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“A few inches?” Jimmy laughs as we shuffle. “That’s all the space you need?”
Bobby doesn’t bite, he simply rolls his eyes and squeezes into the tiny space between me and the corner of the ring. He presses his back to the padded corner, left leg bent, right leg straight, and as I lean into him gently, he shoots me a playful grin.
“Hey.” Jack picks up a pizza box and sends it toward us. “Saved you some.”
I open it with a smile and drool at the sight of a Pinocchio’s loaded pizza. Setting it down in front of Bobby’s bent leg, I pick up a cooled slice of pizza heaven and bite in. It almost has me groaning as much as Bobby does.
The announcers on the screen introduce Hernandez as he walks down the tunnel toward the octagon; red gown with gold tassels and writing on the hood, his opponent waits for him to finish his lap.
Leaning forward, Bobby reaches for the drinks Casey brought in for me, and holding up one of each, I nod toward the cider. He pops the cap off and passes it to me, grabs another for himself, and sits back and pulls me closer against his body.
Jimmy looks between us with a frown. “Where’s mine?”
“You can go fuck yourself,” Bobby replies casually.
Jim scoffs and reaches out for a soda, but Bobby stops him. “No seriously, those are Kit’s. She brought them.”
“Oh, no it’s fine,” I tell him shyly. “Help yourself. There’s enough for everybody.”
Jack’s eyes light up, and taking my offer literally, leans forward to snag a cider.
“Sit the fuck down,” Bobby snaps harshly. “No underage drinking when you belong to this gym. Not here, not anywhere else. We find out you do, you’re on your ass and you’ll never train here again.”
Jack’s stunned eyes come up, and looking from face to face, the guys each nod their heads in solidarity. With a pout, he snags a soda instead and sits down heavily.
Why does he do this? He’s good, well behaved, saves me pizza, then he reaches for alcohol. Why does he sabotage us when things are going well? Why does he insist on making shitty choices that hurt me?
I want to smack him for being careless. I want to cry at what feels like a never-ending road of hopelessness stretching out ahead of me. I have years left of keeping alcohol out of his hands. I want to smack him for not being better, and I want to smack my dad for dying in the first place.
“Hey,” Bobby whispers in my ear. Tears burn the backs of my eyes when I jump at his whispered word. “It’s cool. Relax.” He runs his hand along my shoulder until he cups the back of my stiff neck. “Jack won’t get into trouble when he’s with any of us, I promise. We’ve got your back, so just sit back and relax.” He holds his drink between us in expectation. Taking a deep breath, I tap my bottle to his. “Cheers.”
Our group sprawls all over canvas for the next while and we watch the fight. The two younger guys move toward each other as they laugh and joke and goof off. Having bounced back from his reprimand, Jack laughingly tells us how he’d beat Hernandez’s opposition – how he’d do it better than Hernandez himself.
Aiden watches the fight closely. His muscles bunch and release, his fists clench and relax each time the fighters on screen strike out. I get the feeling he’s taking notes for what he’ll be working on tomorrow.
Jon and Casey huddle close together, their sides touching from shoulder to ankle as they recline; their eyes are on the screen, but they talk in whispers and smile a lot.
Everyone is utterly comfortable together – no awkward silences, no hosting, or pretenses. Just hanging out. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve felt this at peace, and it feels so much sweeter because Jack’s a part of it.
As time passes and food is eaten, I relax further into Bobby until eventually, he eases me into the apex of his thighs so my back rests against his broad chest and his chin buzzes along the side of my forehead.
His left hand rhythmically rubs circle patterns on my bent leg, and every few minutes, he’ll lower his face and nuzzle my ear or neck or hair.
I could die a content woman right now.
The minutes run both fast and slow at the same time. The fight lasts until the third minute in the third round, and though it was an even fight until then, Wheaton – the Irish opposition – lands a fast roundhouse kick and pops Hernandez on the chin. Hernandez’s head whips around painfully as he drops to the canvas, and Wheaton pounces, wrapping his arm around his neck until Hernandez’s hand slapping the floor echoes through a shocked arena.
Our group sit in stunned silence, except for the random ‘holy shit’ and one ‘no fucking way’ from Jack. Wheaton just made Hernandez his bitch, and now we have a new underdog ‘no way will Wheaton win’ champion.
Within minutes of Wheaton’s hand being raised in victory, our group disperse from the ring in excited chatters.
I don’t want to leave. I’m not done snuggling Bobby, but I can’t just stay here. No one was paying attention to us before. The fight kept everyone’s attention, but us sitting in the ring alone for an hour or two will raise eyebrows.
Jack climbs out of the ring behind Jimmy, and as I push up with a sigh, Bobby snags my hand and pulls me to a hard stop. “Stay,” he whispers roughly.
I look to the floor as Casey allows Jon to pull her to her feet. I can’t look into her eyes. I’m blushing like a fool, and I don’t even really get why. His whispers send tingles down my spine and have me smiling like a goofball.
Poor Aiden, the last left in the ring, looks between me and Bobby for a moment, then with surprised eyes, he jumps to his feet. “Right! My bad. Later, guys.” He jumps over the top of the ropes without missing a beat, and jogs toward Jimmy and Jack while I bite my lip in embarrassment.
