45. Rico
Rico
The punching bag in my home gym has taken a beating the last few days—literally. My knuckles are raw, my hands are bruised, and yet the tension in my body still hasn’t depleted. The fleeting relief from my last encounter with my wife barely lasted an hour before the itch came back.
A new and highly inconvenient addiction.
Between my newfound inability to go five minutes without thinking about her thighs wrapped around my head and the infuriating cyber ghost currently toying with my security systems at work, I need to hit something.
Hard. Preferably a face. And since legally I can’t do that in board meetings, I came here.
I usually stop by Marco’s underground sparring gym once a week, a little recreational violence to keep myself balanced.
But since my marriage, I haven’t had time for extracurricular activities.
Combine that with the fact that my balls are so blue they could be mistaken for Smurf testicles, and I’m two seconds away from throwing a grown-man tantrum.
I push through the doors of the gym, greeted immediately by Mindi—the receptionist, part-time massage therapist, and full-time walking sexual harassment lawsuit.
“Well, well, look who finally graced us with his presence.”
Her voice is as IQ crumbling as the spelling of her name.
Mindi is the woman who dawdles. A lot. She’s got a wardrobe that consists only of crop tops and leggings that leave nothing to the imagination, and based on the way she’s popping that obnoxious pink bubblegum, she has no intention of making this a hasty chat.
I nod, giving her the bare minimum acknowledgment as I go on walking.
“Where have you been, Rico?” she sulks, twisting a strand of bleached-blonde hair around her finger.
“Married.”
“What?” She practically chokes on her gum, her eyes widening as if I just told her I took a vow of celibacy and joined a monastery. Sort of accurate with my marriage at this point.
I don’t bother slowing my stride, moving through the double doors that lead to the main gym. Behind me, I hear the rapid click of her heels against the concrete floor as Bubblegum Barbie chases after me.
“You got married?”
Her tone is pure betrayal, which is impressive considering I’ve exchanged all of three words with this woman in the past four years. I stop walking just long enough to turn and hold up my left hand, wiggling my fingers so she can get a good look at the platinum band on my ring finger.
“Go away.”
The pout drops instantly, and I keep walking, leaving her behind.
The gym is already full, the air thick with sweat and testosterone. A few men nod in my direction, some eyeing Mindi, but I barely register them before a familiar voice cuts through the noise.
“Rico! You here to get your ass kicked?”
I turn toward the ring to see my cousin, Marco, grinning like the deranged sociopath he is, sweat dripping from his brow, and his latest opponent slumped in the corner nursing a bloody nose.
“Perhaps.”
Marco wipes his face with the back of his glove, smearing a little blood across his cheek. “You’re looking tense. Marriage not keeping you relaxed?”
Blue balls will do that to a man.
But, I don’t respond. Instead, I toss my gym bag to the floor, pull out my gloves, and start taping up my hands.
Marco leans on the ropes. “You’ve been MIA. I take it wedded bliss is keeping you busy?”
I scowl up at him. “Painfully.”
Marco barks out a laugh. “I knew I picked a good one.”
I climb into the ring and swing without warning, slamming my fist into his ribs with a delightful thwack.
Marco lets out a grunt, followed by another damn chuckle.
“You fight dirty,” he shakes out his shoulders, unfazed.
“And yet you still get in the ring with me.”
He shifts into position, ready to return the favor.
“Watch the kidneys this time,” he warns. “Last time I pissed blood for a week.”
“Then learn to block.”
I move fast, aiming for his ribs again, but the next thing I know, my face explodes with white-hot pain, a punch slamming into the side of my head so hard it rattles my skull.
Everything goes silent for half a second—then my ears ring.
And now my mood officially plummets into fuck everything territory.
Marco drops his hands, frowning. “Since when do you not block your face?”
Since I started fucking a woman who plunders everything—including my ability to see a punch coming a-fucking-pparently.
I don’t answer. I just swing again, landing an uppercut that sends his head popping back. The familiar metallic tang of blood coats my tongue, and when Marco grins through his mouth guard—red staining his teeth—I feel slightly better. Good. We can both bleed today.
“Trouble in paradise, cousin?” The smug little shit pouts.
I hate him.
I drive another punch, but he deflects it, thrusting me back. “Oh…wife not letting you have a taste in between contractually obligated days?”
I scowl. “Who the fuck talks like that?”
Marco shrugs, getting back into stance. “You’re the one who turned sex into a negotiation like you were drafting a fucking merger agreement.
No offense, but if I had a hot-as-hell woman like Allie in my bed every night, I’d be taking advantage.
Especially with those hips.” He bites his bottom lip and lets out a low groan.
“Tell me they’re as good to grab as they—”
Before that nitwit can finish a sentence that might force me to commit a felony, I jab him right in the jaw.
“Shit!” Marco tumbles back, spitting blood onto the mat before he roars with laughter. Because of course he does. My cousin is a certifiable psychopath who probably gets hard at the idea of getting his ass kicked.
“Sooooo, you aren’t getting any, I take it?”
“I’m not talking about my sex life with you.”
"You should. Clearly, you need the therapy.”
That motherfucker.
I swing again, securing a punch to his ribs this time, but he barely grunts. Even when I go for another shot, he just absorbs it, laughing.
“You know, for a guy who pretends he doesn’t give a shit about his wife, you’re really leaning into those touch her and you die vibes Vi keeps writing about in her books.
So, what’s got you all bent out of shape?
That your wife is attractive and every man in this gym would trade places with you in a second, or—”
The fact that this psycho has read Violet’s books already concerns me. But what’s worse? The bastard knows every romance trope.
And so do I.
Marco thinks I’m jealous.
I’m not.
Okay, maybe I’m seeing red, but that’s just my general disposition. It has nothing to do with some moron making eyes at my wife.
She’s mine.
...Fuck, I don't appreciate where my thoughts are going.
Stick to the facts, Rico. You have blue balls and it’s making you temporarily insane. That’s all.
“She said she’s not tracking ovulation anymore. We can have sex whenever.”
Marco blinks. Then blinks again. His mouth opens, closes.
“Sooooo. Why is that a problem? Oh, but she’s not putting out, huh? Cock-blocking?”
I swing. He dodges. I despise that he’s good at this.
“I bought her that restaurant. She’s never even home to put out.”
There. I said it.
My plan is fucking me over.
Sure, I wanted her out of my way. I wanted to avoid those dinners where she talked endlessly and I had to pretend to give a shit.
But what’s the point of having a wife if she’s never there?
She forced monogamy. Worse? Even if she hadn’t, the thought of touching another woman makes me physically sick. And I don’t enjoy that.
I don’t appreciate that she’s rewired my brain. That I can’t even find another woman attractive. That even thinking about going back to my old “therapy” appointments makes my stomach churn.
Let’s add that to the growing list of things she’s stolen from me. The list is perilously long.
Not that I was ever the type to stare at women. Or care. But it would’ve been nice to have the option, just in case I ever wanted to summon it one day.
Marco watches me, his face caught between amusement and sheer disbelief.
“You realize that’s not a real problem, right?”
I scowl.
“Oh, but you’re not just sexually frustrated. You miss her.”
I throw a punch just as he lands a brutal uppercut to my jaw. My vision goes blank for a second as my body meets the mat.
Next thing I know, Marco is kneeling beside me, shoving me onto my back with a grin that rivals The Joker. “You’re a smart man, cousin, but right now? You’re a dumbass. The solution is right in front of you.” He slaps my chest. “Go Carpe diem that shit.”