“Oh, my god. Day come on, dude. Let’s not do this weird Oprah shit, okay.”
“Hey!” Day snapped. “Now I draw the fuckin’ line when you start talking about Oprah!”
Michaels paused for a minute before he busted out laughing right along with Day. Damn the guy. “I hear you, Leo. Okay. If I need to talk, I know where to find you.”
“Good man.” Day stepped back and let Michaels drive off.
Surprisingly, he felt a little lighter on his way home. Day just had a way about him. If he couldn’t get a guy to open up right away, he could definitely make him laugh.
Chapter Four
“Ah, fuuuuck,” Michaels groaned, pulling on his cock a couple more times, his eyes heavy, still glued to his laptop as he watched his favorite bear fuck a huge leather daddy. Damn. His covers had been tossed to the floor sometime during the night, so he used his tank top to clean up the mess on his stomach. He was so fed up with teasing himself, massaging himself until he got off. He was way too familiar with his own erogenous zones, having not had a lover in over a year, and honestly it was getting more and more difficult to bring himself off.
He wasn’t saving himself; he’d just worked so hard to get on God’s task force that he couldn’t allow himself to slack off in the beginning, so he hadn’t worried about chasing ass. Then it came to a point where he was fucking exhausted most of the time, so he’d barely noticed the lack of sex. When he did have free time he tried to appease his parents with frequent visits, since he was the only son, and also spent time with the fellas. It had become rather tedious over the year. But each night, he’d go home to his empty apartment… alone.
It was Saturday, and God usually gave his field officers the weekend off before they had a bust scheduled. Michaels showered quickly and packed a gym bag. A good workout usually helped ease some of the tension. Maybe he’d find a rookie to spar with; he needed to stay on his toes since he wasn’t getting any younger, and it helped to burn off some of the adrenaline coursing through him.
He did some weights to get his muscles loose before working on the heavy bag for a half-hour. He got on the treadmill to wait out his turn in the ring. The precinct had a nice facility for them to work out in for free, but he’d been coming to Charlie’s Gym since he’d been in Atlanta. He’d left college in Virginia and immediately moved there to work with his father, but after hearing about God and Day, he knew where he belonged.
He’d been running for forty-five minutes when Charlie held his hand up and told him it was his turn. He slowed down to a brisk walk to lower his heart rate and went to the corner to put on his protective gear. He knew the guy he was sparring with, had seen him around enough times. He was extremely fit and Michaels believed that the guy did some amateur fighting or was in an underground ring, he wasn’t sure. But the man looked serious as he tightened his gloves and tossed his thick brown hair back before tugging on his headgear. The guy was a couple inches taller than Michaels’ 6’1” and his arms looked like they could reach him from the other side of the ring. Well, he wanted a work out. He was damn sure about to get one.
Michaels popped in his mouth guard and met his opponent in the center of the ring. The man’s eyes were a startling green as he narrowed them in intimidation. Michaels pffted at him. He was not easily intimidated. He’d gone up against men on the street way scarier than this fucker. With a snort and a slight lift of his brow, the man retreated back to his corner and waited for the bell. Charlie yelled at them from the side in his gruff smoker’s voice. “We’ll go to eight, fellas. No dirty shit. Keep it above the waist. Give me a clean bout. When I hit that bell, you hit those corners. Got it?”
Both men nodded, bouncing lightly on their toes. When Charlie was satisfied that they understood, he signaled his man to ring the bell. Michaels could already see a few guys crowding around, but he stayed focused on the man in front of him. With his eyes on the center of the man’s chest, they made their way to the center of the ring, dancing around each other for a bit, throwing out quick jab combinations to feel each other out. Then it started.
Michaels had to admit his opponent’s footwork was effortless and fucking poetic. He flowed gracefully, his power and speed perfectly balanced. Michaels imagined it was like the power of a battleship combined with the precision of a figure skater. By the eighth and final round, Michaels was completely winded. His ribs ached terribly and he was sure to have a headache the rest of the night from that goddamn right hook. He knew how to keep his guard high and protect his body. That technique was all that kept him from hitting the mat a few times.