Burnished Gold

[redsox907]

Season One, Episode Seven - Liftoff

As May 26th steadily approached, Iggy was certain he’d wake up one day and realize it was all just a dream. He woke up flat on his back, then rolled onto his left side so the calendar that was tacked to the back of his door was in view. It was a simple, plain desk calendar, but with Iggy’s own customization. He’d gone through and printed pictures from SI’s latest bikini shoot, glueing them over the normal nature scenes that accompanied each month. And that was why it was tacked to the back of his door, rather than above his desk. He knew that someone would eventually see it, but for now it was his own personal greeting each morning. Hilary Duff sat on the upper portion for the month of May, wearing a simple black one piece, angled away from the camera so her ass was the focus of the shot, the bikini riding up just enough to see the curves on her cheeks, her blond hair cascading down her back as she wore a soft smile.

For a moment he forgot what he’d originally been searching for, lost in the ‘prime milk’ as Ty called her, before refocusing on the date.

May 26th. In bold red ink: AZ. That was his confirmation that it wasn’t a dream. It was real. And, as he swung his legs over the bed and crossed to the calendar, snagging the bright red sharpie as he passed his desk, it was time to cross off May 25th.

Today was the 26th and in three short hours, he’d be heading to the airport to begin his journey back home.

~~~

Cassie sat on the leather couch in the living room, the one off-center from the television, while Clay lounged in his Lazy-Boy, watching the French Open on the large television set into the wall, the French windows cascading the morning light through them. Although June was fast approaching, summer hadn’t quite taken ahold of Alaska yet. Frost still clung to the grass each morning, slowly evaporating away as the morning sun slowly rose the temperature until the frost could resist their chemical reaction no longer.

“Why don’t we tell him now, so he can pack a few extra things that he will need?” Cassie had asked the question five different ways now, but was met with the same conclusion.

Sure as the clock kept ticking, so did Clay’s answer.

“It’s not a punishment if he can prepare for it, Cass. Now stop asking, you’re starting to piss me off,” snapped Clay, his attention fixed on the screen as Coco Gauff worked her way towards a game winning bagel in the second set.

Cassie ran her fingers through her hair, using her nails to work out the knots as she went. At this rate, he’d be shipping her back to Tolleson too if she kept prodding.

“Besides,” he added over his shoulder, the words coming with an ease of someone who’s used to being told he was right, even when he wasn’t, “We already warned Rodrigo. If Iggy needs things, it’s his job to do it.”

“We’ve done our part for the last ten years, it’s time for Rodrigo to put on his big boys pants.”

Gauff blew the ace by Taylor Townsend, clinching her 6-4, 6-0 victory to advance to the second round.

“I would have liked Pegula to win, but at least an American is advancing. Even if…”

His words trailed away as Cassie quietly exited the room, not wanting to distract Clay from the television and incur any more of his wrath.

‘If I can’t warn him, I can at least give him a home cooked meal. If Rodrigo didn’t learn how to cook in prison, they’ll be eating a lot of takeout,’ she thought with a laugh. She was halfway down the hallway to the kitchen when she passed the mahogany door that lead into the dining room, and beyond it, the bar. The door was slightly ajar still, likely never closed when she finally retreated to bed late last night, not wanting to wake anyone as she stumbled out of the room.

Her eyes landed on the bar. Then, the bottle of vodka, more than half gone, still sitting on the bartop where she’d left it the night before. The once frozen bottle was no entirely warm, the condensation that had enveloped it, slowly running down the long glass bottle and pooling on the marble bar top, was gone.

Before she registered the movement, Cassie was moving toward the bar, her arm instinctively reaching for the bottle.

‘I’m just putting it in the freezer, so it’s chilled for tonight,’ she reassured herself with false hope as she wrapped her fingers around the glass, lifting it off the counter.

Her hand froze midair, the bottle still firmly in her grasp, stuck between one of two inevitable actions. Cassie’s eyes rose, catching her own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Her eyes met their own reflection and held its own stare.

‘What am I doing,’ Cassie thought with dismay and was ashamed when she had no defensible answer. With a shudder, she walked behind the bar, shoving the bottle into the freezer without a care where it landed, before slamming the door a tad harder than necessary, the bottle rattling inside as it shook the freezer.

She stood there for a moment, breath hitched in her chest, fighting the urge to pull the bottle back out of the freezer. ‘One drink wouldn’t do anything but clam her nerves, keep her from being an emotional mess at the airport’ she thought to herself. As she wrestled with her urge, something else caught her eye, just outside of her peripheral vision. An envelope, on the serving side of the bar, right next to the sink.

Had she put it there last night? Shame wrapped cooly around Cassie as she again realized she did not know. She slowly peeled the tab back, it was unlikely it was Clay’s, since he never went into the dining room anymore, but she wanted to be sure.

The glue peeled back with a satisfying snapping sound and Cassie let out a tiny, barely audible gasp when she saw the contents.

She closed the flap, then reopened it to confirm what she saw.

‘Maybe there is a way to help Iggy without warning him,’ she thought to herself, her passion suddenly restored by the mysterious envelope.

