Rolling With the Punches Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Rolling With the Punches

  Samantha Westlake

  Copyright © 2014 Samantha Westlake

  All rights reserved.

  Used under a Creative Commons Attribution License:

  http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0

  Adult content warning: All characters are legal and fully consenting adults and are not blood relations.

  Note: All characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to real individuals, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For those to whom words are always better than pictures.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  When I first laid eyes on that man, all of my complaints about the evening so far vanished into thin air.

  Sure, I hadn't been enthusiastic about going out that night, even though it was a Thursday, which is almost a Friday, so it might as well be the weekend. And sure, I had only just recently broken up with my boyfriend, and was still thinking about him a bit, and would have much preferred to stay in my apartment with the sappiest love movies I could find on television, a large spoon, and my two buddies Ben and Jerry.

  I had already changed out of my work clothes, replacing black pants and a professional looking polo with a pair of wonderfully soft and broken-in flannel sweatpants. I'd covered up my bra with a ratty old sweatshirt, plopped down on the couch, and prepared to lose myself in the first vaguely romantic tearjerker I could find on television.

  And then came the knock at the door.

  I almost didn't even get up. I was comfortable, ready to enjoy being the human equivalent of a plant, or possibly some sort of slug. But the knocking persisted, going on and on so long that I knew exactly who was on the other side of the door. And I knew that she wasn't going to give up on trying to break my front door down until I finally let her inside.

  With a groan, I hauled myself up from the couch and padded over to the door. Just as I had known, Alexis was standing on the other side, bouncing up and down with barely contained excitement. This didn't bode well.

  "Hi Caroline!" she trilled as I opened the door, immediately rushing in past me and spinning around inside my apartment. "I knew you had to be home! And I see you're not dressed yet - but we'll fix that soon enough!"

  My mouth was open, but sound didn't seem to be coming out. Instead, I just stared at Alexis. She had been my best friend for over a decade, now, and she totally knew all of my secrets, just like I knew all of hers - but sometimes I was certain that not only were we on different wavelengths, but we were trying to communicate from entirely different planets.

  Alexis is the type of girl who gets up early for a four-in-the-morning doorbuster sale at some horribly overpriced boutique shop - and is nearly jumping out of her skin with excitement as she waits. I certainly like when I can find a lovely pair of shoes that make me feel a little better about my day, but Alexis has an entire walk-in closet devoted to the fruits of her shopping. And that closet is getting dangerously close to exploding, it's so stuffed with designer labels.

  Alexis is also the type of girl who firmly believes, with every fiber of her being, that the best way to get over a breakup is to go out with a bunch of female friends, down a half dozen girly drinks with fruit on the rims of the glasses, and then throw yourself at the first guy to present himself as an available candidate. I once tried to explain my ice cream and couch approach, but she just stared back blankly, as if I was speaking in Hindi. "But that doesn't get you over him at all!" she exclaimed. "Is this before you go out and hook up? Like pregaming?"

  I shook my head and gave up. Alexis was great, but she was a bit like a battering ram. You could stand in her path, could yell, shout, bluster, and otherwise try and dissuade her, but it ended up making absolutely zero difference in the end. And yes, my best friend, although wonderful in so many different aspects, had a tendency to insist on seeing the good in everyone and everywhere, even when they didn't really deserve that gesture. This made her a wonderful and bubbly person, but it also led to some crazy adventures.

  Little did I know, but tonight was going to end up being one of those crazy, half-baked, adventurous sorts of nights.

  I knew that it was useless to try and resist the wrecking ball, but I still made the attempt. "Alexis, what are you talking about?" I asked the girl still revolving in the middle of my apartment's cramped living room. "I didn't have any plans for tonight."

  "Oh, I know, babe!" she replied gaily, her purse spinning around at the end of her arms as she turned. I winced, worried that she was going to break one of my lamps. I also couldn't help enviously noticing her long, toned, and tan arms, totally showed off by that sleek and skimpy little black dress. "But don't worry! I managed to make some at the last minute! I got us into this great party! It's a boxing match!"

  That definitely didn't sound like Alexis's normal type of hangout. She usually went for the glamour and the glitz, hanging off the arm of smiling celebrities and posing in front of a thousand paparazzi flashbulbs. A boxing match seemed a bit too gritty and testosterone-fueled for her style.

  More importantly, however, was the fact that I really didn't want to go out. "Alexis, I really don't want to go out," I said, repeating the thoughts inside my head. "Look, Marc and I only just broke up a few days ago, and I'm not quite ready to go out and find a new boyfriend yet." Not at all ready, I added inside the privacy of my head.

  It was like trying to knock down a mountain by chucking cupcakes at it. "That's why we're going to go out tonight!" Alexis insisted. She abruptly swept forward, reaching down to grab my hand and tug me off towards my bedroom. "You're not looking for a new boyfriend - we just need to find you a guy to help you forget the last one!"

