10. Chapter 7
Chance
I fist-bumped the last person in the line and began to walk off the mat when a wet, slimy body pressed itself up against me.
“JJ. You’re a real pal for letting me stay at your house and for ensuring I don’t starve to death or freeze out on the streets.” I sighed. “But for the love of god, will you get your sweaty ass the fuck off of my back?”
“Shh!” he snapped. “The lioness is still out of her cage.”
I followed his line of sight, straight over to … Mari.
She was grumbling to herself as she packed her bag.
Sweat glistened on her skin, outlining each and every line of the spectacular muscle map of a back she carried.
I wasn’t surprised she was in a foul mood or absolutely soaking after the brutal rounds of bag work, followed by intense sparring where I strategically placed her against quick and agile partners.
It was enough of a punishment to leave a mark.
A string of curses sounded from that mouth, and she quickly scurried off into the office, leaving her phone behind and slamming the door shut.
“Don’t even think about touching that,” JJ said, letting a dramatic breath loose. “With what just happened in there, you’ll lose a hand if you go near her or her toys.”
“Toys?”
“Yeah, the big cats like to play. Some in captivity will play with toys.”
“Since when did you become David Attenborough?” I filtered through my bag, placing a hand on the book. A small sigh of relief escaped me. It did every time I confirmed it was still in my possession.
“The only non-fictional animal I could ever describe Mari is as a lioness. Anyone who calls her anything else is just wrong.” He shrugged, pulling a fresh shirt from his bag. I cringed.
Dear god, that bag needs a wash.
“Non-fictional? What about fictional?”
“A fire-breathing, gigantic, human-eating dragon,” he answered swiftly, digging around for more clothes in his duffle.
“Graphic. Point made,” I replied.
“Come on, Chancey boy. Come hose me down.” He winked and strutted off towards the open showers.
~
It was midmorning by the time JJ and I had washed off the class and headed out for breakfast. Quickly, might I add, as JJ was ‘worried about staying too long in the lioness’s den’.
“Class was good this morning, man,” JJ said, making a left turn down a quiet street with well-maintained gardens lining either side. “Push-ups and all.”
“It’s kind of weird how much you like doing push-ups.” I returned the smile a local old man gave me with a curt nod.
“There’s no way I’m gonna let something as trivial as push-ups make me their bitch.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“This is coming from the guy who cried when Monica proposed to Chandler on Friends .”
He stared right back, his face utterly blank. “What’s your point?”
“You let a TV show make you its bitch but—” I cut myself off. “You know what? Never mind.”
We continued walking and talking shit for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably around twenty minutes.
The walk was flat and lined with old but well-kept houses.
Most were made of bricks; most were surrounded by various greenery and flowers.
Some had older women, who very clearly took pride in their yards, out the front with wide-brimmed hats on while they watered and trimmed their plants.
Many of them gave JJ cheerful ‘hellos’, to which he responded to with flirtatious remarks.
“You’re like a celebrity around here.” I was already starting to sweat from the walk in the sun to wherever JJ was taking me for brekky.
“Jealous? Don’t be, Chancey boy. I’ll take you out on the town, give you a few good sightings.”
“Yeah, because that’s what I want. More attention on me.” I rolled my eyes. “So, are we going to eat in the next 24 hours?”
“Of course we are. We’re going to breakfast,” JJ replied with an innocent shrug of his wide shoulders.
“Where the fuck are you taking me?”
“Relax, hangry. The Rustic Roo is just up here.”
“Sorry, what? Where are you taking me?”
“The Rustic Roo. They do a bangin’ eggs benny, bro. You’ve gotta try it.”
~
The Rustic Roo, or ‘The Rusty’ as locals apparently called it, was bumping—well as much as a small-town cafe could when we arrived.
Just over a dozen people sat at the outdoor seating.
Most were dolled-up retirees who spared JJ and I a fair few glances as we approached.
The outdoor metal seats were old and ‘rustic’ as the name would have it, but each had a thick cushion with a wildly bright pattern on it.
The tables were well looked after and appeared to be custom made, seeing as each one was different.
A slice of a tree trunk had been treated, stained, and attached to a matte black stand.
A few chipped windchimes softly whistled as we neared, and the smell of bacon wafted out like that of a pie on a windowsill in a cartoon.
My mouth instantly watered.
“Hi, JJ!” an older bird chirped at JJ, waving her ring-clad hand that jingled all of the bangles on her wrist.
“G’day, Hilly. How you goin’?” JJ lathered it on thick, waving back and sending a wink her way.
The old lady blushed and giggled before waving a hand in dismissal.
Several other older women and even a couple of their husbands said their hellos to JJ, who gracefully moved through the small cafe with waves and nods—asking questions here, checking in on people’s relatives and pets there.
“You should start charging for your affections,” I joked to him as he led us up to the counter made of metal roofing sheets and a narrow strip of timber.
“My affections are invaluable,” he cooed. “You’ll be famous around here before you know it—known as ‘ JJ’s single friend ’.”
I caught the sneaky eye he sent me when referring to my relationship status. I ignored it, letting that say everything that need to be said.
“I’m already known as something that’s not ‘your single friend’ ,” I stated, reminding him of my status in the UFL.
“Not here you’re not. Most of these people don’t watch anything on TV other than the news and Jeopardy , and that’s because they’re both on the same channel.”
I glanced at the people around us—the crowd was full of hearing aids, canes, walkers, glasses and receding hairlines. Not a single person here, outside the two of us, looked like they would even know, nor care, about what the UFL was.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” An occa accent came from the round, tall lady that waddled up to the other side of the counter. As if on cue, a ginger cat leapt up in front of us, tail swaying in what seemed to be annoyance.
