Even after I was settled in and had shuttled my stuff up from my sister’s place to my new house, I wouldn’t feel totally at home till I had work of some description - it made me feel self-sufficient and safe. It took a while to scout out a decent job, but I found a place after three weeks of looking - sure, it wasn’t my own beauty salon, but at least I was in a training position now, so I was climbing up the ladder. I got to teach the younger girls how to paint nails and give massages, and it turned out to be surprisingly fulfilling - it was a great way to bond with the nervous kids coming down from the university I used to attend. I liked it there, and I had successfully shed the shackles of just being Oliver’s wife - in fact, I barely ever thought about him any more, except when my mother called and just had to let me know what he’d been up to, despite my protestations. Whatever, I’d successfully done what I’d intended to, and broken free of my old life to start something new. And that felt pretty damn good.
Oh, and a postscript? It turns out Adam and Jake came through town quite often, sometimes alone, sometimes together. And yes, they always had a place to crash. Usually next to me, in my bed, after we’d spent the night having loud, dirty, nasty sex. Because there are some things a girl just doesn’t want to give up, no matter how much she’s trying to start over.
THE END
TAKEN BY TWO MMA FIGHTERS
BAD BOY MENAGE ROMANCE
CHAPTER ONE
“Marla, we are going to find you such a man tonight,” Cassie yelled over the radio, which was blaring Beyonce. Bey, booze, and boys: Cassie’s recipe to fix a broken heart. Marla smirked as she looked out the window, which was streaked with the falling rain. The storm would pass soon; it always did, in Florida, in summer.
“Yeah,” she said in agreement, though if she was going to be honest, she didn’t give a damn about finding a boy. Booze? Yes, please. But another man? She didn’t really care either way. Except it would be a good way to take some sort of secret, passive-aggressive revenge on Todd, who’d cheated on her after a year of serious dating.
Would it, though? She wondered. A guy will fuck anyone. Just sleeping with someone doesn’t take much, if you’re a girl.
“C’mon, c’mon, let’s see them hands in the air,” Cassie said, taking one hand off the wheel and grabbing Marla’s wrist, forcing her to raise the roof in time to “Run the World.” Marla laughed and sang along, already feeling better than she had when Cassie had swung by two hours prior. They’d pre-gamed a bit, not enough that Cassie couldn’t drive but enough to make Marla more agreeable to the nights plan.
“I’m serious, these guys are…whooo, they are men. Not like lizard-dick Todd. John brings me around sometimes and I’m just, like, babe, are you trying to get me to cheat on you? You’ll see; you’re gonna walk in and ‘It’s Raining Men’ is gonna start playing in your head,” Cassie said, flipping her long, platinum blonde hair over her shoulder.
Though they had been best friends since high school, Marla and Cassie’s style couldn’t have been more different. Cass went exclusively for a beach bimbo look, though she wasn’t a bimbo in the slightest sense. Still, with her bleached hair, long, thin body, persistence in only wearing push-up bras, and 45-minute make-up routine, she looked every inch the Playboy Bunny.
Marla, on the other hand, preferred to wear her dirty-blonde locks loose, keeping them cut to her shoulders. She wore little, if any, make-up and could always be found in a T-shirt and shorts. She usually went braless, as well, her perky B-cup breasts not needing the shaping or lift that Cassie’s C-cups required. The most daring wardrobe decision she ever made was the occasional crop top. Her frame was thin, but only by virtue of genetics. She would never be caught dead at a gym. Which made the night’s activities a bit strange for her.
They were on their way to the MMA gym where John, Cassie’s long-term boyfriend, worked out and sometimes fought in an amateur league. He was fighting that night, and the girls were going to provide a two-girl cheering squad. And, as Cassie wouldn’t let Marla forget, to possibly scoop up one of the night’s other fighters for a little private sparring at Marla’s apartment. After the match, they were due to go to Plumb’s, where all those hot, sweaty men celebrated after beating the shit out of each other.
