Manties in a Twist (The Subs Club Book 3) (34 page)

Barkley groaned and sat slowly in the grass. “Has the secret weapon shown up yet?”

“Not yet,” Max said. “But we have Thunder Canyon on our side.”

Barkley and I exchanged nods.

“What’s the secret weapon?” I asked.

Max grinned at me. “Oh, you’ll like him. I don’t know if you’ve checked the official lineup in the lodge, but he’s your first bobbing-for-apples rival.”

“I didn’t even know I could see who I was competing against.”

“Oh yeah,” Scribbles said. “Just go to the lodge and ask Cindy where the boards are.”

“Holy shit,” Glazer said suddenly. He was staring at the fence. “Guys, the secret weapon’s here.”

I looked where he was looking.

A very tall, broad, twentysomething-year-old man in orange pants and hipster glasses walked along the fence at a gait I could only describe as a drift. He had thin, dark curly hair and a slack face, and was carrying a messenger bag. As he passed my section of the fence, a strange smell wafted from him. It wasn’t bad, exactly. Just . . . earthy. Two giant orange and yellow cardboard tentacles were strapped to his arms, and six more sprouted from his back like nightmarish butterfly wings.

Fucktopus.

“I need you to take me to my friends,” I whispered to Ryan as he clipped a lead to my bridle. The meet ’n’ greet was disbanding. There was no sign of Fucktopus, who had been drifting toward the lodge last time I’d seen him.

“Okay.” Ryan glanced at me. “Is everything all—”

“We have a
situation
.”

It didn’t take us long to find the others. They were at the hot dog table. D had three empty paper cartons stacked in front of him, and a hand on his belly. He looked like he was about to hurl. Miles, meanwhile, also had three empty cartons in a stack plus a fourth in front of him, and was calmly, slowly, eating a hot dog with neat little stripes of ketchup and mustard on it.

The others were crowded around watching. Gould was filming discreetly.

“Kamen!” Dave called. “Miles is about to beat D in the hot dog contest.”

“He will do no such thing.” D groaned and flinched. “I’m only resting.”

Miles swallowed his mouthful. “Really? Because I barely feel full.”

D glowered at him. “This is the devil’s work. No man so slight of build can consume four hot dogs without consequence.”

Dave clapped a hand on his shoulder. “He tried to tell you. Slow and steady. But you wolfed three down and now look at you.”

I stamped impatiently. “I need to talk to you guys.”

Dave and Gould came over, then Dave glanced back at Miles, who said, “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Dave faced me again. “What’s up?”

“He’s here.”

“Who’s here?” His jaw dropped suddenly. “
Bill
?”

“No. Fucktopus.”

“What?”

Gould stepped closer. “Are you serious?”

I waved my hoof at them. “
Yes
. He’s my bobbing-for-apples rival!”

Dave’s mouth was still hanging open. “Holy
shit
.”

D walked over, still clutching his belly. “Everything all right?”

No one answered.

“What’s he look like?” Gould asked me. “Have you seen him?”

“Yes! He’s as big as a house and his tentacles are fucking
ter-i-fy-iiiing
.”

Dave shushed me gently. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No, it’s not. You know how sometimes you meet someone online, and you, like, get such a vivid picture of what they must look like? And it’s so vivid that you start to figure the person must not actually look like that, because that would be too crazy of the universe? And then you get a chance to meet the person face-to-face, so you’re expecting to be surprised by how they look?”

“Sure. I had—”

“I’m not done yet. And then it turns out they look
exactly
how you first pictured them?”

“Okay.”

“That’s Fucktopus.”

Gould’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Sooo . . . you pictured him as big as a house?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“I feel like he’s probably not actually that big.”

I glared at him. “Not every house is a mansion, and not every man is a reasonable size.”

Dave nodded. “Ah, the classic Ben Franklin aphorism.”

“He has black-framed glasses and a messenger bag, and he smells like a food co-op. He’s like a human Portland.”

“Dude, you can so take him.”

“Are his tentacles really robotic?” Gould asked.

I shook my head. “They’re cardboard, I think. And orange.”

Dave squinted. “So why are you even scared?”

“You guys, he seriously freaks me out. I don’t want to fight Fucktopus. Please don’t make me fight Fucktopus!”

Gould gave me a strange look. “I . . . don’t think you have to physically fight him. You just have to bob for apples.”

D crossed his arms. “What is the approximate girth of the tentacles?”

Dave elbowed D. “You’re totally getting off on this. Fucktopus is like one of your Syfy movie creatures.”

“I am doing no such thing.”

“No, you definitely like Fucktopus. You want to plant your seed inside him and parthenogenetically create little tentacle b—”

“What was that?” D wrapped his arms around Dave, turned him slightly, and gave his ass a quick, light swat.

Dave pushed against his chest. “Oh my God, get off of me, you free-thinking mountain.”

D swatted him again, keeping the movement quick and subtle. “I want to do what with your Fuckto-what-o-gon?”

“It’s a fucktopus!” Dave growled and kept pushing, trying not to laugh. “Somebody help me!”

Gould grinned. “No. This is delightful.”

“Ugh.” Dave struggled without much luck. “He calls it secret spanking, but it’s not a secret.” He twisted to face D. “Everyone knows what you’re doing, and any Good Samaritan at this function would happily notify PPF security on my behalf.”

D kissed Dave and released him. “So the security staff can thank me for my service to the community?”

Dave batted at him. “Go away, hot dog breath. We’re trying to solve a crisis.” He reached for my lead rope, then stopped and looked at Ryan. “May I?”

Ryan handed him the rope. Dave gripped it just under my chin and tugged lightly. “Kamen? Sorry—Thunder Canyon? Look at me. It’s time for you to make us all proud. And that means fighting Fucktopus. In a totally nonviolent children’s game.”

