Chapter 11
Kas
“Yeah, I think it’d be more beneficial to do short-form videos like training clips and mini vlogs because the algorithm pushes that more than static images,” Mari explains to Davina outside of the ring.
She’s been feeding strategies into Davina’s ear all damn day. I have to admit, her silence after Davina mentioned the costs we have to cover was unsettling. So unsettling that I offered to pay the remaining cost of the trip. It was easy to put two and two together regarding Mari’s financial situation when I mentally revisited the conversation I had with Violet the morning after my fight.
If Mari’s still living with her ex, she probably doesn’t have the money to move out or money for the trip. I might not be too keen on her living with me and Devon, but I’m not going to put her in a position to fund a trip she: (a) can’t afford and (b) couldn’t prepare for because I failed to mention it in the email.
Davina sips at her smoothie, nodding over the phone Mari holds in front of her. “Yeah, okay, that makes sense. So you’re saying one post a day?” she says around her straw.
Mari twirls a braid between her fingers. “Exactly.”
Davina sticks her head between the barrier of the ring. “Does that sound good, Kas?”
“Yep,” I pant, my answer barely audible over the insanely loud music as I grapple Dash and throw him down to the mat for a second time.
He makes an “oof” noise and chuckles to himself.
Bill claps loudly. “Good. Remember, we’ve seen the footage, Ward’s left side is weak .” Bill hikes up his old sweats to reveal varicose veins and stands sideways with his feet parted. “I’m thinking feint, L-step to his weak side if you can.”
“Or we can make a solid assumption that Ward will start raining punches,” Dash says, rambling on about some combination he’s developed as he stands up. “Y’know, Kas could be in the running for the best technical striker the SFL has ever seen,” he explains to Bill who is nodding his head mindlessly.
“Sure, fine,” I say firmly. Each word uttered raises the temperature within me and I can feel my blood beginning to reach boiling point.
Davina pokes her head back into the ring. “Kas, how do you feel about bulk recording a bunch of content? It might be easier for you.”
“We could actually record on the same day with outfit changes,” Mari adds.
Her voice is an unexpected comfort that pries its way between the layered noise of clanking weights, Davina’s vocal brainstorming, and Dash’s shitty outdated dubstep blaring through the surround sound.
“I need a break,” I grit out, lifting Dash a few inches from the mat and slamming him down.
“Fuck—what?” he chokes out.
I’m already stepping out of the ring before he can get up.
“Kacper! Where the hell are you going?” Bill shouts as I pass Mari and Davina to head to some chairs lining the wall of the gym.
“I said I need a fucking break!” I shout over my shoulder.
The bass must’ve been too much for a nearby speaker because it pops, cutting the music abruptly in one half of the gym. This is how loud and busy it’s been over the past few days. I’m already sick of this fight, and we haven’t stepped foot in Vegas yet.
With a few disapproving headshakes and muttered words about my dramatics, everyone but Mari scatters from the vicinity of the ring. She stays rooted at its side, hesitantly watching me settle into a chair.
“You good?” I ask when she doesn’t make a move.
She shakes her head and smiles coolly. “Hey, yep, all good. Are you?”
Mari’s tennis skirt sways as she restlessly skims the toe of her chunky, black boot in an arc on the ground.
“Overstimulated,” I reply, trailing my eye up the intricate lacing of her boot all the way to her mid-calf.
She stops dragging her foot and steps toward me as she places her braids up into a bun, tying them with a thick hair band that’s been adorning her wrist since this morning. “You’re going to hate what I’m about to say.”
“Go on,” I press.
She does a self-soothing rub at the base of her slender neck and then swallows before talking. “We’ll be working closer together when we arrive in Vegas.” Obviously. “And I know I’m your social media manager, but I’m going to need you to self-record occasionally.”
Self-record? What the fuck does that mean?
Mari settles herself on a chair next to me. She smells really good, something woody and flowery. Gardenia, maybe.
She navigates to the social media profile of Anthony Bell, the main event fighter on the night I’m fighting. The post she selects is of him doing some sort of vlog.
“No,” I say. “Absolutely-fucking-not.”
Mari’s mouth drops open at my refusal. “Excuse me?”
“You want me to sit and talk to my phone?”
She grits her teeth and tilts her head. “Yes, but also no.” I stare at her and shake my head to encourage her to continue because I have no idea what she’s talking about. “You’re not just talking, you’re being raw with your fans so that they will want to support you.”
“Can’t you just do it for me? I’m paying you to handle it.”
Mari rolls her eyes. “No, it doesn’t work like that. I also don’t think I can pass off as you because, for one, we look nothing alike.” She gestures to herself by sweeping her hand down her body. “I don’t know if you have noticed, but I’m a black woman and you’re a white man.”
“Didn’t notice,” I say, matching her sarcasm. Instead of answering, she rolls her eyes again and leans away from me. “Introduce yourself as my social manager and be the face of my account.”
Mari looks at me incredulously and blinks several times at my solution. “Oh, of course!” She flings her arms dramatically. “Kacper Paj?k’s fans can’t wait to direct themselves to the social media page of a fighter they want to support, only to find a random woman on all of his posts. Do you hear yourself?”
