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“That’s fucked up.”
“It is. I beat one of them up.”
My mouth dropped. “Even more reason to keep your ass out of the news!”
“It never made the news, didn’t happen on the field.”
“Even so,” I countered. “Your reaction to me at the game made quite a splash already, so I’m sure you got a call from your PR team.”
He chuckled. “That shit wouldn’t even register. You remember I told you my sister likes to fight?”
“…Vaguely?”
“Well, she’s not the only one. It’s kind of a family trait.”
“Violence?”
“Helping people reap what they sowed,” he said.
“Uh-huh, so you’re known for fighting?” I asked. “If I google you, that’s what will come up?”
The smile that spread over his face said I was spot on, but he shook his head.
“I wouldn’t say I’m known for it, but… hell, I’m an offensive tackle.”
My eyes went wide. “Oh. The most violent position on the field…”
“Damn.”
“Is it not?!”
“It is, but still… damn.”
“Do they deserve it too?” I asked. “Those poor guys getting hit by… a refrigerator?”
“I’m the refrigerator?” he asked, damn near blushing about it, and I laughed.
“Yes, and I’m positive you’ve heard that before.”
“It’s my first time hearing you say it though,” he said. “And actually, yeah, they deserve that shit. It’s what they get for being on the opposing team. Their fault.”
“Wow,” I giggled. “I… suppose I see the logic.”
“Good. Now see the logic in me beating up Monty’s bitch ass. You want me to do it in front of the side piece?”
“Absolutely not,” I insisted, waving off the idea. “That situation is… I don’t know. Not worth the energy anymore.”
A conclusion I’d come to before, honestly.
But at the time, at those times, it’d felt different.
Back then, it was a very screaming, crying, throwing up kind of energy.
Now I just felt so exhausted.
And angry.
Having her out and about in my city, on today of all days…