“And you, Reverend.”

We rang off and when I put the phone back in the cradle, my mind on finding Pearl’s number and giving her a ring, it jumped straight to Dee-Amond.

And it jumped to Amond for Amond would have the answer to my earlier dilemma.

Therefore, I found Pearl’s number and felt even guiltier at hearing her delight when I greeted her and arranged for a meeting on Tuesday afternoon.

After that, I put the phone in the cradle, moved to my mobile and called Amond.

“Beautiful,” was his greeting.

“Hello, Amond. You’re well?”

“Lagged, girl. Just got to Paris yesterday and that ride kicked my ass,” he answered.

“Sorry,” I murmured, feeling his pain. I’d been jet-lagged so many times it was impossible to count and it was never enjoyable.

“Why’re you callin’?” he asked when I said no more.

“I wanted some advice,” I told him.

There was a moment of silence then, strangely cautiously, he asked, “Advice on what?”

“Well, you see, I’m going to a boxing match tonight,” I shared. This was met with utter silence so I carried on, “And I don’t know what to wear. I’ve heard you mention that you’ve been to the fights and I thought you might be able to advise me on what attire would be appropriate.”

More silence before, “You’re going to a fight?”

“Not one, several. They’ve a league here and the bouts go all day. But I’m hoping to time it so I only have to attend two.”

“You’re going to a fight,” he repeated, not in a question this time.

“Well, yes,” I replied.

This brought more silence before, “And why you goin’ to a fight, beautiful? That’s not exactly your style.”

“I’ve been asked by the fighters,” I shared.

“Fighters…plural?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Both opponents?”

Oh dear.

Neither Jake nor Mickey told me who their opponents would be and they both fought in the heavyweight class.

I hoped they weren’t fighting each other.

Obviously, I’d want Jake to win if this were true. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t want Mickey to lose either. Mostly, I didn’t want to watch them hitting each other.

Yes, I hoped they weren’t fighting together.

“No,” I gave him my hope rather than the true answer, as I didn’t know the true answer. “Just two different fighters.”

To that he murmured, sounding amused, “That’s my Josephine girl, been there a coupla weeks, she’s setting Maine on fire with her ice.”

I felt my brows draw together. “Pardon?”

He didn’t repeat himself or explain, he said curiously, “This is gonna be good.”

“What’s going to be good?” I asked.

“Nothin’, beautiful. Just suddenly got an urge to haul my ass to Maine to see shit play out. “

It was then I smiled, though I still didn’t entirely understand him. However, the thought of him visiting was more than lovely.

“I would love that, Amond. You can stay at Lavender House with me, I’ve plenty of room. And I know you’re fond of boxing and it appears the local community embraces it wholeheartedly. Even the youngsters do it. You could go to a bout with me.”

I didn’t actually wish to attend more fights (at all) but I liked spending time with Amond and I’d wish to do things he enjoyed so I would, if pressed.

“I’m thinkin’ things are gonna be pretty crowded for you, girl,” he informed me, again strangely. “But I’ll think on that, let you know. I got a video to shoot before I can show my face in Maine, though.”

How could I have forgotten that?

“Of course,” I replied.

“As for what to wear, won’t matter. You smoke everything you put on,” he continued and did so very kindly. “But trick yourself out. A fighter asks a woman to come to his fight, he sees her ringside, she’s lookin’ ice-cold and shit-hot, it’ll be ammunition for him to kick some serious ass seein’ as he’ll wanna impress her.”

I didn’t think this would motivate Jake but I had a feeling it would Mickey.

“Tricked out it is,” I agreed.

I heard his low, attractive chuckle before he said, “Have fun, Josephine.”

“I will, Amond,” I assured him though I wasn’t assured myself. Still, dressing up would be fun as it always was.

“You doin’ okay otherwise?” he asked, his voice lower and sweeter.

“I have moments,” I shared quietly. “But Gran has good friends and they’re looking after me.”

“Good to hear,” he said. “I’ll talk to Ginny. See if she can loosen things up for me to get to Maine. Let you know.”

“Okay, Amond. I hope so and I hope to see you then.”

“Me, too, girl. Later.”

“Later, Amond.”

We rang off and I went back to the greenhouse to finish with the plants, my mind inventorying my wardrobe.

I hit on the perfect outfit at the same time I thought I might need to call my friend Dakota in LA. Ask her to go to the pool house, pack a few boxes of shoes, clothes, accessories.

I was going to need them.

I put that on my mental agenda of things to do that day, picked up the clippers and got down to doing the things I needed to do that day.

Eventually, I accomplished it all.

Unfortunately, although I did this, I failed to accomplish not thinking too much about Jake.

I knew I’d someday beat that urge.

But that urge was so strong I also knew it would take time.

Lots of it.

And it didn’t help I saw him so often.

With Henry, I saw him every day, sometimes all day every day and therefore that wasn’t easy.

But somehow, I knew with Jake it would take longer.

And it would be far more difficult.

* * * * *

I walked into the arena finding that Amond was right about the attire. Nearly every woman there was tricked out (except for some who were rather slovenly who I figured were not there to catch the eye of a fighter but instead watch them fight).

Although it was an amateur league and all of the men were dressed in jeans and mostly t-shirts, there were quite a number of women who were very dolled up. Of course, their hair and makeup were brasher than mine, their clothes more baring and not as high quality. But seeing as my dress was couture, given to me by a designer who had wanted to sleep with me (I took the dress, I didn’t take the invitation), I had an unfair advantage.

