Save Me, Sinners: A Dark MFM Menage Romance

by Jess Bentley

  “You seem too nice for this line of work. Don’t fall for his charming words, sweetheart. Just do your job and don't let him get into your pants,” Shauna warns me. Too late for that, I think. My mind is totally off the task at hand as my thoughts veer back to Max. Did Max take advantage of me? Was it all just a fling for him? My heart sinks at the thought. And yet, a part of me keeps thinking of his words, his promises, and the look in his eyes every time he kisses me passionately. But why should I trust this woman’s word? This is a devious town and what she’s saying about Max might be true for me too. But does she have some agenda against him?

  “Anyway, forget all that. Let’s go find David and get both of you acquainted. Now remember, the idea of this piece is to paint him in good light. No more shenanigans like you pulled in your last article,” Shauna wags a finger, like a schoolteacher.

  Good-looking people are all over the house, and it doesn’t take long to notice a few celebrities I’ve only seen on magazine covers before. Floor to ceiling glass walls give sufficient light to the large living room, which opens up to a spacious patio with a huge swimming pool.

  A cocktail of voices engrossed in conversation fill my ears as I make my way behind Shauna, who’s asking everyone if they’ve seen David. Antique furniture with hand-carved workmanship provides a stark contrast to the otherwise modern architecture. Heavy book cases sit toward one end of the room, next to which a marble staircase leads upstairs. It’s all overwhelmingly beautiful, but…I bet he hasn’t read even one of those books.

  “There he is,” says Shauna, as she goes out to the patio.

  The patio overlooks the city, and the view is mesmerizing but that’s not what my eyes are glued to. My attention is solely focused on the man climbing out of the swimming pool, with nothing on but a pair of swim trunks. Brawny, muscular in a ‘Calvin Klein underwear ad’ model way, Da Vinci himself couldn’t have crafted a better-looking specimen.

  I try to look elsewhere but nothing else is near so beautiful as the man that approaching us. Butterflies fly in my stomach, tingles run down my arms and I feel a heat bomb explode inside me as the man smirks. Goddamn! I bite my lower lip a bit too hard. Get ahold of yourself Carrie!

  “Don’t you look lovely today?” He says to Shauna, as he slowly dries himself with a towel.

  “Get outta here!” Shauna tries to contain her smile.

  “You know I mean that,” he winks.

  “If you're trying to charm me so I let you party hard today then you can forget all about it.” Apparently it takes only a moment for Shauna to get into her school teacher thing.

  “Hard partying and me? I’m one of those good, mama’s boys.”

  “Yeah and the Pope shits in the woods.” Shauna shakes her head. “David. This is Carrie from Coyote magazine. She’s the one who’s going to do a feature on you.”

  As his eyes fall upon me, I can feel him scanning me from head to toe. A slight smile reaches his eyes and for a moment it feels as if he’s recognized me from somewhere. His gaze, when it rests on to my eyes, is piercing, and I stand like a statue. I’m unable to move as heat leaps inside me when he comes closer. His eyes are dark. I can’t tell whether they’re black or brown, as my eyes are focused on his full lips. They’re slightly parted. As lips are when initiating a kiss. I’m drawn in by his magnetism and then he shakes my hand. Sparks fly.

  “Hello. I'm David,” he says in that well-manicured British accent.

  “Me too... I mean, I'm Carrie.” I shake my head and snap myself out of dirty thoughts. Good job Carrie! Great way to make a first impression. David’s smile expands into a grin — a gorgeous grin — when Shauna spoke up.

  “So, David, Carrie’s gonna follow you around for a couple of days. She’ll write this piece on you and make you look like a saint and whatnot. You know the whole deal.” Shauna lights a cigarette.

  “That sounds ... lovely,” His gaze is fixed on me. “Perhaps we can go discuss it some more. Would you care for a drink?”

