CHAPTER 12
I make it to The Hub a little earlier than my friends and enjoy a quiet beer. It’s always easier to be hidden in a booth and wait twenty minutes than it is to walk through a crowded bar after the game has already started. This way, there’s less of a chance of anyone recognizing me and making our day miserable.
“Hey! Drew, what’s up?” Damien says as he and Bobby slide into the semi-circular booth across from me and stare.
Bobby busts out laughing once he gets a good look and I know what’s coming next. Naturally, he doesn’t disappoint. “Nice hair! You look like a total douche.” Bobby says this, Every. Single. Time.
“Thanks, asswipe, at least I have hair,” I grunt. Bobby shaves his dark head every day. He says it makes him look like a scary fuck and he’s right. “You remember the last time I went out and didn’t wear it? No way, unless you want to miss the Packers game to pose for a thousand pictures and listen to repeated requests to speak to everyone’s favorite uncle on the phone to prove that they really met me.”
Bobby is another fighter from Damien’s gym we I hang out with and I sometimes spar against. He’s just starting in UFC and has done fairly well so far. He loves to mess with me over the stupid shaggy brown wig I wear under my Sox cap, but he always forgets that when I don’t wear it, we can’t watch the game or even hold a conversation. The steady stream of clingers-on and hopeful women prevents us from having a good time.
“Nah man, thanks for uglifying your pretty self so I can watch my Packers kick some ass.” Bobby tugs on his Green Bay hat and smiles.
I laugh and take a swig of my beer. Damn, it’s nice to go out and just be myself. Well, myself in a stupid wig and hat, but it’s better than the usual house arrest or the boring Hollywood events I have to go to.
“This shit is itchy as hell, so you’d better appreciate it,” I respond. Turning to Damien I nod with my chin, “What about you? What’s up?”
“No way Drew, you’re not getting out of this. I want to know why you let me beat the hell out of you yesterday. Usually, you’re more focused. Do you need to go back down to remedial lessons on defending yourself against attacks?” Damien is staring me down with his hands folded on the table and his scar riddled eyebrows knitted together as he waits for my response.
“Hi, I’m Holly and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”
Saved from Damien’s inquiry by the waitress.
Holly is clearly completely disgusted by me in my hat and wig. She can barely even glance my way. My ‘human repelling’ costume as Sydney would call it, is working perfectly. Holly bats her overly made-up eyes at Damien, waiting for his answer.
“Guinness,” barks Bobby, without taking his eyes off of the big screen across from our booth where the teams are flipping the coin. “And a big plate of hot wings, sweetheart.” He’s so charming.
Holly flicks her gaze to Bobby for a split second, then back to Damien, smiling coyly when she makes eye contact with him. “And for you?” she purrs, stepping a little closer to Damien.
He looks at me and smirks, then turns to grin at Holly. “I’ll have a Stella, draft please.” She blatantly checks out Damien then spins on her heel and heads to get their drinks.
“Ha! Not so hot without your superpower of fame, are you Forrester?” Damien gloats, pointing his finger in my face before his attention is focused on the kickoff.
“Bro that is all you. I’m over it. Plus, I’m kind of seeing someone.” I sit back in the booth and take another big sip of my draft, not really invested in this particular football game.
Bobby and Damien both stop watching the game and turn their eyes on me at the same time. “No way man,” says Bobby. “You, dating someone? I don’t believe you.” He shakes his head back and forth on his thick neck. “I’ve known you three years and I’ve never heard you talk about a chick. Not once.”
“It all makes sense now,” says Damien, rubbing his stubbled chin thoughtfully. He sits back and folds his tattooed arms across his chest. “That’s why you sucked in the ring yesterday. Your head is all full of that girl! Ha! Never thought I’d see it. You, pussy whipped by a woman!”
The two of them laugh their asses off and fist bump like it’s some sort of joke that I’m dating someone. Okay, it is true that I don’t date, but how is that funny?
“You guys are wicked fuckwads. Let’s just watch the game, all right?” I sound pissed, but honestly, I’m too happy to be mad.
“Fuck, he went Boston on us,” Bobby says seriously as he turns to smirk at Damien. “Better watch your ass next time you’re in the cage with him, Damien. You know what happens when Forrester gets all Boston’d out,” Bobby warns as his dark eyes wrinkle in amusement.
Every once in a while, I’ll ham it up since my accent seems to amuse them. Damien is from New York and Bobby is from some little town between Milwaukee and Green Bay, so hearing me ‘go Boston’ always cracks them up.
“Fuck you ya chowdaheads. The Pats have the most wicked quartahback evah, so it doesn’t mean that Denvah is bettah for winning the playoff game.” They stare at me for a minute before we all bust out laughing and enjoy the rest of the game.