Chapter 3
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The spray of hot water splashed on Cori's head and cascaded down her body. The shower was filled with steam, Cori liked it that way. Even in summer she took scalding hot showers. They soothed her often aching body and helped release tension. Two strong arms encircled her waist from behind and gave the brunette a gentle squeeze.
"Easy," Cori said, "Still sore." Michael released the young fighter and slowly dropped to his knees. Leaning forward, he planted a soft kiss on the brunettes waist.
"All better?" he asked in a silly child-like voice. She pulled him to his feet and into her arms, hugging him. It had been a couple of weeks since she had gone running out of the club after her horrible encounter with Brie. Blasting out the front door, Cori had literally run into Michael, sending them both sprawling on the sidewalk. He could see that she was clearly distressed - on the verge of tears. As he helped her up, she collapsed against him. Michael helped her to his car and drove the trembling brunette to his apartment.
Now two weeks later, Cori stood in Michael's apartment looking into his trophy case. There were trophies and medals and plaques for baseball, football, bowling, and . . . shooting? She looked at Michael with raised eyebrows.
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Peter Jabobs brings in a new fighter - Libby, a mysterious, statuesque brunette
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"Gives a new meaning to 'going postal' don't you think?" he said grinning. Michael was, of course, a mailman. The club was on his route and fortunately for him, he was a female fighting enthusiast. He and a few others had been regulars at the club longer than anyone could remember. In fact, Cori had the most tenure there and he was there before her. He had been at the club for Cori's first fight - it was a wresling match, she lost badly, but he and the other serious fans recognized the latent talent in the powerful young brunette.
Over time Cori had gotten to know Michael and the others. She appreciated their understanding of her sport and the respect they showed both her and female fighting. They had an unwritten rule about dating customers at the club, and all the girls followed it religously. Back at Michael's apartment, she had told him immediately that there couldn't be anything serious between them.
He understood completely. He was nearly 15 years older than Cori and though he found her intensely attractive, Michael realized that a relationship was out of the question. He only offered her somewhere to hide and get her head together.
They sat on the sofa, staring out at the water, drinking coffee after a marvelous, though fattening, breakfast. "You know what he's trying to do?" Michael asked after some minutes of silence. "He's trying to break you. Force you out of the club or ruin your reputation. He's jealous of you - of your power, of your control, of your popularity. He only bought the club from old man Owens so that he could be one of the big shots here in town. He doesn't give a fuck about you or the girls or female fighting. He's a poser, a wannabe, and you are standing in his way."
"I don't know anymore," Cori stood in the center of the living room with her arms outstretched. "Maybe it's time I left, went somewhere else or tried something else . . . I just don't know." She dropped her head and stared at the floor. Michael walked over to Cori and took one of her hands. He slapped his right hand into hers in an arm-wrestling type grip and applied pressure.
Cori responded automatically and they stood together straining against each other. Though in his early 40's, Michael had been in athletics all his life. Injuries from both sports and the job had curtailed extensive weight training, but he still worked out and his body retained much of the strength of his youth. He stared into her eyes as he kept adding pressure. Their biceps bulged, muscles and tendons in their forearms stood out as they struggled against each other.
"What's this, huh?" Michael was glancing at Cori's bulging biceps and then back to her eyes. "What's this? This isn't quitting." He stared hard into Cori's eyes. "This means nothing, it's just a little arm wrestling. So go ahead and quit . . . if you can!" Both their arms were trembling from the exertion, but Cori |
wasn't backing off and Michael could see the fire burning in her eyes. "You're not a quitter," he said, "You're a fighter, that's what you are. That's what you do. You're the best, right?" The corner of Michael's mouth curled up, Cori was grinning now also but neither was stopping the contest. As she stared into Michael's eyes, Cori didn't notice his other hand.
The brunette let out a yelp as Michael poked her in the ribs. Her concentration broken, Michael quickly slammed her arm over and began dancing around the room with his arms in the air. Cori chased the taunting mailman around the room finally tackling him. They both landed on the sofa, laughing. Cori sat atop her friend looking deeply into his green eyes. She leaned in and kissed him, long and deep. |
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