I shrug and smile into the camera. That million-dollar smile. The smile that makes panties drop across America. The bodies that gets pussies wet.
“We had a good strategy. I executed brilliantly. Good support for my plays. Put it all together,” I say and pause for dramatic effect. “And we crush everything in our path.”
“Very nice,” Jessica says, but I know she’s too smart to buy into everything I said 100%. “But are you saying it was all you who carried the team then?”
I laugh. I thought she was smart. Maybe not. “32 points, Jessica,” I say looking at her. “We put 32 points on the damn board. You’ don’t get that without a quarterback who does running plays. You only get that with Colt Stackford.”
“So let’s welcome our next guest then,” Jessica says and all of a sudden I’m startled. Who else would they want on their fucking show if they already had me? “He leads the NFL in QB sacks and turnovers and plays the other half of the Dallas Devils front lines. Please welcome Ethan Blake.”
The camera pans and the audience claps as Ethan comes out from backstage and all of a sudden I am fucking pissed off. No fucking way I would have done this spot if they told me that motherfucker was going to be here.
The audience is still clapping and another thought races through my head. When was there ever a fucking audience and how did I not recognize them? Fucking Christ, I must have had more scotch than I realized.
Ethan sits down on the other side of Jessica and she smiles sweetly at him. Fuck her. I’m the fucking guest of honor.
“Ethan, thanks for being on,” Jessica says as Ethan smiles at her. If I have a million dollar smile that fucker has a billion-dollar smile. I fucking hate him. Since we were fucking kids. But I don't say anything and let Jessica continue. “As someone who leads the defense for the Dallas Devils, what do you say when Colt says the entirety of the win was on him?”
Ethan takes a second and then smiles his sneaky and slimy fucking smile. “Well, listen, Jessica,” Ethan says with hate dripping from his words. “Colt’s a child. You have to let children say whatever they want and then let them run free. But as they do that, you have to make sure you’re around to clean up the mess and from time to time make them feel like the center of attention.”
Jessica looks at me for my response but I don’t even acknowledge her. This shit is between me and Ethan now. “When you learn how to fucking throw, maybe you can say some of those things,” I say directly to him. There’s no fucking camera that I’m talking for anymore. Now it’s just me and Ethan. “Until then, you’re just someone who couldn’t get a job on the offensive line. You might as well go back to high school wrestling.”
Ethan’s eyes flash and I know I’ve gotten under his skin. “If it weren’t for the defense, you wouldn't even get your chances to throw that ball, Colt,” he says evenly. “But I don’t expect someone who’s had everything handed to them to realize when he’s getting opportunities. That QB job suits you just right.”
Fuck him. What the fuck does he think he knows?
“I don’t care what you say, you’ll always be Number Two,” I say.
“And you’ll always be Rosebud,” he snaps back at me. “You get out of line and I’ll be the one snapping you in place.”
Rosebud.
Oh, fuck. He didn’t go there. Not bringing that name up from elementary school on national fucking television.
I don’t even know what compels me but I jump out of my chair. Ethan, true to his word at least, stands up also.
“You don’t know anything about me!” I yell at him.
At some point, Jessica’s slid her chair back and is telling us to calm down. But no one listens to her. The cameras must be loving this because no one stops the broadcast.
“I don’t need to know much to know you're a silver spooned, candy-ass, fucking pretty boy, Colt!” Ethan yells back.
That’s when I punch him.
Don’t get me fucking wrong. Ethan’s a big guy. He’s my height. He’s got a cut, ripped body and giant fucking muscles. If I didn’t hate him, I’d respect him.
But my punch lands on his face and I see blood burst from his lip and all of a sudden he hits me back. I feel the wind go out of my lungs and I double over.
But not before I sweep my legs and trip him.
But he gets his hands on me and carries me down.
We don’t realize that there’s a bank of cameras across from the table and we both go flying into it.
Imagine a QB and his defensive end coming at you both - 500 pounds of muscle. It’s no wonder that the camera men are running away into the audience. Fucking pussies.
That’s when we crash into the equipment. I feel pokes and stabs of metal as they enter my flesh but I’m trying to punch Ethan. He’s got me by my neck. I knee him in the stomach.
He slams a hand hard into my eye.