“A peach schnapps,” I said.

“Good fight,” Tina said.

“Thank you,” he replied.

Chris looked like he could have been cute if it wasn’t for the missing teeth and permanent scars that came with boxing. But he was dressed nice, and it was obvious he had money. Tina wound up with him, and I settled for another fighter, Shawn, who was from the same camp as Chris. We all ate and drank and then headed up to a hotel room. After I went down on Shawn and Tina did God knows what with Chris, we all exchanged numbers and started dealing with each other regular. I even spent Valentine’s Day with Shawn at his house in Brooklyn. That pissed O off.

“How the fuck you goin’ spend Valentine’s Day with some other nigga?” O screamed in the phone.

“When you decided to have somethin’ on the side,” I responded.

“So, you fuckin’ this nigga?” O asked, as if I had already admitted it to him.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m into,” I said, being real for the first time in our so-called relationship.

I was tired of O’s recent bullshit. We both had ulterior motives, shit.

“Fuck you, bitch!” he said right before he banged on me.

I wasn’t mad, though. Actually, I couldn’t have cared less. Shit, it was time for O to take what he dished. I was moving on. And I guess that’s exactly what it took to bring O back to reality, because his ass started paying me a lot more attention after he found out I was messin’ with somebody else. He called me more and wanted more of my time. I gave it to him only because he was closer and more convenient than Shawn, who traveled a lot.

Meanwhile, Tina and I were making all kinds of plans for All-Star weekend. It was so convenient that it was in Philly that year. We went down South Street and had some things made. I ordered a baby pink leather suit with white stripes going down the side of the legs and arms like the Adidas sweat suits.