~~~

The scenery outside kept changing, the trees moving slowly in and out of view, the road changing as Clay turned his Ram 2500 onto the New Seward Highway as the truck barreled towards the airport.

But inside the spacious cab, it felt like time was standing still. Clay kept the same stone expression on his face, Cassie shrank into the door of the passenger side, eyes cast low to the floor boards, not daring to look at Iggy as if to offer him help.

“What do you mean?” Iggy heard himself stammer. He was unaware he was even speaking, marveling at how the words floating in his brain found their way out of his mouth.

“I don’t know what’s so hard to understand about it, Iggy. You’re doing mandatory football camps while in Arizona. You have a gym membership that you are required to use. These are stipulations approved by the judge and Rodrigo’s lawyer.”

It didn’t sound any different on the third time than the first or the second.

“Unless, Rodrigo can’t handle being a father with responsibilities.”

Clay turned to face Iggy now, wanting to be sure that Iggy understood the full scope of what was being explained. The shit-eating grin reserved for when he knew he had won was plastered on his face, white teeth showing as he spoke through the smile.

“If you miss more than three days of camp, or days at the gym, you’ll be on the next plane to Alaska. You got it?”

Iggy nodded. He’d already had one outburst, he wasn’t going to give Clay the satisfaction of anymore.

At least, the camps were non-contact. But still. He didn’t have his cleats, his gloves, his workout gear. Nothing. It was no matter though, the decision was made. He’d have to figure it out once he was there, find some gear at a second-hand store.

Iggy looked down and was surprised to see his fists still clinched, the nails digging half-moons into his skin. He forced them open, flexing his fingers that protested as they released, then rubbed the indentations on his his skins softly.

A second hand store was exactly what he would have to do, it wouldn’t be flashy, but it would be practical.

He glanced up as he continue to wrestle with the idea, and his eyes met Clay’s through the rear-view mirror.

