“So why’s it called the World Soccer Cup, huh?”

“It’s not, dumb-ass. It’s called the World Cup.”

“Oh.”

Sergei slammed his fist on the table. “Hockey!”

“Whoa, there, Sergei. You’ll scare the kiddies. Besides, hockey is over for the year. The Rangers won the Stanley Cup.”

“Nyet.” Then Sergei went into a very animated conversation with Ivan that made Deacon wish he understood Russian.

“What’d he say?” Fisher asked.

“Sixteen, seventeen games for football players is nothing. Hockey players play eighty-two games. That is the true test of athletic ability.”

“I’m assuming Sergei used to be a hockey player?” Deacon said dryly.

Ivan shook his head. “His brother, Semyon, is. He’s a skate-on for the NHL draft, hoping to get picked up by the Avalanche.”

Enough food arrived to feed a hockey team.

“So, Deacon, you’re really not going to the strip club with us?” Beck asked.

“Nope.”

“He’s blowing us off to get blown by Molly.”

Deacon leaned across the table so he had Fisher’s full attention. “I won’t put up with disrespect where she’s concerned, so watch your fucking mouth.”

“Oh, I see how it is. Last month when I took Jewel out, you said a bunch of lewd things—like showing Jewel the family jewels and asking how well she polishes them with her mouth. Now, when you’re with a woman for longer than fifteen minutes, she’s off-limits? Total bullshit, Deacon.”

“Fisher has a point,” Blue said. “You were such a dick about him going to the ballet with Jewel.”

“Come on. It was the fucking ballet.”

Ivan smacked the table. “I was in the fucking ballet, remember? Even in a pair of tights, I can crush the life out of you, redneck.”

Jesus.

Beck made the time-out sign.

Reaching into his pocket, Deacon pulled out his VIP pass. “Happy fuckin’ birthday, motherfucker.”

“Hey. You were gonna give that to me,” Fisher complained.

Deacon flashed his teeth. “And now I’m not.”

“Asswipe.”

The food didn’t last long. Sergei, Ivan, Blaze, and Fisher took off to play games. Deacon opted for a second beer—which he wouldn’t have had if Maddox sat across from him.

Maddox. The man was up to something.

“D? You doing okay?” Beck asked.

“I guess. Weird situation with Maddox bringing Courey in. Don’t know what to make of it. Maddox ain’t saying shit, which puts me back to square one. Speculating just makes my damn head hurt.”

“I’m sure you heard me’n Maddox had words last week.”

“Yeah, I heard. Words about what?”

“You.”

Deacon glanced at Blue. “You disappeared awful damn fast today. You get into it with Maddox too?”

Blue shook his head. “With Ronin.”

“No shit?”

“I’m aware Sensei pays Maddox’s salary. But when he brings in outsiders when he has a perfectly viable solution to the sparring and training partner problems, it pisses me off.”

“I’m lost.”

Beck and Blue exchanged a look. Then Beck folded his arms on the table. “As Shihan, I deal with problems before I bring them to Sensei. That’s my job. We’ve rebuilt the staff since Knox and Shiori are both part-time. You were always part-time. Ito was always part-time. I took over all but three of the black belt classes. That’s a lot. So we hired Jaz, moved some of the black belts into teaching the lower-belt classes. More-advanced students teaching less-advanced students. But I didn’t have a fuckin’ clue that Maddox would pull both you and Ito from the teaching rotation entirely. I had to scramble to fill those instructors spots.”

“You ended up taking over kickboxing.”

“Which I don’t mind. I’m just not as good at it as you are. We’ve lost some students because of it. And when I bring it up with Ronin, he reminds me that your hard-assed stance chased off more students than my unimaginative teaching efforts.”

Deacon allowed a small grin.

“Black Arts still needs more teachers. At least one full-time higher-level black belt that I don’t have to worry is gonna get pulled from the jujitsu roster and moved to the MMA roster. A paid employee.” Beck exhaled slowly. “I compiled a list of instructors who’d love to relocate for the chance to work with Sensei Black. I gave it to Ronin with the understanding he’d have to run all the potential instructors through House of Kenji first. It’s been three weeks. I worked for Kenji for four years, so I know they put a priority on these types of requests. I called my contact there, and she said they hadn’t received any paperwork from Black Arts.”