As Cassie pulled into the parking lot of the gym, Marla’s drive to enjoy herself started to dip. Her buzz was wearing off, being replaced with a bitter determination to have a bad time. It had only been three weeks since she’d walked in on Todd giving it good to his dog-walker.
“You gave me a fucking key, Todd!” She’d screamed once the waif-thin girl had run half-naked from the house. “You knew I was coming over! What the fuck!”
“I didn’t know you were coming over, Marla,” he’d said, sitting at the edge of his bed and pulling his pants on, refusing to meet her eyes. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been doing this.”
“Oh my God, it doesn’t even matter,” she’d said, starting to cry tears of rage, which only made her feel worse. “How could you do this to me?”
“You’ve known things were rough,” he’d said, calm as could be, pulling on his shirt, still refusing to look at her. “It’s been a long time coming…”
That’s when she’d hit him. To get him to look at her, at least. To show that just because she was crying didn’t mean she was weak. He’d let her do it, had still avoided her eyes, had left her with a stinging palm and no more solace than she’d had moments ago.
“I think you’d better leave,” he’d said. For a moment, Marla had wanted to drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness for hitting him, beg him to talk to her, tell him they could work on it, that they’d get past this and still had a future. But only for a moment. Then she’d turned on her heel and stalked out of his house, slamming the door behind her. She’d only made it around the corner in her car before having to pull over to scream and weep with rage, slamming her hands against the steering wheel as though it could absorb all her sadness and anger and shame.
She’d tried, a few times, to talk to him, after. Usually when she’d drunk enough wine not to second-guess the virtue of the call. But he refused to pick up, and when he did, he refused to answer her questions. How long had he been cheating? Was it just the one girl? Why? Mostly, why? What had Marla done wrong? Didn’t he feel bad? Didn’t he feel guilty, even the tiniest bit?
“Nothing I can say will make you feel better,” he would say. “Knowing all those answers won’t make anything better for you, M.”
“You can’t call me that anymore,” she’d sob. “And you’re a coward. A fucking coward.”
“Maybe. Don’t call me again, Marla.”
Now, after three weeks of languishing in her apartment, subjecting her friends to endless rom-com marathons, pints of ice cream, and bottles of wine, she was finally cajoled into coming out and “restarting her life,” as Cassie put it. Cass also referred to it as “cleaning the bats out of the attic,” which Marla thought was just about the worst euphemism for getting laid that she’d ever heard.
“Ugh,” she said, holding the door handle and looking out at the clearing sky. It was still light out at 7, the sun high and now dazzling through the parting clouds.
“Oh, fuck no,” Cassie said, waving her finger in Marla’s face. “Don’t you start groaning. We are going to have a good fucking time, you hear? Look at me, Marla, and repeat after me: I will have fun. I will flirt. I will make out with the studliest man at this gym.”
Marla kept her face turned until Cassie actually grabbed her by the chin and forced her to make eye contact.
“Say it, M, say it,” she said, giving Marla her lioness look. Marla knew better than to refuse when Cassie got that look on her face.
“I will have fun. I will flirt. I might make out with the studliest man at this gym,” she said. Cassie narrowed her eyes, pouting her lips slightly, like a parent trying to figure out if their child was lying to them.
“I’ll take it,” she said, and reaching into her bag pulled out the flask of
vodka she’d prepared before leaving. “Now, you take this.”
“Oh, Cass, I don’t know if…”
“Marla,” Cassie said, shoving the flask at her friend, who reluctantly accepted it.
“Drink as much as you want, I’m taking care of you tonight. But try to save me some, huh? That’s the good shit,” Cassie said. “Actually, here, let’s drink a bit before we go in. You first.”
Marla sighed and rolled her eyes, but unscrewed the flask all the same. Tipping it back, she took a healthy glug before shoving it under Cassie’s nose with a disgusted gag.
“If that’s the good stuff, I can’t imagine what the bad stuff is,” Marla said, holding the back of her hand against her lips and trying to swallow through the lingering sting.