They locked eyes and Clay’s shit-eating grin stayed blasted across his face.

~~~

The Ted Stevens International Airport was appropriately unhurried for a Tuesday morning. There was traffic, that was to be sure, but it wasn’t the steady flow of people all battling to be the first through the security checkpoint liked he’d seen on occasions past.

When they’d arrived moments earlier, Clay simply pulled up to the curb and looked at Iggy through the rearview mirror again.

“Get your stuff,” he said coldly. It was clear, there would be no goodbye from him. Cassie, on the other hand, insisted on walking him inside. As she climbed out of the large truck, Clay simply nodded.

“Call me when you’re done.” Then pulled off of the curb the moment Iggy’s suitcase cleared the bed of the truck.

They had walked in silence, side by side, as Iggy went through the usual procedure of checking in. He had one more fleeting thought about wishing he had more gear as he placed his suitcase onto the scale to be weighed, but brushed it aside. Lingering on the could have been would just sour his mood during the nearly six hour flight to Phoenix.

It wasn’t until they were approaching the security checkpoint that Cassie spoke. As she coughed to get Iggy’s attention, drawing him away from the line as he’d been scanning for how many passengers were ahead of him, he was embarrassed to see tears streaming down her face.

He wasn’t embarrassed about the act itself. He was embarrassed, and partly ashamed, that he hadn’t notice sooner, because by the smearing of her eyeliner, his mother had been crying for some time.

Iggy pulled his Mom in close, her head pressing into his chest. He could feel the warm tears stinging through the black cotton shirt he wore and the small shudders that rocked her body as she tried to calm her breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shirt, a new series of sobs escaping as the words left her lips.

They stood there, awkwardly embraced in front of the security checkpoint, for a few minutes before Cassie finally forced herself to separate from her son. Her eyes were red from the tears, the makeup smeared from the crying and pressing into Iggy’s shirt.

“I tried to get Clay to tell you earlier, so you could bring stuff,” Cassie stammered. “But you know how he gets.”

Iggy simply nodded as he stared down at his mother.

“I really am trying. I know you don’t see it but—“ Cassie’s voice died in her throat as sobs escape where words had just been.

Iggy went to pull his Mom close to him again, more out of instinct than anything, but Cassie took one firm, defiant step back, putting her hands out in front of her to indicate she was fine.

“I wasn’t able to warn you,” she continued, swallowing back another burst of sobs that threatened to overtake her, “But I can do something.”

She had pulled an envelop out of her purse, hastily shoving it at Iggy, who took it and turned it over in his hands to examine it.

“Don’t open that in the middle of a crowded airport!” Cassie hissed as Iggy flipped open the flap. “Somebody will see it.”

Iggy ignored his mother, pulling the wad of cash out of the envelope. It was easily $500 spread between 20s, 50s, and a few 100s.

He looked at his Mom with a mixture of surprise and awe. Had she robbed Clay to give him the money for new gear?

“Don’t ask where it came from. And if someone happens to ask, you don’t know where it came from. Got it?”

Iggy nodded in bewilderment, still in shock that his mother would be this defiant of the man she spent her entire life walking on eggshells for.

“I’m not going to give you another hug. I don’t want to burst into tears again, and I don’t want to embarrass you anymore than I have.”

“I love you Ignacio. Call me when you get to your father’s.”

She rose on her tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, and turned and walked away.

Iggy watched her weave her way through the crowd, pulling her iPhone out of her back pocket as she went, presumably to summon Clay again. A mixture of admiration and sadness washed over him. How much had she risked to give him that money, he thought to himself. And without Iggy there to be the defacto punching bag, how much verbal and emotional absue would she receive because of it?

Iggy shuddered as images of Clay towering over Cassie, words and spit flying out of his mouth as he berated her flashed into his mind. He forced the thought away.

Even if that happened, there was nothing he could do now. He was on his own journey.

When Cassie finally disappeared through the sliding glass doors to the parking lot, and Clay, beyond, Iggy turned to face the security line.

With a deep breath, he started walking, easing himself into line. As he moved through the line, carefully pacing his steps to avoid bumping the other travelers, he realized that for the first time since he’d moved to Alaska, he would be outside of Clay’s purview.

There would be no scowl as he walked through the door for the next two months. No hidden agenda in the words. No incessant reminders from Clay, framing his harshness as training, steeling him from becoming another washout like his father.

He was lost deep in thought, marveling at a summer unbridled of rules, and failed to notice that he’d made his way up to the TSA Agent screening the front of the security check in line.

“Boarding pass and identification,” the elderly woman said in a monotone voice.

Iggy fumbled into the front of his carryon, panic setting in briefly as he struggled to find his boarding pass. Then, his fingers found the paper and it was coming out of his bag. For one panic filled second he thought Cassie still had the ticket, that he would be pulled back into Clay’s gravitational pull inadvertently.

