Page 102 of Wilde's End
“I’m tougher than I look.”
I slowly stand, looking down slightly to meet his eyes. There’s no hesitation there, and who am I to tell him what he can and can’t do? I just have one question. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t want you to lose two months in a row, would we?”
The answer shocks me. I’d been expecting something stupid like finally getting the chance to sock me in the face, but he fully expects to lose. For me. I shake that thought from my mind. “Guess we better find you a post.”
Booker is only too eager to organize one for him, and while I wait on my side of the arena, Foley leaves his seat to settle by my shoulder.
“This is interesting.”
Unlike Hudson, I know that if I ignore Foley, he’ll get bored and leave.
“Must be hard to know you’re not as good as you once were. Though taking to matches with rookies is a little extreme, isn’t it?”
The obvious antagonism isn’t going to get to me.
Booker approaches, a post held up in question. His gaze flicks to Foley, and I hear the man beside me exhale sharply.
“Booker,” Foley says slowly. “Guess I won’t be coming to see you tonight. That rogue has taken my fun away.”
The cold look Booker levels him with should be studied. “Oh no. Damn. I’m so sad.”
Foley approaches him, towering over Booker as he pinches his chin between his fingers and forces Booker’s attention to him. “I was prepared to get good and bloody for you.”
“And even that wouldn’t interest me.” He turns his back to Foley and addresses me. “How’s this?”
It’s not too heavy and has a good reach on it. “It’ll do. He might actually get a hit in with that.”
“We can only hope,” Booker says angelically.
He leaves to take the post to Hudson, and I glance over at Foley, who’s watching Booker with hunger in his eyes. He’s never hidden his attraction for Booker, but from what I can tell, Booker doesn’t return it. I’m not surprised. The man is tall and heavily muscular, so I can understand why Hudson finds him attractive, but his face only makes me want to punch him in it.
“Move.”
Foley’s bright blue eyes lock on mine for a second before he turns and walks back to where he came from.
The swell of bodies in here has me stripping off my tank top, sweat already prickling at my skin. The gloves stop my palms from slipping against my post, but I prefer fingerless ones to grip better. Each of my fingers is wrapped with tape to stop friction burns, but Hudson doesn’t have any of that. He’s completely unprepared, has no idea what he’s getting into, but when I look across the area at where he’s following along with whatever Booker is saying, there isn’t a hint of nerves about him.
He passes the post from one hand to the other, testing the weight, before he looks over and shoots me a grin.
That fucker.
Booker moves away, the cheers fill the stifling room, and I block all of it out.
Hudson lifts a hand in a wave to the people around us, and then the buzzer goes off.
He hurtles forward, springing up onto the first platform with ease, and I move a second later.
It’s enough to give him a head start, but there’s no way I can let him block me from getting up there, otherwise I’ll be disqualified before we even get started.
I’m not letting Hudson win this by default.
I’m on the second platform by the time I take my first swing at him. The end of my post skims his stomach as he jumps backward and then takes off to the next podium. He’s like a mouse on the run. Skittish and unprepared, easily backed into the corner.
But Hudson looks like he’s having the time of his life.
I refuse to take it easy, but when he takes a sudden lunge to the left, he gets a sneak shot in on my calf. The fact that he could have easily hit my thigh and didn’t makes it more obvious with every passing second why he was the one to challenge me.
