And I smiled tremulously at him, appreciative.
“I think I’d like that,” I said. “Yes, I’d like that.”
And I gave them each a sweet kiss before stepping on stage for the night. With a whirl, I threw myself into the dance, letting loose of all inhibitions. I kicked a leg up onto the pole, holding my pussy open for men to see, bathing in the attention of the hoots, the hollers, the appreciative male stares. I then spun around and bent over, holding my ass cheeks open, letting men gaze at my pink bits, my channel steamy and warm, my brown pucker ready to be kissed.
But I was no longer letting the men touch or kiss. Because despite my longing to be alone for a while, I knew I still belonged to Peyton and Pax.
EPILOGUE
Stacey
It was hard coming back from Tahiti. The sun and sand had been amazing, letting me get away from the trial, the talk about my parents, the gossip about Pax and Peyton Jones dating their stepsister. It was easier to pretend that it didn’t exist, that I was alone on an idyllic island, anonymous.
But life is never really like that. Even in far away Tahiti, my life found me. At the resort bar one day, the bartender looked at me funny and said, “Hey, aren’t you …?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
Because I’d put on a nice sundress that day, blowing out my hair, even putting on a little make-up, and once more I looked like Stacey Light, the girl you saw on TV. So even halfway around the world, I’d been outed. It’s truly a global world these days.
And it’d been tough coming back. My job was kaput, Walter had explained that I couldn’t continue as a sportscaster with the network.
“I don’t get it,” I said slowly. “I know my stuff, I’m ready to be on camera again.”
“That’s not it Stacey, and you know it,” he said reprovingly. “It’s that you outshine the stories now. Everyone knows about you, your dad, your mom, the video, the twins …” and here his voice trailed off. Because as Pax and Peyton’s sister and lover, the network didn’t want to touch me, they didn’t want to sully their family brand with our threesome.
And I got it. Walter had always been kind to me, and I knew he didn’t want to see his best sportscaster go, but my notoriety dwarfed my career now.
“Brothers,” I said sadly. “What am I going to do?”
“Whatever you like,” answered Pax gently. “Take some time and figure it out.”
And I shot him a grateful smile. Because since coming back, I’d moved in with them and they’d been understanding, supportive, everything you’d want in lovers.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m not sure about anything anymore.”
Peyton frowned.
“Are you not sure about us?” he’d asked slowly. I knew they wanted me to be whole again, and supported my efforts to heal. But I’d been six months in Tahiti and they were ready to pick up where we left off.
“Well,” I said with a tremulous smile, “I’m not sure about a lot of things, but I’m sure about us.”
And they swept me off my feet, picking me up and twirling me around before laughing joyously together. Because I’ve achieved a peace of sorts. I’ve had no contact with our parents, we don’t visit them in jail or correspond, Gordon and Virginia can rot in hell as far as I’m concerned. Every time I think of them my skin crawls, the betrayal still hot under my skin even though I’ve done my best to purge the ghosts, let out my rage.
But at home, things are smooth. The good thing is that pro football doesn’t care what shenanigans you’re up to so long as you score touchdowns. So Peyton and Pax, despite weathering harsh criticism after the revelation, are still on the team … and just signed four-year contracts for thirty-six million dollars. Can you believe it?
So financially we were more than fine. Sure, I didn’t have a job anymore, but I was looking into starting my own lifestyle blog, something that would feature personal posts with a sports twist, capitalizing on my know-how. I hear women make seven figure from these things with all the affiliate links, and it was something to try my hand at.
Plus, the Donkey. Well, Enchantress Inga still dances sometimes, and let’s just say my brothers come to watch … and participate as well. Our relationship is deep, fulfilling, everything a girl could hope for and their male egos weren’t threatened by my dancing, they were proud that their woman had the assets, the self-confidence to go up and jiggle.
That night, after another hot session, I smiled. My limbs were still entangled with theirs in the sheets, our skin hot and flushed, our breathing coming fast and hard.
“Brothers,” I panted lightly, taking their hands. “That was incredible, I loved it.”
And they smiled back, growling their pleasure, taking in my ample curves, the blonde hair spread on the pillow.
“Stacey,” Pax growled. “We’ve been waiting, we have something for you.”
And I figured I knew what it was. We’d been talking about going to Tahiti again, my chance to show them around. I’d been raving about it, the beach, the ocean, the tropical breeze, and my lovers were eager to see it as well.
And sure enough, out came a bulky envelope, the kind with plane tickets inside.
I toyed with it, examining the envelope closely, running my finger along the seam.
“Oh, wonder what it could be,” I giggled. “Tickets to Tahiti anyone?”
My brothers looked at me with hunger but also anticipation.
“Open it,” growled Peyton.
“Now,” added Pax. “Please sister.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed. “The season’s been tough on you guys, I know a vacation’s in order.”
And sure enough, when I pulled open the file there were three first-class tickets to Tahiti.
