Page 51 of Undefeated

He nodded his head and took another drink of beer.

“Yeah. I might keep trying to fuck with her then. Guess you’re gonna be fucking with Kace, and she ate a ton of that finger chicken. I can’t really call or consider her gross, she’s your girl and all,” he said.

I shook my head and pulled off my hood.

“We’re done with this, okay?” I asked.

“Alright, brother. Done,” he said as he rubbed his hands together.

“Well, she seems nice. She’s really pretty,” I admitted.

“Yeah. She’s hot. That’s for sure,” he laughed.

“I hate it when you call people hot. It’s so fucking insensitive. All it really means is I want to fuck you. That’s pretty much it,” I complained.

“Yeah, but I do want to fuck her, bro’. Did you get a good look at her?” he raised his hands in wonder.

“I did. But seriously - you want to fuck her based on the fact that she’s tall, blonde, and has a nice ass,” I sighed.

“Yup,” he said as he tipped his bottle of beer up.

I shook my head, “That’s what brings parentless children into this earth. Broken marriages. Torn emotions.”

I pulled the front of my hood up to my face.

“Dude, enough of the sorrow bullshit. Not everyone’s as clean as you. Who dates a chic for three months after seeing her for a month before they started dating, and doesn’t fuck her? I know of one person. You. You’re a fucking weirdo. I’ve been telling you that for a few years now,” he said as he pointed toward me.

“We’re making progress. Don’t fucking start. We’ve talked about this, Ripp. I don’t want to hurt her. She’s sensitive, vulnerable, and liable to make a decision based on something she thinks she needs, not what she actually desires. Like if your car breaks down, and someone gives you a car to drive. You drive whatever they give you. You drive it out of necessity, not desire. If you had the time to pick your own car, you’d damn sure pick something different. I want her to pick me because she feels she wants me, not because she needs to fill a hole in her soul with whatever she can stuff in there,” I slipped my hands under my hoodie and felt my dog tags.

Ripp looked up at the ceiling and back down at me. He took a shallow drink of his beer and swallowed it, “Yeah, but her car’s been running like shit for about ten years, and broke down for what? Four? She ain’t had sex in four years. She ain’t making an uninformed decision. And if your car does happen to broken down, and someone hands you a fucking Benz, you don’t drive that bad boy because you have to. You drive it because you know it’s a damn fine ride. You’re acting like you’re some shitty assed dude, Dekk. You’re not. We both know it,” he pushed his empty beer bottle toward the center of the table.

“Well, we’ve been talking about going to see her mother. I’ve tried to talk her into letting me take her there. It’s been about ten years since she’s seen her. That’s the first step for me. I want to do this right,” I leaned onto the table and sighed.

Ripp rubbed the hair on his chin. He looked like he belonged on a surfboard in Los Angeles or on the beach at Venice. His head was always shaved, his body tan, and his chin had a patch of hair on it, always. No mustache, no typical male goatee, just a patch of hair on his chin. He rubbed it and stared at me, obviously thinking.

“You know. You watch guys play basketball. Sometimes you think you see a shot they ought to take, and you scream at the T.V, take the shot. Most of the time they don’t, and you wonder why. Sometimes they do. But have you ever seen a guy take the time to shoot a basket and block his own shot?” he asked as his mouth began to form a smile.

I shook my head, “No, suppose not.”

“Me neither. If they take the time to shoot, they’re gonna let that fucker fly and see what happens. They took the risk when it left their fingertips. With Kace, dude, you’re blocking your own shot. You took the time to seek her out – after you met the first time at the video place. Did you forget that? You’ve been courting her for three months. You shot. Let that baby fly. Right into the basket,” he rubbed his chin and smiled, confident that he’d made his point.

I pulled the hood from my head and reached for my water glass. As I tipped it to my lips, I looked at him and squinted my eyes.

“Made sense, huh? The Ripper ain’t no dummy, bro,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, cooking that finger was a smart move,” I responded.

“Whoa. I thought we were done with that one?” he said as he pushed himself from the table and leaned into his chair.

“You’re right. Sorry. And yeah, you made a good point. I’m thinking,” I responded.

“Well, while you’re thinking, think of this. There’s two months till the fight. I’m thinking about taking off for a few months and helping you train. What do you think?” he asked as he leaned back toward the table.

“What do you mean, Ripp?” I asked as I leaned forward..

“Simple. I’ll spar with you. I’ll watch the tapes of that dude, Mc Claskey. I’ll mimic his style, and we’ll spar as often as you want. I’ll help push you physically. You know I’m a chameleon. I don’t have a style. I’ll become him. You can beat on me all you want. I want you to win this fucker for sure, Shane. Hell, if you do. Shit. You’ll be on the cover of Sports Illustrated,” he tightened his jaw and made a fist.

I clenched my fist and extended my arm toward the center of the table.