down a fight, and I don’t plan to start.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And you know how I said I had a couple tricks up my sleeve? The two things that let me win fights? If you stick around, then one of them disappears.”
“What is it?”
“I have no one,” he said, plainly.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have any family. I don’t have friends. I most definitely don’t have a girlfriend. And that fact - the fact that no one will miss me if I die - that helps me fight. It makes me feel like I don’t have to fight back. And there’s nothing more dangerous than a man who has nothing to live for.”
“And a man who can’t be knocked out,” I added.
“So I don’t know what will happen to me if I let you get close,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll start losing fights. Start taking hits harder. Getting distracted in the ring.”
“So that’s the kind of thing you’re talking about? That’s why you want me to stay away?”
“Those are just my selfish reasons,” he said.
“What are the other reasons?” I asked.
“Most fighters don’t have girlfriends,” he said.
“So, peer-pressure then?”
“No,” he said, “it’s for a good reason.”
“What’s the reason?”
“Girlfriends are easy targets.”
“For who?”
“Tonight, tens of thousands of dollars were bet on that fight you watched. Maybe hundreds of thousands. If you know who’s going to win, you can make a killing.”
“But how could you know?”
“If a fighter gets a call right before a fight, and his girlfriend is on the line crying, reading a letter written by her captors, that can fuck with a guy,” he said. “And some guys are willing to go that far. Throw the fight if you ever want to see your girlfriend again. If anyone thinks the fight was thrown, she gets killed. I don’t have anyone they could kidnap right now.”
“But how often does that really happen?” I asked.
“It’s rare,” he said. “But still. You sell paper. You don’t know how to deal with thugs, or fights, or anything like that. I don’t want to ruin your whole life. I care about you too much.”
I looked at him. I had one hand on his chest, and the other over his shoulder. I could feel that he was getting riled up. His body was one hundred percent muscle.
I thought. And then I spoke. “I want my life to get completely ruined,” I said. “I spent the whole of last week wishing I was at a fight. Wishing something, anything , interesting would happen. But it didn’t. It never does in my life.”
He looked at me.
“But you’re my chance,” I said. “If I don’t take a shot on you, then I might be stuck forever. I don’t want to spend forty more years working this horrible job. Drinking coffee just to stay awake. Meeting a quota. I want to date you. I want to watch you fight. I want to meet these thugs, and I want to spit in their faces.”
A bit of a grin came onto his face.
“And you’re the best fighter around. But I still think you have one thing wrong about fighting.”
“What’s that?” he said.
“That the most dangerous fighter has nothing to live for. I think you’d be much, much more dangerous if you had someone. Someone who needed you to come home after the fight. Someone who needed you to win. Someone relying on you. Someone you cared about. Maybe even someone you loved.”
He stood up when I said that word, and started to pace.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He paced back and forth a few more times. “You really want us to date?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Even though I’ll come home bloody and bruised? Even though my income is totally based on my ability to beat people up? You could be kidnapped. You will be harassed. I can’t say no to a fight. I could die. I could be arrested. I could be broken.”
I nodded.
“And on top of all of that,” he said, “we might not work out anyway. We don’t know each other well.”
I smiled. “Only one way to find out.”
He didn’t smile. “I
“Okay,” I said.
“And you know how I said I had a couple tricks up my sleeve? The two things that let me win fights? If you stick around, then one of them disappears.”
“What is it?”
“I have no one,” he said, plainly.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have any family. I don’t have friends. I most definitely don’t have a girlfriend. And that fact - the fact that no one will miss me if I die - that helps me fight. It makes me feel like I don’t have to fight back. And there’s nothing more dangerous than a man who has nothing to live for.”
“And a man who can’t be knocked out,” I added.
“So I don’t know what will happen to me if I let you get close,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll start losing fights. Start taking hits harder. Getting distracted in the ring.”
“So that’s the kind of thing you’re talking about? That’s why you want me to stay away?”
“Those are just my selfish reasons,” he said.
“What are the other reasons?” I asked.
“Most fighters don’t have girlfriends,” he said.
“So, peer-pressure then?”
“No,” he said, “it’s for a good reason.”
“What’s the reason?”
“Girlfriends are easy targets.”
“For who?”
“Tonight, tens of thousands of dollars were bet on that fight you watched. Maybe hundreds of thousands. If you know who’s going to win, you can make a killing.”
“But how could you know?”
“If a fighter gets a call right before a fight, and his girlfriend is on the line crying, reading a letter written by her captors, that can fuck with a guy,” he said. “And some guys are willing to go that far. Throw the fight if you ever want to see your girlfriend again. If anyone thinks the fight was thrown, she gets killed. I don’t have anyone they could kidnap right now.”
“But how often does that really happen?” I asked.
“It’s rare,” he said. “But still. You sell paper. You don’t know how to deal with thugs, or fights, or anything like that. I don’t want to ruin your whole life. I care about you too much.”
I looked at him. I had one hand on his chest, and the other over his shoulder. I could feel that he was getting riled up. His body was one hundred percent muscle.
I thought. And then I spoke. “I want my life to get completely ruined,” I said. “I spent the whole of last week wishing I was at a fight. Wishing something, anything , interesting would happen. But it didn’t. It never does in my life.”
He looked at me.
“But you’re my chance,” I said. “If I don’t take a shot on you, then I might be stuck forever. I don’t want to spend forty more years working this horrible job. Drinking coffee just to stay awake. Meeting a quota. I want to date you. I want to watch you fight. I want to meet these thugs, and I want to spit in their faces.”
A bit of a grin came onto his face.
“And you’re the best fighter around. But I still think you have one thing wrong about fighting.”
“What’s that?” he said.
“That the most dangerous fighter has nothing to live for. I think you’d be much, much more dangerous if you had someone. Someone who needed you to come home after the fight. Someone who needed you to win. Someone relying on you. Someone you cared about. Maybe even someone you loved.”
He stood up when I said that word, and started to pace.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He paced back and forth a few more times. “You really want us to date?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Even though I’ll come home bloody and bruised? Even though my income is totally based on my ability to beat people up? You could be kidnapped. You will be harassed. I can’t say no to a fight. I could die. I could be arrested. I could be broken.”
I nodded.
“And on top of all of that,” he said, “we might not work out anyway. We don’t know each other well.”
I smiled. “Only one way to find out.”
He didn’t smile. “I
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