“Thank you, thank you,” I cooed, throwing my arms around my steps’ massive frames, covering them with kisses. “I’m going to start packing right away.”
“Um, sister,” said Pax, “I think you’re missing something else in there.”
“Really?” I asked. As far as I could tell, it was just a sheaf of bulky papers, probably offers for travel insurance and carry-on rules and regulations. “Are you sure?” I asked, riffling through the mass.
But then my fingers slowed and stopped. Because besides the requisite junk mail there was an application … for a marriage license.
I pulled the form out from the papers slowly, my fingers trembling. Could it be? Sure enough, there was my name and date of birth printed on the license, with Peyton listed as the prospective groom.
“Brothers,” I said, my voice quivering. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes,” rasped Peyton. “We want you … forever.”
I was elated, out of breath and beyond excited, but I wasn’t sure how our ménage could continue if only two of us were married. My eyes filled with tears and I could feel them begin to spill over, trailing down my cheeks hotly.
“What, what is it?” growled Pax. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that … what about you?” I asked tremulously. “The application only lists Peyton and me. What about you? I want you to be a part of this too, I’m in love with you both,” I confessed.
And my steps descended on me, stroking me, petting me, growling words of comfort into my hair.
“No worries, we’ve already talked this through,” replied Pax. “You obviously can’t get married to us both, but we want to keep you with us, bind you to us in the best way we know how.”
“But how did you decide on Peyton?” I asked plaintively. “I don’t love one of you more than the other, I love you equally.”
“It was simple,” said Peyton, “we flipped a coin. Heads me, tails Pax.”
I gasped. Something this momentous had been decided by a coin toss? That was way too simple for something as complex as marriage.
But my brothers only nodded.
“It’s okay,” soothed Pax, “I’m used to it. We begin every football game with a coin toss, even the Super Bowl. It’s just how life is,” h
e concluded simply.
I threw my arms around him.
“But you’ll live with us, won’t you?” I breathed into Pax’s ear. “The three of us together?”
“Oh yeah sweetie,” he growled, stroking my back. “I’m with you every day … and every night.”
And with that, I kissed him deeply, willing him to feel the gratitude and excitement I had for our future life.
He returned my kiss passionately before pulling back and pressing a pen into my hand.
“Now sign that application,” he growled, “before I change my mind.”
And I laughed joyously, excited about our future life.
So here I am in Tahiti, about to step out onto the beach clad in a white slip dress, my feet bare, hair blowing in the wind except for a wreath of white flowers. It was the perfect opportunity – we’d go on vacation and have the ceremony here, before returning stateside and filing the certificate with the registrar.
I was lost in a reverie of happiness when the wedding march began to play. With a delighted smile, I stepped onto the walkway, each step bringing me closer to my future.
The twins waited for me at the edge of the water, their eyes watching me every step of the way, hungry, waiting, eager for the next phase of our lives.
“And do you, Anastasia Light, take Peyton Jones as your true and wedded husband?”
I took a deep breath, looking deep into Peyton’s eyes, clasping his hands in mine. But then I averted my eyes just a bit, looking directly behind him, deep into the baby blues of Pax and nodded yes, never breaking eye contact.
“Yes, yes, I do,” I sighed, my eyes still locked with Pax, my hands joined with Peyton.
And that’s how I married both my steps. And you know what? It couldn’t have turned out better because we weren’t going out with a bang. Rather, we were doing a double bang … for keeps.
THE END
ALTERNATE ENDING
In this edition, I’ve included an alternate ending for Double Bang. Scroll down to enjoy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Stacey
It’s hard to believe everything that’s happened as I sat in the packed courthouse. I wished it was a closed trial but instead it seemed like everyone was here, my brothers, our parents, the lawyers, and worst of all, the media.
It was hell even walking up the steps of the courthouse, trying to dodge reporters, my head down, afraid to look up, shielded by my steps’ massive forms.
“Ms. Light, Ms. Light!” a reporter called. “Are you ready?”
I wasn’t testifying today, so I shot a worried look at my attorney. “Bob,” I whispered. “Did I miss something? I thought I wasn’t testifying until later in the case,” I said, panicked. Oh crap. Maybe I’d screwed up before the trial even began.
But Bob just took my arm and guided me inside, ignoring the reporters.
“No Stacey,” he said calmly. “It’s like what we talked about. Sometimes these cases brutalize the victim again, forcing them to re-live the trauma. Hang tight, you’re going to be fine.”
And sitting in the courtroom, I realized he was right. Hearing the perp testify was pure torture. Lester was his name, a middle-aged overweight man with a greasy face, his paunch visible even under the loose jailhouse jumpsuit.
“What was it about Ms. Light that made you target her?” asked Bob smoothly.
The guy winked like he was so smart.
“Stacey’s pretty, she’s popular, she’s famous,” he singsonged. “I figured if I got a naked tape of her, someone would buy it.”
“Refer to the victim as Ms. Light,” reprimanded the judge.