I sighed, staring at the hot dog table. “I feel really weird right now.”

“That’s because you’re dressed like a horse and afraid of a fake tentacle monster. But look at me.
Look
at m— There you go. You’re a fucking champion.”

I pulled slightly on the bridle. “I don’t know.”

“What would Rocky do?”

I wrinkled my brow. “Lose?”

“Only in the first one, buddy. This is
Rocky IV
. Fucktopus is your Drago. And this isn’t just about you, this is about America. And Russia.”

“I thought Cinnamon was my Drago.”

“She’s more like your Clubber Lang. The important thing is, we’ll be proud of you no matter what. As long as you win.”

Gould nodded. “Amen.”

D gave me that soul-piercing look. “Remember. You’re a Friesian.”

Dave patted my shoulder again. “But you’re also Rocky.”

Ryan nudged me. “You’re the love of my life.”

Gould cleared his throat. “You’re a total dork skillet.”

I couldn’t even talk for a minute on account of the lump in my throat. So I nodded.

Miles stepped over to us. “Finished with hot dog four. D owes me thirty bucks. What did I miss?”

“There’s no time to explain.” Dave started tugging me forward. “Kamen has to get to his first event.”

“Once again,” I said, “we have plenty of time.”

Dave glanced at Ryan. “Can I lead him? Because this is hilarious.”

I didn’t move. “I want Ryan to lead me.”

Dave looked at me. “Please? It would mean a lot to me.”

I let him lead me to the barn to prepare for the grooming contest. He actually only made it as far as the soda cart. Then he handed me off to Ryan so he could buy a drink.

Ryan took me to the stall and gave me a final tack check and wipe down. My nose started to itch. I swiped it with the back of my hoof, but I still felt uncomfortable.

“Ryan?” I whispered.

“Yes?”

“I have a booger.”

He stared at me. “No. Absolutely no.”

“Ryan. It’s
grooming
. They’re gonna take points off if the cave has bats.”

“I already shaved your ball.”

“So this should be a snap.” I moved my head toward him. “Get it.”

He went to our bag and got a tissue. I bent lower so he could put it up to my nose. “Blow,” he ordered.

“It’s not the kind you can blow out.”

“Try.”

I tried, but all that came out was air.

“Which nostril?”

“Right?”

He pushed on the left. “Blow again.”

I did. “It’s not working. You have to get it.”

He sighed and put the tissue over his finger. “You owe me
big time
.”

“It’s the hard, pointy kind, so don’t make it stab me,” I warned.

He rolled his eyes and gently stuck his tissue-covered finger into my nostril.

“Oh my God,” said a voice nearby. “I am
not
seeing this.”

Cinnamon. I glimpsed her red hair off to the side. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. “Go back to your stall.”

“I actually have to agree with Cinnamon,” said Dave, who had appeared behind Ryan with D and Miles. “What are you
doing
?”

“I have a situation,” I told them.

Dave grimaced. “And you’re making
Ryan
—”

Ryan turned to them, finger still up my nose. “Listen. There is nothing in this world like the bond between a man and his horse. And if you all can’t respect that, then get out.”

D closed his eyes for a few seconds, nodding wisely—like, if you went to visit a talking owl that was going to send you on a quest, it would probably nod like that. “He’s right. Let them be.”

He guided the others away from Ryan and me. Cinnamon was still lurking. She smirked at me. “Good luck with dressage, Boogs.”

“Yeah, good luck to you too, you stuck-up ginger bitch!” I yelled through the tissue.

Her eyebrows went up. Ryan’s did too. “Get the booger out,” I told him.

He did, and went to toss the tissue into a trash barrel. When he came back, I was staring at Cinnamon. “I am going to wipe the freaking pasture with you, okay? You have been rude to me and my friends
forever
, and it stops now.”

She laughed, and not in a nice way. “You don’t stand a chance.”

“I’ll kill you in the cart race.”

“If you do, it’ll be a hollow victory.” She glanced at Ryan. “You won’t exactly be pulling any significant amount of weight.”

My gaze snapped to Ryan. He jammed his hand in his pocket like he was trying not to make a fist.

I scowled at Cinnamon. “Okay, I think you’re a sad person with self-esteem issues. But here’s a deal for you. If I do better than you overall today, you lay off my friends and me. For good. You politely ignore us if we see each other in a club or in public.”

“And if I win?”

“Then you can keep being a biotch.”

She shook her head. “That’s not enough.”

Ryan stepped up to meet her. Now his hand
was
clenched in a fist, and I was kinda scared he might punch her. “Get out of here. Or I’m gonna find Stan and tell him you’re loose.”

She didn’t even look at him. She just grinned at me. “If I win, I get back in my human clothes, and you pull me in a cart around the arena. And I get to drive you in front of everyone.”

“Done,” I said.

“Kamen!” Ryan whirled toward me, hand still clenched.

I flipped my mane. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m gonna win.”

Ryan walked up to Cinnamon. “It’s time for you to go,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her around. “Get back to your trainer.”

She looked down at him over her shoulder. “You’re cute. If you ever want to work with a
real
pony, message me on Fet.”

She walked away, her perfect tail bobbing. But as she left, I noticed something small and green on her shoulder. I couldn’t see what it was, because her braid kept swaying, covering it. I looked down at Ryan’s hand, which was no longer in a fist. His palm was green. “What . . .?”

I glanced at the ground. There was a Jolly Rancher wrapper in the dust.

“Did you stick a Jolly Rancher to her?”

Ryan shrugged. “Oops.”

“You old dog. You—”

“Shh.” He patted my neck. “We’ve got a show to win.”