Page 147 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Just jump in the ring, smile for the cameras, and play nice. No funny business,” the agent cautioned.
“When in the bloody hell have I ever done anything remotely close to funny blooming business? There’s nothing funny about me,” Raz tossed back, going into beast mode.
“There was the incident with the devices,” Briggs answered, waving her way as he stammered between convulsions.
Raz shrugged. “Right, that.”
“Be the benevolent lion. This is good PR. Silas Scott’s been—” The agent burped, stifling his statement.
“Been what?” Raz growled.
“Just mouthing off. It’s not your concern. Your job is to train. I’ll take care of the PR circus. That is, after I…”
“Get rid of three plates of bull testicles?” Mitch asked with a wry grin.
“Something like that,” the agent sputtered. Doubled over, the man staggered through the crowd.
“Will he be all right?” Raz asked as the group watched the sports agent disappear.
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Rocky Mountain oysters are delicious. I wouldn’t hoover three plates of them. It’s probably the shock of consuming mass quantities of bull testicles,” Mitch answered.
“Honey, you should probably stop sayingbull testiclesso loudly,” Charlotte cooed, patting Mitch’s cheek as the screech and blare of speakers coming to life reverberated through the square.
“Hello, folks! Welcome to our first Ass-in-Nine event happening here in Rickety Rock’s town square. I’m Bob Askew, and this is my sister Maud,” Wobbly Bob announced from the center of the ring, then handed the microphone to Maud.
“We’re excited for tonight’s event, Spar with the Beast. We’d like to thank the former heavyweight boxing champion and soon-to-be burro racer, Erasmus Cress, for agreeing to this charity event.”
The crowd erupted into cheers as Raz nodded to Maud and Bob.
“That’s my dad,” Sebastian called. He, Phoebe, and Oscar had positioned themselves up high on one of the carts holding the donkeys’ hay. Double fisting hot dogs, the trio had a terrific view of the ring.
“And before we bring up Erasmus,” Maud continued. “I’d like to introduce the individual who donated twenty-thousand dollars to Rickety Rock Donkey Rescue.”
A young man emerged from the crowd with blond hair. The guy sported a T-shirt and a stylishly bro-tastic wannabe GQ haircut she recognized. He slipped through the ropes and climbed into the ring.
A chill spider-crawled down Libby’s spine.
It couldn’t be.
The man turned, the lights hit his face, and Libby gasped.
It was him.
“What is it, plum?” Raz asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Her jaw dropped, and disbelief coursed through her veins. “It’s him, Raz. It’s—”
“Meet our winner, Derrick Dawson,” Maud announced, cutting her off. The four syllables of the man’s name rang out like water hitting hot coals.
Libby stood there, speechless.
“Tonight, Derrick,” Maud continued, “you’ll spar with the beast.”
Twenty-Two
Libby