  Before I can answer, he’s already leading me off to the side, away from Shauna and the pool. The other side of the patio leads to a massive garden where there’s a long bar in the corner. People greet David as he walks through, like a lion stalking through his domain. A couple of folks empty the stools they’re sitting on as David gestures at them to make space.

  “After you.” He pulls out one stool and gestures with his hand.

  “Thank you.”

  “Two single malts,” he tells the bartender. Single Malts? At least ask me what I drink!

  “I don’t drink whisky,” I say. A look of astonishment comes over his face as if he never heard anyone utter that phrase before.

  “What kind of person doesn’t like a single malt on a beautiful day like this?”

  “The kind of person who has come to a work meeting,” I retort.

  “You call this work?” he laughs.

  “Yes. This is work,” I wish I could’ve come up with a better comeback but my growing resentment is freezing my brain.

  “All right,” he chuckles dismissively. “How are we going to go about it?”

  Just as I’m about to speak, a well-built African American man interrupts.

  “David, my man!”

  “There he is! The birthday boy,” David gets up and hugs him.

  “Thanks for letting me have the party here, man. This is off the charts!” He fist bumps David.

  “Anything for you, mate. And Willie, this is Carrie.”

  “Hello ma’am. Willie Bryant of the Anaheim Knights. Don’t let this guy take advantage of you.”

  “Carrie Tucker.... of Coyote magazine,” I smirk.

  “A journalist. Nah, you look too nice to be a journalist.” He smiles good-naturedly.

  “But I am!” I laugh. “Not all of us are so bad.”

  “That remains to be seen,” David mutters, almost under his breath. The man is incorrigible.

  “Bartender, three shots of tequila,” Willie shouts.

  “Not for her. She doesn’t drink,” David corrects him.

  “Oh, come on! You gotta have one, it’s my birthday,” Willie protests and hands over a shot.

  “Happy sweet sixteen, Willie,” David says and downs his in one.

  “If only, if only.”

  My throat is burning. I haven’t had a drink, let alone a shot, in forever. My financial situation doesn’t exactly allow for luxuries like going out and sipping cocktails. I stare in horror as David hands me another.

  “Well, it's his birthday,” he says, smirking. Egged on by Willie’s friendly smile, I have no choice but to accept it. And then comes a third.

  “Okay, enough!” I lean away from him.

  “Well if you're going to write a feature on me, then what better way to do that than to experience my lifestyle?”

  “That’s true,” Willie joins in. “Real writers write from experience.” He grins.

  In some strange way that makes sense, and I take the glass.

  “Bloody hell that felt good.” David sits back down on the stool.

  “David, you're a funny guy. Given the shit you're in, you should be laying low and here you are, at this massive party, downing tequila shots. Respect, man. I admire a guy who likes living on the edge.”

  “I'm British. We know how to drink,” David answers mid-sip of a tall glass of beer. Jeez! I'm beginning to see what Ana was saying about him.

  “He’s not wrong ya know,” I say, fueled by liquid courage.

  “What?” David turns his attention to me.

  “That you should be laying low, and not be drinking at a party with a hundred people. I mean any of these people could make a video of you drinking yourself senseless and before you know it, it goes viral and you get yourself in a bigger mess than you're already in. I mean that’s the whole point of running this piece right? To get your image cleaned up.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with my image?” He crosses his arms.

  “Well, duh! You were caught snea
king out of Ana’s apartment, your coach is pissed off with you and your bad reputation has followed you across the ocean.” Quick words exit my mouth and I wonder if I’ve said too much. Willie looks around sheepishly, not wanting to make eye contact with David.

  “Well if it wasn’t for your bloody paparazzi, none of it would’ve happened. It’s all the media’s fault.”

  “You're in the media eye. You can’t expect them to not run a story just because you don’t want them to.”

  “And is it okay for them to invade my privacy then? Is this the American way?”

  “This has nothing to do with ‘the American way.’ This has everything to do with you not being responsible with your life and your career!” I don’t know where the words are coming from but I can’t seem to stop.

