Werewolf Love Story Page 3

  When I was finished we threw on some clothes and Sasha and I headed out. My apartment was about 15 minutes from Sliders bar. It didn’t take much time to get there. I whipped a left on Tustin St. and looked to over my left at the bar’s parking lot where Sasha’s Jeep was parked. There was a fairly large muscular man standing next to Sasha’s jeep. He had a giant, black Ford Runner parked adjacent to Sasha’s car. I slowed down my Mustang and looked over at Sasha and she looked on in horror. Oh, this wasn’t going to be good.

  “Tommy, remember last night when I asked if you had me figured out and you spouted off all those details?”

  “Yes,” I said, hesitantly.

  “You were right on just about everything.” She took a deep breath. “Everything, except the part about me being single!”

  “Seriously, Sasha, that overgrown heap of muscle is your boyfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “About a year.”

  “Fucking great. Now this meathead is going to want to kick my ass.” I pulled my car in the driveway expecting this guy to charge my car and pull me out of the window. I slowly inched my way through the parking lot. I stopped and put my car in park almost a hundred feet from where he was parked. I wasn’t taking any chances.

  Sasha got out of the car with her hair still wet from her shower. “I'm sorry, Tommy. I left my number by your television at your apartment. This situation is complicated.”

  Complicated? Was she kidding me?

  Sasha slammed the passenger door and walked over to her boyfriend standing by her car. I knew I shouldn't whip out of the parking because that would look bad and was definitely the dick move. Sasha and the dark brown hair fellow talked. And surprisingly, he didn't seem upset. He just leaned back and listened. He was at least 6'5 and weighed 250 pounds. He looked like he should be playing linebacker for the Green Bay Packers.

  Sasha turned around and walked towards my car. Then she stopped and motioned for me to come out of my vehicle.

  Was she serious? This was the last thing I wanted to do.

  But I had no choice. I slowly got out of the driver’s side. I rolled my eyes as I turned around and gave my best Hollywood, good-guy smile that I had in my arsenal in times of turmoil. I confidently walked over to Sasha's jeep.

  “Hey brother,” the large man said.

  “What's up?” He eyed me in a way to see what I was about trying to read me before we even began to engage in a conversation. I gave him a sincere, warm stare not knowing what Sasha could have possibly told him.

  “Thanks for taking care of her last night.”

  “No problem,” I said, just going along with it.

  “Not every guy would help a drunk girl and not try anything.”

  Try anything? There wasn’t much we didn’t try last night! But that was definitely not something to blurt out.

  Meathead continued, “Thanks for making sure that creep that was hitting on her didn't take advantage of her.”

  Wow. Sasha laid it out and gave him a detailed story. Oh, she’s good.

  Sasha jumped in, “I told Gary about that jerk that was grabbing my arm and not letting me get in my car.”

  “Yeah, what a douche,” I said, with zero expression in my voice. “He was a real asshole.” I emphasized asshole, so Sasha could tell I was referring to her.

  “Well, maybe you and your wife would like to come over and barbecue sometime,” Gary the meathead said.

  Huh? My wife? Ok, I’m ok with helping someone get out of trouble, but don’t get me hitched, not even in fantasy land.

  “Yeah, I told Gary that you and your lovely wife let me sleep it off in your guest room. You two were great.” Sasha smiled at me innocently. Wow, she was a piece of work.

  “That's what we Mormons do,” I said. Hell if she was going to lie. I was going to go all in. “And don't worry about the bed,” I continued. “We knew you were drunk and everyone wets the bed once in awhile.”

  “You wet the man's bed!” her boyfriend said, disgusted. He stared at Sasha with an embarrassed, horrified look.

  “We don't have to go into that,” I said, reassuringly. “She got real crazy and free and ran outside naked. My poor wife chased her down the block.”

  Sasha looked at me as if to say, ‘Are you kidding me?’

  “Why the hell would you allow yourself to get that drunk?” Now her boyfriend was irate.

