“I’m kidding!” He let out some more husky laughter. “Vaginas are my favorite too, bunny! I need them to function daily, no need to defend them to me.”
“But you just called my brother a giant pussy in a derogatory way!”
“Weeell, it’s how the English language works.”
“Weeell, it’swrong!” I said, riled up. “It doesn’t mean you should use the expression like that.”
“Alright. Let’s start a petition to make everyone say ‘You have a vagina’ instead of ‘You have balls.’ Though, my balls are made of iron. You’d love to?—”
“To chop them!” I finished for him.
“What, and make all those unmated girls have to host a funeral?”
God, this person’s ego could build an entire town. “Don’t be a testicle, Rudolph!”
“A testicle?”
“Way more sensitive and prone to injury,” I shot back, smugly. “Can’t even handle a slight tap without crumbling into a ball of pain.”
“I bet you don’t tap any.”
Before I had the chance to tell him that I could if I chose to—and I did, at times—he continued.
“So, you don’t like wereball because that gianttesticleof your brother gets beaten up?”
I bet he would apologize if he knew who he was talking about. Maybe even ask for an autograph.
“It’s not that he isn’t good, but most players get beaten up during a game. Do you know why?”
“Because it’s fun?”
“Because it’s wereball. I bet the person who invented the game was just looking for a sustainable way to let testosterone-filled werewolves satisfy their need for violence and blood legally, avoiding wars among the packs.”
It was a theory that I fully believed in. How else could you explain the reduction in violence and feuds between packs? Werewolves now had the chance to beat others up in the wereball fields—and of course, it wasn’t a real wereball match if there was no extreme fighting between the fans after the game.
It was a modern way to make war and satisfy the inner beast.
The sound of very slow clapping made my lips twitch. “What a great speech! Wow! Can you repeat it again so I can record it and replay it when I want to fall asleep?”
Indignation overwhelmed me, but before I could fight back, he anticipated my next words.
“And no,Inever get hit during wereball. I’m the one who smashes everyone else.”
He said it with such confidence that I almost believed him.
“Who do you think you are to speak so lowly of everyone else? His Royal Alpha? The Terminator?”
A pause came from the other side as I braced myself for an inappropriate remark.
“Did you just compare the Terminator to His Royal Alpha?”
“Everyone seems to be doing it at Dark Diamond. And I don’t really understand why.”
“Well, I’d say he’s more like a god than a king,” he said with that mocking tone of his.
“Of course you do.”
“Haven’t you ever seen him play?” He huffed out a laugh. There was something in his voice that I couldn’t put my finger on.
