Page 132 of The Unravelings

“Pretty impressive, right?” I laugh, crossing my arms. “We got the ring over there. The mats over here. The hanging bags and everything. It’s fully functioning.”

“You don’t hold fights here?” He raises a skeptical brow.

“Nah. Just against each other for fun. That’s what the Coliseum is for.” For now, at least. I’m sure once we graduate from college and really sink our teeth into the Shade’s lifestyle, we’ll find another venue to frequent. Or shit, have one of our own here.

I shrug, removing the cigarette from behind my ear and rolling it between my fingers. “So what do you want to start with? Mal and I usually warm up with the bags and stretch. Then, we move to the ring and spar a little.” I gesture to the ring across the room, watching as his eyes light up.

I know Oliver is a good fighter. I saw the damage he did to Brutus. God, he fucking knocked him out cold with one punch. Not after that asshole got a few cheap shots in. I’m glad someone finally put him on his ass, because he’s been a wallflower since. Well, almost. I know he and Mack are probably planning some bullshit retaliation. Whatever. I know Oliver can fucking take it.

“Warm up sounds good,” Oliver says, continuously looking around the room. “Then the bags and then…”

“We can spar in the ring if you want. We got all the equipment. Gloves, headgear. Whatever you need to protect yourself so you don’t get hurt.” Not that I’d intentionally hurt him. But a little blood between friends never hurts.

A smile splits across Oliver’s face, making him light up. “Okay, yeah.”

38

Wilder

“So should we practice Coliseum style?” I ask, putting on the fingerless gloves and shoving the headgear over my head with a grin. “Fake bell and then go nuts?”

“Sure. But no sucker punches,” Oliver grumbles, staring at the helmet with a wrinkled nose. “I’ve practiced with my cousin before, but we’ve never worn these,” he mutters with confusion, looking the gear over like he’s never seen it before in his life.

Right. I know he can fight, but I don’t know if he’s ever used the safety gear for sparring.

“Here, I’ll help,” I say, throwing my gear off and marching over to him, taking the headgear from his hands. Cautiously, he watches my every move as I undo the Velcro from the back of the helmet and loosen it up. “This will go toward the back of your head, so there’s no chin strap to adjust. It all adjusts from back here. You want it tight, but not uncomfortable. It’s to help protect your skull from my killer ass punches.” My lips break into a grin when he snorts at my remark, rolling his eyes.

“You fucking wish, Wilder,” he taunts.

“Sounds like you’re laying down a challenge, Davenport,” I tease, pulling it over his head. Without thinking, my fingers brush against his cheeks and tuck under his soft jaw as I check the spaces between him and the helmet. I ignore the small shiver running through him and swallow hard, trying to tell myself this is nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

“Maybe I am,” he teases back in a soft, breathy tone.

I don’t want to notice the fact that his chest is heaving, and his pupils dilate a fraction. Nope. I don’t fucking notice. At all. Not even the goosebumps spreading across his flesh when I lean in and Velcro the back of the helmet.

“Challenge accepted,” I mutter, looking him over and averting my damn wandering eyes. Shit. Stop looking at his heaving chest and wondering what’s under the T-shirt he refuses to take off. Goddamnit. Quickly, I clear my throat and step back, rubbing my neck. “We, uh, use these all the time for practice. Me mostly so Malic doesn’t kick my ass and send me to the hospital. Again. So, uh, how’s it feel? Not too tight? We can adjust the Velcro in the back, but you want it a little snug for protection.” Babbling. I’m fucking babbling about everything and anything right now. But only with Oliver. There’s something about him. Something that has my fucking dick chubbing up and my damn senses going out the window.

Maybe I’m bi. That’s a thing, right? Men loving men. Men loving women. This is normal. Maybe I love every damn gender? And Oli is my awakening? That happens, right? You find the right person, and you vibe so well with them that your body reacts. And that has to be what’s happening with me right now.

Or not.

Or maybe.

Fuck.

Internally, I shake it off because I could be reading this all wrong. We’re two buddies hanging out and having a good time by fake-fighting and blowing off some steam.

Oliver licks his lips and nods. “Feels fine, thanks.” He moves his head from side to side, testing it out. “Don’t think it’s going to slip.” He grins at me again, a light sparking across his green eyes like the challenge we threw down stands.

Now, get your shit together, Wilder. Do the fight. Have some fun. Blow off some steam. No big fucking deal. Also, don’t pop a chub. Don’t do it. Don’t get hard. Don’t do it.

Goddamn it.

“Good,” I choke out, taking one step back and stretching an arm across my bare chest, trying to rein myself in. Maybe I need to get laid like Malic did. One good romp in the sack with some rando would help take this tension away from me. No, only if I could find someone who wouldn’t be clingy and weird. “You sure you don’t want to borrow some shorts and take off your shirt?” Regret immediately hits the tip of my tongue.

Oh, yeah, smart man, Wilder. Ask the guy you’re currently fighting your dick for to take off his shirt and show more skin. Smart as fuck.

Oliver quickly shakes his head. “Nope. I’m good in my sweatpants.” He swallows hard, a lump sliding down his throat. “I usually work out and fight in these, anyway,” he quickly adds, rushing his words.