I have to look away from her to stop myself from showing any amusement. How can somebody so dissimilar to me, mocking my ideas, make me feel like I’m on the edge of laughter?
“I wouldn’t be complaining if I saw you on my social media,” I say. My eyes latch onto Mari’s and based on her little squint, she’s trying not to be the first to break contact.
She points at me with a neatly painted nail. “Don’t try to sweeten me up.”
“You’re already sweet—”
“Drop it.”
“—enough,” I finish. I flash her a playful close-lipped smile and she sighs.
“Your idea sucks.”
Her brown eyes search my face, looking for anything that will indicate some sort of willingness to cooperate. When she finds nothing, she presses her lips together and stands.
“Okay, I see how it is,” she says quietly, looking over her shoulder to scout where the rest of the team are.
“How is it?” I press, reveling in her proximity.
“You hired me so that you can make my life difficult.” She props her hand onto her hip and my eyes find the dip of her waist just above it.
“I’m a difficult person, nothing to do with you.” It really has nothing to do with her. I know I’m difficult.
It’s the same sentiment Bill, Dash, Davina, and Devon have been voicing for years. My mom did her absolute best to keep me in line, but it was no match against my independence at an early age while she went to work. Being reprimanded went through one ear and out the other; doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted was sealed into my nature from a very early age.
Mari points at me again. “I don’t like difficult.”
“I don’t like social media,” I counter, pressing my hand atop hers to lower her accusing finger.
The subtle charges of flirtation have me entertaining this more than I’d like.
“That’s too damn bad,” she says, pulling away when the conversation fails to move forward. I pinch the soft hem of her skirt, grasping the closest part of her before she can slip away. She glances down at my hand and tuts. “And now you’re touching me inappropriately.” She’s failing to hide a smirk on her full lips.
I quickly unhand her. “Just ... fucking show me,” I say impatiently. Mari raises a neatly groomed eyebrow at me. “Show me what you would want me to do with this social media shit.”
A small grin plays on her glossy lips, and she returns to the seat next to me. “You break so easily, Paj?k,” she coos.
The way she hums my name has me softening, and an unfamiliar warmth washes over me.
Mari alternates between talking and tapping shit on her phone. She explains something about layering text on top of photos, GIFs, and selecting audio tracks. I’m by no means ignoring Mari, I’m just massively distracted by how effortlessly gorgeous she is and confused by the words she spouts that aren’t even a part of my vocabulary. Am I meant to know what an explore page and a pinned post are?
“... and then it’ll stay online for twenty-four hours once you click ‘Post to Story.’ It lets people know what’s happening now.” She stands and begins pacing back and forth in front of me as if each step is fueling her social media plans. I raise the phone to video her talking. “People will want a mixture of sponsored content on your main feed and intimate, real-time moments on your story so they can see that there’s more to Kacper Paj?k than just, y’know ...”
Mari throws a few shadow punches. I blink rapidly in disbelief at her explanation. I can’t believe she hasn’t noticed me recording her yet.
“Fighting?” I ask.
“Right,” she agrees, slowly coming down from her lecture. Her brows scrunch together when she spots me holding the phone.
“Like this?” I turn the phone to her, and she watches the captured video for a few seconds.
“Yeah, like that ...” I click Post to Story. “No!” In one swift movement, she lunges for the phone that I keep conveniently out of reach. “There’s authenticity, and then there’s posting a video of me teaching you how to use social media from a very bad angle!”
Mari is splayed across my lap, wriggling and reaching up like a tortoise on its back.
“You said it’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“Not like that, this is weaponized incompetence,” she pants and grabs my wrist, trying to force my hand lower to retrieve her phone.
Mari is actually kind of strong because I have to use a little more effort than I expect to keep the device away from her grappling hands.
“Weaponized incompetence? I’m clearly competent.”
Her braids have come loose from her bun, and they slide against my exposed stomach and thighs.
“Yo! No fighting outside of the ring!” Dash shouts.
Mari tenses on my lap, and the warmth of her body announces its absence from my skin when she jolts up. “Not fighting! Kas is ruining my workflow,” she says defensively over her shoulder.
“Snitch.”
Mari wipes her cheek that was plastered against my sweaty torso. “Snitch? It’s my fourth day on the job. I’m trying not to get fired here. Now, please delete the post.”
“I’ll delete it if you relax on the social media stuff.”
“You’re blackmailing me? That’s low, Kas.”
I’ve blackmailed many people in my life; from threatening to leak my headmaster’s affair so he wouldn’t expel me for lack of attendance, to dangling an old landlord’s mortgage fraud over his head and forcing him to lower the rent for my mom and me when I was thirteen. This sure as hell isn’t blackmail.
“Not blackmail, just an option.”
“Play nice,” she warns.
“And if I don’t?”
Mari bends at the waist so she’s level with my face. Her warm brown eyes sparkle with subdued playfulness, and she squints them at me. “I’ll play dirty too.”