  I could have resisted more. I should have resisted more. But I knew that, in the end, the outcome would be the same. So instead, I simply sighed, cast one last, longing glance towards my freezer where a pint of Cherry Garcia was waiting to provide its own delicious, sugary brand of comfort to me, and then let Alexis yank me into my bedroom, prattling on about clothes and outfits and boys the entire way.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  An hour later, Alexis tilted her head to one side and put two fingers under her chin, critically inspecting me. "I think we have a winner!" she finally exclaimed, clapping her hands together and bouncing up and down.

  I looked down at myself. I supposed that I looked okay, but I'd thought the same thing about the last four outfits before this, and Alexis had dismissed each of them. I couldn't see what made this one any different, but I also wasn't the one who could spot a Gucci knock-off from a thousand feet.

  Gone were the sweatpants. Gone was the comfortable sweatshirt, marked with the stains of a dozen previous nights in. Gone were the fuzzy slippers that had enclosed my feet in delightful warmth (did I fail to mention those before? Well, they were lovely. And now buried beneath the pile of clothes on the floor of my bedroom). Even my panties, a wonderfully comfortable pair with the elastic at the waist almost entirely gone, had been replaced.

  In the place of those old clothes, that outfit that had been so comfortable, fashion and "chic" had replaced soft and casual. Alexis had rooted a yellow sundress out of the back of my closet where I h
ad shoved it, probably in a forlorn hope that it would never emerge again. A strapless bra was cinched around my chest just below the top of the dress, quite uncomfortably squeezing my breasts up until they looked about to come exploding out with minds of their own. Alexis had fussed about a bit with my mousy brown hair, spritzing and combing and ironing and straightening, and she'd somehow managed to transform my normal rat's nest of wild strands into a flow of soft curls that cascaded down my back.

  Alexis hurried around to stand behind me, placing one hand on each of my bare shoulders and guiding me towards the body-length mirror I kept on the wall of my bedroom for when I felt that my self-confidence was getting too high. "Look at yourself!" she insisted, pushing me in front of it. "Don't you look just amazing?"

  "I do," I admitted. This was one of the things that I begrudgingly loved about my best friend. She sometimes seemed a little vapid, but I knew that I was sorely lacking in the traditionally feminine areas of beauty, makeup, hair, and clothing, and she made up for that in spades - and never hesitated to share her knowledge. I could never have made myself look this good.

  "Okay, fine!" I gave in, turning to face her. "I'll go out - but I'm not looking for a guy! I just want to have some drinks and not have to think about Marc, okay?" The clap of delight was response enough. "So where are we going, anyway?"

  "Like I said, it's a boxing match!" Alexis trilled. "God, it's gonna be so exciting! A couple of big heavyweight fighters brawling up in the ring, and lots of classy people all standing up close and watching! I hear that it's all the rage with the big celebrities these days!"

  Ah, that explained it. Alexis must have read about boxing being 'the next big thing' in one of the many style, fashion, and glamour magazines she subscribes to, and decided that it was worth exploring. Knowing her, she'd still have no problems landing a handsome guy on her arm. Alexis can find a suitable male date in a women's locker room.

  Although I still had my doubts, I had to admit that my best friend's enthusiasm was infectious. Despite my best intentions, a smile danced briefly across my face. "Okay, fine," I gave in. "Let's go to your stupid boxing match and get drunk!"

  "That's the spirit!" Alexis cheered back. "Now let's go get a cab! Gotta get there right on time to scout out a good place - and to get our drink orders in!"

  We headed downstairs, where I watched with a brief note of envy as Alexis hailed a cab with a single wave of those amazingly shapely and toned arms. The girl could cause a traffic accident if she wasn't careful.

  She had her phone in her hand, the device appearing there as if by magic, as we slid into the cab. "Okay, I've got the address right here," she said, leaning forward across the central divider of the cab to speak to the cabbie. She showed him the screen of her phone. "Can you take us here, please?"

  "No problem, pretty lady!" the driver replied with a toothy grin. His skin was quite dark, and he looked to be in at least his mid-forties with a bit of a paunch poking out towards the steering wheel, but he still admired Alexis's form. All red-blooded males did. "Hold on, I'll have you there right quick!"

  "Thank you!" Alexis trilled to him. She reached over and patted my hand. "Come on, Caroline! Isn't this exciting!"

  True to his word, the cabbie had us at the address Alexis had specified in just a few minutes, although I lost count of how many traffic laws he broke along the way. We went through at least half a dozen yellow lights, and I was fairly sure that most of his turns were rudely cutting off other drivers, if not outright illegal. There were no sirens lighting up the rear view mirror, however, so everything appeared to be okay.

  Alexis reached into her little designer purse and pulled out a few bills to pay the man while I climbed out of the cab. I looked around. Yes, this was definitely looking more and more like Alexis's style of party.

  Lights were everywhere. Above my head, a giant sign proclaimed "FIGHT TONITE", spelled out in dozens of little bulbs screwed into the sign in the shape of letters. And yes, there were people everywhere in fancy suits and dresses, chatting with each other as they made their way jauntily into the darkness of the open entrance leading into the building beyond.

