. Like if you drop a cat, it lands on its feet. So right, Luigi, he falls in love like that.” I snapped my fingers and then took the boxing gloves he handed me. “Every month he has a new woman, swears she’s the one, and then they find out that he’s not the president of the meat packing plant like he tells them all when he picks them up. Which is not cool, and I tell him all the time. I’ll say ‘Luigi. Man, stop lying to the ladies. Be honest. Tell them you’re a pig sorter. No shame in doing an honest day’s work. Someone has to grade all them chops and loins.’ But no, he has to put on like he’s something he ain’t, and so them gals get mad. I would too. But by then he’s in love. Boom. Just like that. I think he has an overactive romance lobe or something like that. I mean, sure, I like Henri. And yeah, we set the sheets on fire, but if he’s just going to ghost me in his own house, then I’m going to pack up my shit and go to the hotel. You ever have anyone ghost you in their own house? I mean, there I was, all ready to roll over and give him a hug and maybe suck on his—”
“Okay, my man, I do not need the graphic details.” He spun to face me. “I get it, I do. It sucks to have a guy turn cold after a hot night. Been there, done that, and bought the damn T-shirt. And I am sorry this guy has turned you inside-out.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s my birthday in three days. I thought maybe him and me would be a present but now he’s on my shitlist. He isn’t even reading my texts. I know he ain’t because I called him Henry on purpose to get a reaction and nothing. Nada. Zip.” I popped the P to make sure Key knew how upset I was. And I was mad. Hurt. Mostly hurt. Lots of hurt. Which is why I had come here to work out, found Key opening up, and asked him to spar with me. “I mean, I got mostly all the things a man could want. Well, other than a place to live. Still don’t have that. Which means I got to go back to the chalet today. Ugh. You know what, I’m going to be cold to him too. I’ll just sit in his library and binge some Kim Possible and he can go snort a Chablis.”
“The man snorts wine?” Key asked as I held up my gloves for him to help fasten the Velcro tightly. The ring was right behind us. The theme from Rocky was playing on a soft loop in the back of my mind.
“No, he makes it. Big fancy winery on the hill. French, sexy, sinfully good.”
“The man or the wine?” Key asked, his dark eyes playful at the moment. I’d kind of caught him by surprise showing up on the one day they were opening late due to a family situation.
“Probably both. I ain’t big on wine. Maybe I should be more open to it. He has a glass every night after dinner. Goes off into his library with his wine and shuts himself in. I got no clue why he don’t go out or have people over more. Sure, he does on Sundays for brunch, but that’s just a lot of city movers and shakers hobnobbing over his free food and wine. Why don’t he have any friends?”
“I don’t know, my man. All I know is that I need to make sure you want to spar with me,” he said, for about the tenth time. I nodded. He seemed unsure. “Look, I know you’re upset about this guy leaving you all alone in his bed, but have you ever boxed?”
“I play for the Gladiators. I fight all the time. Well, not all the time, but enough of the time to know I can handle myself.”
“Well hockey fighting and boxing are two different things, Greck,” he explained and then climbed into the ring to hold the ropes open for me. I slid under and bounced my way around the ring, fists up, feet moving like lightning. “You don’t have a shirt to pull over my head while you clobber me.”
He tried to dissuade me as I bobbed and weaved. “I don’t need no shirt. I grew up in Flushing, and I once knocked out Geno Vespucci with one punch. He never cracked wise about my cousin Bianca’s off-center nose again.”
“This isn’t an alley fight, either. Are you sure you want to do this? I did win a few Golden Gloves competitions when I was in the Army,” he informed me as I circled him with such fancy footwork he was surely dazzled. “Not trying to say you’re not a scrapper because I’ve seen you play.”
I stopped with the weaving to give him a nod of thanks. “Cool. Nice to know you’re into hockey. I can handle myself. Don’t be worried about me, Key. Hit me hard enough to shake the damn memory of last night out of my head.”
“Let’s start off with something a little less predatory.” He raised his gloves, and a gleam came over his brown eyes that sent off a few warning bells. Just two. Maybe three. I was in too much pain over being left like a dirty sock in the gutter that all my alarms and whistles didn’t engage.
Plainly, they should have because it took Key exactly fourteen seconds to hit me hard enough to jar them claxons into working condition.
“That was fifty percent,” he warned me, moving back and then popping me again. He had reach and height, and man were his fists fast. I took one more light jab to the gut and fell over my own feet to my ass. There I sat, winded, bellyaching, and wondering why the hell I was hearing Bon Jovi all of a sudden. Had Key hit me so hard my musical brain banks had been jarred free?
“You okay?” Key asked, dropping down to one knee to assess my situation.
“Yeah, fine, just got my feet tangled. If that’s fifty percent, I would hate to see what one hundred percent feels like,” I groaned as he stood and pulled me to my feet.
“One hundred percent would be you lying there out cold with them little cartoon birds flying around your thick head,” he teased, using the side of his glove to thump me on the shoulder. “Is that your phone playing ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ in your back pocket?”
Oh yeah, it was. I’d given Henri a new ringtone after finding myself alone and sore in that big bed of his. The jerk.
“It’s him,” I said as I tried to dig out my cell.
“Take the call, man. I’m claiming this bout.” Key gave me a smile that could melt the polar ice caps. “I won.” He tugged off his gloves, then yanked the Velcro straps free for my right hand. The door opened and about a dozen seniors in running shoes and bright-colored jogging gear entered the gym.
“Yeah, you did.” I smiled up at him and moved to one corner to take the call from the man who had gotten me so worked up I had climbed into a boxing ring with some golden gloves Army boxer. Or maybe I was to blame for being knocked to my backside before I even threw a punch. Yeah, that was totally on me. The pain in my heart was on Henri, though. No, he was Henry again. That’ll teach me to whisper his pretty French name in his ear while making love to him.
The oldsters were in high spirits, calling out to Key as he slipped from the ring with a smooth elegance that I’d be hard pressed to copy. Rubbing my belly—fifty percent had winded me—I turned my back to the gab fest taking place behind me and pushed the green button.
“Yeah,” I snarked into the phone, resting my arm over the top rope as I tried to look like I hadn’t just lasted less than a minute in the ring. That was a secret I planned to take to my grave.
“Hello, Philip,” he said, his sinful voice all thick with France ran over me like a warm summer rain. Damn it. I really did have it bad for this guy. “How are you?”
“I’m finer than a tickled trout as my aunt Mona likes to say. I mean, how I could be anything but honky fucking dory?” I glanced over my shoulder at the gasps from the old gals and gents stretching their calves. “My bad,” I told them and climbed under the top rope, dropped to the floor, and went to the yoga/aerobics/jazzercise room. It was empty, the lights still out, and so I felt good to let loose. We Grecos didn’t generally beat around the bush. To ensure privacy, I turned the lock on the door.
“I sense a bit of hostility in your voice,” Henry said into my ear.
I kicked a big red exercise ball across the room. It hit the wall with a twang and then flew back at me, nearly clocking me in the face. Good thing I got quick reflexes.
“Hostile? Nah, I ain’t hostile.” I nudged the ball back into the corner with my toe, leaned my ass against the wall, and let out a long, pained sigh. “Okay, I’m mad. And hurt. I thought you and me were making strides to being friends.”
