Paul was pissed off; he and his wife had gotten into a big fight the night before when he had found out she and her son had been in on a joke to have Paul's longtime best friend, Brian, lay a kiss on him.
He had gone to one of his father's apartments to crash temporarily; the thought of being home with Shyla made Paul sick. Why the hell did she do this to him? Joke or not, Paul wasn't laughing.
Shyla and Damon had teased Brian to death about his longtime "man crush" on Paul, before betting Brian fifty dollars that he would never kiss Paul on the mouth.
But Brian had taken it further; after they had won a championship match, he had taken Paul's face in both of his hands, and right there in front of a national TV audience, kissed Paul passionately, slipping the tongue to boot.
And now Paul was pissed at him too, but still, they had to work together.
Otherwise, Paul thought if he never saw the little piece of shit again, it would be too soon for him.
They could all rot in hell.
"Yeah, yeah; I'll be there in a second," Paul called out when he heard the knock on the door.
He figured it would be the delivery guy with his dinner, or maybe his stepmother stopping by to check on him.
She knew about the argument he'd had with Shyla the night before, though she had had no idea of the details of it. And Paul wasn't about to divulge them.
He'd been through enough bullshit in the last 24 hours as it was.
He was just grateful right now that management or the big shits from the cable station hadn't gotten on his ass---at least not yet.
Opening the door, Paul saw the delivery man; his dinner had arrived.
He paid the guy and gave a healthy tip before taking his order to the coffee table, wolfing it down in front of the TV. It wasn't Alice's cooking--or even Shyla's-- by a long shot, but it would have to do for now.
Paul had just dumped the food wrappers into the garbage when someone knocked again.
Looking up at the clock, he knew his stepmother wouldn't be coming this late and he wondered who it was. He wasn't really expecting anyone.
Brian was standing there.
"What the hell do you want?" He was still pissed at his partner.
"I think we should talk," Brian replied.
"I don't have anything to say to you after that shit you pulled last night," Paul said. "So say what you have to and get the fuck out."
"I don't know why you're being such an asshole about all this. Did you even bother to check the ratings for last night? They're the highest they've been in weeks, dude. Ever think that is why management didn't lose their shit with us today and we still have the titles AND our jobs?"
"I don't give a flying fuck what the ratings are. You made asses out of both of us."
"Shit. I also know you liked it," Brian grinned, referring to 'the kiss seen 'round the world.'
"Otherwise," Brian added, "you would have belted my ass six ways to next Sunday in that ring right then instead of chasing me backstage and cussing me out like a bitch."
"You're lucky I didn't break your fucking neck, especially after I got a sermon from your mother this morning on the phone. She thinks I was behind the whole thing!"
"Nah. I talked to her and confessed to the whole thing being my doing. I left out being goaded by your wife and Damon, though. I figured Shyla's suffered enough."
"She suffered enough? Dude, we're going to have to deal with this shit the rest of our careers. People aren't going to remember matches and titles now because of this shit. All they'll remember is that damn kiss; it'll be right up there with the Joe and Jim gay angle!"
"Is that such a bad thing?" Brian asked. "Come on; people always thought we were....you know."
"Yeah, and you just confirmed it for them last night; never mind we're straight with wives and me with four kids. Thanks a lot, asshole."
"Damn, you really are being an uptight bitch about this, you know that? Maybe you are just a pussy."
Paul responded with knocking his partner on the floor, Brian on all fours, with Paul on one knee, with his right arm over Brian's back and holding his right wrist, twisting his arm as Brian howled.
