“Super-heavyweight,” Lyssa corrected angrily, as she flopped into the chair opposite her editor. “And are you serious? You’ve had me writing about the Jackson / Winogrodzki fight practically every week this month.”
Steve ran his hand over his balding head.
“I know, I know,” he sighed. “But it’s out of my hands. The board got together this week and went through the finances. Just like every print newspaper, we’re tanking, Lyssa. They’re making cuts all across the board. Hell, you and I are lucky we still have a job.”
Lyssa growled when she heard that – but even she had to admit it didn’t come as a surprise. The Internet was killing traditional print newspapers, and it was the employees with the least ‘essential’ jobs that tended to be the first casualties of cuts.
And sports columnists were most definitely not considered ‘essential.’
“Listen, you can watch the fight on pay-per-view,” Steve tried to placate her. “Shit, I’ll let you expense a six-pack and an order of hot wings if it’ll help.”
“Are you kidding me?” Lyssa rolled her eyes. She wasn’t unsympathetic to her editor’s predicament – but what a kick in the teeth.
She’d just gone from one of the most respected columnists in the business – front row at all the hottest fights – to another armchair athlete, watching the events from Buffalo Wild Wings.
And it was all in the interests of cutting overhead; maintaining ‘shareholder value’ for the company that owned the newspaper.
“Sorry, Lyssa,” Steve leaned back in his creaking seat – an unspoken signal that this meeting was over. “There’s nothing I can do. But good luck. I’m sure whatever you come up with will be great.”
Her face a mask, Lyssa hefted herself out of the seat, and stomped out of Steve’s office.
The Herald-Tribune might not be willing to pay her way; but she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to see this fight up close.
Chapter Eighty One
Lyssa
“So I can stay with you guys, right?”
It was later that evening, and Lyssa was standing in the kitchen of Travis and Nikolai’s apartment in a t-shirt and panties – still tingling from one love-making session, and eagerly anticipating the next.
Wearing nothing but an apron, Nikolai stirred a big bowl of goulash, and shrugged apologetically.
“I don’t know about that, myshka,” he replied, looking up at the pretty reporter. “The MMA league is paying for our apartment. I think having a reporter stay with us would be… how do you say? A ‘conflict of interest.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Lyssa growled. She wrenched open the fridge door and pulled out a bottle of beer. “You and Travis are going to be out in Vegas at the same time as the fight and you know how important it is for my column for me to see it.”
Sidling up the massive Russian fighter, she ran a finger slowly up and down one of his burly, bear-like arms.
“Please,” Lyssa purred seductively. “I can just about afford the flight out. All I’m looking for is a place to crash.”
She bit her lip.
“I’ll make it worth your while. You know I will.”
Nikolai turned to Lyssa, and for a second it looked like his resolve was wavering. The fact that his apron was tented out by a now-massive erection probably had something to do with it.
But then the Russian’s craggy features hardened.
“No, Lyssa,” he growled. “I’m sorry.”
Lyssa narrowed her eyes.
“Fine,” she pouted, and turned for the door. If she wasn’t going to have any luck with Nikolai, maybe Travis would be more open to… suggestion.
She found the rangy Texan in the living room, doing sit-ups on the hardwood floor.
“Hey, baby,” Lyssa purred, flopping down onto the couch, and extending one long, lean leg to stroke Travis’ back with her foot. “You know you guys are going to be out in Vegas next week?”
Travis paused his sit-ups, and turned around to look at Lyssa.
“Yeah,” he asked suspiciously narrowing his eyes. “What about it?”
“Well, it’s the big fight - Jackson versus Winogrodzki. I’m meant to cover it for the paper, but they don’t have the budget to send me out there.”
She rubbed her bare foot up and down Travis’ broad shoulders.
“So… can I crash with you two?”
Travis actually recoiled when she asked him.
His eyes darted to the kitchen, and then back to Lyssa.
“Y-you talk to Nikolai about that?”
“Not yet,” Lyssa lied – hoping she could play the two of them off against each other, just like she had as a kid – when her dad had always told her to ‘go ask your mother.’
“Well, I dunno about that, sugar,” Travis looked flustered. “I-I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. For, like, professionalism or something…”
Lyssa narrowed her eyes.
She knew that their relationship – if you could even call it that – was kind of undefined. But she hadn’t expected the two of them to act so weird about her crashing at their apartment in Vegas.
Shit, she was over here, in their Brooklyn brownstone, practically every night. What was the difference?
“What’s going on?” Lyssa narrowed her eyes. “Why are you guys acting so weird about this?”
“We’re not acting weird,” Travis shot back defensively – pretty much confirming that they were. “It’s just… I don’t think it would be right, y’understand?”
“No,” Lyssa shook her head. “I don’t understand at all.”
At that moment, Nikolai sauntered into the living room, bearing the bowls of stew he’d been working on.
“What’s the big deal?” Lyssa looked up from the couch. “Why are you guys acting so weird about me staying with you in Vegas?”
And that’s when she saw it.
Guilt.
