Chapter Four
FAE BOYZ
Crossbody
“I want to fight Vince next week,” I declared the moment I swept into Holt’s office the next morning, not even bothering to knock.
When his head snapped up, I noticed the coloured pencils strewn over his desk and the thin book open to a page with the outline of a penis displayed. He’d been drawing what appeared to be balls of ice cream on top of it. And whipped cream topped with a cherry.
I barely managed to stop my eyes from rolling.
“El—” When I shot him a threatening glare, he hastily corrected himself. “Crossbody. A pleasure as always. Uh, what was that?”
As he hurriedly shoved the book and pencils into a drawer, I strode closer to the desk.
“I want to fight Vince next week,” I repeated, crossing my arms. “And I want to win.”
“Um, okay…” He frowned, reaching for his notebook and flipping to a page. “Any particular reason?”
I stiffened, grinding my teeth.
Because he fucked my throat last night and I hate how much I wanted it. Because he called me a cockslut, and a needy, pathetic hole, and came all over my face, and I fucking hate how much I loved it. I hate it. I hate him.
I managed a jerky shrug. “We haven’t been paired up in a while. The crowd loves seeing me sweep him off his ridiculous skates and slam him to the ground.”
“Well, the crowd really loves you against Carl,” he said doubtfully, referring to the vampire Blood Suckapunch—one of the few people I got along with. “And I was planning to put Vince against Heidi next week…”
“But you haven’t drawn up the matches yet, have you?” I raised a brow at him. “So just have them fight the week after. Me and Vince next week.”
Holt raised a brow at me in return as he leaned back in his seat and tapped his pen against the desk. Yet again, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes—his pen had a tuft of pink fluff at the end.
“You don’t call the shots, Spring Prince.”
I clenched my jaw. I despised not getting my own way.
Maybe when I retired from professional wrestling, I’d start my own league. Then I would answer to no one.
“I’m aware,” I said coolly. “But you know it would be entertaining.”
Holt’s brow arched again as he watched me with a knowing expression. “So this wouldn’t have anything to do with a little personal vendetta you may have against him.”
I managed to keep my face completely calm and blank. “Of course not.”
“Just ’cause I’ve heard from… anonymous sources”—which meant Taylor—“that things got pretty heated between you two during court yesterday.”
“Vince is unable to control his temper,” I said smoothly. “And Corey ruled that we aren’t to interact unless you decide to pair us up for a match.”
“So you want to be paired up with him?” Holt asked curiously. “From what I heard from the aforementioned anonymous sources, you can’t stand each other. Why do you want to be forced to interact with him?”
Because I want to beat him in something. Because I need to get back the control I lost to him last night.
I managed a stiff shrug. “Because it’s my job.”
“Yeah, but why do you specifically want to be paired up with him ?” Holt asked again, leaning forward in his seat as he eyed me with eager fascination.
I suspected his empyn senses were tingling, so I locked down my emotions and shot him a dry look.
“Because I’d like the chance to prove that I am perfectly capable of keeping my… personal feelings about Burke separate from my work,” I said smoothly.
Holt snorted. “Sure.”
I decided to go a different route, one that I knew he would respond to. “You know the crowd would eat it up. I could mock his”—I waved a hand—“entire ridiculous persona before the fight. The audience loves my brand of smack-talk.”
I am ravenous to rip him apart. Tear him to shreds with some cutting words. I’ll knock him down a peg or two.
Holt snorted. “Keeping those personal feelings really separate, huh?”
“He’s a roller-skating disco ghoul,” I said flatly. “Of course his wrestling persona is ridiculous. That’s an objective fact.”
Holt pouted. “I like roller skating. I mean, I like watching it. And I love disco. You don’t like disco?”
“I can’t say I’m all that familiar with it,” I told him politely, then tried to get him back on track. “So, next week. Me and Vince. And I win. Yes?”
“Hold on, I haven’t agreed to it yet.” Holt frowned. “It doesn’t seem like a great idea to pair you up so soon after court. Tayl—my anonymous source told me things got pretty vicious yesterday.”
“This would be an excellent way for us to… work through our differences. We’re both capable of remaining professional.” I felt a little sick saying something even mildly positive about Vince. “Which means we will work together. It could help.”
Not that I had any fucking interest in building any kind of relationship with Vince.
“Mmm, I guess…” Holt still didn’t sound convinced. “Or the match could be a total shitshow.”
My nostrils flared, spine snapping straight. “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t allow it.”
“On the other hand, all that animosity could make it electrifying…”
I suppressed my satisfied smile, feeling more in control for the first time since yesterday. I could get people to do whatever I wanted with the right tone and words. It was one of the first things Mother had made sure we were taught as boys.
Plus, I was fae. We were calculating by nature.
“We could even make it a running feud.” My lips wanted to curve into a vicious smile. “Create a storyline around it.”
And it would let me tear him to shreds on a regular basis. In a place where I couldn’t get… distracted.
“Hmm.” Holt cocked his head, doodling a swirly T in the corner of the notebook page. “We haven’t had a new feud storyline in a while…”
“Vince and I haven’t had one before, so it’ll be something new.” I tossed my hair back as I waited for Holt to realise how good my idea was.
