4: Greyson

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I fucking hate Campus Café. It's busy and cramped, and it's smells so strongly of coffee I wouldn't be surprised if they rubbed old coffee grounds into the brick walls.

I've been waiting for Sanders for 10 minutes and I'm ready to fucking leave. He's been my best friend for 10 years and he thinks that gives him a free pass to piss me off. Jackass. There's people everywhere and I swear to god every single one of them has been staring at me. They can all fuck off. They wanna stare? Well then they can pay the $30 and come to my next fight.

I'm about to call Sanders and tell him I'm leaving when a tall blonde in a wrinkled apron comes over. She's got this crazy person smile on her face and I don't know if I want to laugh at it or admire it. Who the hell is that happy? Pretty girls who can bat their eyes and get what they want, that's who.

"Hi! Sorry you've been waiting so long it's been so busy today and I was running late and everything's crazy." She laughs. "How's your day going? And are you waiting on anyone else or-"

"I'll have a large black coffee to go." I cut her off. The girl can clearly talk. And I don't want to.

"A large black coffee? Wow, you're brave. I mean I love coffee and all, obviously, considering I work here, but I've just never been able to get behind black coffee. It's just so bitter."

I can only stare at her while she keeps talking and I mean talking. Her hands are flying all over the place and she somehow manages to smile even bigger. Does she think I give a shit about how she takes her coffee? Because I don't. I also don't care about her hatred for milk. Or her dislike for almond milk in hot coffee. Or how coconut milk hurts her stomach. Jesus, does this girl ever shut the fuck up?

"But yeah that's why I prefer oat milk in my coffee." She trails off, seeing my face and obviously realizing I don't give a fuck. Her face flushes bright red and she averts her eyes. There ya go, sweetheart, take the hint. "Anyways, my names Kennedy if you need anything. I'll grab your coffee right away." She says, pulling at the sleeve of her sweater and smiling, not as crazy person as before.

When I don't reply her smile falls a little but she catches it and beams again, whirling around and hurrying behind the counter. I track her movements while she makes my coffee and watch as her coworker says something to her, then glances at me. If this guy try's to come talk to me I might hit him. I really fucking feel like hitting someone right now. When she looks up I can see she's blushing even harder and her movements are all jerky and rushed. Flustered, she points to the door leading to what I assume is the kitchen and says something to the guy. I narrow my eyes when he pats her ass and shoos her into the back.

By the time she's through the door, I've lost interest and go back to my phone, sending Sanders a text telling him I'm leaving and he can get his own fucking coffee. I stretch my legs out under the table and crack my neck, looking around. When I make eye contact with a a couple guys a few tables over I grab my phone from the table, throw a couple bills down and sit up. Not fast enough to avoid them calling out to me.

"Hey King. Saw your fight on Thursday. You knocked that dude out in less than 5 minutes, it was awesome." The douchier looking of the two says. Yeah, I was there you dumb fuck. There's nothing that pisses me off more than little frat boys replaying
my own fights to me like they know me. I send them a curt nod and don't respond.

When a coffee is placed infront of me I look up expecting to see Kennedy, but instead I'm met with ass guy.

"Enjoy your coffee." He says in a flat voice, eyeing me.

I grab it without a word and head for the door, ignoring Chad and Brad. Once I'm outside I take the first deep breath since I entered the coffee shop and head towards my bike. leaning against it, I pull out my phone and call Sanders.

"Hey Kingy baby, how are you?" He answers as if he isn't fucking 15 minutes late.

"I'm done waiting for you, I'm going home. You can get your own coffee." I say, ignoring his question. "Whatever you wanted to tell me you can either tell me now or at the gym later."

"You're no fun, man. I got you that fight."

I pause, thinking about what he's saying. "With Krostov?"

"Hell yeah."

A surprised laugh escapes me. We've been trying to get this fight for months but Krostov keeps backing out. The 6'2" 250 pound Russian is a hell of a fighter. He's a cheap motherfucker, always pulling illegal shit, but when I beat him I'll be up 50 grand, so who gives a fuck.

"You're the man." I tell Sanders before hanging up. Dazed, I glance back at the cafe only to see Kennedy staring at me through the window, quickly looking away when ours eyes catch.

I pause and take her in. She's gotta be at least 5'9" and can't weigh more than 120. I'll admit she's got legs for days. She's also got no ass and a cups. I shake my head, telling myself to stop judging her just cause she isn't my type. My sister tells me basically everyday that what I think and say affects my karma and what I attract or some shit. And with this fight coming up I don't need bad karma. She also tells me that crystals will bring me good luck and love so who know what the fuck she's on.

I run a hand through my hair before throwing out the coffee and shoving my helmet on. I fucking hate coffee.

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