But hearing the answer hurt because it was as if my success had made me a victim. If I’d been a nobody, another face in the crowd, maybe no one would have wanted to buy the tape. My face flamed. Was I to blame?
“And how did you get her room number?” continued Bob, his voice even.
“It was easy,” Lester bragged, his bad skin greasy under the fluorescent lights of the courtroom. “I called the hotel operator and asked. I was surprised that she didn’t use an alias or anything like that,” he tossed-off casually.
I shrank in my seat, my face burning. Again, was it my fault? Should I have checked in as Minnie Mouse or Cinderella Jones? I shook, eyes hot with tears, unable to move in my seat, maybe if I didn’t move I wouldn’t cry. Seeking silent comfort, I clutched my brothers’ hands harder, hanging on for dear life.
But things only got more brutal.
“How did you film her?” asked Bob.
“It was simple,” confided Lester, looking to the jury like they were his best friends. “I rented the room next door and when she went out, I took out the peephole and sawed off the threads.”
“So the peephole was just a plug when you put it back in?” clarified Bob.
“Oh yeah,” jeered Lester. “When she got back, I waited until she was in the shower and then pulled out the plug and pressed my cell camera against the hole. I didn’t think it’d be anything more than a regular shower but oh my god!” he cackled. “That Stacey Light is one horny-ass bitch! Those toys! Did you see that wall dildo? How the fuck did she get it into herself?”
The courtroom erupted in a furor then, scandalized at his language, the clamor of voices filling my ears. Judge Martin banged his gavel, ordering for quiet.
“Mr. Miller,” he threatened, “you better start showing some respect otherwise you’re going to see just how nasty I can be.”
“Oh sorry Judge,” wheezed Lester. “Just voicing my opinion,” he tossed off casually, looking around and winking at the audience as if they were in cahoots.
But the worst part was to come because I took the stand next.
“Stacey,” began Bob gently. “What has this trial meant to you?”
“It’s everything,” I said slowly, trying to hold my tears back. “My life has been destroyed.”
Bob nodded sagely. “Tell us more,” he continued. “How has it been destroyed?”
Wasn’t it obvious? I was a laughingstock now, the girl who diddled herself, who humped sex toys with every hole. But I had to spell it out for the jury.
“People look at me wherever I go,” I said slowly. “They recognize me, they think I’m some sex fiend who can’t get enough. Women shoot me looks of disgust like I’m a dirty slut, and men,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m harassed all the time now.”
“Harassed how?” asked Bob gently. “I know this is painful, but could you give us an example?”
“I was walking down the street the other day, and a construction crew was working,” I said slowly. “When they saw me, one of the guys took a shovel and started,” here my voice broke, I was so mortified.
But I had to go on.
“He started,” I began again taking a deep breath, “he took off his pants and started jabbing his ass with the shovel.” The memory was wretched still, the dirty man, his ass cheeks so white they looked like flabby moons, jabbing the shovel handle up his backside like he was a dog in heat. I’d almost died.
“You’re saying a full-grown man, on the job, in broad daylight, took off his pants and started humping a shovel?” asked Bob slowly.
“Yes,” I sobbed. “I mean, there weren’t a lot of cars or anything but his privates were out and the entire construction crew was laughing and calling me names.”
“What kind of names?” asked Bob gently.
“Obscene ones,” I stuttered. “Ass-Hole Chickie, Two-Holer, Double Banger, I can’t even remember.”
“And what did you do then?” asked Bob gently.
“I ran!” I sobbed. “I saw a couple other guys pick up shovels as well, loosening their belts, and I … I had to get out of there.”
“We get it,” soothed Bob, looking over at the jury. “And does this happen all the time now? The harassment, I mean?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice cracking. “Everywhere I go, people look at me I’m some sex doll, a Barbie with no inhibitions. But I’m just a nor
mal girl!”
And it went on and on after that, the questioning. I described to the jury my constant paranoia, using aliases when I traveled, switching hotel rooms at the last minute, how I’d seriously considered changing my name.
“And I’m scared,” I concluded, my voice stiff. “I’m always looking over my shoulder, thinking someone’s taping. But it’s my job to be on camera,” I said bitterly. “And it’s pure hell for me now.”
Because it was true. I’d started filming again, reporting from the sidelines and it’d been disaster the first couple times. I couldn’t look into the camera and smile, instead I’d look around nervously, my eyes twitching, see who was around.
“Straight into the camera!” yelled the producer. “Look straight, big smile.”
And I tried, I really did, but with so many cell phone cameras, people holding them up to snap me, selfie sticks constantly waving in my peripheral vision, it was tough.
“So I can’t do my job,” I concluded softly. “I had so much promise, and now I’m the sportscaster afraid to be on TV. Me, Stacey Light,” I said bitterly, looking down. “I wish you could have just one day in my shoes.”
Closer: A Blind Date Bad Boy Romance Page 41
