Page 22 of False Comeback

He was always so poised, knowing how to utilise his best assets. That infuriatingly flawless face and those hooded, sultry eyes. The slight curl of his lips that just screamed, ‘I’m better than all of you!’ And those ridiculously long legs, completely bare under his skimpy gold bikini briefs. His mauve skin glimmered with oil, making his leanly muscled torso look long and cut. His bicep flexed as he lifted his hand in a regal wave, tossing back his waterfall of shimmering gold hair.

My lip wanted to curl again, so I let it. We were about to fight, so the reaction was believable.

He was ridiculous. So far up his own ass. He knew how good he looked, and he was lapping it up.

And he said I didn’t take my job seriously? I was pretty sure he was only here so he could have hundreds of people drooling over his half-naked body.

He stopped halfway down the walkway. Those huge opalescent wings began to flutter rapidly until they were a blur, lifting him into the air. The audience screamed, pumping their arms and waving as he swept down toward the ring and landed gracefully on a corner post, facing the crowd and raising his arms to make them scream louder.

My gaze darted to his ass before I quickly looked away. It wasn’t my fault. It was just… there. And he was in tiny gold briefs.

I almost jumped when one of Paxton’s smoke tendrils appeared in front of me holding a mic. Grabbing it quickly, I waited for the crowd to simmer down as Crossbody jumped from the top rope and strutted across the mat, smirking. And ignoring me.

I lifted the mic to my mouth and finally spoke.

“Who wants to see me remind the High Lord that he’s not in Otherworld anymore?”

The crowd ooohed and cheered as Crossbody’s jaw clenched, just enough for me to see it. He made a show of rolling his eyes and crossing his arms with a bored expression, but his gaze darted to mine with a seething look that was definitely real.

He grabbed the other mic that Paxton held out, waiting for the audience to quieten before speaking into it.

“And who wants to see me remind the Rolling Rimmer that disco died a sad, anticlimactic death a long time ago?”

Some of the audience booed, while others cheered with excitement.

“I’ll show you that disco is alive and well, your highness.” I smirked. Smack-talk could sometimes be a little ridiculous, but the crowd lapped it up. “Maybe you could introduce it to all your subjects when you pack your bags and go back to your mommy’s palace after I wipe the mat with you.”

His nostrils flared, but he managed an easy laugh into the mic and drawled, “We’ll see, won’t we? As long as you don’t slip and land on your face in those ridiculous roller skates.”

I glided forward and came to a quick, effortless halt right in front of him, the toe stops of my skates almost touching the toes of his wrestling boots. He glared down at me, purple eyes gleaming under the sparkling gold eyeshadow on his lids. He was wearing mascara too, because his lashes looked even thicker and longer than normal, almost like they were weighing his eyelids down.

My skin prickled with awareness when I felt the heat pumping off his bare front, just inches from mine. It was always warm in the ring, under the spotlights and with the mass of people surrounding us.

Slowly, I raised the mic between us and spoke into it, smirking up at him. “I can do everything you can and more in these ‘ridiculous’ skates. Want me to prove it?”

I’d almost forgotten about the audience. My heart was already beating a little faster in anticipation, my blood pumping. If this had been anyone but him, it would’ve felt almost like foreplay.

He gritted his teeth and stepped even closer, until his front bumped against mine aggressively. I dug my toe stops into the mat so my skates didn’t slip out from under me.

“Fine,” he snarled into the mic. “Prove it.”

As rehearsed, I flung my mic to the side, one of Paxton’s smoke tendrils shooting out to catch it. Then Crossbody did the same as I launched myself at him.

The roar of the crowd grew deafening as I crashed into him, sending us both tumbling to the mat and starting off our match.

Sometimes, I could almost zone out while performing. We always rehearsed so much that we could do most of the moves in our sleep, but this time, I was acutely aware of every single moment when Crossbody was touching me.

It was different from the rehearsals, where we’d been able to remain clinical and distant. This time it had to look real, which meant writhing together on the mat, grappling, grunting and shouting for the audience.

It was kind of… unsettling me in a very specific way. It was making me think of things I didn’t want to think about. Especially not about him.

By the time we were nearing the end of our match, I was eager to get it all over and done with so I could get away from him. Clear my head a bit. He had this infuriating way of getting under my fucking skin and staying there for far too long.

The crowd’s roars were deafening as I took Crossbody down to the mat and quickly leaped back onto my skates, circling the ring and getting the audience extra pumped for the end of the match. As Crossbody made a big show of struggling to his feet with his back to me, panting hard, I got ready to perform my signature move. The one that would send him stumbling into the ropes, allowing me to fling him onto the mat and pin him.

And win.

I extended my tongue and waggled it in the air. The crowd started going wild in anticipation, and I saw Crossbody’s heaving shoulders tense up. He knew what was about to happen. And I knew he hated it.