The woman, who was easily in her mid-50s, blonde hair well-grayed, and enough makeup applied to try and appear at least ten years younger. She moved with a slight stiffness of someone who had done physical labor at one point and was paying the price now, her movements heavy and strained.

She slouched over the podium, examining Iggy’s paperwork, before raising her patient eyes, that were still bright at the edges, to Iggy.

“Going to Arizona, huh? Visiting the Grand Canyon?”

Iggy shook his head, a smile finally cutting through.

“No.”

“I’m going home.”

[djp73]

Hilary Duff sat on the upper portion for the month of May, wearing a simple black one piece, angled away from the camera so her ass was the focus of the shot, the bikini riding up just enough to see the curves on her cheeks, her blond hair cascading down her back as she wore a soft smile.

For a moment he forgot what he’d originally been searching for, lost in the ‘prime milk’ as Ty called her, before refocusing on the date.

[Captain Canada]

For a moment he forgot what he’d originally been searching for, lost in the ‘prime milk’ as Ty called her, before refocusing on the date.

You're a different kind of guy, eh?

Cassie a wet blanket, but I mean, I'm sure there's some severe power dynamic issues going on here.

[Caesar]

Cassie about to go missing in the Alaskan bush stealing money.

[redsox907]

Hilary Duff sat on the upper portion for the month of May, wearing a simple black one piece, angled away from the camera so her ass was the focus of the shot, the bikini riding up just enough to see the curves on her cheeks, her blond hair cascading down her back as she wore a soft smile.

For a moment he forgot what he’d originally been searching for, lost in the ‘prime milk’ as Ty called her, before refocusing on the date.

For a moment he forgot what he’d originally been searching for, lost in the ‘prime milk’ as Ty called her, before refocusing on the date.

You're a different kind of guy, eh?

For a moment he forgot what he’d originally been searching for, lost in the ‘prime milk’ as Ty called her, before refocusing on the date.

Cassie a wet blanket, but I mean, I'm sure there's some severe power dynamic issues going on here.

taking a woman outta poverty and isolating her prolly gonna do that

Cassie about to go missing in the Alaskan bush stealing money.

$500 bucks ain't gonna get her murked, but definitely in the dog house

especially now that Iggy ain't there to do all the bitch work

[redsox907]

Season One, Episode Eight - Home

The bottle sat on the bar in front of him, condensation beginning to dry as the beer went from ice cold to lukewarm. The label had started to peel at the edges, the glue coming undone as the water soaked through, then finally dried the small rectangle.

He took a small pull, enough to keep his mouth from going dry, grimacing at the sour taste of the beer. The girl behind the counter—Jill, mid-twenties, who looked like she was recently an Alpha Phi at nearby Arizona State—had sold him on ordering the ‘house IPA,’ a decision he quickly regretted. Jill had been chatty at first, more than likely trying to drum up more business, but had quickly moved down the bar when she realized Rodrigo had no intent on ordering anything more than the one beer that he’d nursed for the last hour.

Now she stood three chairs down, polishing the already clean glossy wood bar top while chatting up a group of younger gentleman who were drinking her in with their eyes as they gulped down the beers, eagerly asking her opinion on what to do in Phoenix and when she’d get off to show them around.

Rodrigo watched her movements. The hint of a smile here, a small controlled laugh when the bad joke held too long in the air without a response. The quick hair flip as she pretended to be distracted before giving the illusion the conversation drew her back in. She was definitely a pro.

He felt the movement on his left, the opposite side of where the waitress was working the group of men, before he heard them. He couldn’t fully see them in the reflective mirror behind the bar back, much of the view obscured by the numerous half-drank bottles lining its shelf. All he could make out was he was older, closer to Rodrigo’s age than the eager fools down the bar.

“You know, if you want to admire her up close you’ve got to do more than nurse that beer,” the stranger laughed, raising his hand to signal the bartender his way.

Jill shot the stranger a look that said she’d rather not lose her momentum, holding the stranger’s gaze for a minute. Realizing she wasn’t going to win the battle, she flipped her hair back towards the men’s direction, batting her eyelashes as she dismissed herself, making the men promise to be waiting for her return.

She put an extra swish in her walk as she slowly moved down the bar, polishing it as she went while the guys stared after her, before coming to a stop.

“I’ll have what he’s warming up,” the stranger ordered, putting a five on the counter and tapping it. Jill nodded, pulling a bottle from the ice chest in front of her, popping the top on the edge of the bar counter with ease, showing that working the customers wasn’t her only talent, before placing the already dripping drink onto the coaster in front of him.

She picked up the worn five dollar bill with two fingers, holding it up between herself and the stranger. She raised one eyebrow, moving her eyes from the singular bill pinched between her thumb and pointer, to the stranger and back.

“S’all yours, hun,” the stranger drawled with a salute. The smile instantly broke across her face, annoyance fading into flirtation with effortless ease.

