“Left, left, ok you’ve got this,” Craig thought to himself. He had a lot of money riding on Gutierrez to win by knockout. If he won this bet, maybe he would actually have enough money to come to these fights in person instead of astral projecting in.
Gutierrez ate a mean hook to the stomach that made even Craig recoil. Craig was buried into this fight; he quickly forgot about the ridiculous cleavage hanging off his chest or the thong snug between his cheeks. All he needed was this last leg of the parlay to hit.
Craig had gotten pretty good at this whole astral projecting thing. He never became a ghost; it was more like a flash with not even a second to react. He had figured out that if he thinks of the location he wants to be, he can guide himself there. The problem was whose body he takes over, but he’d gotten so good at it he could usually get courtside at a basketball game or boxing match. He just had to make sure the players were off the court when he attempted this; randomly becoming a professional athlete can lead to some ridiculous TV moments.
“And Gutierrez’s signature left hook seals the deal for the rising contender,” the commentator can barely be heard through the cheers of the crowd. Craig’s almost slipping out of his top from all the jumping up and down. He keeps a hand on his chest as he celebrates, still caring about preserving a little bit of this lady’s modesty. Although she didn’t seem the type to mind. Gutierrez is standing on the ropes facing the crowd, he exits the ring from Craig’s side and immediately walks towards him. Craig doesn’t have any time to react before he’s leaning back, receiving the sweatiest smooch of his life. He felt the raw adrenaline pumping through the fighter, his heartbeat pressing against him. In a daze, Craig was getting dragged off to the locker room by the man of the hour with the trainers and coaches in tow.
If Craig was looking for an intimate VIP experience, he had definitely found it.