  David sits quietly, staring daggers. For the first time since I downed those three shots of tequila, my nerves catch up with me.

  “You want to save your career and clean up your image, right? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Sleeping around with models and getting plastered is not gonna be a solution to that,” I say, a bit more softly this time.

  “At least it’s not as embarrassing as fainting at a charity dinner,” he answers, smugly. Fuck! How does he know about that?

  “Yeah, that’s right. I was there. At the table, right next to you. If it weren’t for me, you would’ve hit the floor. So as you can see ‘Carrie,’ You're not perfect either.” He smirked.

  “You know, David, after what Ana told me about you and what a jerk you are, I didn’t want to work with you. Now you've just proven everything she said right. So to hell with you and to hell with this piece!” I get up and storm off.

  “Carrie, wait,” Willie says, reaching out after me but I ignore him and quickly make my way into the crowd of people, being extra careful not to drunkenly trip. But after the last week, the dam has burst. I can’t take it anymore.

  To hell with David Adams and to hell with this job. I’m just gonna go back and help mom with the bar. To hell with this whole damn town.

  “Hey, did you and David talk it over?” It’s Shauna.

  “Yes,” I answer hesitantly. “But I'm sorry I can’t do this.” I try to walk away but Shauna stops me.

  “What happened?” She asks, a slight note of concern in her voice.

  “I just can’t do this anymore. You were right, maybe I'm too nice for this job. I’m sorry.”

  I would run away outside if I weren’t worried about how silly it would make me look. I just want to be out of this place. My ambitions of being a respected writer are not worth this, the man I thought was my boyfriend treats their relationship like a fling, and besides, after what just happened, he’s very likely to fire me.

  It’s time to make some hard decisions.

  Chapter 84

  Jogging to the touchline, I wipe my sweaty body with a towel. Even after living here for a few months, I’m still not used to the California heat. Back in London, it never gets this hot but here in L.A. it barely takes any time to break into a sweat.

  Downing the whole bottle of water in one go, I don’t care that half of it falls all over my chest. I’m parched—not just from the heat but also from last night. Willie’s birthday party went on till the wee hours, even though the birthday boy himself sped off home at midnight. Maybe that’s why he’s not dying like I am. Fuck. Shouldn’t have drank so much yesterday.

  The training began a couple of hours ago, but coach Miller hasn’t given me as much as a look. It’s much worse than I feared it would be. Coach hasn’t spoken a word to me and barely acknowledged me even when I tried to start a conversation myself.

  I’m the goddamn captain of this team, the biggest superstar in this league. This is no way to treat a champion. This thought echoes repeatedly in my head.

  Let him play his games— I'm going to score a couple of goals in the next game and then we will see who is the most important man in the locker room. I smile, thinking about how I might celebrate attaining these goals. Fucked if Hank Miller will ignore me anymore.

  But when I’m walking back to the showers, the assistant coach pulls me to the side.

  “Hey David. I need to speak to you,” He says. Nodding, I walk over to the bleachers with him.

  “Look, no one told me to say this but I just thought I should. The coach is really concerned with...the recent events surrounding you.”

  “I understand that—” I start to speak but stop when the other man gestures me to.

  “Plus he’s heard about the party at your place last night. Some of the guys in the team were talking about pictures on social media that a few of the women there posted. The coach was not happy. Especially when someone showed him that video of you doing shots.”

  Fuck. When did this happen?

  “Here is the thing, David. You gotta lay low for a while and work hard in training to impress the coach. Because otherwise,” the man clears his throat, ”I'm afraid you risk losing your captain status and your place in the starting lineup.”

  The assistant pats my back and quickly leaves. I sit down with a thump. I can’t believe these words. Sure, I’m not very responsible, but the punishment that the coach is willing to dole out isn’t fair either. I put my head in my hands, contemplating everything.

  Shit. I should’ve been responsible. Carrie, the woman from Coyote magazine, warned me about someone putting a video on social media and that is exactly what happened. When she lectured me about being responsible, she was right. And I was an ass to her.

