RR&R 01 Real (3 page)
So there I am, in this real-life homemade movie, hopping in miserable pain out of the track, crying my heart out. Crying not because of the pain in my knee, but from the pain of my own failure. And I just want the world to swallow me and I want to die because I know, know, know right this second, that all my training has been for nothing. But instead of the earth opening up and sucking me right in, I get filmed.
The slew of comments under the video are still fresh in my mind. Some people wished me well in other endeavors and said it was a shame. But others laughed and joked about it, like I had somehow begged for this to happen.
know
what I did wrong, but obviously it is now physically impossible for me to do it again.
My sister, Nora, is the romantic, the most passionate one. Even though she’s barely twenty-one and three years younger than me, she’s the one living out in the world, sending me postcards from different places, telling Mom and Dad and I of her “lovers.”
Me? I was the one who spent her entire young years training her heart out, my one and only dream being a gold medal. But my body gave up long before my soul wanted it to, and I never even made it for a worldwide competition.
something.
The only thing on my mind tonight is the blue-eyed devil who put his lips on mine.
You made Twitter, you whore. That was supposed to be me.” She’s clicking through her cell phone, and I scowl, trying to peer at what she’s reading.
“
Then you should’ve given him
your
cell instead of mine.”
“
He call yet?”
“‘
City Hall at eleven. Leave the crazy best friend home,’ was all he said.”
“
Haha!” she says, grabbing my phone, handing me hers, and pressing my pass code to get into my messages.
I narrow my eyes because the devious little cat knows all my passwords, and I probably couldn’t hold a secret from her even if I wanted to. I pray she doesn’t see my Google history, or she’ll know I’ve been stalking him. I honestly don’t even
want
to get into the fact that I’ve been punching his name into the Google search bar more times than I can count. Thankfully, Mel just checks my missed calls, and of course, there’s no call from him.
Judging from the articles I read last night, Remington Tate is a party god, sex god, and basically, a
god
. And a troublemaker, to boot. At this exact point in time, he’s probably hung over and drunk, littered with sated naked ladies in his bed and thinking, “Brooke
who
?”
Melanie snatches her phone back, clears her throat, and reads the Twitter feed. “Okay, there are several new comments you should hear. ‘Unprecedented! Did you all see Riptide kissing a spectator? Holy crap, what a rush! I heard a brawl ensued when he tried to go after her and shoved a man! Fighting out of the ring is illegal and RIP might not be allowed to fight for the rest of the season or for eternity. Yeah, that’s why he got kicked out of pro! Well I’m not going if Rip isn’t fighting.’ These are all multiple commentators,” Melanie explains as she lowers her phone and grins. “I love that they call him RIP. So his opponents rest in peace. Get it? Anyway,
if
he’s fighting, he’s got just this Saturday before the fight moves to the next city. Are we going or are we going?”
“
That’s what he wanted to know when he called.”
“
Brooke! Has he or hasn’t he called?”
“
What do you think, Mel? He’s got how many Twitter followers? A million?”
“
He’s actually got two point three mil.”
“
Well there’s your damned answer.” Now, I’m just angry, and I don’t even know why.
“
But I was
sure
he had a real big craving for Hooky with Brookey last night.”
“
Someone’s already taken care of that by now, Mel. That’s the way these guys work.”
“
We still need to go Saturday,” Melanie decrees with an angry scowl that makes her pretty face almost comical. She’s just not the type to ever be angry at anyone. “And
you
need to wear something that will make his eyes bug out and make him regret not calling you. You guys could’ve had a rocking one-night stand, and I mean
rocking
.”
“
Miss Dumas?”
his.
Wow,” I whisper, stunned. A little bubble of excitement builds rapidly in my chest, and I almost feel like I need to run an extra couple miles just to pop it.
Yes.” The word leaps out of me before I can even think about it. Before I can even further contemplate all the headlines about him I read yesterday, most of them highlighting the words “bad boy,” “drunk,” “bar fight,” and “prostitutes.”
yes
to anything else.
my
fantasy, you idjut!”
I laugh as I hand her three tickets, my brain spinning with the fact that he actually made some sort of contact today. “I guess we are
going, after all. Help me recruit the gang, will you?”
That didn’t make me feel a little tingle,” I automatically say, and before I slide into my apartment, I add, “It made me feel a
big
one.”
I can’t explain why I’m so nervous at the thought of seeing him again.
I think I like him, and I dislike that I do.
I think I want him, and I hate that I do.
I think he truly is the perfect material for a one-night stand, and I can’t believe I’m starting to wonder about it too.
Melanie summoned Pandora and Kyle to come with us. Pandora works with Melanie at the interior design firm. She’s the resident, cutting-edge Goth with whom every man wants to decorate their bachelor pads. Kyle is still studying to be a dentist, and he’s my apartment neighbor, longtime friend, and a friend of Mel’s since middle school. He’s the brother we never had, and he’s so sweet and shy with other women that he actually had to go pay some professional to take his virginity at twenty-one.
I’m so glad you’re driving us, Kyle,” Melanie says as she rides in the back with me.
“
I swear that’s all you guys want me for,” he says, but he’s laughing, clearly stoked about the fight.
While Melanie and the gang go find our seats, I slip the backstage pass around my neck and tell her, “I’m going to slip some of my business cards somewhere some of the fighters can see it.”
I’d have to be crazy to let this opportunity go to waste. These athletes are major, major muscle and organ destructors, one lethal weapon fighting against the other, and if there’s ever a chance to do some temporary rehab work, I’ve just figured it’s here.
As I wait in line to be allowed into the restricted access part, the scent of beer and sweat permeates the air. I spot Kyle waving from our seats at the very center to the right of the ring, and I’m stunned at how close the fighters are going to be. Kyle seems to be able to touch the raised ring floor if he takes one step and extends out his arm.
never
afforded these tickets otherwise. My friends, who are all recent grads, couldn’t have afforded them either. They accepted practically
any
job they could get within this shitty job market.