Paradise Fought: Abel (12 page)

At first, I was angered by the hold up in the auditorium. I had to get to Abel. He hadn’t returned any of my texts. Lindee explained how Abel was worried about me and left the party. The rest of the story I knew myself, but what I didn’t understand was Abel’s eagerness to leave the following morning. Yes, he had taken some liberties with me, and while it was quite a shock at first, I couldn’t say I didn’t like it. However, I also didn’t believe he was aware of what he was doing. It appeared he was dreaming: dreaming of me. I could only assume, by the sound of his sleepy voice, he desired me in that dream.

The gathered crowd was growing and I was getting anxious I would lose Abel, until I noticed that the back-up was because of him. The murmurs rippled back to me.

“Abel Callahan is Betta?”

The question hung in the air, as did the disbelief that followed it. Abel couldn’t be Betta. The crowd disbelieved as did I, at first. He wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t have the temperament. At that thought, I froze. I’d seen the aggression in Abel’s eyes the other night. The force of his punch, and the strength he exerted to fight Thor, proved that Abel might be more than capable of fighting. But fighting in the ring was different than a scuffle between college boys.

Next, I remembered my struggle to remove Abel’s Oxford shirt at that first party. His biceps were bigger than I imagined, harder and firmer than I expected. Further confirmation of his potential power should have been when he held me. The comfort of that strength wrapped over me. Surrounded in his protective hold, muscles covered me. The realization hit me hard. Abel was more than capable of being a fighter. I looked up to find he had disappeared.

Recognition hit me hard. That first fight, he’d looked at me as Betta the fighter. There was something in his eyes that seemed familiar and yet I couldn’t place it. The look was so brief. I was too focused on another fighter. But Abel had been in the first fight of the season. He knew it was me, and he knew all along whom he was, but he never admitted it to me. Incredulious. All my talk of needing a fighter and he hadn’t mentioned to me that he was one.

I pushed through the crowd, wedging between lazily held backpacks and sharp elbows jutting out in my way. I needed to get to Abel. I needed to understand what happened on Sunday morning. When I reached the hall, I stopped abruptly. He was nowhere to be seen.

What if Abel wanted nothing to do with me, after all?

I’d let him hold me all night, comforting me. Selfishly, I took his compassion and fell hook, line, and sinker into it. Abel had been right. Thor wasn’t what I wanted. I shivered to recall the wet kisses of a mouth too large covering mine. The heavy weight of him was almost instantaneously over me when we reached Lindee’s apartment. He moved fast like he did in the ring, but his rough hands were untrained against my body. He was petting me without really touching me. His movements were hasty, as were his kisses. He was looking for something hard, reckless, and quickly completed.

I didn’t want to admit in the moment; I was in over my head. I let the kissing linger at first, in hopes that Thor would agree to my proposal. He seemed interested in the fight, saying he could make the contacts to proceed with the necessary arrangements. He even knew a place that might host the event, as the money to be made from such a match would be profitable. I wasn’t worried about profit. While Montana had been the moneymaker, this wasn’t about money. This was revenge. My brother was killed.

I tried to keep that in mind, thinking I could do this. I could endure what Thor wanted, in order to seal the deal on my proposal. I don’t know why I felt I could trust him: my body for his word. It was no guarantee. My head was slow to catch up to what my body didn’t want. I hadn’t panicked yet, but I could feel myself shutting down. I couldn’t concentrate. I wasn’t feeling an attraction. There was no connection with Thor.

Abel had filtered into my mind. Images of him leaning over me, possibly taking me against the door, haunted my daydreams. Thoughts of him pressing against me, while I leaned over my car, developed into a fantasy of orgasmic proportion. The desire to feel his lips on mine woke me at night. I wasn’t going to be letting go of Abel so easily. He had been my savior again. While my initial surprise at his entrance to the apartment upset me, the tension I didn’t know I was holding released when he snapped at me.

Fuck me, Elma
. The reality hit me. If Thor had stayed, the damage would have been irreparable. I would have had no assurance that he would follow through on my proposal. I was over my head, and by some miracle, Abel had found me. A wandering sheep, Abel was my shepherd. He kept dragging me back. The tuition. The job. Thor. Abel was leading me in a new direction, and I needed to follow.

I returned to Lindee’s apartment later that afternoon, frustrated by Abel slipping away from me. I didn’t understand what happened Sunday morning. He was definitely, incoherently into the dream he was having. The liberty to touch me was a shock, but the feel of his hand, firm and curious over my breast was a sharp line straight to the damp moisture between my thighs. His solid length pressing into my backside had already released a rhythmic wave of excitement that caused my response. I met his grinding thrusts with equal temptation. The sleepy sound of my name was like a siren. Abel was calling out to me, that lost sheep on the fields, and I wanted to be taken home. When he went languid behind me, I sensed something had happened. His name crossed my lips sharply in frustration. He’d done it again. Hooked me to remain baited, but not satiated.

I plopped next to Lindee on her couch, irritated with thoughts of Abel.

“Did you know Abel Callahan was Betta?”

“Who’s Betta?” Lindee questioned, without even glancing up from her books spread across the low coffee table.

“The fighter from the other night.”

Lindee looked up then. “I thought the fighter you liked was Thor Thurstan.”

“Not that one,” I said, waving a hand to dismiss her in agitation. I stood and began to pace back and forth in front of the coffee table. Lindee’s head returned to the attention of her books. I hadn’t told her about the altercation in her place. I assumed she’d seen me with Abel on her couch, but I hadn’t seen her in the morning. I slipped out shortly after Abel did.

