Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

“What are we watching?” She shrugs. “Wrestling. Well, a replay. I’m weeks behind. Had to start from where I left off, so I don’t miss out on the storyline.” I try not to laugh. The storyline. My eyes roam over the screen. A full arena. Signs and screaming fans as far as the eye can see. There’s a man wearing spandex underwear curled up in the middle of the ring while three other huge wrestlers land blows on him. Punches. Kicks. Something that looks like the bum-drops Erika and I used to do on our trampoline. I wince at the violence, but as the seconds wear on and the camera angles change, I can see the ways they protect him even as they punish him. A foot stomp to make the blows sound louder, an overacted facial expression to make the pain appear worse than it is. Suddenly, bright white and lime-green lights flash overhead as the first few notes of a song ring out. The decibels from the crowd spike, and Cora lets out a whispered, “Yes,” as a huge man appears at the top of the ramp that leads to the ring in the middle. Cora’s entire frame orients toward the television, her shoulders pitching forward as though naturally drawn to the man. And then I watch too. The wrestler who everyone is excited about is wearing a pair of black military-style pants that are just tight enough to trace his muscular thighs, while hanging low enough to show the two hard slashes that rise from his waistband. His abs are defined, but not comically so. He doesn’t look like a bodybuilder—he just loo...