  Behind me, Alexis came bouncing out of the cab, reaching out to grab my arm in her own. "Isn't this exciting?" she gushed, staring around. "I can't believe that I managed to get us on the list for this thing. One of my exes was roommates with a guy helping to plan the event, and he knew the bouncer, who dated my cousin once, so I basically was able to request whatever I wanted. We've got backstage passes, VIP seats, the whole shebang!"

  Despite being dressed up in my tight and rarely-worn dress, feeling squeezed and poked into a shape that was definitely not how my body naturally fell, I still wasn't sure if I was up for a night of rubbing shoulders with people far above my social station. I turned to Alexis, opening my mouth to voice these thoughts, but she didn't give me a chance.

  "Come on, we have to go in!" she exclaimed, pulling me forward. I swallowed my treacherous thoughts and let her tug me along.

  With Alexis leading and me being pulled reluctantly a half-step behind her, we headed into the big theatre hall, beneath the hundreds of little lights that spelled out the letters and words in the sign above us.

  ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

  Inside, we were definitely surrounded by glamour and glitz, as well as the people clothed in it.

  Everywhere I looked, I saw glittering gems, brand labels on coats and jackets and suits and dresses and purses and clutches, shining watches and flashes of expensive metals on hands, wrists, ears, and necks. People were in little groups here and there, chatting easily amongst each other as they moved from topic to topic.

  Before I could catch more than a glimpse, however, my gaze was blocked by a very large and bulky man, who stepped forward to stand in front of us with his beefy arms crossed. "Names, ladies?" the man inquired.

  My eyes roamed up from the arms towards the face, high above us. The man's head was surprisingly small for his body, and appeared to sit directly on his shoulders, with no sign of a neck present anywhere. The head was completely bald, and even though we were indoors, a pair of single-lens wraparound sunglasses obscured his eyes and the bridge of his nose. A small earbud was inserted into his right ear, a spiral cord disappearing down into his neckline. A frown was plastered across his mouth, as if it had been applied with a paint roller.

  The man was wearing a suit, possibly made from the sail of a small boat, but it looked ill-fitting and unkempt on his body. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was due to the man, rather than to the suit; I felt that any suit, even one that had been perfectly tailored, would have been wrinkled and ill-fitting after just five minutes on this man. It was something about the feel of his personality, I decided.

  My best friend was speaking. "Alexis Belleran," she said clearly, nodding towards the clipboard clutched in one of the man's big paws. "And guest," she added a heartbeat later.

  His frown deepened, but the man lifted the clipboard up to hold in front of his face. He must have had to strain to read the names printed on the clipped sheets through his sunglasses. After a minute of tense silence, he lowered the board back down and gave us a brief and shallow nod. "Enjoy your night, ladies," he said without much inflection in his voice, and he stepped aside.

  We were in! And an instant later, Alexis was urging me further forward into the crowd of wealthy and glitterati.

  Alexis dove into the first group, and I immediately caught snatches of conversation about "the housing market" and "a looming downturn in the economic climate, any day now." Definitely not a topic on which I was prepared to offer any insight. I let Alexis join in, but turned to wander away.

  As I moved around the theater hall, listening to the different streams of conversation, nothing really sounded like my cup of tea. I found groups discussing growth stocks, the real estate bubble, overseas investments, precious metals, the newest models of luxury cars, and whether it was better to vacation in Hawaii, the Bahamas, or the Canaries at t
his time of the year. I had no experience with any of these.

  I did, however, find several waiters circulating through the crowd. Some of them bore trays of little miniature foods, some of which I tried (the mini-quiches were delicious, and I followed that waiter around for a few minutes preying on his tray) and some of which I avoided (squid ink oysters? Really?). There were also waiters with platters loaded up with champagne flutes, which I also made sure to sample liberally.

  About four flutes of very good champagne later, I was feeling much better about the night. Sure, my sundress was starting to pinch in places that I couldn't adjust in public, but I was out and about! This was probably one of those "hot parties" that is mentioned in all the tabloids the next day, where celebrities come to rub elbows and rich people exchange stock tips! Maybe I would even end up with my picture in the paper!

  The champagne was telling me that I ought to go socialize, but I really had to make a few little adjustments to this dress first. Alexis had worked her magic with my undergarments, but whatever she had done was now beginning to slip, making me very aware of how much elastic was currently stretched around my body. I looked for someplace that I could make these adjustments without being seen. Someplace private.

  I spotted a door off to one side, a door that looked quite a bit less ornate and decorated than the rest of the decor. Perfect. There wasn't a sign on the door, but I figured that I'd just need a couple minutes out of the way, and then I could rejoin the party.

  Strolling casually over to the door, I opened it and stepped through in a single motion. I didn't know if I was supposed to be back here or not, and I didn't want that big bouncer to come over and question me. Especially since my name was only on the list as "guest."

  On the other side of the door, I found a corridor, leading down and away with other doors on either side. These looked like dressing rooms! Perhaps I had managed to find my way to the backstage area of the theatre.