Although I was not alone in being tricked out, when I took off my coat in the outer area of the arena by the ticket counter, many eyes came my way, male and female. It would seem they were between fights so the area was packed with spectators getting refreshments and using the facilities, therefore my audience was somewhat vast.

I was surprised by the number of people there and slightly nervous. It would be difficult to perform in front of a huge audience and I worried for Jake.

Of course, if he had pay-per-view fights, his audiences in the past could have conceivably been millions but they weren’t all in the same room with him.

Shirking off this thought as absurd, seeing as Jake was quite confident and probably rarely (if ever) suffered nerves, I gave out small smiles to a few people whose eyes I caught as I waited in line at the ticket counter and folded my coat over my arm.

I also smoothed the silk over my hip.

I was wearing a dress in a striking print of jewel colors, mostly sapphire and emerald with some ruby and pearl. The bodice was blousy but it exposed skin, indeed, the entirety of my arms, shoulders and shoulder blades were bare, with the neckline having cut-in shoulders and being mock-turtleneck. The waistline was a delicate row of gathers that went to my upper hip. The skirt was skintight and allowed movement due to a daring slit up the back.

I paired this with a pair of red stiletto-heeled sandals with a delicate slim crossover strap and peek-a-boo toe that even I thought were racy. In fact, the first time Henry saw me wearing them, his expression had changed to one he wore on occasion which I found gratifying (even if it was never in all our years acted upon)…sheer male admiration.

And now I saw the shoes had not gone unnoticed for some of the males were looking at my behind, but most at my shoes.

I finalized my look with a side ponytail that was a mass of teased out curls and a slim, stylish red handbag with a short strap.

And I waited in line patiently, not wishing to enter the arena too soon. But unfortunately, I made the front of the line in no time.

When I did, I opened my mouth but before I could get a word out, the man behind the window said, “Josephine Malone.”

“Why, yes,” I replied, surprised he knew me.

“Jake and Mickey both described you,” he explained then went on in a highly flattering manner. “Though they didn’t do you justice.”

“Well, thank you,” I said softly.

He gave me a crooked grin and looked to the side. He then slid out two envelopes and pushed them through the opening at the bottom of the window.

“Mick’s ticket and Jake’s,” he shared. “Mick’s up next so you better get a move on. But I’d use Jake’s ticket. He set up the league yonks ago so his seats are freakin’ fly.”

I looked down to the envelopes, both being identical, and then turned my eyes back to the man. “And which is Jake’s?”

“Turn ‘em over, darlin’. Jake’s says ‘Slick,” Mick’s says ‘Josephine,’” he answered.

I turned them over and saw this was true

“Thank you,” I again said to the man.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he replied.

I smiled and moved out of the way. I then opened the envelope from Jake and pulled out the ticket. It was a real one with a section, row and seat number printed on it, which I thought was quite impressive. And the good news was that I only had to traverse a short area of the outer corridor to find the stenciled notification above a doorway that would lead to my seat.

I walked down the aisle to see the arena was rather large and rather full.

Yes, this community embraced boxing.

I couldn’t be surprised at how good my seat was as the ticket said “row 1, seat 2.” I figured that had to mean it was a very good seat.

I found this to be true when I made my way to row one and saw the two seats next to the aisle were empty. When I smiled at the lady (also tricked out as I was), who was in seat 3, she gave me a head to toe and smiled back in camaraderie, which I thought was rather pleasant. I sat down in my chair and realized why I was in seat two.

Seat 1 was too close to the corner of the ring and could be obstructed on occasion.

Seat 2 had a wide open view.

Oh dear.

The woman next to me leaned in and I looked to her to see she had her hand (with its black with white polka-dotted talons) extended my way.

I took it and she declared, “I’m Alyssa, Junior’s woman.”

“Hello, Alyssa,” I greeted. “I’m Josephine.”

She squeezed my hand and let it go, saying, “I know. Jake’s woman.”

I blinked.

She carried on before I could correct her, mistaken in my reaction. “Word gets around.”

“Uh…” I mumbled but said no more before she continued.

“Junior’s up next. Fightin’ Mickey. Don’t worry when Mickey messes him up. No one beats Mick but Jake. Then again, Jake fucks everyone up.”

This was good news on two fronts, one being Mickey was not fighting Jake and two being that it was likely Jake would win which was something I’d much prefer watching.

It was bad news for Alyssa though as it would be unpleasant to watch your “man” messed up.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She grinned and shrugged, her long blonde locks brushing her shoulders. Seeing this, I bit back my advice that she use a roller brush and not hot rollers as her hair was quite lovely, but it was now arranged in a coiffure that made her head twice the size as it normally was, taking attention away from her very attractive face.

Then again, with the amount of cleavage she was displaying in her tight black dress, it was doubtful anyone but females would be looking at her hair.

“Junior doesn’t care. Trust me. He’s used to losin’, bein’ in a league with Jake and Mick,” she shared.

“That’s good,” I remarked, her grin got bigger and she leaned in again.

“He gets to celebrate after, win or lose. You get me?”

I had a feeling I did so I nodded.

This made her grin become a bright, appealing smile and she leaned in even further. “Nothin’ better,” she said quietly, her eyes dancing. “A fighter after a fight, all that aggression, all that adrenaline still flowing. I love fight night.”