“Well if you plan on drinking it and not warming it, holler when you want some more, hun,” she said with a wink and a smile. Then, she swayed her way back down the bar towards the men who’d eagerly pulled out the money for their next drinks, cellphones out on the counter, no doubt ready to ask for her number in the process.

“Name’s Donnie,” said the man, extending the hand that wasn’t clasped around the beer towards Rodrigo. Rodrigo shook it with the hand not nursing the beer.

“Rodrigo.”

“What brings you to the lovely Sky Harbor International Airport Bar at 3PM on a Tuesday afternoon?”

“Aside from the lovely view,” he half chuckled, lifting his eyebrows as Jill did a slow spin for the other patrons, grabbing a stack of fives from the counter as she made the pass.

“Picking my son up,” Rodrigo answered, his eyes moving off Jill and watching the man to his left through the reflective glass.

“Ah, look at us then,” the man said, clasping his hands together as small droplets of condensation flew out o the impact, “Two peas in a pod. I am picking up my son and wife as well.”

“No wife, just son.”

“Okay, okay. To each their own. Best of both worlds then, eh?

Rodrigo took another pull of his beer, hiding his grimace this time from the stranger, before raising his eyebrows questioningly at Donnie.

“All I mean is, I gotta fly my wife and kid outta town to get some strange. You can do it on a whim.”

“Color me jealous,” he laughed before clinking his bottle against Rodrigo’s beer and downing the rest in two swift gulps. He raised the now empty bottle, shaking it towards Jill to request another. This time she didn’t even pretend to ignore him, simply turning her back to cut off her view as she was convincing the now inebriated men to order tequila shots.

Rodrigo took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth, before turning on Donnie.

“I wouldn’t call it the best of both worlds, Donnie. Spent 10 years in ASPC wanting nothing more to see my wife and son again, only to get out and they’ve left for Alaska with some rich guero.”

Donnie recoiled as if he’d been slapped, hands going up at his sides in defense, his ignored request for another drink forgotten.

“Easy bud, just shooting the shit. I always get it off my chest before they get off the plane so I’ve got a clean conscience. Ya know, clean slate type of thing.”

Rodrigo shook his head and flicked his hand at Donnie, shooing him away as if he were a fly.

He tossed a $10 on the bar top, whistled for the waitress, pointing at the bill when she turned her attention back towards him. Her smile broke wide seeing the tip and Rodrigo gave her a small salute before turning on his heel.

Donnie was still flabbergasted in his seat, staring after Rodrigo as he walked out towards the security checkpoint that separated the terminals from the lobby. He glanced at the reader board on the wall, flight numbers and departure times sprawling across it. He searched until he found Iggy’s flight, confirmed it was arriving on time, and looked at his watch.

45 more minutes. Then his son would be home. He took a seat on the bench directly across from the checkpoint, ensuring he would see Iggy the minute he crossed into the lobby.

As he sat waiting, he noticed a mid-40’s woman and a teenage son standing in the lobby, obviously looking for someone. As he watched, more out of boredom than anything, he saw the son finally tap his mom on the shoulder, pointing over towards the bar Rodrigo had abandoned some five minutes before.

Rodrigo followed the teenagers pointed finger to none other than Donnie, still at the bar. He’d managed to coerce another beer out of Jill, who he couldn’t see from his seat. The teenager took off towards his father, leaving the mother behind as she frantically tried to keep pace.

‘This must be Mrs. Donnie,’ Rodrigo thought to himself. Before he registered what he was doing, he quickly weaved his way through the bodies of other passerby as he closed the distance on the woman.

“Excuse me Mrs., I don’t mean to impose, but I couldn’t help but notice you pointing over at the bar there. Are you looking for Donnie?”

The reproachful look on the woman’s face eased slightly at the mention of her husband’s name, a polite smile forming across her face. She was pretty, in a homely way, but seemed sweet enough.

“Oh, you know Donnie?”

“Only enough to know that you should probably get tested when you get home, ma’am. And check your bank account.”

“Ol’ Donnie has a habit of picking up hookers while you’re out of town.”

Rodrigo didn’t wait to answer anymore questions, disappearing back into the crowd before she could collect her thoughts and begin to pepper him with questions.

Rodrigo fell back just enough to see the aftermath of his bombshell. Mrs. Donnie slowly approached Donnie, but as the man rose from his stool to close the gap between himself and his wife, a sharp sound rang through the bar, loud enough for Rodrigo to hear from his seat.

It was the cold crack of skin meeting skin with force. Donnie’s head whipped to the side, before snapping back, face flush with furry. He couldn’t make out the words, but their body language told him everything.

Donnie was denying, Mrs. Donnie was now crying. The son stood beside him, torn between what to do. Finally after a few moments, Mrs. Donnie grabbed her son and stormed off, leaving Donnie in a bitter rage standing alone in the middle of the bar.

His bewildered eyes frantically started searching the crowd. Then, he saw Rodrigo, his eyes narrowing to slits as recognition settled across his face.

Rodrigo pounded one fist to his chest, then flipped off Donnie with both hands before re-disappearing into the crowd.

He made his way back to the benches across from the checkpoint, glancing at the clock above the reader board.

15 minutes.