  “Yeah, she gave those junior high boys an eye full.” I said, piling on.

  “Junior high boys?” Now, he was about to explode.

  “Yeah, they were more like our local street gang,” I said, pressing the point.

  “Where the hell do you live?” Meathead apparently didn’t like my pretend address.

  And like I said, I went all in. “Unfortunately, I live in a not so safe neighborhood in Anaheim, but we only had one drive-by shooting last week, so it’s improving.”

  “Let me get this straight, Sasha. You got so drunk that some jerk tried to take you home forcefully. And then this poor guy helps you out and lets you sleep it off at his house… in what appears to be downtown Compton. If that wasn't bad enough, you stripped naked and ran down the street and this guy’s poor wife had to run you down at four in the morning. Are you serious?”

  Sasha looked stunned and just had to nod. She was in no position to dispute anything so I couldn’t resist, “Don't forget she peed our guest bed, and maybe even pooped in it a tad bit.”

  That was it! Gary was done! “New rule, you are to never go out anywhere again unless I'm with you.” Gary then turned to me. “Thanks, bro. You are good man. Please apologize to your wife for me.”

  “Oh, I will. She’s at the Laundromat washing the sheets.”

  Then Gary reached into his wallet and pulled out forty bucks and handed it to me. “I hope this covers it.”

  It didn’t exactly. All the drinks and food she ate last night came closer to about sixty, but it was a good gesture even though he thought it was for the sheets.

  “Let's get the hell out of here Sasha. I’ll deal with you when we get home. Then Meathead walked past me and jumped into his giant truck and slammed the door.

  “Thanks,” Sasha said to me.

  “No problem!” I said, stoically, then turned around and walked back to my car. Now, that's the story of my life—bad decision after bad decision. I meet someone great, and she turns out to be a cheater, a liar, and most importantly a bed wetter.

  Chapter Five

  For the next three weeks I trained my butt off and lost the weight I needed to by eating a 1400 calorie diet and kicking my ass in the gym. My opponent was a fighter named Jorge Vasquez; he was an established pro and had a 16-6 record with twelve knockouts. He was the opposite kind of fighter as me, he was a striker and I loved the ground game. I worked on some standing techniques with my trainer, Mo. For the most part, my job was to take him down and pile on the elbows and maneuver him in a way to do one of my infamous submission moves.

  I had a light workout the night before my fight. I was going to be on the under card at the Staple Center and was the first fight out of the gate. I knew I needed to get some rest, so I got home and went to straight to bed. I wanted eight solid hours, no more no less. I quickly fell asleep, as I usually did after taking a Benadryl with a warm glass of milk.

  I had started out in a very deep sleep and then I began to hear a constant beeping in my dreams. It didn't matter what I was dreaming, from unicorns to bikini babes there was this damn beeping sound in the distance.

  Finally, I woke up and right beside my hand was my cell phone. I stared at my cell phone screen—23 missed calls. Are you kidding me? They were all from a (714) number I didn't even recognize.

  I got up and went to my bathroom to wash my face. I was apprehensive about calling the number back. Whoever it was didn't mind blowing up my phone in the middle of the night before my big fight. Maybe it had something to do with my grandma. I knew I needed to call the number back, but I was grog
gy and tired and needed at least four more hours of rest.

  I went into my kitchen and sat at my table. I knew I needed to call the number back because it could be an emergency. It wasn’t every day I got 23 missed calls in the middle of the night. I sighed and I pressed ‘call back’ on my cell phone. The phone rang once and a woman answered the phone.

  “Tommy,” the woman yelled.

  “Who is this?” I asked. My voice was louder than I wanted it to be trying to match her volume.

  “It's Sasha!”

  “Who?”

  “Sasha! From a couple weeks ago.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked. I was pretty shocked that, of all people, she was the one blowing up my phone.

  “No, I'm not. I'm stuck in Balboa Beach. I have no money and my boyfriend left me.”

