#no hate to the official artist but I definitely never imagined ‘short choppy hair’ as an a line bob

[weirdly-wise]

Binx sketches cuz I love them

[alitheamateur]

The Grind-Chapter 18

The next specific Wednesday session seemed to be no different than the last, other than the building progress we were making. Tia and I had slowly, and very carefully started sparring a couple of weeks earlier, and my skill was greatly improving according to her, and the rest of the team. I had even very unintentionally paid Tia back for the purple shiner she gave me during the early stages of my training, by locking a very happen stance successful arm bar, making her tap. I’m still not sure between the two of us who was more baffled at the turn of events. The instant growl of defeat from her chest quickly erased when she’d squeezed my head in her hands and smashed a hard pressed kiss to my forehead saying, she had “created a fucking monster.” 

That evening I was huddled alone in the quiet corner of the gym, left to tend to the speed bag so Tia could focus on her own training with Willow. She had booked a match with a very talked about newcomer here in town, so she needed to buckle down, and plant more of her focus on her own drills. It only made sense that I slide to the backburner, this was her career after all. I was still the desk jockey turned wannabe martial artist, after all.

 The glass, arched ceilings at the temple perfectly displayed the peach sky summer sunsets at night when I came in to work out after leaving the office, and tonight was exceptionally spellbinding. The mellow, fading clouds painted a haze amongst the hot pinks of the setting sun, tearing my focus from the current task at hand. I knelt to the floor grasping the already sweat damped towel, to dry the trickling perspiration from my weary eyes, when a distinctly gruff accent paralyzed my further movements.

 “Liv?....” the man hesitated meekly. There could’ve been 3,000 people in one room calling my name out in harmony, and that particular voice would’ve rang out to me like church bells, silencing all the rest.

 I dropped the ratty cloth from my white knuckles, my breaths hitched terrified as I rolled on my heels to face the approaching footsteps. That face, now more matured in all the best ways. Had it been that long? The very noticeable changes suited him in tremendous manner, paired with his still very exceptional fighters physique. Thick gray track shorts situated low on his hips, topped with a “Mac’s Gym” t-shirt now turned tank top courtesy of his kitchen scissors. A frayed duffle slung easily over his shoulder, and a weathered Pirates hat laid rear facing on his head. I noticed the longer hair that now winged out beneath the confines of that ball cap, and a beard had sprouted around his pretty, pink lips.

There were a few new inky additions that I couldn’t make out from the distance, but his skin was now slightly more drawn on than before. He was Webster’s pictorial definition of female arousal. I’m not sure how many seconds, or maybe even minutes passed before I was able to piece together a choppy response, but before I could speak, he did again.

“Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I uh, I’m just here with a friend. She’s in the ring there, the little brunette one.” I gestured to Tia across the room, who was too preoccupied to notice who had joined us in the room. “She’s just, um, getting me back into shape a little.” I wasn’t quite ready to explain fully to him what I was truthfully doing there. I wasn’t even convinced yet I wanted to even speak period.

 I tensely angled my head to the floor to escape his festering gazes, when I caught a horrified glimpse of the shirt over my torso. It was his. The shabby, heather gray Pitt t-shirt of his that I had never given back, now cut to graze just above my exposed, taut bellybutton. I screwed my eyes shut in ruthless mortification, knowing there was no way the cloth hadn’t stuck out to him like a very familiar sore thumb.

Of all days to choose this shirt, Liv. OF ALL DAYS.

 He began to saunter very gently closer to me, proceeding with necessary caution, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, now hidden behind the lengthy whiskers.

“Whatever she’s got you doing, it uh, it suits you.“ He pointed out with what he had already said with his gazes.

 A ravish of red heated my cheeks. “Wait. What are you doing here?” I attempted to dodge his compliment, but was honestly confused at why the man was here, at the Temple. Mac’s was his place, why had he entered mine?

