We ended up on weight benches, doing the kind of reps that precluded conversation. I was grateful for that. But pumping iron for thirty minutes straight led to the need for a break. And ours started with him leaping onto the topic I most did not want to discuss.
He started off talking about the cramped apartment, and Mia not wanting to spend her recently acquired settlement millions on anything but her shelter—some of the details were fuzzy there, because Fox tended to have diarrhea of the mouth—and Carly’s education. But Carly was arguing about taking the money, though she was still working part-time at the Salad Hut so there was no way she was making enough to get by.
If only he knew.
Just thinking about Carly dancing for dollars while men leered at her made my recently lowering blood pressure shoot right back into the stratosphere.
“I mean, she’s eighteen, so I’m sure she’s not that worried about it. She’ll graduate with loans and deal. She’s too busy with her social life to—”
“What social life?” At my sharp tone, I tried to smile, though I was reasonably certain my face looked as if I’d sucked on something sour. “Uh, you know. Friends and shit?”
Fox’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t call me out on my odd behavior. Yet. “Yeah. The girl makes friends everywhere she goes. Last week, she brought home a chick she met at the hair salon.”
A chick. Nothing to think about there.
I tried another smile, found it felt as foreign as the first. “Good for a young girl to have friends.”
Very young. Too young. A hair over jailbait.
I’d keep telling myself any and all variations of that if it helped.
“There’s some guy she’s seeing off and on too. A dude from the Salad Hut. Seems really clean cut.”
Somehow I resisted glancing at my tattooed arms, currently dripping with sweat. “Clean cut, huh?” I gulped water.
“Yeah, a decent kid. Almost wholesome.” Fox bent to pick up the water bottle he’d stashed beside the bench. “Though we know that’s only a front so he can fuck her brains out the minute we turn our backs.”
I choked. Like see-stars-and-watch-the-little-birdies-circle choked on my water until Fox started to rise from his bench to offer me assistance. Maybe the Heimlich or some shit.
“You okay, man?”
“Fine,” I wheezed. I tossed my empty water bottle on the ground and resumed my position on the bench. “Twenty more reps.”
“Jesus, I thought we were done.” Dutifully, Fox stretched out on the bench.
“Pussy. Want me to bust your other eyesocket next time we spar?” It was a low blow, bringing up the last fight of Fox’s career where I’d taken advantage of his distraction and fractured his eyesocket. It hadn’t been intentional, exactly, though I’d hated the dude on sight thanks to his cocky grin and rich boy attitude.
Funny how a few months could change things.
Sometimes it only took a minute. Less.
“You wish.” Fox didn’t sound the least bit offended. “I know your moves now, Costas. You wouldn’t take me twice.”
“So fight me again.”
I don’t know what made me say it, other than a stupid, egotistical need to get my mind off Carly and wholesome boys who wanted to fuck her. I would’ve rather thought about just about anything but that.
As the silence lengthened, I realized what a genius idea it was. Not for Fox necessarily, and not for that supposed realness I’d found in our friendship, since I wouldn’t be clueing him into the real story behind the fight.
But it wouldn’t cause him any harm to come out of retirement for one night, and it would look good in the eyes of the Andrettis and their associates. They’d been wanting Fox to get back in the ring for months, since he was as big of a draw as I was. Big draws at the matches meant more money flowing for their illegal betting schemes.
The only problem with Fox fighting again was convincing him. Marco and Lo had met with him once and swiftly realized they could more easily budge Mt. Everest than Fox when he’d made up his mind, so they hadn’t even gone as far as making an offer.
Or putting out a threat, which sometimes was as close to an offer as they got.
Fox sat up again. “Now why would I do that?”
I sat up too, after one more longing glance at the weight bar. More talking, but this time, it would be worth it. “Because you want to show me you know my moves and can best them.”