“You’re such a snob,” Cassie said, taking a big swill for herself. Unlike Marla, whose drinking was usually devoted only to red wine, Cassie was a bit of a party girl, and she swallowed the vile liquid like a champ. Re-screwing the cap, she handed it back.
“I’ll be watching, and if I don’t see you helping yourself at least four times during this match, there’ll be hell to pay,” Cassie said pointedly. Marla laughed. There was always hell to pay with Cassie. She was like a beach blonde demoness. At least Marla had Cassie’s promise that it was Marla’s turn to be the drunk one; usually, Marla was responsible for dragging Cassie away from a fight with a bouncer or a newfound friendship with similarly wasted girls.
The one sip helped rekindle the spirit of the night, and Marla weaved her way into the gym, her nose crinkling automatically at the smell of leather, disinfectant, and men. Cassie followed, draping her arm around Marla’s neck and extending her hand out in a sweeping gesture.
“See, M, what did I tell you? Raining men,” she said, singing the last part.
And, sure enough, it might as well have been a Chippendale’s rehearsal. Everywhere Marla looked, men were lifting weights, sparring, running the overhead track, or milling about. Big, little, thin, bulky, blonde, brunette, bald, black and white; it was a sausage party if there ever was one.
And, as though all that testosterone had evolved into some female-finding radar, every eye seemed to turn to them when they entered. Cassie began to move towards the ring set up in the middle of the gym, waving at some guys who she seemed to know. Marla felt like a bug under a microscope, except the scientists were all handsome as hell and smiling at her. Her cheeks flamed bright red, and she was happy that Cassie was clinging so tightly to her.
She felt almost naked, though she was wearing her typical attire of shorts and a loose cotton T-shirt. Granted, the slight bit of skin that showed between the shorts and the T-shirt exposed her flesh a bit more, but not enough – she thought – to warrant all this attention. As Cassie dragged her to the ring, she felt like she was floating through a kaleidoscope of pure hotness.
“Hey, where’s John?” Cassie yelled to no one in particular. Moments later, John appeared out of what seemed to be a changing room, a smile on his face, arms open. Cassie, with stereotypical flair, ran to him and gave him an audible kiss. This left Marla alone and unguarded, and she was quick to follow behind, as though the momentary separation would lead to any of those guys swooping in and rushing her away to be ravaged in the showers.
Well, I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, surprised at the thought. Damn vodka went straight to my head…
Or maybe it was all the sweat and muscle. “Pheromones and stuff,” as Cassie would say. To listen to her talk, you’d never think the girl was in her second year of law school, but so she was.
John released Cassie as Marla approached, making room for Marla’s body in his arms. Marla and John got along great, and Marla considered him almost as good a friend as Cassie herself. She hadn’t seen him since the break-up, though, believing that watching a functional relationship would probably sit poorly with her newly broken heart.
“Marly Marl, how are you?” John said as he let go, holding her shoulders and ducking his head to look her in the eyes.
“Oh my God, John, I’m not a teenager,” Marla said laughing. “You don’t have to do your guidance counselor shit with me.”
Marla and John actually worked in the same school district, but John worked with the high schoolers as a guidance counselor, while Marla taught fourth grade. Since it was the summer, John still had some work to do with kids in summer school but had large amounts of free time. Marla filled her days with a side-business making jewelry, but other than that, the time on her hands was almost a curse, especially with Todd’s infidelity to obsess over.
“You’re right. Fuck men, we suck, you’re better than all of us,” John said with a smile. “Just glad to see you out and about again.”
“Emphasis on the ‘fuck men’,” Cassie said, leaning in conspiratorially. Marla giggled and John watched with his eyebrows raised.