“There’s a long story behind that, actually. But Mac, he uh, he lost the gym last week. Like officially. They closed the doors, bank ceased it.” He shook his head in saddened disgust. Poor Mac. That was his sacred ground, the sweat and blood of his livelihood. “I’m tryin’ out a couple other spots close by in the city. The weight bench, and half shredded bag in my apartment ain’t gonna cut it forever.”  I noticed my back was now grazing the cool wall behind me, apparently his presence had sent my mindlessly cowering away from his heated form.

 Before I could extend my apologies for the news he’d given about Mac’s, I heard Tia’s not so satisfied interruption break the silence of the room.

 “Hey!” she jogged closer, very much aware of who I was now conversing with, “you okay, Liv?”

Although Colt wouldn’t imagine laying his hands in anger at a female to begin with, he still should’ve very much intimidated my petite, very ruthlessly protective friend. Tia however, stabbed through him with her blue daggers, not letting up.

“What the hell do you want, Ritter? Why are you here?” I had to diffuse her before the already escalating situation got completely out of hand.

“It’s fine, Tia. We’re fine. I’M fine. Colton is just here to… try the place out. His trainer recently had to sell his place, so he’s out of a spot to work out right now,” I said patting her arm.

 The two had never met, regardless of how seemingly familiar she was of Colt just from the countless stories she’d heard from me over the course of our friendship, so I figured I maybe best to formally introduce them.

“Colton, this is Tia. The friend I was telling you had me down here in the first place,” he extended a hand in a reserved extension to offer a hand shake. I could see from his tightened jaw he was far from pleased with the audacious way she had spoken at him, his temper wanting to burst and show his displeasure. However deep down, I think he  knew he’d probably indeed deserved it, assuming all the things that I had told my friend about how he’d treated me.

Tia on the other hand, the sassy girl she was, wasn’t even considering the fake smiles and forced “nice to meet you’s”.

 “And T, this is Colton. Which clearly, you already knew.” She gawked at his still waiting hand, denying it, instead lifting to cross her arms across her heavily breathing chest.

 “Want me to get rid of him, LC? I can have Cal lead him very abruptly to the door,” she snarled like an insulted animal.

 Colton shifted his puppy, questioning eyes to me, searching for an answer. The stormy irises were spinning through the wheel of every emotion. Sadness, regret, admiration, confusion, arousal, anger. And love. His eyes kept changing back to love. It seemed to be the dominating feeling calling to him as he continued to gaze.

 “No worries, Tia. He was just about to start his own work out. Right, Colton? I was just taking a little break, okay?” I explained, trying to hint to the man that I had reached my conversational limit with him for the day, and unless he wanted Tia to jump in an assault of violent fists, he should excuse himself for now. “You better get back to Willow there before she makes you pay.”

As badly as she hated it, she galloped back to the ring, pounding her gloved fists together after reinserting her mouth guard, still making sure Colt knew she had her eye on him, no matter what. My head was thumping, the overexertion of passion beating my brain to mush, leaving a growing veil of heaviness hanging over my head as I looked at him. My left hand longing to do nothing more than reach for his oversized hand, and squeeze it, reacquainting the feel of his sweltering skin to my own. But, my right hand. My right hand wanted to unleash every ounce of newly acquired physical strength on his face. Beat the handsome flesh from his bones. Attack him with the pain he caused me. I let my self-control avail and decided against either action at the moment.

“I better get back to my work out before she decides to come back,” a hesitated smile turned up. “But I guess I uh, I might see you around then?” He tapped his toes, and pursed his lips at the dismissal, but obliged, nonetheless.

“Yeah, ya’ just might, Livvy. You just might.”