“Abel Callahan is
The
Betta, the new fighter that everyone is talking about. He’s won three fights so far, and he’s scheduled to fight Thor this coming weekend.” My voice was rising in excitement, as well as hysteria. I couldn’t reconcile that Abel Callahan was Betta. A fighter.

I still toyed with the idea that Abel might somehow be related to Cain. I didn’t even know if Abel had a brother. There was so much unknown about him. This new discovery had my head in a spin. Could Abel be my answer, instead?

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Lindee interrupted my thoughts, reaching for her bag near her feet. “Creed asked me to give you this. He said to call this number for a job interview. I didn’t know you weren’t at Carrie’s anymore. Although I have to say, I’m relieved.”

There were a few things I hadn’t mentioned to my best friend lately, I realized. I wasn’t typically one to hold secrets from her, but the more my plan to avenge Montana’s death became a reality, the more information I seemed to be withholding. Working at Carrie’s had been one secret Lindee shared with me. Thinking of Carrie’s reminded me that it was Abel’s fault I no longer had the job. I continued to stare at my friend, methodically moving my arm to reach for the paper she held out to me across the table.
The Dance Academy – 555-LEAP. Ask for Jewels.

While Creed had given Lindee the note, it was clearly Abel’s handwriting on the paper.

I followed through with the call, despite the fact that Abel hadn’t returned my text to him. After a round of phone tag, I finally spoke with Jewels, who set an interview for five that day.

“I’m in such a bind,” she said on the phone. “One of my girls quit because she transferred schools and forgot to give us notice. How do you forget you have a job? Anyway, I need to find someone fast.”

I entered the storefront in a small strip mall to discover a large dance studio inside. An average entryway and a parent waiting room were the front of the space. Three dance rooms were off a narrow hallway leading to the back of the space. I introduced myself to a young blonde at the desk, who called Jewels. A striking woman appeared with jet black hair and bright blue eyes. Her physique was that of a dancer with curved hips and thicker thighs, solid from years of dance, but a narrow waist that counterbalanced her body and gave her the perfect hourglass shape. She wore a black leotard with nude tights and dance shoes.

“I’m so happy to meet you,” she said, reaching out for my hand and covering it with both of hers. “You come highly recommended.”

I was shocked. This was a bit surreal. What had Abel said, and better yet, how did he know of Jewels and her dance studio?

“So I’m told you’re a dancer. Studying dance at Preston as well as having professional experience?” It was a question and I wasn’t certain how to answer. Should I offer up that I danced at a gentlemen’s club? Carrie’s wasn’t exactly the type of place that true gentlemen frequented, though. I was quite convinced that my former employment would not be considered respectable for a place that taught ballet to young children.

“I…” I didn’t know how to answer as she led me past the dance studios and into a small office, near the back of the building, across from the restrooms.

Jewels closed the door and pointed to a seat across from a desk cluttered with papers.

“I started at Preston, too.” She waved her hand. “Eons ago,” she laughed. She had to be lying; she didn’t look that old.

“I inherited this place from my mother. We had just fixed it up when she passed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I offered.

Jewels waved at me again. “It was a long time ago, as well.” We were silent for a moment as something caught her eye on her desk. Then she looked up at me.

“So tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I do have experience dancing.”
I was safe with that answer, right?
“And I am majoring in dance but also in business.”

“Oh, what type of business?”

“Just general business with a concentration on marketing. Ideally, I’d like to own my own studio one day,” I said, trying to sound hopeful, as I didn’t see that dream coming true in any realistic future.

Jewels perked up at this information.

“Do you know how to work a computer, like spreadsheets, financial reports, and making a website?”

“Sure,” I answered, shrugging my shoulders.

“How about social media? Facebook? Twitter?”

“Of course,” I added. Jewels’ eyebrows rose.

“Of course,” she muttered. “Well, what’s your schedule like? Most of our classes are late afternoons and into the evenings. We also have a few on Saturdays. We have a dance troupe that I could have you audition for to replace Ericka, but that involves a commitment as well.” Jewels sighed when she mentioned the girl’s name.

“I have classes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with a morning class on Tuesday and Thursday. Nights and weekends aren’t an issue. What’s the dance troupe?”

“We have our own performances in the local community, and we have a spring show in May. Instructors showcase in the show.”

“Am I too short for the troupe?” I asked, glancing down, embarrassed by my question.

“Can you dance?” she asked me, surprise in her tone.

“Of course,” I laughed nervously.

“Then you aren’t too short.”

I relaxed with her answer, not knowing I was tense at the possibility of her rejection. I had already been told, years ago, I was too short for the stage. I’d never be a backup dancer or a stage performer.

“Let me tell you a little about me, okay. I started at Preston but didn’t finish. I ran off to be a Laker Girl. I danced for two years then my mom died. I had to come home or lose the studio, and I wasn’t ready to part with it.” She sighed glancing down at her desk. “I don’t offer this information to many, but I don’t know what I’m doing. So I have a proposal for you.”

I was on the edge of my seat, literally. I was too nervous to sit back. I liked her, and I wanted the job.

“I can give you Ericka’s classes, but I could also use some office help, like organizing receipts, designing a website, and monitoring it for me. Social media support, too. Maybe some help planning the spring performance.”

I was speechless. It was like a dream come true. I could dance and use skills learned in my classes. It was like a paid internship, which dancing business majors never earned. If I wanted to be in IT, it was a different story.

“The girl at the desk is my niece. She’s helpful answering phones after school and menial work like filing, but she’s just a teenager. So what do you think?”

“I’d love it,” I interjected. It was too good to be true.

“Excellent, you’re hired. Can you start tomorrow?” she asked, squishing up her face to express her desperation.

“Absolutely.”

“Perfect.” She clapped. “Any questions?”