Madden
My breath comes heavy. I grunt. I pant. I gasp.
Every punch to the bag is one more attempt to help me blow off some steam. Normally, coming down to the apartment’s gym is the perfect way to take out some extra energy. Whether it’s sexual, adrenaline or, like tonight, anger.
I can’t get the images of Megan and Tristan out of my mind, and it’s driving me insane. I literally feel myself coming unhinged as I lay into the punching bag, giving it everything I’ve got. Sweat drips down my bare chest and back as I pound out punch after angry punch.
I shouldn’t be this upset. Not logically. What did I expect they were going to do all day? Play Old Maid?
But the longer the video replays in my head, as if it’s permanently branded there, the more illogical I get. Tristan and I have gone after the same girl plenty of times. Just like we’ve always competed over everything.
This is different. None of the other girls mattered. It was more a question of keeping score with them. One for me, one for him. But this time? Megan fucking matters. A lot more than I realized.
I lay into the bag with a particularly vengeful sequence when a shadow catches me off guard and I stop, turning.
Tristan is standing there putting on his boxing gloves, pure rage radiating off his face.
Damn.
He usually plays it pretty cool. But right now he looks like he could kill someone.
Me.
“What do you want, Tristan? I’m trying to get in a workout.”
His voice comes out low, barely contained. “I think you’d rather me burn off my anger on the bag than on your pretty-boy face.”
I laugh, not in the mood for his shit. “Fuck you.”
Tristan comes around to the other side of the bag. “No, fuck you, Madden. I saw a video of you and Megan in the limo.”
My eyes narrow. Looks like we both got treated to an eyeful. He doesn’t look any better off for it than I am.
“You know what, Tristan? You need to just quit now while you’re ahead and leave the house.”
He scoffs. “Wouldn’t you love that? You actually expect me to make it that easy for you? Just step aside and let you win? You’re an idiot.”
I shrug. “You’re going to lose anyway. Go now and at least you can save face.”
Tristan bristles visibly, and when he speaks, his voice is murderous. “I’m not playing a game, Madden.”
“Neither am I.”
He laughs humorlessly. “Bullshit. You’re nothing but a player. Always playing a game. Everything is a fucking game to you. You don’t take anything seriously.”
His shoulders tense, his jaw clenching, and I realize my posture is much the same. We’re practically facing off.
“You think you’re so perfect, don’t you, Tristan? The golden boy. Well let me tell you something,” I say, “your little act doesn’t work with me. It might work in business. You may convince your clients that you’re this caring guy that has their best interests at heart. But I see right through you. Every deal you make, it’s all about you.”
Tristan narrows his eyes at me. “You can’t take a fucking thing seriously. It’s a wonder you haven’t gone out of business yet. I don’t know how you still manage to get clients at this point because everyone knows you’re unreliable. It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? Life is just one big fucking party, even when some things need to be taken seriously. Treated more carefully.”
This asshole has a lot of nerve acting like he’s so much better than me. So high and mighty. “Seriously, dude? Like you run this perfect business? Like you haven’t fucked plenty of people over too? You’re full of shit, Tristan. You’re only in it for yourself. Always looking out for number one. What’s in your best interest.”
I sneer at him, wishing he’d just get the fuck out and let me finish my workout without his arrogant ass in my way.
“You’re all about what’s good for you, Madden. Don’t act like your motivations are pure. They’re as dirty as they get.”
Is that what he thinks? Because we both know we aren’t really talking about business here. It’s a very thinly veiled conversation about Megan.