  “Why are you in Balboa Beach?”

  “I was having drinks with a friend, and he turned out to be a freak. He fell asleep and I slipped out of his house and I've been walking around in circles and have no idea where I am.”

  “What do you want me do?”

  “Could you come get me?”

  “Don't you have someone else you can call?”

  “No, or I wouldn’t have called you so many times.”

  “How did you get this number anyhow?”

  “I got it from your phone when you fell asleep the other night.”

  I really didn't want to help her, and I wasn't quite sure if she truly was broken up from her Bohemian boyfriend, but for whatever reason, she did call me. So she probably didn’t have too many options to be helped.

  “Listen, I have my fight tomorrow and I need my rest.”

  “Tommy, please! I’m almost to the point where I am going to hitchhike.”

  “Don't do that,” I said. Shit, I was never one to leave a damsel in distress hanging out on the streets in the middle of the night—even one who lied to me. “Where are you exactly?”

  “I'm on PCH near Harbor.”

  “I know where that is.” I have gone down there plenty of times.

  “I'm at an all night donut shop called Cakes. It's on the corner.”

  “Ok I'll be there in a half an hour.” I ended the call and just stared at the clock on my microwave. It was three in the morning. You have got to be kidding me. I was running out in the middle of the night before a big fight. Part of me wanted to turn off my phone and let her rot at the donut shop. I should make her whore herself out for a ride home, but I wasn't that kind of guy. I'm a man of my word, and in the end, that's really all you’re left with—your honor. I went to my bedroom and put on a pair of basketball shorts and a Lakers T-shirt, and slipped on a pair of shoes then headed out the door with keys in hand.

  It didn't take long to get there and I pulled into the donut parking lot. There she was sitting in the front of the donut shop. I motioned for her to come to my Mustang from my car. She got up and walked over to my car. I unlocked the passenger door and she got in the passenger seat.

  “Thank you, Tommy. I was running out of options.”

  “You must have if you’re reaching so far back in your rolodex that you’re calling one-night stands.”

  “You know you were more than that,” she said, in a flirtatious way that I was definitely not in a mood to hear.

  “No,” I said. “I was definitely just a one-night stand. That’s all it was and nothing more.”

  I slowly backed out of the parking lot, turned my lights back on and pulled onto Harbor Blvd. I stopped at the light and sighed. I didn't feel like talking to her but I needed to know where I was taking her. “Where to?” I asked.

  Then the most bizarre thing happened. Someone jumped on the hood of my Mustang. “What the fuck?” I yelled out.

  Then the same guy punched my front window with his fist. I jumped out of the car and saw that there were three of these assholes.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I yelled at them.

  “Why don't you ask your friend?” The person who had just punched a hole in my windshield said. He had long brown hair and looked really dirty.

  I looked at Sasha, “You know these fuckers?”

  “Oh she knows us. We heard from a little bird that she was stranded out here. But it looks like she got herself a cub scout to come help her.”

  “Did you call these guys to come pick you up?” I yelled to Sasha who was still sitting in my car.

  “No, I called Gina and she must have told them!” Sasha yelled back.

  I could give a rat’s ass about who Gina was. This piece of shit just busted my windshield, not mention put a big dent on my hood. This guy wasn't that big and I definitely could take him in my sleep. His two friends weren't much bigger. They were all in their mid twenties, and all of them could use a shave and a shower.

  The guy who slammed my window was to the right of me and the other two were on the left.

  “Look, dick,” I said. “You're going to pay for my window.”

  “What are you? A lawyer?”

  “No, I’m a guy who is about to kick your teeth in for fucking up his Mustang.”

  The long hair guy looked at Sasha and said, “I guess a guy who runs a surf shop wasn't good enough for you.” Great, this douche bag was a scorned lover.

  “Eddie, we dated over a year ago. Get over it,” Sasha yelled, from inside my vehicle.