  The next night was a break from the physical exertion for me. I had to fulfil my journalistic duties for The Pilot at a local fight in the city, a night away from the mats, and bags, and gloves, and sit-ups seemed long overdue. My relentless aching muscles thought so, anyway. It as a gorgeous evening to be out and about, it had been a calm, yet progressive day at the office, and I was eager to observe the fight now as an educated audience member. Before, the interest in fighting had been merely for entertainment sake, and of course a certain handsome competitor. But now, however substandard, and undeveloped, I had the eye of a fighter. The past months at Temple Fitness had opened my tunnel vision to an entirely new perspective. I found myself diving into the internet, researching basic takedown moves, and breaking down the techniques of female fighters all over the MMA circuit all for non-work related intent. I even shamefully pondered on a list of potential ring nicknames to suit me…

Tia declining my invite to tag along, left me attending stag as usual, as she needed the extra hours of training for her latest happenings.  I marched through the threshold of the main entrance, searching all directions for the small arena floor, the location being one I hadn’t yet visited. The echoing click of my heeled feet drew the attention of an event staff member who observantly took notice of my media tag, kindly ushered me in the correct direction, sending me on my way with a compliment on my nude, cross strapped stilettos. I had succumbed to the desire of exposing my bold, cobalt blue skirt and matching blazer to the world. The Pittsburgh air had been abnormally humid that week, and my skin had nearly clammed upon seconds of stepping outside the apartment, so I thought a risky, electric shade of blue was acceptable to suit the bold temperatures. The hem tickled a little higher on the thigh than I preferred, but I wanted to display the quite obvious cut of muscle down my lower extremities. A girl deserves to parade herself around on occasion, and tonight was my appointed hour. I had worked my ass of for these legs. Matter of fact, I worked my ass off for this ass, too.

I moseyed through the span of filling seats, responding to some unattended text messages from the drive over, and counted down the rows till I reached the third. I crumpled the foil of a gum wrapper reaching into my crossbody for my credit card, so I could find the closest vending machine for some water before the excitement ensued. My eyes searched downward to the bag, when a  firm, abnormally large hand clasped over my blue cloth covered shoulder.

“Well, damn. Two nights in a row, huh?”

That east coast lilt that I seemed to even hear in my dreams. My head dropped backwards in a stupid, heavy motion to face the known culprit.

NO! NO! That leather jacket. He just HAS TO BE WEARING THAT LEATHER JACKET.

He crouched beside my seat in the open aisle to lean in closer, the volume of the background music flooding the room, and his scent drifted into my area. A concoction of motorcycle exhaust fumes, woodsy hints of lingering shower gel, and a slight whiff of male perspiration resulting from the scorching night air. My suspicions of a grown out hairstyle confirmed now with the absence of a hat, and the tamed shaggy locks scattered loosely in dispersed directions, no doubt due to the helmet he’d probably just strapped to the back of his bike.

“Luck must be in your favor, Ritter.” I chided through a cheeky smile. I fought tooth and nail to bury the feeling of warmth between my legs at the very sight of him. It was imperative he didn’t catch a glimpse of weakness in me.

“Whatever’s in my favor, I’m fuckin’ grateful for it right now.” His once lowered gaze searched upward to link up with my green eyes.

Purposefully disregarding his intended romantic comments, I readily changed the subject “What are you doin’ here?”

“You seem t’ be askin’ me that a lot in the last two days, Livvy,” he said referring to my questioning at the gym on the previous evening. “But, I’m here to scope these bastards out. Never know if I may have to dance with one of ‘em in the cage. Did you change your hair, by the way?”

I wrestled internally with offering him to take the empty seat to my right, but settled with the idea he wouldn’t be permitted without a media lanyard.

 And who’s the say he even wants to sit next to you, Elliott. Get over yourself.

The repetitive twisting of my nearly dead ends over my index finger a familiar nervous habit he’d learned, led him to reservedly smile quietly as he spoke.

 “I guess you’re here for work? You and that damn little suit of yours, kid…. You look, well,” he cleared his throat,” you look amazing. I’ll just leave it at that before I get myself into too much trouble.”

He sure wasn’t trying to mask where his mind was wondering. However flattering, his suggestive remarks may have felt on one hand, I couldn’t help but grow frustratingly perturbed by his blatantly sexual tones with me.

Back the hell off, Colton. I’m not yours to flatter anymore!

 “Damn you, Colton! That’s enough, alright. God,” the radiant, cheery blue shade of my clothing likely clashed alongside my angry, gnashing teeth and wrinkled nose as I shut down his advances. “You can be on your way now, the fight is about to start.”

