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“Please, Julia is fine. I think we’re going to get to know each other pretty well over the next little while, so there’s no need for formalities.” She reached for one of the bags without a second thought. “Do you and Cash have a special diet you have to follow? I can’t even begin to imagine how many calories the two of you burn with all the training.”
“Istick to my diet,” I said. “Cash does whatever the hell he wants.”
“I believe that.”
“You’re finished with his portion of the interview?”
“For today, yes. I still have a bunch of questions I want to get through, but his attention span…”
“Leaves much to be desired?” I offered.
Julia nodded, but she didn’t look upset. “Yes, but I think it’s endearing.”
“Give it another day or so. It’ll get on your nerves eventually.”
“How long have you known Cash?” she asked as we walked together.
“Since first grade,” I answered. “He’s like a brother to me. A really annoying, chatty brother.”
“It’s cool that you both decided to take up MMA professionally.”
“I guess.”
“What do you mean by that? You don’t think it’s cool? Are there certain aspects about the sport that you don’t enjoy?”
“It can be bullshit sometimes. There’s a lot of politics going on behind the scenes that—”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Oh, she’s good.
I didn’t know how Julia had managed it, but I could feel my tongue loosening. If I wasn’t careful, she might be able to pry information out of me that I didn’t want out there.
With everything going on with our risky financial situation and our no-show coach, I didn’t want to give Julia any unnecessary ammunition. She was still a stranger to me, and a journalist no less.
At the end of the day, all the press cared about was the next hot take to help sell their latest stories.
“You were saying?” she prodded gently.
“Never mind. I should go. This stuff is getting heavy.”
“I can take another bag, if—”
“No, that’s not necessary.”
“Really, I don’t mind—”
“Yo!” I heard Cash call from across the street. He and Dylan must have wrapped up at the gym. They walked over to join us. “Did you get what I asked for?” Cash inquired, nudging me not-so-subtly in the ribs with the point of his elbow.
I sighed. “Yes, I did.”
“Good, good.”
Dylan squinted at him. “No, you don’t,” he grumbled, fishing through the grocery bags until he found Cash’s energy drink. “Absolutely not.”
Cash groaned. “C’mon, man. I need fuel.”
“What you need is a good, hearty meal,” I said. “And speaking of meals, it’s your night to cook.”