“Oh, so there’s an agenda for tonight, huh?” he said. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, my friend. Cock as far as the eye can see. And some of these guys, I know you’ll love ‘em. Just wait ‘til I introduce you to Sam, he’s the fuckin’ best. But, listen, I gotta go finish getting ready. You just…I don’t know…mingle or whatever until the fight starts. There’s three matches tonight, I’m up first, so you can leave after if you want…”
“Oh no, we’re here for the whole thing,” Cassie said. “I mean, I wanted Marla here to see some fine specimens in action. It’s like porn, but not.”
John laughed and shrugged.
“Whatever you say, babes,” he said, pulling her in and kissing the top of her head. “I’ll see you after my match. Hopefully I’ll even be in one piece.”
“Just don’t let them mess up that beautiful face of yours,” Cassie said as he turned to leave with an amiable, two-finger salute.
Cass sighed after him, head slightly cocked. Marla nudged her.
“You’re drooling,” she said. “Get it together, woman.”
“Um, I might be drooling, but you’re not drinking. Come on, bottoms up,” Cassie said.
“Dude, they’re all staring! I don’t think it’s customary to get toasted around so much gym equipment,” Marla protested.
“Listen, if anyone asks, just say it’s medicinal.”
Marla raised one eyebrow.
“PMS,” Cassie said with a shrug. “Now come on, let’s take a sip!”
No more than five minutes after taking another gulp of the noxious liquor, the crowd in the gym began to gather around the ring, the men chattering in their masculine tones. It was almost weird to hear; Marla had so surrounded herself with her girlfriends the past three weeks, hearing so many male voices was like listening to an old, rarely-played instrument.
Cassie squealed beside her; Marla quickly saw why. Two men walked out of the changing room; one was John, wearing what she could only imagine was his game face. And not much else, to be frank. A pair of knee-length shorts, plenty flowy but rather thin. His chest was bare and glistening. His opponent, a bald-headed man who looked as serious as John did, was clad in much the same get-up. Both men looked like they were cut from marble.
As they took opposite sides of the ring, Marla leaned in to Cassie’s ear.
“Where are their gloves?” she asked. The two men wore what looked like thin, fingerless gloves; not at all the boxing gear she’d been expecting.
“This is MMA, they don’t use gloves. It’s hardcore, girl,” Cassie said with a knowing grin.
The two men met in the center of the ring and the crowd hushed. Marla squinted to see better, but found her eyes drifting elsewhere, even as the fight began, both men slowly pacing in a circle. Across the room, amidst the sea of faces, two in particular seemed to call Marla’s attention - possibly because, while all other eyes were turned to the fight, theirs were fixed on her.
They were both tall, and impossibly sculpted, muscles as toned and sculpted as statues, wearing similar shorts as the fighters in the ring. But while one was fair-haired with chocolatey brown
eyes, the other was dark-haired with piercing blue eyes. Marla forced herself to look away, though the tiny thrill at the bottom of her stomach lingered, even as her eyes moved back to John and his opponent.
She hadn’t missed much, as it happened. Now, the two men were locked in some sort of headlock, where both seemed equally vulnerable. To Marla’s unknowing eyes, it was almost like watching two high school boys fight: muscles straining, but no real damage being done.
And then John slammed a fist into his opponent’s sternum, and breaking from the headlock jumped to the side to avoid a high kick. Cassie hooted, though the crowd was largely impassive as they watched. Still, Marla had to admit to being caught up in the action: John grabbed the other man in two arms, almost hugging him, and walked him backwards into the ropes, while the opponent rained blows on each side of John’s head.
A knee to the ribcage.
A blur of muscles and skin as the two men took to the ground, John on top.
They broke apart and resumed the slow ballet, pacing in circles around each other. And then the whole thing started up again.
To Marla, it was confusing, but somehow thrilling to watch. So much of the fight, it seemed, really took place standing still. When the fight was over, she had no idea how John had been declared the winner, but he was. He stood, panting and sweating, blood trickling down from a cut on his forehead, with one hand in the air, to the applause of the crowd – and the shrieking approval of Cassie, who immediately launched herself at him when he finally left the ring.
ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) Page 32