  She was still sitting in the passenger seat expecting me to just get in and drive off. That isn't how I handle my business. No one screws with me, and especially no one touches my Mustang.

  “OK, Eddie. You're going to find out real quick I'm not a lawyer and you just made the worst choice in judgment anyone ever has by thinking you can smash my car.”

  I was a professional fighter and I needed to be discreet about that specific detail cause this guy could sue me once he realized he just got floored by a professional. But I didn’t care; this guy was going to pay for his discretion. I charged to my left and grabbed Eddie and threw him on the trunk of my car. He was a lot stronger than I expected. He was like a little ball of iron.

  He bounced off my hood and then did a back flip in the middle of the street. Cool, I thought. I got an athlete on my hands. This will be fun kicking his ass. Luckily, there was no traffic at 3 o'clock in the morning.

  Eddie made a hand motion to his friend, basically telling them to back off and that he would take care of me. How little did he know what a bad-ass he’d just run into. Eddie charged me, and tried to kick me in the nuts. It's the most predictable technique move in the street-fighting handbook. It’s a bitch move—you kick your opponent as hard as you can in his package, and just unload on him. But I was far too savvy to let a twerp like this get over on me. I easily blocked his kick, using the karate kid wax-off technique. It actually really does work. I smacked his leg down and that relentless little turd tried to kick me again. I caught his leg and lifted it straight up forcing him to fall on the ground. I knew grappling and wrestling this guy was a risky move because his friends could jump on me in seconds. I figure I would choke him out fast until he saw stars.

  On his back, Eddie came up at me. I took my left arm and wrapped around his head in a reverse head lock. I just cranked that baby down and it was lights out for Eddie.

  Suddenly I felt an elbow crack into the back of my head. It was one of Eddie's friends. Then I felt a sensation I had never felt in my life. The motherfucker bit my right shoulder and not a minor bite; he bit it like he was biting into a rack of lamb. I never felt that sensation before. What the hell just happened? This crazy asshole just bit a giant gash in my shoulder. I literally heard him spit out my flesh.

  Motherfucker! That fucking hurt! I did the only thing I could; I threw my head back so hard that the back of my skull cracked the guy’s nose. I heard his nose break as I connected with it like a bowling ball hitting a walnut.

  I turned around and the guy who bit me fell straight back onto the asphalt. The third guy came at me and I grabbed his head and knee-kicked him in his scrawny little chi
n, then I slammed his head on the back of my car.

  All three guys were semi unconscious and crawling their way to the sidewalk. I could have stuck around and finished them off old-school, but I was better than these street thugs. I got back into my car where Sasha was still sitting in the passenger seat looking on with exhilaration in her eyes. I obviously just made her wetter than a slip-n-slide. I was the ultra bad boy in her eyes and just proved it by kicking some serious ass. A girl like this was probably more turned on than she has ever been in her entire life.

  I sat in my driver seat and looked straight ahead at the spider crack in my windshield. Luckily the putz wasn't that strong so he didn't break through the glass. I still had to drive back Ace Ventura-style with my need sticking out of my window.

  I decided to just go down PCH towards Huntington Beach. I looked over at Sasha, whose eyes were still locked onto me like she had just discovered a million dollar diamond.

  “Really?” I said. “Really? Are you kidding me? That's the kind of people you associate with? Grown men jumping on cars?”

  Sasha leaned over and touched my bloody shoulder. My shoulder hurt in a way I never felt before. I knew I had just jeopardized my fight tonight and that made me more pissed than she’ll ever know. “We are going to the E.R. I need stitches. What the hell did you get me into?”

  “I'm so sorry, Tommy. Those guys had no reason to be there. He is just a jealous boyfriend and he was really drunk.”

  “Oh, really? That's suppose to make it better? I have a professional fight in nearly 12 hours. That’s my livelihood. That’s how I make my living! I can't even raise my arm. Do you know how hard it is to get a shot in my sport? I'm fighting at the Staple Center! Do you understand how huge that is? The Lakers played there.”