She squirmed a little in my lap, adjusting. I sat back in my chair. The chairs were large enough that there was enough room for her to fit on my lap and I could eat comfortably.
“I never knew the full history of the rivalry between them,” Syd said about thirty minutes into the documentary.
“Banks told me a little bit about it.”
She stiffened and turned to me.
“Pass me one of the beers.”
“Please?” She looked at me expectantly.
“Please.”
She rolled her eyes and passed me a beer before setting her platter back on the table. She leaned back against me and I wrapped my free arm around her, palming her belly.
“Frazier would’ve died in that ring,” I said, staring ahead at the screen.
“You think so?”
I nodded and took a swig from my bottle. “It was about more than pride. That man had his whole life turned upside down and interrupted over Ali’s accusations.”
“He was a major shit talker. Reminds me of some else I know.” She reached around and poked me in the stomach.
Laughing, I caught her hand and laid it across her stomach, covering it with my hand again.
“Ali was king of talking shit. A poet and a boxer.”
“But he backed it up.”
I nodded. “Exactly. He’s the greatest heavyweight of all time. Put anyone past, present, or future in the ring with him in his prime and they’re going down.”
Syd was quiet for a few moments. “Yeah, I’d agree. I think Tyson would give him a run for his money though.”
I shook my head and grunted. “Not likely. Tyson’s footwork couldn’t match Ali’s.”
We talked throughout the remainder of the documentary, comparing Ali and Frazier’s styles. Syd knew her shit. I already came to recognize that months ago. When she’d shown up at my gym months earlier, I wrote her off as another gym groupie looking to get banged for the bragging rights of screwing an NFA fighter.
I’d hired her as my trainer mainly to prove she was full of shit. That plan backfired like a mother, since over five months later here she was seated on my lap, my arm tightly wrapped around her hip, and analyzing fight styles better than any of my gym instructors. Not to mention how much more my ground game improved in the time we’d worked together.
“What?” she asked when I unintentionally made a sound at the back of my throat. She peered back at me with concern.
I shook my head as I stared her in the eyes—the same eyes I’d avoided for the first month she trained me.
“Everything’s changed.”
Her eyebrows dipped and she parted her lips, but her phone rang. “Hold that thought.”
I watched as she snatched her phone from the table, answering it.
“Brandi, hey?” She paused, listening to whoever this Brandi chick was. At least, it better be a chick. I’ll be damned if any son of a bitch called her this late in the day and she answered in my face.
Jealousy.
Syd glanced over at me when I snorted at my own inner thoughts. Yeah, I was jealous. An emotion I never thought I’d ever become familiar with.
“Okay, I’ll come pick ‘em up in an hour. That should be enough time, right?”
She paused.
