Page 17 of Fight

“I heard somebody say cafeteria.”

I nod. “Be down in a sec.”

When I texted Matt, I hoped he would ask Scottie to join. He’s not one to let the new guy sit out. However, when he enters the cafeteria alone, there’s an edge of disappointment.

Matt pulls up a chair and gives a chin lift to King, Caleb, and the other guys: Opie, Bobby, and Dixon. Xander has decided to be the responsible one and get caught up on some paperwork while we have our poker game.

“About time I got to play a hand with y’all,” Caleb says, leaning back in the plastic chair. “I always miss the text that goes out.”

King cuts the card deck. “Funny how that happens…”

“Ever wonder if it’s by design?” Opp asks.

“No, dumbfuck.” He chucks an individually wrapped meat stick at him.

Opp laughs and adds it to his pile of snacks. “Keeping it as your entry fee.”

Caleb furrows his brow. “Nobody else paid an entry fee!”

“No, they did not.” King shakes his head and deals.

“Oh, deal a hand for Scottie. She’s on her way down.”

The table grows quiet.

“Scottie, theshe? As in Scottie the hottie?” Caleb groans under his breath. “That girl could start a brush fire with a wink and a smile. Dude, one night with her and?—”

“Keep that shit up and see what happens,” I say a little too quickly.

“Come on, man.” Matt chastens Caleb, the same time I do.

I pin him with an unamused glare. “You just earned yourself another week of veggie omelet MREs, rookie.”No amount of hot sauce can save that gastrointestinal war crime.

“Dude, wait,” Caleb pleads, holding up his palms in surrender, “but they hiss when you open them!”

Opp winces. “For anyone who’s wanted to make a fart tangible…”

“Enjoy the vomlet bar.” I collect my cards and blow out a breath. “Your guts are about to have a rough week, brother.”

Bobby smiles. “We could switch to clam chowder?”

“No!” Caleb protests. His gaze bounces from player to player, but he won’t be receiving any sympathy. “That’s almost worse.”

Almost.

“I don’t care how many preservatives you add, no clam should be good for twenty years. Either it’s not a clam, or it’s not good for twenty years,” Bobby states.

Dixon speaks up. “I’ve got a conspiracy the clam chowder MRE is actually government surplus wallpaper paste from the Truman era.”

A few of us nod. It’s plausible.

“Pork sausage?” Opp suggests, trying to sweet-talk him. “It comes with a free placenta.”

“Still not as bad as the veggie omelet, though,” King adds. “You can rat-fuck ’em for the desserts, though.”

Scottie hurries through the doorway, right on schedule and thankfully, oblivious to the table talk. “Hi!”

I tuck my tongue into my cheek as King sets down the deck.A few of the guys lift their hands in a wave as she pulls out a chair across from me and brings her cards into her chest. She’s changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Her ponytail sparks the mental image of me fisting her hair, prompting me to clear my throat and my thoughts. Like shaking a stubborn Etch-A-Sketch and watching the grainy image slowly fade. She reveals a couple bags of something from the kangaroo pouch of her sweatshirt.

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