“Mornin’, Nancy,” JJ hummed before leaning over the counter and dropping a kiss on the woman’s puffy cheek.
She rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked up into the smallest of smiles.
“Where’s Patty?”
“Patricia’s out back cookin’ today, since we got a full house.” She threw a thumb behind her at the open kitchen window. A thick gold wedding band sat on her ring finger, along with similar ink to Mari’s. “Who you brought with you?”
“This is Chance. He’s a bit of an angry bastard when he’s hungry so I’d save the pleasantries until after he’s eaten.”
I smacked him upside the head.
“Dick,” I muttered.
“Ow! Point proven,” he whined.
Nancy smirked at me and shot me a subtle thumbs up before wiping her hands on her already-dirty-probably-never-clean white apron.
“What can I get for youse?”
“A coffee. Black. In your biggest cup, preferably bucket-sized,” I ordered.
“Ugh, even your coffee order is soulless. I’ll have my usual, Nancy,” JJ said.
“What you gonna eat?” she asked me, lifting a dark brow at me. Her dark cocoa skin was glimmering with sweat. I thought about the collective seventeen dollars I had until Knock’s started paying me on Friday.
“Nothin’. Just the coffee.”
“Pfft. He’ll have the same as me,” JJ told her and handed over a crisp fifty-dollar bill.
The register dinged and the cash drawer popped.
Nancy handed JJ back his change, which he dropped straight into the cracked plastic jar that had a piece of masking tape with ‘TIPS’ written on it.
The older woman’s face softened as she shot my friend an appreciative look.
“You really didn’t have to, man,” I said lowly, a twang of shame following. JJ had known I couldn’t afford to buy a fucking breakfast—not with every damn cent I had tucked away in an account no one could get to. Not me, or anyone .
Idiot. Should have fought to take more.
“You’re the one who left the big town life to move out to little ole’ Soggla. Least I can do is buy you a decent brekky.” He shrugged, though he didn’t meet my eyes.
“I’ll get you back for it,” I promised.
JJ was about to respond when two young girls, no older than thirteen, approached the table.
“H-hi, JJ,” the shorter one with the long blonde braids stammered. The taller one, a gangly brunette with a grown-out buzzed haircut, waved shyly and fiddled with her glasses.
“Hi girls,” JJ greeted, flashing an award-winning smile at the very clearly swooning girls.
“W-we just wanted to say hi a-and invite you to the next show we’re putting on.
” The blonde girl’s face flushed pink under her freckles.
“We’ve already reserved you two front row seats b-but no pressure if you can’t make it!
We know how busy you are and there will be another three shows this year so—”
“I’ll be there,” JJ interrupted softly, taking the flyer from the taller girl’s hands and placing it under his phone and wallet to stop it from flying away.
“O-okay, great! We’ll see you there! T-thanks again!” She grinned a smile full of purple and pink braces and tugged her star-struck friend away to the next table.
“What was that all about?” I asked when they were far enough from earshot. The flyer under JJ’s belongings was bright orange with bold black writing on it and lots of exclamation marks. Punctuation aside, the aesthetic reminded me of Knock’s.
“Just local celebrity things.” JJ waved a hand. “Maybe I should start wearing a disguise. How do you think I’d look in a fake moustache?”
“You do realise you’re a man and you have the ability to grow a real moustache?”
“Pfft, rookie. Everyone will know it’s me then,” he replied.
“Not gonna lie to you, mate, but you don’t exactly travel incognito.” I gestured to the people around us, who were taking up significantly less space in their chairs than JJ and I were. Then I waved a hand up and down his right arm sleeve tattoo.
“Long black in a tub.” Nancy appeared at my side, holding the biggest cup of coffee I’d ever seen with a foamy, precise layer of crema on top. I immediately took a sip, ignoring the burn from the temperature, and almost moaned in relief. Real, non-instant coffee, made by a competent barista.
Coffee snob.
“And your iced chocolate coffee.” She plunked down what could only be described as an oversized chocolate sundae.
“Christ, JJ,” I chastised.
“What?” he asked innocently, slurping on the diabetes-in-a-glass. “I trained this morning.”
“Yeah, for an hour. Not a month .”
He shrugged and used the long spoon to start breaking off pieces of the almost raw brownie surrounded by whipped cream.
“Don’t be jealous that I don’t have to cut weight for my fights.” He slurped obnoxiously at a spot in the glass where the liquid hadn’t quite replenished.
“Just because you don’t have to doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ,” I replied, taking a deep gulp of what could only be described as sex in a mug.
We sat, guzzling away at our drinks and spitting shit, when Nancy dropped a bomb in front of the both of us.
A literal bomb. I don’t think I’d ever seen an eggs benedict so loaded up.
My mouth watered at the half a dozen eggs on my plate stacked on top of what appeared to be thick as fuck potato rosti and crispy bacon.
A profuse amount of creamy hollandaise sauce was drowning everything underneath it, but it had parsley and chives floating on the top, making the dish look somewhat healthy with the pop of green.
“Enjoy,” Nancy said over a shoulder before waddling away, crocs squeaking underneath her. The woman smelled of cigarettes, coffee, and bacon. I’m assuming at least one of those was stashed in her apron.
There was absolutely no time for talking as JJ and I dug in to the masterpieces we’d been served. Reality TV had nothing on this amazing race. The flavours, textures—everything was incredible. If my coffee was sex in a mug, this was an orgasm on a plate.