by Mia Luxe
Rebecca squeals. “Ooooh! I get to do a Twitch stream for charity? No-guilt playing for 72 hours straight?”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m going to do the world’s longest Twitch stream for charity. Three whole days of playing!”
I shake my head. “That’s crazy! You’ll kill yourself!”
“It’s for a good cause! I’m going to stock up on Red Bull. This is going to be epic.”
It’s useless to try to argue. Once Rebecca has her eyes set on something, she doesn’t stop until she gets it.
“I was hoping you’d be down. That takes one more worry off my shoulders. Next, I have to try to convince my boss Bob, at The Herald, that I’m worth it as a paid employee. I lost my job at the Sports Bar because of my sudden absence.”
“Good. Fuck that place. That manager was a creep, anyway. I didn’t like him knowing where you lived, even.”
“Well, that’s behind me now.”
I tell Rebecca all about the weekend. She finds it so sweet that Jason was fixing things up, and she giggles when she hears about how Caden burned the French toast trying to be a chef like Ford.
“The thing that’s scary to me is the sponsorship. They told me that if they get a deal, and the media finds out I’m dating all three of them, they could lose everything. If I got between them and their shot at achieving so much success, I’d never be able to live with myself. Every time I’d see them, I’d remember that I poisoned their chances of success. That I was the reason they’d lost the money they needed to save the orphanage.”
Save it from Martingale Development. I don’t want to tell anyone about what I found. Not yet. I need to do this on my own. What if my dad was trying to blackmail someone? What if my dad isn’t the guy I thought he was?
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Keep it purely professional in New York. When we’re somewhere else… Then we can be a thing. But when we’re in New York, I’m just a journalist, and they’re just athletes getting interviewed.”
Rebecca pops frozen waffles into the toaster. There’s an open jar of peanut butter with a knife stuck in it, and I know how she’s been eating without me here. Of the many strange combinations of food that she makes, peanut butter sandwiched between two, warm waffles is my favorite.
I lug my shoddily-packed luggage next to the sofa. I’ll unpack it later. It’s hard to feel urgency unpacking when the whole apartment is messy.
“Purely professional? My ass! There’s no way you’re going to be able to resist those three studs if they have you alone.”
I gulp. “Then I won’t let them have me alone. Maybe you can chaperone. They just made it to playoffs, and things are finally looking good for them. I can’t be the reason everything turns to crap.”
I send an email to my boss Bob asking for a meeting. Though it’s Sunday night, he replies back instantly.
Tomorrow, 9AM.
I wish I knew more about what my dad was up to it, but it’s not the priority right now. If I want to keep living in New York, I’ve got to convince my boss I’m worth paying.
Or maybe I want any excuse to delay uncovering whatever secrets my father was keeping.
14
Sierra
“You want what?”
“I want a paid position.”
Bob puts his croissant down, crumbs strewn across his desk. “Let me get this perfectly clear. You half-ass your last assignments, you miss your last shift, and then you waltz in here demanding a paid position?”
I have something he wants. I have something he wants. Keep a strong face. Don’t break down.
“Yes.”
Bob sighs, leaning back in his chair, and then leaning his head back to look at the ceiling light. I have the urge to fill the silence with babble, anything to cut the tension.
On the drive into New York, I told my mom that I’d be going for a paid position. She gave me serious advice. Keep your mouth closed except to say what’s necessary. Whoever speaks first loses.
Bob pulls himself up, sitting up straight, and stares me down. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing: You’ve got balls. Why the hell should I start paying you when I’ve got an endless supply of interns willing to work for free?”
I stop myself from biting my lip. “Because I’m the liaison for three upcoming star players who rarely speak to the media.”
I said the phrase a hundred times in the mirror at home. The practice pays off. The line comes out polished, without a hitch.
Bob snorts. “I read that little article. Disgusting speculation. I might run clickbait, but it doesn’t hurt anyone. So, you’re confirming it? You’re dating one of those guys?”
I shake my head. “No. We’re working together. You might have heard that the orphanage the three of them came from is shutting down. Well, when those photos of me were taken, I was working late with them in Caden’s apartment. We want to save the orphanage– together.”
Bob cocks his head to the side, slowly. “I see. And they gave you that interview on Sports Sunday…”
“…because I’m going to organize a web stream for charity to raise money for them. My roommate and best friend is a prominent Twitch streamer.”
Bob cracks his knuckles. “There’s only one hole in your story: When I told you about the Sports Sunday interview, you almost quit. No one can fake that level of fear.”
I bite my lip. “I…”
Bob smiles. “I hate tabloids as much as you do. I’ll support your story, if it comes down to it. But it’s not me you need to fool if you want to live a normal life. Anyway. So, you’ve got a line in to these three guys. You’re right – that does have value. But it’s not a worth a paid position.”
I look down, my hopes dashed. Ford said to threaten to take my stories elsewhere.
I take a deep breath in, and meet Bob’s eyes. I don’t see animosity in them.
Is that a hint of… caring in his eyes?
