Unsurprisingly, that resulted in him flipping me the bird before turning to look at the signs. With a snort, I walked pasthim, trusting him to follow, even if it was just to be able to glare at the back of my head. Even in the hallways, the sounds were muted, not enough to be unnerving, but creating a silence that was unusual for the two of us to share. I led him into the room with the ring at its center. There were bags, both stationary and hanging, that people could use if they didn't want to duke it out in the ring, but the main attraction was, of course, the ring.
He grunted upon seeing it. “No one to keep an eye on us?"
"Nope, not even cameras. They like to give people the idea of privacy."
"Sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen."
"And that is what the special little papers you signed before being let in as my guest were for. Do try not to break anything, including yourself, because I'm responsible."
He eyed me. “Really?"
"Really," I said, walking over to the storage unit in the corner to pull out gloves, letting him take his pick. "They're expensive, but they know how to make sure no one gets in here drunk and does stupid shit. Or at least, they do to a point, but they make sure that anything damaged gets back to them quickly."
"Huh," he said, finding a pair and making his way toward the ring and climbing over the rope. "Bet that costs a pretty penny."
"It does," I said with a snort, following him into the ring. "But you get what you pay for, so I'm pretty happy."
"You never were afraid of showing off," he said with a roll of his eyes as he craned his neck from one side to the other, rolling his shoulders as he went.
"What? Should I be humble?"
"Can you be humble?"
"I can fake it, which doesn't count."
"No. It doesn't."
"Exactly, so what's the point?"
He sighed, and I watched his shoulders tense for a moment before his fist pistoned toward me. I was ready, not surprised to find that for all the platitudes about being honorable when we were younger, he was still willing to take a cheap shot at me. Sadly for him, though, I remembered how nasty and cheap he could be under all those honorable attempts when he thought it might get him a leg up.
"Wow," I grunted when his first blow and his follow-up hit my gloves and the side of my arm rather than their intended target. "You still going for the cheap shots when you think you've got the chance? Hope you aren't like that on the job."
He sneered, going for my side, and I weaved, pushing him back with a few jabs of my own that weren't meant to get me anything other than some space from his aggression. "And are you really trying to get me pissed off this early?"
"You always fight worse when you're pissed."
"It's not working. I'm a good cop."
"Funny, Kayden made it sound like you got yourself into some hot water recently...again."
His next swing went wild at the mention, and I smirked as I brought the glove up to his middle. He still had enough sense to tighten his gut against the blow, but it was the first direct hit either of us had managed during our bobbing and weaving. It didn't matter if it was petty or not, the fact that I got the first blow in after getting under his skin when he acted like I wouldn't be able to was a delicious victory, even if it was a couple of battles rather than the whole fight.
"He didn't tell you shit, not something like that," he said, going for another hit.
I redirected and pushed him back, jarring his elbow with one blow. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."
"He didn't."
"Yet I know somehow."
"Isn't hard to find out shit if you want to, and you were always good with people. Always had people tell you shit."
"True, but I don't live down here anymore. Just who am I going to pump for information?"
"Who the fuck knows with you?"
I snorted. “You have a lot more confidence in me than most people. Maybe under all that bitching and moaning, you actually like me."
