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Thank you, Jesus. The way this conversation’s headed, Deadass and Naptime are two seconds away from whipping out their dicks and slapping each other with them.
“Just in time.” I slide off the stool.
“We gotta spend time getting to know our opponents,” Venom encourages.
My gaze narrows on Deadass. I catch him anywhere near my food, I’m gonna kill him. “I already know everything I need to know about these clowns.”
“Let’s go!” the coach shouts, clapping his hands like a deranged drill sergeant.
I hustle the few feet over to the oddly arranged couches so I can get a seat that actually faces the screen.
The first footage shown is mine.
“Of fuckin’ course,” I grumble, sliding down in my seat.
I stare at the screen. Where’d they even get this from? It’s an older fight. Maybe last year? It’s not at The Castle—thank fuck. But it’s fuckin’ creepy that the show went to so much trouble to track it down. My opponent’s some college kid on the wrestling team who thought his grappling skills were better than my boxing technique. Boy fucked around and found out I’m superior in both.
“Bro, what the fuck is that?” Woolly giggles, drums his feet on the floor like a little kid, and points at the screen.
Venom thumps his hand against my back. “I’ve been calling it the Stonewall Slap. Cracks me up every time you do it.”
I wasn’t aware I displayed the slap all that often. But apparently, I do it enough Venom’s given it a name.
Our coach picks up the remote and rewinds the footage, narrowing his eyes on the screen.
Sure, let’s watch it again. I squirm and sink lower into the couch.
Naptime laughs and points at the screen, then me. “You look like a tiger swiping his paw at his next meal.”
“That’s right.” I sit up, raise my hand, and sweep it through the air, stopping an inch from Naptime’s cheek.
“It wasn’t a compliment.” Naptime ducks away, falling into the chair next to me.
“It’s a legit move,” Venom says without taking his eyes off me. “But if you’re within slapping distance, you could probably land a punch…” His voice trails off, not asking the obvious question.
I shrug. “I don’t know.” I slide my gaze toward the other guys, but Naptime and the coach have moved on to studying the rear naked chokehold I used to force the kid to tap out thirty seconds into the second round.
An uncomfortable sensation crawls over my skin. Having people intensely scrutinize my skills isn’t my favorite thing. Especially since the other guys are going to use it against me or copy my style.
Shaking off the unease, I return to Venom’s questioning face. “The slap—it’s more like I do it out of frustration?” Shit, I’ve never admitted that to anyone before. A wicked smile curves my lips to hide what I just revealed. “Or it just pisses off my opponent and makes him do something stupid.”
“See, I knew there was more to it.” Venom snorts with laughter. “It is a bit humbling to be at that level and then get bitch-slapped. Also, unexpected.”
“Exactly.” He gets me.
“Yo, Venom, why you swinging from your boy’s nuts? You got mad skills yourself,” Deadass shouts.
“Now who’s nut-swinging?” Pirate quips.
Venom rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m too old for this horseshit,” he mutters.
“Don’t blame it on age,” I protest with a teasing pat on his shoulder. “You don’t hear me engaging in the petty trash talk.”
“That’s why I like you.”
“Aw, you wanna be alone? Should we leave and give you two the couch?” Pirate pouts at us and tilts his head like a sad toddler who had his Cheerios taken away.
“Low-key homophobic ‘jokes.’” Venom curls his fingers into sarcastic air quotes. “How original and clever.”