He pursed his lips in thought, then cocked a brow at me. “Your voice sounds a little hoarse. Is your throat sore? If you’re getting sick, you have to—”
“I’m not.” Only years of practising how to remain calm and composed in front of an audience stopped the heat flooding my face. “I’m fine. Perfectly healthy.”
“Okay, but if you start feeling sick, you have to go home. I can’t have you wiping out the whole team.”
“I don’t get sick.”
His brow quirked as he started doodling again. This time it was a little cock and balls. I finally let myself roll my eyes.
“So,” I said decisively. “Vince and I will fight next week. And I’ll win.” I made sure to reiterate that very carefully.
It was all scripted and rehearsed, but it would still feel good to beat him. Satisfying.
It would give me back some power.
“I’ll think about it. I’m not that easy to manipulate, Crossbody.”
“I would never try to manipulate you, Holt,” I said with an ingratiating smile, which made him snort.
“Sure.” He drew a loveheart around the penis he’d doodled, then tapped his pen against his lips as he sat back and gazed at me thoughtfully. “I might be inclined to think about it even more if you tell me why you want to fight Vince. If not for personal reasons.”
Because I sucked his cock last night and I have no fucking idea why and I don’t know what to do about it.
I was not going to be the subject of even more gossip. Especially not this particular titbit.
No one could ever, ever find out what had happened.
A sudden realisation made my insides clench with fear. What if Vince had already told some of the others? Dan or Heidi or Gabe?
What if he’d told all of them?
What if he’d sauntered into work and announced, ‘Crossbody is a desperate cockslut who sucked my dick in the middle of the backstage area last night. I fucked his throat and came all over his face. He loved it. He couldn’t get enough. He’s pathetic.’
To my utter mortification, my cock twitched. I locked down my emotions even tighter, because Holt was watching me with fascination, and lifted my chin.
“I’ve already told you.” My voice was even hoarser now. “To prove that I won’t let personal feelings affect my performance, and to give Vince”—the name dropped venomously from my lips—“and I the chance to work through our disagreement in a professional capacity.”
“How very noble of you,” Holt said dryly. “Well, like I said, I’ll consider it.”
I gritted my teeth and dipped my head in a minuscule nod. “Fine.”
“Actually, while I have you,” he said brightly, reaching for his desk drawer. “Beef Teef’s sponsorship of Goliaths Online is going so well that a few other brands have reached out. One of them specifically asked for you to be the face of theirs.”
I paused, my interest piqued. “Oh?”
“It could be big for us. They sent over a sample of what they have in mind…” He pulled something out of his drawer and held it up with a winning smile.
I stared in disbelief at the sparkly purple jockstrap in his hands. Printed along the waistband was the brand name— FAE BOYZ .
“Absolutely not.”
Holt pouted. “But it’s a fae-owned brand! Don’t you want to, I dunno, give back to your people or whatever?”
“The fae who live here are not ‘my people,’” I reminded him.
“You know what I mean.” He stretched the waistband and gave me an encouraging look. “They’re nice and stretchy. Comfortable. Lots of ball room.”
I didn’t want to know how he knew that.
“No, Holt.”
“But they even want you to do a modelling shoot with them. A promotional campaign. It’d be more like a collab deal than an endorsement. They said it’d be a range styled in the colours of your wings and stuff.” He peered at me eagerly over the jockstrap. “Have you ever considered modelling? You’d be great at it.”
I resisted the urge to toss my hair back over my shoulder and preen a little. I would be great at modelling. I knew how to pose to look my best at all times. I took excellent care of my appearance. I was stunningly beautiful. I’d been told that enough times.
But still. Sparkly jockstraps.
If my mother found out…
“No.” I shook my head. “One of the others can do it. Just because it’s a fae-owned brand doesn’t mean a fae needs to be the face of it. Get Dan or someone. Or Gabe.”
“If you want me to consider your match against Vince…” Holt trailed off leadingly, still giving me a big, toothy smile.
I clenched my jaw, gaze darting back to the jockstrap he was holding up like a prize.
Was my burning desire to get one over on Vince enough to make me do this?
“ Maybe choking on my dick will take you down a peg or two. ”
“ Maybe if I fucked your slut throat, you’d stop walking around like you fucking own the place. ”
“ Say please, your highness. ”
“ Say you’re a needy little cockslut. ”
“ Say, ‘Please give me your cock, Vince. I need it.’ ”
“Fine,” I gritted out, clenching my fists as heat throbbed in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll consider it.”
“Wonderful!” Holt said brightly, finally putting down the godsdamned jockstrap. “I’ll let them know you’re interested and they can send you some of their product. They do briefs too. And thongs! Maybe you could start wearing them in the ring.”
“I’m not wearing a fucking thong to wrestle,” I snapped.
“It doesn’t have to be the thong, but the brand would love it. And the audience. So maybe think about it. While I think about the match line-up for next week.”
“Fine,” I ground out again, turning to leave before he could coerce me into anything else.
Had I really just agreed to be the face of a brand called FAE BOYZ that made sparkly purple jockstraps?
My mother would kill me if she found out.
Or, gods forbid, saw the pictures.