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Only mine’s not from Mexican food. It’s from disgust.
What the fuck did she just say? I give Madison a blank stare, but she’s staring at the coach. Did she not just watch the same game I did? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the kids seemed to enjoy themselves, but I think they had more fun kicking each other than the ball.
Madison and coach continue to talk about the game, and I’m just standing like some loser sidekick holding a pink cooler full of whatever snack Madison deemed appropriate. Why isn’t she introducing me? Does she not think it’s important for Mr. Super Soccer Coach to know her incredibly handsome and physically fit husband is right behind her? I have half a mind to drop the cooler on his foot.
He’s about my height, wearing shorts and a jersey that match the kids, fairly lean and looks to be about ten years older than me with his blondish-brown hair graying at his temples and the wrinkles around his eyes when he smiles at my wife.
Clearing my throat to bring the attention to myself, I drop the cooler, near his foot but not on it, and take a few steps forward to approach this asshole. Yes, asshole, and before you judge me for judging him before I’ve even spoken to him, let me remind you this man has been staring at my wife’s tits and ass since I got here. I think I’ve earned the right to call him an asshole. The alternative would be me kicking his sorry ass in front of everyone. Believe me, it’s crossed my mind already.
I’m not a complete asshole all the time. Watch. I’ll show you just how nice I can be.
I reach out my hand to shake his and introduce myself. “Hey, I’m Ridley, you must be Callan’s coach.”
It takes a good amount of strength for him to do this, but he moves his eyes from my wife’s tits and turns to face me. His eyes tell me to fuck off, but his fake smile attempts to be welcoming. “Ah, yeah, I’m Kip. Ridley, you say?” He shakes my hand and then buries his hands in the pockets of his shorts and smiles at Callan who’s standing next to me now, watching our interaction closely. “Are you Callan’s uncle?”
Ha. That’s funny. Look at him trying to offend me. He knows I’m not Callan’s fucking uncle. What a piece of shit. I should pull my son from the team right now. “No, actually I’m Callan’sdad, you know Madison’s husband?”
That’s right asshole, I’m the husband.
I smile at my wife and wrap my arm around her, bringing her to my side. I point to Noah who’s wearing Callan’s shin guards on his forearms now. “He’s mine too.”
There’s a brief moment when he glances at Madison, and then me. Do you see the way his eyes widen as he gives me a quick once-over? He’sjudgingme. He’s accessing whether I’m a threat to him and he honestly has no clue how miserable I could make his life if he touched my wife.
“Oh, sorry.”Oh, bullshit. You’re not sorry. “It’s just… Madison and Callan haven’t talked much about you… and when they did, I didn’t get the impression you had time for things like your kids soccer game. Didn’t mean to offend you, man.” He motions to Callan and Madison with a flick of his wrist.
Bullshit he didn’t mean to offend me. Look at him. He totally fucking meant it.
I squeeze Madison’s shoulder with my hand, the hurt one. Burns like a son of a bitch, but I want her to know how bad that comment hurts.
This guy isn’t messing around, is he? First punch and it’s an uppercut straight to my jaw. Figuratively. No way in hell would he actually get a physical hit on me I can tell you that right now.
Can’t really blame him. He had the opening and he took it. I shoot a look to Madison, whose face looks a bit flushed. She looks away quickly and at least has the decency to look embarrassed. This one is on her. If this guy is telling the truth, my own wife and son don’t even feel the need to mention me other than my lack of involvement in the family. Not gonna lie, it stings. What sucks dick is this guy knows she’s unhappy.
“I’m sorry but what did you say your name was? Kit?”
Kit Kat narrows his eyes at me and straightens his shoulders to stand a little taller.
You can try and stand tall all day, asshole, I’ll still be taller and her husband.
He smiles at me as if to say touché. “Kip. I said my name isKip.” He pronounces the p as if I’m illiterate or something.
“Oh, Kip.” I pop the P at the end of his name with a laugh. “Okay well, I guess that’s okay too. Kit sounds cooler. I’d totally congratulate your parents taste in eighties TV shows.”
Madison rolls her eyes and whispers, “Knock it off, Ridley,” in my ear.
Kip blinks slowly. Of course he doesn’t understand. “What do you mean? What does my name have to do with eighties TV shows?”
Is this guy serious? “Seriously?” I laugh, my arm dropping from around Madison’s shoulder to protect my rib cage. I know after what I’m about to say, she’s going to elbow me in the ribs. “Kit?Knight Rider? David Hasselhoff? Any of that ring a bell for ya?”
Nothing? You could hear grasshoppers mating with the silence I’m getting from this twat wad. Sure enough, Madison elbows me. In the ribs.
I clear my throat and step away from her about a foot. “Kit was the name of the car in the showKnight Riderstarring David Hasselhoff. Don’t tell me you don’t know who The Hoff is?”
Still nothing. Honestly, I just feel bad for the guy. Who doesn’t know aboutKnight Rider? Either way, Kip or Kit, asshole name, asshole guy. That’s my assessment and you usually only get one with me.
First impressions are lasting impressions.
As if he’s dismissing me, Kip turns back to Madison and resumes their conversation like I’m not even here. “So are you and the boys still up for pizza for lunch?”