My eyes slice in his direction. “Fuck off, Dupris” is all I give him, which only makes him laugh and back away with hands up in surrender. I can hear a chorus of chuckles from our table. Ford, West, Rhys, and Clyde (who is here as our self-proclaimed “coach”) sit and watch. Hell, even Tripp came into town to watch this all go down.
you better not lose