For just a moment, there was a flicker of it in Nikolai’s eyes, and Lyssa suddenly knew something was up.
“What’s going on?” she asked, peeling herself off the couch and reaching for her pants. Suddenly, lounging around with her two sexy lovers didn’t seem so sexy any more.
“Nothing,” Nikolai shrugged, placing the steaming bowls onto the coffee table.
“Yeah, it’s nothing, girl,” Travis added – just a little too quickly, and a little too unequivocally. “You’re just imaginin’ it.”
But Lyssa looked at them both, and saw the same expression mirrored in both their handsome faces.
“What’s going on?” Lyssa demanded.
The two of them didn’t say anything.
“Seriously.” Lyssa pulled on her jeans, stumbling around the room. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”
But they didn’t need to say anything. They said it all with their silence.
“What’s out in Vegas that you don’t want me to know about?”
And there was something. That much had suddenly become clear.
Fuck, Lyssa swore to herself. It’s three months ago, all over again. That night she’d stormed out of Travis and Nikolai’s apartment the first time.
She’d fallen so easily back into the old routine – lazing about the apartment with these two hot, handsome men. Fucking them both, often at the same time.
It seemed natural. And real.
But she suddenly remembered that it wasn’t.
Nothing had changed. These two men liked her. Desired her. But at the end of the day, she knew that her relationship with them would never be more than this.
Fucking. Lazing. Joking around in their underwear.
When they’d had that fight, all those weeks ago, it had been over the casual way Travis and Nikolai treated her – like ‘one of the boys’ except they stuck their dicks in her.
“What did you expect?” Nikolai had challenged her. “A commitment?”
“We love you, girl,” Travis had joked. “But you’re hardly the type of girl we’re gonna take home
to Momma.”
Nothing had changed. She’d just chosen to ignore it.
Suddenly feeling an icy chill in that brownstone living room, Lyssa looked at the two handsome men and snapped: “I should go.”
Travis groaned as he clambered up from the floor.
“You don’t need to go nowhere, girl.”
“Stay,” Nikolai demanded. “I made food.”
“No,” Lyssa snapped, grabbing her coat and searching around for her boots. “I should go.”
“Baby, please…”
But there was no ‘baby, please’ this time.
“I’m an idiot,” Lyssa snapped, as she pulled on her boots. “I’m the same idiot I was all those weeks ago, when you kicked me out of here the first time.”
As the two handsome fighters stared at her, Lyssa growled: “I did it again, guys. I fell into this… this thing with you, and I thought there was something more to it than there was.”
And then she paused, and looked at Travis and Nikolai sternly.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” she hissed. “Tell me I’m anything more to you than a girl who can take two dicks at the same time.”
And they said nothing.
Travis Oates and Nikolai Bukov stared up at the pretty reporter, and their faces said more than words ever could.
They liked her. They loved spending time with her. She was fun to be around, and together the three of them had the kind of sex that pornstars would be jealous of.
But there was no love. No commitment. Just a pretty girl who’d fallen into bed with two hot, handsome men.
“Goodbye, boys,” Lyssa blinked away tears. “Have fun in Vegas.”
And then she marched out of the apartment, and slammed shut the door behind her with a satisfying crash.
Chapter Eighty Two
Lyssa
“What’s the matter, el cariño?”
Lyssa was staring at a handsome, caring face in the screen of her MacBook – and struggling not to cry.
“Seriously,” Silas asked, adjusting the angle of his own laptop – thousands of miles away in Spain – so he could see her better.
“It’s nothing,” Lyssa lied, blinking away tears. “I’m fine. I just wanted to see you, y’know?”
It was early the following morning, and Lyssa was sitting in her rickety bed, in her cold and drafty apartment. She’d taken a cab back from Brooklyn late the previous night – costing almost half a week’s wages, no less – but was now wondering if she’d made the right decision about storming out the previous night.
But the fact that there’d been no phone calls or texts from Travis or Nikolai – no attempt to wriggle out of what she’d accused them of – pretty much confirmed that she’d made the right choice in leaving.
“So what’s going on, cariño?” Silas demanded. “How are things?”
Lyssa sniffed.
“They could be better.” But then she felt a stab of guilt by saying that. Here was a guy who was being threatened with losing his family estate. Surely her problems were inconsequential compared to that.
But Silas didn’t act like he thought so.
“What’s the problem? Tell me.”
Lyssa snorted.
“It’s this fight next week. The one in Vegas.”
“Winogrodzki?” Silas’ eyes narrowed. The big, Polish bastard had been the one to end his fighting career. Silas was forgiven for reacting like that to the sound of his name.
“Yeah,” Lyssa nodded. “He’s up against this newcomer, Rashaan Jackson.”
“’Hungry’ Jackson,” Silas nodded. “I know about him.” He sniffed. “I might not be fighting any more, but I still keep up with it. MMA is in my blood.”
“Well, yeah,” Lyssa sighed, “I was set to go out and report on the fight live, but my editor pulled by travel budget. And I can’t stay with…”
She paused. How could she describe Travis and Nikolai to him? As sweet and understanding as Silas was, she doubted he’d be thrilled at the type of relationship she had with the two handsome heavyweights.