~~~

The first thing he noticed was the heat. It pressed in from every side. It wasn’t just hot. It was sweltering. Like being stuck in a sauna with no way out. He’d thought 90 degrees up in Fairbanks two summers ago had been hot with the Alaskan sun never setting, just relentlessly beating you down from morning until night with heat.

But this was different entirely. Even in the air conditioned plane, you could feel it threatening just outside the protective layer of fiberglass, ready to scald whoever dared challenge it.

The jetway wasn’t as air-conditioned as the plane, the heat sweltering inside the tiny passage, shimmering in the air as they passed through. But once you crossed into the airport, it was like walking into a deep freezer. Cold air bristled his skin, causing goosebumps to break out, and turning his sweat into ice.

It felt like jumping into Westchester Lagoon in late April, the ice broken on the surface, but the water still holding a deep chill. He shivered once, while wiping the cooled sweat off his brow, before beginning his trek to the airport lobby.

He followed the signs, falling in with the flow of other passengers making their way to baggage claim, before the reality struck him.

On the other side of the security checkpoint, would be his father. In the flesh. Not a picture. Or a voice through the phone thousands of miles away. Or even the fleeting image he had as a child of his father in the beige prison jumper. It would be him, in the cold hard flesh.

He’d dreamed of this moment for years after Clay yanked him out of his home and deposited him in the arctic wasteland of Alaska. But now that the moment was finally before him, he didn’t know what he’d say.

He passed the McDonalds on the right, the line stretching down the corridor at least 30 people deep, then the Hudson News on the left, people stacked inside purchasing magazines and overpriced drinks for their trip. Finally, Chelesa’s Kitchen was being left in his wake, several other passengers enjoying coffee with their loved ones.

‘This is it,’ Iggy thought to himself. ‘You better think of something.’

He read the sign in bold neon: “No reentry past this point.” Then saw the security guard behind his booth, absentmindedly watching the traffic while playing a game on his phone.

Then he saw him. The man he hadn’t seen in ten years.

His father.

It was like looking into a mirror that aged you. Rodrigo had the same dark features as Ignacio. Or rather, Iggy had his father’s features. But after so long apart, it felt like his father had borrowed his appearance, not the other way around.

The dark features were where the similarities ended. Rodrigo had short hair, swept to the side, the salt and pepper starting to show through. He had a mustache and stubble, both littered with grey, and hard lines across his face, evidence of a hard life and even harder prison sentence.

He watched the recognition wash over his father’s face, then the elation. Rodrigo nearly tripped over his feet as he leapt from the bench, eating up the space between the checkpoint and where he’d been sitting moments before with startling quickness.

While Rodrigo beelined towards Iggy, practically shoving other passerby out of the way, Iggy was rooted to the spot. All the times he’d thought about this moment and suddenly, Iggy was frozen in place. ‘This is what a deer staring into the headlights feels like,’ Iggy thought.

Before Iggy knew what was happening, his father had him in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground by a few inches. Rodrigo held Iggy like that for a moment, lost in his own emotion, oblivious to the passengers having to adjust their path around him, like a river altering course around a rock in its path.

He finally set Iggy down and for the first time he realized he was taller than his father. Not by much, maybe a few inches, but in the swiftness of the bear hug he hadn’t realized the height difference.

Rodrigo took a step back, admiring his son, a proud smile stretching from ear to ear.

Finally, Iggy said the only thing he could think of.

“Hi, Dad.”

[Soapy]

SI Swimsuit in 2026 is nasty work

court mandated football practice is hilarious, ngl

[djp73]

[Caesar]

“Ol’ Donnie has a habit of picking up hookers while you’re out of town.”

Rodrigo's just taken a hit in my estimation. That ain't your business, slime.

[redsox907]

SI Swimsuit in 2026 is nasty work

PRIME

► Show Spoiler

court mandated football practice is hilarious, ngl

technically, it's Clay mandated. The court just said he could set rules and now he being petty hoping that Rodrigo fucks up

you know the vibes

“Ol’ Donnie has a habit of picking up hookers while you’re out of town.”

Rodrigo's just taken a hit in my estimation. That ain't your business, slime.

mans waited seven years to get out the bing and another two just to see his son, meanwhile good ol boy Donnie is casually bragging to rando's about flying his family out of town to get some strange. Rodrigo just felt some type of way.

SN - I considered making it a hooker named Mireya instead of ambiguous, but it's too early for all that