Tino groaned, face pressed against the comforter as he lay sprawled across Romeo’s bed in the master bedroom wearing nothing but a towel. “Fucking hicks. Even my toes hurt.” Romeo should have told Tino to shut up and stop complaining. He wanted to be a professional fighter. This is what pro fighters did: they hurt and they learned to love it and Romeo might have explained it if he could have done more than groan and fall into bed right next to Tino. “I’ll pay you five thousand dollars to rub the knots outta my shoulders,” he offered his brother, being dead serious. “This jujitsu shit is killing me.” “Fuck you.” Tino snorted. “I had that damn class again tonight. I can’t even move to scratch my balls. I’m covered in bruises.” Romeo laughed into the comforter, his shoulders shaking, which nearly killed him. “I sent a video to Nova of all those girls beating on you. I think it made his life. He couldn’t even talk he was laughing so hard.” Tino laughed with him, then groaned in pain.