“I can’t stay with these… guys I know, either,” she tried to cover herself. “It looks like I’m going to have to watch it on pay-per-view, like a regular schmuck.”
Silas smiled dryly.
“It looks like everybody’s trying to screw us, cariño,” he laughed bitterly. “You and me both.”
Lyssa thought about what was happening to Silas and his family, and felt acutely selfish for her own relatively minor complaints.
She tried to change the subject:
“So… any word on what’s going on with Bodegas Batras?”
“The lawyer’s looking into it,” Silas admitted. “But my brother and I can barely afford to pay him as it is – and things don’t look good.” He shook his head sadly. “I’d hate to have waited my whole life to come back to this place, and then have it taken away from us.”
“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Lyssa shook her head. “You were all so lovely to me while I was out there.”
Silas’ tanned cheeks turned a little pink.
“Because you’re so lovely, it’s easy to be lovely to you,” he admitted. And then, as if embarrassed by that sweet comment, he growled: “But while you can’t help me – maybe I can help you.”
The massive fighter held up a gleaming gold card to the screen.
“What’s that?” Lyssa demanded.
“My club card,” Silas replied. “Jared and Nicola got it for me.” Lyssa stiffened when she heard the name of that loathsome Long Island couple. “I was spending so much time out in Vegas, they figured I should earn points for staying there, or something.”
Silas leaned into towards the screen, and smiled handsomely.
“I’ve got enough points for two free nights at the MGM Grand,” he admitted. “And it’s not like I’m going to be using them any time soon.” And then he said words that warmed Lyssa’s cynical little heart: “And I’m sure as hell not letting Jared or Nicola have them.”
Lyssa’s eyes widened.
“You mean it?”
“Take them,” Silas shrugged. “They’re no good to me. I’d rather you use them than let them expire.”
He winked playfully.
“Just promise me you’ll root for that Rashaan Jackson guy. After what he did to me, I’m looking forward to seeing Winogrodzki get his ass kicked.”
Part Four
Las Vegas, Nevada
Chapter Eighty Three
Lyssa
As a small-fry sports columnist, Lyssa Meadows thought she already knew all about travelling on a budget – but this trip to Vegas took the cake.
She’d barely been able to squeeze the cost of the flights onto her credit card, and she’d had to accept a 4am trip that stopped off for a layover in Seattle, and then another in Salt Lake City.
By the time Lyssa finally stumbled off the airplane, mid-afternoon, she literally felt like she’d had her ass dragged across three of the four corners of the United States (which, when she looked at it on a map, she pretty much had.)
Lysaa had survived on nothing but complimentary sodas and peanuts, and had been forced to watch How To Be Single three times in a row, on each of the three different flights.
That was, she was pretty sure, the sort of cruel and unusual torture that was supposed to banned under the Geneva Convention.
But joking aside, at least she was finally there.
With her stomach rumbling, and her head pounding, Lyssa staggered out of Arrivals and boarded one of the airport shuttles to the Las Vegas strip. She flopped into a seat at the back of the bus and dozed most of the way there.
* * *
The receptionist at the MGM Grand had seen all sorts come and go over the years – from drunken celebrities, to overweight Midwestern couples in flip-flops and ill-considered shorts.
Nevertheless, Lyssa got the distinct impression that she was being looked down on, as she signed the register and handed over her nearly-maxed o
ut credit card. The bags under her eyes and her crumpled clothes probably didn’t help.
A bellboy reluctantly pressed the button for the elevator, and Lyssa staggered, zombie-like, into the lift. A few moments later, she was whisked to her floor above the Las Vegas strip, and stumbled into her room with a grateful sigh.
She collapsed onto the crisp, white sheets and passed straight out.
* * *
She must have slept for three or four hours, because when Lyssa finally prized open her crusty eyes, it was dark outside.
Turning her head, she lay on the bed and looked out over the twinkling lights of Las Vegas.
America’s playground – a place she’d always loathed and loved in equal measure. Tonight, feeling more alone than she had in years, that feeling had never been more acute.
Chapter Eighty Four
Lyssa
Silas’ club card has scored Lyssa her room at the MGM Grand, but it was her press credentials that earned her a ticket to the big fight that evening.
And thank goodness they had. She’d never have been able to afford it otherwise.
Shoving that vital press pass into her pocketbook, Lyssa showered, changed, and dolled herself up as much as she could, before making the short walk through the malls and shops to the arena.
With the change she had in her pocket, she planned to feast on a Big Mac and fries on the way, and maybe treat herself to an overpriced beer during the event itself. If she could afford it.
The MGM League event was being held at the Garden Arena, just a short walk from the hotel. Even without a lot of the big names fighting – no ‘Bulldog’ MacDonald, or ‘Bruiser’ Broderick on the card tonight – it was still destined to be a crowded event.
Thousands of fans would gathering to see the ‘clash of the titans’ between Rashaan Jackson and Wlodek Winogrodzki. Super-heavyweight bouts always attracted a crowd.
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 15
