The Will (Magdalene #1)(75)
Author: Kristen Ashley

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 f**ks 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.