I can’t take Ford’s advice to play hardball and threaten to take the stories to another newspaper. I think it’s the wrong move.
Bob nods. “I don’t how permanent your line is with these three. You’ll be a freelancer. 300 bucks a pop, per article – with pictures. If people like your work – and I think they’re not just reading because the hottest three hockey stars are plastered over the stories – maybe, just maybe, this turns into a paid position and some wider stories. How does that sound?”
I stop myself from smiling. “That sounds… good.”
Bob extends his huge, sweaty palm. I’ve never been so happy to shake a man’s clammy hand.
I sit back down in my seat. Bob cocks his head, wondering why I’m still here and not making off like a bandit.
“Was there something else?”
I’m not sure who to trust. Bob’s a smart guy. He’s been around this city a long time. He might know something.
“Um… yes. My first real story is going to be on charity in the NHL. I’ve been doing a little digging, and it looks like the developer that wants to close down the orphanage is called Martingale Development. I was wondering if it rang any bells?”
Bob taps his meaty fingers against the desk. “Never heard of them.”
I smile. A swing, and a miss. I’ll find our more some other way. For now, I’ll just be happy I’m moving my way up.
I stand up, and wait until I leave the office to wipe my palm on my pants. There are stares from my coworkers and the conversation hushes as I walk past. They’re all talking about me.
I walk quicker, not wanting their probing eyes to ruin my mood. $300 a story is enough to survive – as long as I’m frugal.
I force myself not to jump for joy until I’m out of the office and in front of the elevators. I leap up, soundlessly pumping the air with my fist.
“Uh, are you okay?”
My cheeks redden as I turn to see the young man with a briefcase staring at my building pass, like he’s wondering if I stole it from someone.
I know I shoul
d feel embarrassed, but instead I feel jubilant. “I am more than okay! I just got some very good news.”
His concern turns to a wide smile as the elevator doors open.
“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” He asks, and I groan inwardly. How many people are going to ask me that? Thank God no one’s recognized me yet!
“Uh, I don’t think.”
He stares at me, wracking his brain like he thinks he went to high school with me.
“No! I do know you! You’re Sports Sunday from that Epic Newswoman Fail video! Oh, my God, that was the funniest I ever saw! Can I get an autograph?”
He opens his briefcase and drops a pen, cursing as he tries to find something for me to sign. My cheeks are bright red, and the second the elevator doors open I dart out like a deer.
“Wait! Sports Sunday, come back!” Yells the man to my departing back.
15
Sierra
My heart pounds as I take the elevator down. This isn’t just my first big interview on a story that matters. It’s going to be the first time I get to see my three studs since I got into New York.
I can keep it professional.
Right?
The elevator doors open and I rehearse questions in my mind, leaving my building into the brisk air and almost walking right into Caden, Jason and Ford.
My mouth drops, and I whip my head around, looking for cameras in a panic.
“What the hell are you three doing here?”
Caden is in a bomber jacket, while Jason and Ford are wearing jeans and tight sweaters. Just being near them makes my carefully rehearsed questions fly out of my mind.
“You think we’re going to let you come to South Bronx alone? Get real,” rumbles Jason.
“Don’t worry. No one’s watching us. And if they were, the truth is on our side. We’re escorting you to a story. That’s it.”
I swallow. “Well, you could have told me, first!”
“And have you leave early, just so you could come alone? I don’t think so. Come on, let’s go. The kids are waiting for you. Bella’s been asking for you ever since that first visit, you know.”
I can’t stay angry at the three men when I remember Bella. The little redheaded girl reminds me of me – serious and introspective as a child. And little Trevon, with his art – that drawing of Jason, Caden and Ford as superheroes.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
We take the subway together to the orphanage. I sit down as the three men stand in a ring, chatting casually to me as if their huge bodies blocking me from the world is just a coincidence.
We get to the orphanage. “So, where are we going to do this interview?”
Caden grins. “Didn’t you book a room? I think that’s your responsibility.”
I look up at him with shock. “I… I thought there were going to be rooms free here.”
Caden shrugs. “We’re just athletes, remember? And you’re just a journalist, interviewing us. If you were my girlfriend, I’d know the perfect room on the third floor… A nice big conference table, plenty of room to work… But in New York, you’re an interviewer, and I’m just an athlete.”
Ford smiles. “There’s plenty of space.”
I raise my eyebrow. “You’re right. I should have booked a space,” I say, a little colder than I was planning. I know Caden hates the arrangement, but it’s not just his life and privacy on the line.
Jason grabs Caden’s by the shoulder. “Caden was just joking around. We’ll take you there.”
Caden breaks free of him, stepping forward. “I’m not joking around. You think I can be alone in a room with you and not have you? I’ve been thinking of you non-stop since we left Scranton. I need you, Sierra.”
A gasp escapes my lips, my body reacting to his words. I tried to hide behind a veneer of professionalism, repeating the questions I wanted to ask over and over whenever thoughts of the three men’s ripped bodies threaten to barge into my mind.
Fight it down. You can have them… But not here.
