Most nights, they'd be right. Many times, I've simply gone down the ranks and chosen two or three girls for the night.
But if Claire's out there, just like she said, then...there's no fucking way. There's just one woman I'm interested in bedding tonight, and I'm focusing all my energy on her sweet ass like a goddamned laser.
I bound up the steps and swing through the ropes. Fat Boy's already in his corner.
He's about five years older than me and he's got a gut like a medicine ball. Chubby or not, the dude has arms and legs as big as mine with huge veins popping out. Reminds me of those gorilla-like Russians you used to see competing in weight lifting world championships.
The spotlights shine blinding bright. The crowd's screaming. Those lights are hot too, like miniature suns beating down on my skin in the desert. I start to sweat as I look around.
The referee comes out in an old timey striped shirt, shoving a microphone into my hand. He's more announcer than referee, but again, everything's about appearances here. Whatever it takes to rile up the crowd, keep the money flowing, and make damned sure the name Club Zing winds up burned in their frigging skulls is game.
“Yo, the air's humid as fuck up here,” I growl, letting the reverberations sweep over the crowd and bring them to silence. “I said – it's thick. Swampy. Suffocating. Ladies and gentleman, I'm gonna give you a fight that'll blow your hair back, and I need each and every one of you to make it rain tonight. Let's cool this motherfucker down.”
Laughter rings out. I've still got my money clip strategically placed on my trunks. I rip it off and walk over to an attendant, not far from the side that gives me a direct view of the VIP seating.
“You hear that shit?” I wait 'til he holds up the collection plate.
That's right. We use collection plates, just like in church, except ours are silver plated and managed by boys who'll start cracking the skulls of anybody who thinks about stealing one red cent.
“You hear that, ladies and gentleman?” I slam fifties and hundreds in, one after another. “That's the patter of rain, friends. Tink-tink-tink-tink-fucking-tink! But why the hell's it so lonely up here? Why the fuck am I the only bastard making noise? I'm not looking for a little sprinkle tonight. Fat Boy and I need a goddamned deluge! Stand up, open your wallets, crack your purses, and let it fucking pour!”
I scream the last line. The crowd goes wild. In the commotion of people standing up, milling around, and digging for their cash, I see her. My eyes lock.
Claire's there in her box, sitting next to Karl. She looks totally out of place in her professional blouse and skirt. She's dressed too smart for Club Zing, but just smart enough to set my dick on edge.
Fucking shit. Her soft pink lips pull up in a bashful smile. I wonder if she can see my dick springing to life, pressing against my trunks. Hell, if the crowd weren't going apeshit, they'd see it too.#p#分页标题#e#
I decide right then I don't give a fuck. Not one.
If the thousand people jammed in here want to see the hard-on I've got for my Sis, then they will. It only matters to Claire and me. We're the only ones who'll remember after the fight. The instant I get down to business with Fat Boy, they'll forget all about what's flexing below the belt.
“Keep it coming, you crazy motherfuckers!” I roar, listening to my voice break in the speakers. “I wanna hear your pockets turn inside out before this night's over! I wanna see moths flying outta your clothes!” They love the shit talk, so I pour it on.
Then I tear my eyes away from Claire. It's not easy because I can still feel her locked onto me, even when my back's turned. Unfortunately, business calls.
I walk up to Fat Boy and give him a shallow, respectful nod. He stares at me glumly.
Fine, jackoff. Be that way.
Some of these guys are like that. Charity events aren't supposed to be career builders, but some of these assholes treat it that way. Any man who punches out Ty Sterner, heir to daddy's billions, is guaranteed some wild media ass kissing.
“I hope you've brought your game, big ace. Club Zing doesn't quit rockin' 'til one us is flat and we've broken a few records with our money storm.” I spin around, facing the crowd again. “Don't stop! Keep it the fuck coming! We've got some sick kids out there tonight who need that shit way more than any sorry fucks here do.”
Tug at their conscience. Pluck their heartstrings. Bully them 'til I get the nod from Karl out in the boxes – the one that lets me know we've shattered our old record.
It's persuasion 101. And it's going to a good cause too. We're supporting the local children's hospitals tonight, and everything we raise gets split between research and boosting quality of life.