All right, people,” Just Joel said with an air of bored detachment.
He grabbed Tate by the arm. “You, I want here.” He maneuvered Gina so that she was inches from Moody. “And you here.”
He raised the big camera and locked it onto a tripod. “I want the two of you to stare into each other’s eyes. Really staring. And loathing. Complete loathing. Can we at least do that?”
Gina locked eyes with Tate Moody. He winked.
She clenched her teeth. “Cut it out.”
“Make me.”
“Tate,” Just Joel called. “I’m not buying the hatred. Let me see your killer instinct.”
He cocked an eyebrow and growled.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Gina said.
“That’s it, Gina,” Joel said, clicking off three quick shots. “Narrow your eyes like that again.”
She narrowed. It came naturally.
“Ooh,” Tate taunted. “Now I’m really scared.”
“Beautiful, Gina,” Joel said, clicking again. “You’re a warrior queen. He’s invading your territory. Show him who’s boss.”
“Gladly,” Gina said, shoving Tate so hard he fell over backward.
Click. Click. Click.
Moonpie, clamped tightly in Valerie’s arms, gave a sharp bark of protest.
“Great stuff,” Barry Adelman called from outside the ring. “Let’s get some more of that.”
Gina glowered down at Tate Moody. Instinctively, he crossed both hands over his crotch. Then, genuinely irritated, he scrambled to his feet.
“You’re mad, Tate,” Joel coached, circling around the two now. “Pissed as hell. Who does this emasculating bitch think she is? Huh?”
Tate leaned in toward Gina and scowled.
Click. Click.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“What?”
“Have you been drinking?”
She blushed. “A little vodka in my orange juice. It was the only way I could get up the nerve to come out dressed in those stupid boxing trunks.”
“Gina?” Joel said, “Are we losing our edge?”
“Wuss,” Tate whispered.
She furrowed her brow, balled up her fists, and appeared ready to pummel Tate Moody within an inch of his life.
Click. Click.
“You didn’t look that bad in the robe,” Tate offered, faking a jab to Gina’s chin. “You should show your legs more often.”
Click. Click.
This time her annoyance was real. “You sound just like Scott.”
“Just one man’s professional opinion,” Tate said. “Use what you got. That’s all I’m saying.”
“And that’s all I’ve got?” she retorted. “Good legs? A set of boobs? No brain, no talent?”
“Hey!” Tate said, poking her in the chest. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. If you didn’t want to wear the stupid outfit, you should have just said so. What? You’re so dick-whipped you can’t stand up for your own rights?”
He didn’t even see it coming.
Cold-cocked, with a roundhouse right to the jaw, Tate staggered backward. Gina clutched her right hand in her left and yowled with pain.
Click. Click. Click.