  “Hey, man. I’ve been looking all over for you. Why the hell are you sitting here by yourself?” Willie walks up the bleacher stairs and sits next to me.

  “Hey, Willie. What’s up?”

  “What’s up with you, man? You’ve been lazy in training, you’re not talking to anyone. What’s going on? Too hungover from last night?” Willie claps my back.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I say wryly. “And they just told me that I might lose captain and might not even start in the next game.”

  Willie’s face is grim, putting two and two together.

  “Is it because of the Instagram video?”

  “You’ve seen it too? How bad is it?” I ask.

  “For me, it’s a regular night out. From the coach’s perspective, pretty darn bad.”

  “Fuck. Carrie was right,” I mumble.

  “What?”

  “That woman from the magazine,” I clear my throat. “She warned me that someone might…”

  “Yeah, that!” Willie interrupts, then pauses. “You know she wasn’t wrong man. You gotta keep a check on yourself. This has already got you into a mess,” he says cautiously.

  “It was your damn party, Willie,” I retort.

  “True, man, but I didn’t ask you to get drunk or let the party go on till the morning,” he answers.

  “Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to lash out at you. I'm just miffed that she was right and I should’ve been more careful.”

  “Instead you gave her shit for being honest,” Willie chuckles.

  “Yeah,” I mumble, feeling even worse. “I was being kind of an asshole wasn’t I?”

  “Grade-A asshole.” Willie laughs.

  “Too bad. She was kind of cute too, don’t you think?”

  “Bullshit,” he answers.

  “What?”

  “Man, you've slept with half of the gorgeous women in this town since you got here and now you’re telling me you found that simple girl cute? I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t know, Willie. There was something about her. She told me straight to my face. Everyone else I know is too eager to please me. It was... nice, for a change.”

  “Whatever, man. That’s you and your business. For now, get your ass into the showers and behave like you belong here. And for crying out loud, try to get along with the coach.”

  Maybe I will this time, I think as Willie pats me on the back before leaving. That Carrie. She’s an honest, no-nonsense woman. It d
oesn’t hurt that she’s cute as anything, in a very girl-next-door way. Big brown eyes, makeup-less face, the utter vulnerability in her that speaks of a woman who fought all of her battles by herself. A petite firestorm that ignites a fire inside me.

  I shake my head to dust off all thoughts of her. I have a lot to do, a lot to fix, and I’m not going to let these scandals get in my way. But before I head to the locker room, I message Shauna: Please send Carrie a big bouquet of flowers and an apology card from me.

  Chapter 85

  Thanks to all the drinking I did at David Adams’ party on an empty stomach, I called in sick yesterday. But even a day of rest, with my phone switched off hadn’t done much good. Even if I did receive a huge bouquet of flowers from David Adams along with an apology note.

  I kind of wanted to throw the flowers away but they’re too pretty… besides what kind of person doesn’t like flowers when they're sick? Even so, I’m sure it’s not his doing— it’s probably somebody from his management who thought of it. The guy is arrogant and obnoxious. He could never be so thoughtful.

  I spend most of the first hour at the office worried about how to tell Max that I’m not going to do the story on David Adams. Just sending my resignation via text is appealing, but I can’t muster up the courage to do it. It has to be done in person.

  When Lilian tells me that Max is out of town, my relief turns to misery when she adds that Max is out of town with Katherine Griswold, the main woman in his life.

  The main woman? Then what am I?

  Shauna’s insulting warning about Max at David’s party has carved suspicion in my mind and made way for doubt. Deep inside my heart I know I have to get over Max. That I’m nothing but a fling for him. I’ve gotta forget all those late night talks, all the sweet kisses and each promise that he made. It’s much more difficult than I thought it would be.

  Most of the morning goes peacefully and no one bothers me with any extra work since I’m supposed to be working on the big David Adams story. So I spend half the day browsing my favorite literary websites, hoping that it’ll provide strength to my dying dreams of being a legitimate writer.