Colton parted his lips, hesitating to form a sentence of objection, but only muffled groans, and choppy letters were audible. I focused my attention now towards the cell in my lap, I didn’t bother seeing him off. I knew he would walk away, not wanting to upset me any farther, and the mean lines across my forehead reiterated that I wasn’t playing his game. Once the thumping, heavy steps of his work boots become more and more faint, I searched under hooded eyes. Of course. His seat wasn’t more than 50 yards across the way from me, giving him a clear shot to ogle me for the possible 5 round fight, an judging by his settled eyes on me, that’s exactly what he intended to do.

  The fighters had been so obviously mismatched. It barely reached the second round before the chosen favorite attained victory by a TKO. I combed through my falling curls and scooped up my bag, standing to weave through the exiting crowd. Next on the usual checklist: get the post-fight statement from the two competitors, and be on my way. The cheery, easy-going sense I felt upon arrival had pungently soured with aggravation. My steps seemed to be doubly echoing throughout the arena. Just as I convinced myself the roaring chatter of all the people was only playing tricks on my ears, I felt a grasping hand pull at my fingers, “Liv, hey.“ He spoke sounding winded, probably in the pursuit of locating me amongst the mass. I shook his squeezing clutches off sternly, yanking my arm free from my ex. “Liv, c’mon.. hey, hey, hey. Just gimme a second, ok? Please. Just one second,” his begging yielded a faint ounce of pity from me, so I paused my escape from him.

With arms tucked snuggly across my chest just over the palpitating heartbeats, I made sure to give him the clear impression that I was well over the line of absolutely fed up with him for the evening. My face may have read blank and cold to anyone else’s assumptions, but Colt read the emotion almost professionally. He knew his “second” was snappishly ticking away.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really am, okay? All those shitty, snide comments I was makin’, I didn’t mean to come off so damn, well, I didn’t mean to sound like such a fuckin’ douchebag, Liv.”

 You gotta do better than that, my friend, I thought to myself. “I don’t know how to break the ice here, Livvy.”

I sensed my gritting jaw relax as the tension melted away, not related to the rare elevated humidity for the city. He never was a man of eloquent speaking, or reading the ways to ease an edgy situation. He could definitely create the conflict, but solving it wasn’t his forte.

“Well, just a word of advice, Colton, staring straight into my chest and commenting about my legs sure isn’t the way to break the ice, buddy,” I advised him sneeringly.

He stared downwardly at his swaying feet in shame, openly welcoming my grave warnings. “I know, honestly. I fuckin’ know. I don’t know what I was thinkin’. But… maybe we, we could grab a drink and just talk a little? When you’re done at the post conference, I mean.” He untucked the sweaty hands from his tight jean pockets to lift his watch into view. “If it’s too late, I get it. I’m sure you have work tomorrow.”

The moment of truth. The decision far from one I took lightly, however I didn’t want to overthink too much. I didn’t want to beat it to death with  unceasing reservation and fear. It could be dangerous to my very fragile mental state. Well, fragile when it came to him, to be fair. Yet, it could also be my very agonizingly long overdue opportunity to spill out what shit storm he’d rained over my life. Now or never, you coward. “Fine, Colton. Yeah, I guess we can have a drink or somethin’. Just uh, head across the street to the left when you walk out the main entrance. I think I saw a place when I was coming in earlier. I should be there in a half hour or so.” I was determined to call the shots now, knowing he wouldn’t protest.

“You sure you don’t want me to wait up for ya’? It’s late, Liv. Prolly ain’t a good idea for you to be out walkin’ by yourself. Especially with the slobs from this crowd hangin’ out,” the chivalrous man spoke up.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been walking alone in the city at night for the last year and a half now, Colton. I can handle it.” I retorted, reminding him purposely that he’d left me to fin for myself when he’d walked away. And I was doing just fine. I didn’t think of giving him a moment to speak again before pushing a shoulder passed his in the thick crowd of fans in the hallway, disappearing to leave him bleeding from his wounded ego.   

tags: @torialeysha @eap1935 @miidailyinspiration