On The Ropes

Round 3

Tyreek's POV

"Jackson Churchill called you out last week." Quan told me as he scrolled through his phone. He turned the phone so I could see the kids face before continuing. "He said your reign is comin' to an end and it's time for a new champion."

"Damn nigga. I only been champ five years, how my reign already comin' to an end." I chuckled between sit ups. These young niggas step onto the scene, get a few good fights, then expect to come straight for the title... I mean, I know that's what I did, but damn. It don't work like that for everybody. "I'll give the kid a fight, but not a title shot. He gotta work a lil harder for that."

A good compromise. He gets to try and prove his skill, but he doesn't get to skip the line of the hundreds of niggas who want a shot at my title.

"Let's see..." Quan muttered as he went scrolling through this phone again. "There's that charity match comin' up soon. Red and Raymond Jr will be there. Red has a match set up already, but Raymond is still findin' an opponent. You could fight him?"

That would be a good one. Raymond and I really only fight each other for charity matches. It's just more fun for us that way.

Red, however, loves trying to beat my ass any chance he gets. And he has succeeded many times—No title shots, he just likes fighting me.

He refuses to fight Raymond, though. Ever since they started dating a few years ago, they agreed they wouldn't fight each other.

"Yeah, add that one to the schedule. Always gotta make room for charity fights." At the end of the day, the charity fights were what really mattered. We fight and raise money for some important cause.

"You got a couple interview offers, too... The one that stands out to me is some young nigga who says he wants you to talk about your experience with bein' an openly queer black athlete."

I hummed at that one and nodded my head. Quan knows how I feel about interviews—I don't accept any interviewers that want to ask about my parents or my fake last name or anything along those lines. Most media or fan interactions I do are for my community. Black people, queer people, black queer people.

"You can accept that one." I told Quan, making him nod.

"Let's see... Niko O'Brien is requestin' a rematch for the title... You remember that nigga? Homophobic Irish nigga?" Quan asked before turning his phone for me to see once again.

"Oh yeah—My first pro fight." I chuckled as the memories returned to me. That nigga hated me like I fucked his father... Which I know for a fact that I didn't do. Not because I wouldn't fuck someone's father, but because I can't remember the last time I fucked a white man... But that's besides the point. "Schedule that nigga for the end of the month. I'd love to put him in his place again."

That niggas hatred for me only grew after I beat him. He's talked about me more than my fans over the years. He's called me every slur in the book without breaking a sweat, and swears that I only beat him because I caught him on an off day.

Honestly the only reason I haven't granted him a rematch in the past five years was simply because I liked watching him be angry online. But I figure I've been torturing him long enough. It's time to remind him why I'm the champ and he's not.

"Push ups." Quan suddenly said, making me halt my sit ups before I turned onto my stomach and started doing push ups. "Ain't much interestin' aside from that. A few brand deals, promos, photoshoots, bullshit like that."

"I'll look at that shit later." I breathed out between push ups.

The sound of a phone dinging made both of us look over toward my phone, and he quickly picked it up and turned it on. "Dre said he's gettin' drunk wit' Marcus, Bianca, and Auntie." He informed me, then raised his brows and continued. "He said he wants to suck your dick from the back when you get home." Another pause, then he spoke again. "Now he said he wants you to hit it from the back and grab his neck and make him arch." Another pause. "Damn nigga what the fuck do y'all be doin'?" He asked, making me laugh at his shocked face as he read whatever Dre sent next.