Page 1 of Last Round

Wake-up Call

Killian

“Getup,dumbass,”Sean’srecorded voice repeats. Growing louder as I blindly reach around the cluttered nightstand in search of the offending device alerting me that it’s morning. Bastard has been my wake-up call for so many years. It’s the only thing that can get a rise out of me when I’m dead to the world. A marching band could stampede through here, banging their drums and clinking their cymbals next to my head, and I’d barely roll over. As helpful as his verbal broadcast is, him being here with a bucket of ice water would be a hundred times more effective. At least this annoying ass wake-up call can be muted.

“Fuck off, Sean,” I grumble, my voice still thick with sleep.

“Dude, get the fuck up,” he replies sternly.

Did he adjust the alarm?Just as that question pops into my head, it’s answered by something hard and cold colliding with my nuts.

“What the fuck?” I shoot upright, shoving the object away from my exposed testicles, and quickly realize it’s a large bottle of water. A half-frozen bottle of water. Despite having my AC set at full blast, the plastic is sweating onto my sheets.

“Seriously, this is why I made you the alarm, so I didn’t have to look at that…” Sean gestures to my morning erection, standing proud and undeterred by Sean’s arctic strike. “Is that a new piercing? Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s bad enough that your dick is so burned into my memory that I even noticed. You can spare me the confirmation.”

Swinging my legs over the side of the mattress, I lower my feet onto the cool hardwood floor. It feels so fucking good. Maybe I should sleep on the ground. It might help me get through this heatwave from hell. I spot my half-consumed cigarette in the ashtray next to the ridiculous neon-pink Bic I got a few months back. My eyes land on the jizzing cock I drew on the side in black Sharpie, and I grin. It’s my longest-standing lighter to date.

For some reason, no one’s stolen it yet.

I bring the butt to my lips, the stench of tobacco stronger from having been lit and left to smolder, light it and take a heavy drag, savoring the burn of menthol before chasing it back with the bit of whiskey still coating the bottom of my glass. With the cigarette dangling from my lips, I stand and stretch my limbs. Everything is sore and stiff. Though I’m only a wee bit into my mid-thirties, with the number of injuries my body has been subjected to over the years, some mornings leave me feeling like I’m ninety.

“Go shower,” Sean orders. “I’ll make breakfast. We’ve got an hour.”

“An hour?” I ask, reaching behind myself and scratching my ass.

Sean rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’ve got that interview downstairs today with the news station about the gym.”

“Is it the anchorwoman with the tits?” I don’t have to explain further. We all know the one. I may not care much for the news, but I’d happily watch it on mute. Even made it a game at the bar. If her button pops, everyone gets a round on me. It’s the one time I love to lose.

“No.” With that one word, Sean kills the slight pep in my step at the thought of finally getting my hands on the real twins of this city. Shit, I’m sure I could’ve had her spread wide, ankles over my shoulders, on the adjustable bench before the interview even started. Talk about B footage. “It’s the dude.”

“Halitosis Henry,” I groan, raking a hand over my face. “When did I even agree to this?”

“You didn’t. I did.”

“Then you do it.” I extinguish my finished cigarette in the glass tray.

“Because they want K.O. not me.” Sean tosses some clothes in my direction, presumably what he wants me to wear today.

“K.O. is dead.” I drop them, stepping over the discarded pile on my way to the bathroom.

“No, he’s hungover.”

I turn, my arms crossed firmly over my chest, and arch a brow at him. “Don’t you ever utter that blasphemy again. Murphys don’t get hangovers.”

Sean lets out a laugh that has one of my eyes twitching. “Kill, none of us are immune to aging. Especially at the rate you’ve been going these past few years…” He shakes his head, all signs of humor gone. “Just shower up already. You smell like a bar.”

“Because I own one,” I yell to his retreating form as he heads to the kitchen.

“No excuse,” he hollers back.

“When’s the last time you went grocery shopping?” Sean huffs as I stand in the kitchen’s entryway. He eyes my appearance. “Well, at least you look halfway presentable. I still think the button-down is more professional.”

“It’s an interview about the gym and our fighters, not for a job. The last person I’d ever want as a coach is some suit-and-tie. Leave the managers to play dress-up, thepuppeteersup in their private booths, counting their millions earned by someone else’s blood, sweat, and tears.”

I love the man. Sean’s been my brother since the sandbox. But sometimes he gets so caught up in appearances he forgets what’s at the heart of it all.

“Whatever.” He knows I’m right. “Look, if we hurry, I can probably grab you a sandwich from Caribou before they get here.”

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