Page 35 of Punchline
I laughed and brought up his hand to kiss his palm. “Because my coaches are mean and practice starts at noon.”
“Noon? But that’s… like… hours away.”
“Mmhmm. And I still need to eat, go back to my place, get to practice, put on my gear… ”
He harumphed. “That sounds like bullshit.”
“It kind of is.”
He kissed my neck again. “When is practice over?”
I had to think about that, as if the schedule ever changed much. “One, but I don’t usually get out of there until two or so. And then I have a game tonight.”
“You have to practice and play on the same day? That seems… rude.”
I snorted. “I know, right? Do you want to come to my game? Puck drop is at seven.”
He was quiet for a moment, and I thought I felt him furrowing his brow. Then, “I might have some lessons tonight. I’ll check.” He paused. “There’s a smoker on Friday night. Do you want to go that with me?”
“A what now?”
“Smokers are in-school invitational fights. They’re not paid, almost all the fighters are amateur level, but they’re a good way for fighters to start getting a feel for their own games and a handle on the local competition.”
“Huh. Sounds like fun. I don’t have a game that night, but we’re heading out on the road on Saturday.”
“For how long?”
“Two games.” I laced our fingers together against my chest. “I’ll be back… I want to say Wednesday?”
He groaned theatrically and nuzzled into my neck. “I’m going to wear out my hand.”
I laughed, reaching back to stroke his hair. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
He would be.
And so would I.
But I was probably going to wear out my hand, too.
CHAPTER 12
JAKE
Dude you pick the funnest dates. Weird but fun.
I rolled my eyes as I read Carson’s message.Funnest isn’t a word.
Is too. Say hi to Camila for me at your weird fun date :D
A smoker might be considered a bit of a weird choice for a date. Amateur fights were always a little weird, whether they were happening in your local martial arts gym or the bar down the street. It was the combination of intense machismo—because if you thought there was a lot of chest-pounding in the pro level, you didn’tknowhow thirsty some of the amateurs could get—and a need not to do anything that would result in the cops being called.
Throwing a smoker in Vegas, of all places, was a ballsy move. Fights here were all tightly regulated by the Nevada Athletic Commission, and if you got caught hosting unregistered matches, the fines would be the least of your problems. So why do it?
The freedom.
For me, there was nothing quite as freeing asthe fierce competition of a match with someone just as motivated as I was to win. I was lucky enough to compete in the highest echelons of my sport; most practitioners couldn’t say the same. Most of them didn’t evenwantto get into that level of competition, but few people got into fight sports with the intention of never testing themselves.
Smokers were a chance to test yourself against people outside your immediate circle without paying an arm and a leg to the commission so they could fuck you over on the rules. Or at least, that was how Miguel saw it.
