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“He was,” Vince snapped. “I could hear him laughing every time I messed up.”
“It was funny,” Crossbody drawled. “It’s so basic and you can’t even get it.”
I thought Vince’s head was going to explode. Voice unsteady with anger, he ground out, “I swear to fucking god—”
“What is going on in here?”
Everyone fell silent as the doors burst open and Corey strode into the room, wearing a silk robe over a pair of skintight pink leggings. Cora was tucked under his arm.
Hogbody tried to quiet his coughing, Heidi coming over to slap him hard on the back. Crossbody’s nostrils flared again with a slow exhale, and his shoulders gradually unclenched. Even Vince went quiet, all the fight leaving his body.
No one wanted to be chastised by Corey. He had this demure, understated way of making you feel two inches tall without even seeming to say anything too harsh.
Until you went back over it in your head and realised he’d been subtly reading you for filth the entire time.
“I’m trying to meditate,” he announced when no one said anything. “And all I can hear is shouting and swearing like I work with a bunch of hormone-riddled teenagers who aren’t yet capable of controlling their mood swings.”
See?
No one was going to point out that Corey himself had thrown several diva fits over the years. It wasn’t worth the repercussions.
Crossbody cleared his throat and tossed back his hair. “Vince was just throwing a tantrum because apparently, he can’t actually wrestle.”
Vince began vibrating with fury beside me, but he wasn’t going to start yelling again with Corey in the room. Instead, he seethed under his breath, “I can fucking wrestle.”
“Yeah, obviously you can, dude,” I said with a hint of confusion. Vince normally didn’t let remarks like that get to him at all, because they were clearly bullshit. Just jabs meant to piss him off.
“And then he started blaming me for it,” Crossbody added demurely, shooting a quick smirk in our direction. “I was just standing here. Waiting to rehearse. Kenneth and I have been waiting for quite a while now, actually.”
“I’m going to punch him in his pretty-boy face,” Vince gritted out. I quickly grabbed his shoulder again, just in case he launched himself out of the ring to actually do it.
“No, you’re not.”
“Is this true, Vince?” Corey started striding toward the training ring, his robe fluttering out behind him. Cora yipped in excitement as she spotted us.
“I—He’s just—He’s distracting me,” Vince ground out between clenched teeth.
“You would let anyone distract you and take from your moment?” Corey asked, adding a dramatic flair to his voice as it echoed around the room. He swept a hand toward the ring. “These moments in the ring, Vince, they are yours. Your time to shine. It doesn’t matter how many times you do it, it is still yours. That moment is your moment. In every moment you are out there, performing for the world.”
Some of the tension eased from Vince’s frame as he huffed and rolled his eyes. We’d all heard Corey’s dramatic, convoluted speeches before. “I know, Corey.”
“Are you going to let someone else outshine you in your performance? Take away your moment?”
Another huff. “No, Corey.”
“So don’t ever let anyone distract you,” Corey declared, then frowned as he glanced between Vince and Crossbody. “This kind of energy is counterproductive to all of us. I’ve noticed tension recently, and I will not be happy if it starts affecting any of our performances. Not at such a crucial moment in Goliaths’ history, when our audience is growing so profoundly.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Corey,” Crossbody drawled smugly as he smirked at Vince again. “It would be such a shame if the weakest link among us ruined things for everyone.”
“Fuck. You,” Vince bit out as I glared at Crossbody.
“Shut up, Crossbody. Vince isn’t—”
“None of us are weak links,” Corey interrupted me emphatically, frowning at Crossbody, which made the royal fae purse his lips and look away. “I won’t have that kind of discouraging talk in the workplace, Crossbody.”
Crossbody’s lips flattened even more into a grim line as he fidgeted, clearly not a fan of being chastised. By anyone. But especially in front of others.
Eventually, he muttered, “He was fucking up his—”