“Caden! Fuck, I want you too. All of you. But we can’t. We have to stay professional. Everything depends on it. My reputation… Your career… This orphanage... I promise, things will be different – someday.”
Ford and Jason hold Caden back. Then I see the flash of green in Ford’s eyes. He’s barely holding on himself. He’s full of raw need for me.
Jason clears his throat. “Let’s get to the fucking interview room and do this thing.”
We enter the building and walk up the stairs. It’s quiet at this time.
“Where are all the kids?” The words come out in a whisper in the hallways.
“They’re in class during the day. It’s just like a boarding school for rich kids,” snorts Ford, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he runs his finger down the wall – where a thick crack in the plaster is starting to spread. I swallow hard, knowing that the three men do their best to keep the place running, but the old building is starting to fall.
“Except no one has a fucking pony,” growls Caden, his mood soured. His body is humming with energy, and I know he wants to release it on me.
We get to the third floor and Jason opens the door for us. I step into the room. It’s old and dusty, unused. There’s a large table in the center and rickety chairs surrounding it. Light streams in through the window and I sneeze four times.
“Bless you,” says Ford.
“Thanks,” I say, and Caden slowly shuts the door.
Suddenly, I’m alone with the three men.
I know every inch of their bodies. Every muscle that flexes, every hair on their chest, and every vein in their biceps. I know what they taste like when I run my tongue down their bodies. The feeling of surrender as they dominate and share me.
Jason locks the door, and the three men step closer as one. Their bodies make the room feel small. I step back, nervous, my nipples hardening and the familiar heat growing between my legs. My body shivers as I remember I’m owed a belting. Is this where it’s going to happen? Is Caden going to bare my bottom and whip me?
The room darkens as Ford’s huge body blocks the sun. He reaches down, his fingers grazing my chin and leans forward to kiss me.
I dart back. “Stop it! Stop it, you three! This isn’t a game.”
It’s torturous seeing their hard cocks pressing against their pants. Ford groans, low and slow.
“Why the hell did I agree to this?” Caden growls, his muscles flexing. His eyes are dark and clouded.
“We need to do this story. Don’t you three want to save this place?”
Jason blinks, like he’s coming out of a trance. “Jesus. I wasn’t even thinking about this place. You have no idea what you do to me.”
Caden’s eyes go wide. He breathes out, hard. “Fuck, you’re right. Dammit Sierra, when I’m with you, all I can think about is the way you taste…The way you feel.”
I shudder at his words.
“Come on, sit down. I have questions to ask.”
It would be so easy. The door is locked. No one would find out… I could let them do whatever they wanted to me… Feel Ford’s huge hand covering my mouth as I scream out…
The three men sit, adjusting their pants. I giggle.
“You think it’s funny? You try sitting down with this fucking thing at full staff,” growls Jason, with a twinkle in his eyes. All four of us laugh, and the tension breaks.
“This is what’s going to happen: I want to raise every cent I can for this place. That means hitting the pity angle. Hard. Bob told me people’s hearts break for orphanages. Mine does, that’s for sure. I know it might be painful, but we’re going to need to show all the work you three have put into this place. We need to contrast the way it was with the way it is.”
The three men look at me with surprise. “Jesus, you’re professional,” says Jason with admiration.
“You didn’t even stutter over your words once,” says Ford, nodding.
I smile. “This is different than going in front o
f live TV without practice. This is important to me. To all of us. We’re going to get as much as we can.”
“So, what’s the play, coach?” Says Caden with a cheeky grin.
“I want to start with a picture of you three growing up. Tell me all about the trouble you got into.”
The doorknob jiggles. I hear a jangling and then the door opens. A bent-over old lady in a traditional nun garment walks in.
Oh, thank God I didn’t succumb to these three men! This poor lady would have had a heart attack!
“The trouble these three got into? Well, let me tell you about that.”
“Sister Margery,” says Ford with a huge grin. “I didn’t know you were back!”
“Oh, God has plans for me yet. The doctors say it was just a little fracture.”
Caden scowls. “We need an elevator for you. It’s not safe for you to take the stairs.”
The old lady smiles. “Well, maybe one of you three should stay to carry me around. Did I not teach you manners?” She asks – and suddenly, out of seemingly nowhere, a ruler appears in her hand and whaps down on Jason’s knuckles. Ford and Caden dart away, backing up as if the old lady is a lion.
“Of course, of course.” Jason rubs his stinging knuckles. “This is Sierra. She’s doing a story on the orphanage. She wants to help us raise enough money to save the place.”
The old lady looks me up and down. Her eyes are sharp and clear against a tapestry of wrinkles.
“Oh, you’re a smart looking young woman. What are you doing with these three troublemakers?”
I smile. “They’re helping me do the story.”
She tuts. “Hmmm. These three have been pulling girls’ hair since they were shorter than me. Tisk tisk. I won’t be having another young girl with a broken heart come crying to me because of you three, you hear me?”
She turns to fix her gaze on the three men, who all flinch. “No ma’am,” they say in unison.
