I’m sitting on a folding chair which is sitting on spread-out newspapers which are sitting on towels which are sitting on the tile floor of the entryway to Jana and Ash’s apartment.
“Haven’t lost yet,” I answer.
“How many fights?” she asks.
“A lot,” I answer.
“Can we go?” Jana asks, her arms folded as she leans against the wall.
“I’m almost done,” Ash says, dropping the cotton ball into the little trash bag sitting next to her.
“Why do you have all this stuff?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” Ash asks.
“Seriously,” Jana says. “This is boring.”
“The medical stuff,” I tell her. “Are you a doctor or something?”
“A nurse,” she says. “Or, at least I will be in a couple years.”
Jana sighs loudly.
“A nurse, huh?” I ask. “That’s pretty hot.”
Ash smiles and shakes her head.
“Jana, could you pass me another cotton ball?” Ash asks.
Jana groans and stomps over to the table just out of reach from where Ash is kneeling down in front of me. She picks up the bag, pulls out a small handful of cotton balls and tosses them to Ash.
“We’ll go in a minute,” Ash says. “Jeez. The guy’s bloody here.”
“It’s a shame we had to meet like this,” I tell Ash. “I usually wear a lot more clothes and fewer open wounds.”
Am I flirting with her? Sure, she’s gorgeous with her wavy hair, turquoise eyes, and absolutely slamming body, but Jana’s standing right there.
“How often do you fight?” Ash asks, rolling her eyes a little.
“Once every couple weeks,” I tell her. “If you’re talking about sparring, too, then I fight just about every day.”
“It’s not a very safe sport, is it?” she asks.
“Could you tell that from the fact that we’re still bandaging Mason up instead of being out, having fun and humiliating ourselves in public for the shot of having one-nighters with some guys who we’re never going to want to see again, like normal people?” Jana whines.
“I’ve survived this long,” I tell Ash.
Jana groans loudly.
“Well,” Ash says, “the good news is that you’re not going to need stitches. There’s a spot where the cut’s a bit deeper and that’s where you’re getting most of the blood. The rest of it’s basically a glorified scratch.”
“Really?” I ask. “I was half-expecting you to go for the sewing needle.”
“Cuts on the head tend to bleed a great deal, even with smaller cuts than what you’ve got,” Ash says. “A bandage should be enough, assuming you’re not going to mess with it.”
“Condescend much?” I ask, smiling.
“I’ve found it’s best to assume whoever you’re working on is going to go out and do the stupidest thing they can possibly do unless you tell them not to,” she answers and presses a gauze bandage over the wound. “At least,” she says, “that’s my experience with guys like you.”