by Lana Hartley
I look at my phone, my vision turning red. But I don’t call Logan. I flip the contacts to get to Richard, my agent. It rings twice and he picks up.
“You see the fucking news about me, Rich?” I ask right as he picks up the phone. No need for a fucking hello.
“Are you surprised, Hunter?” comes the question right back at me. Almost as if he’s expecting it.
“What you talking about, dude?” I’m curious. In my head I wonder as to everyone that knows about this shit. There’s Sarah’s family. Logan and me. A handful of fraternity brothers who have never said shit so far.
And Natalie. Who works at the fucking Gazette.
Is Richard talking about Natalie?
“You see what that bitch at the Gazette’s been doing? Profiling Logan?” Richard asks and I frown as I hear his words through the phone. “I guaran-fucking-tee you that Logan got some decent press coverage and got his panties in a twist because you’re the bigger star, baby.”
Fuck. Pretty boy Logan. It makes sense. But why?
I don’t get a chance to ask or even think.
“He wants to fucking fight you in the ring I bet,” my agent says. “Wants to finally settle the score that you guys started so long ago. Now that he’s famous, he thinks he can do anything.”
I mean he was famous before, but I think I understand the reasoning. He’s got Natalie at his side, pumping up his ego.
“Natalie,” I almost whisper. And Richard picks up on it.
“And that bitch Natalie – the reporter – been very close to Mr. Logan the last few days. They hung around the offices of the Gazette. The two of them, Hunter, would absolutely fucking do something like this,” Richard states.
Logan the greedy fucker who absolutely will do whatever it takes for a multi-million dollar payout. Yeah, I can totally fucking see that. But Natalie? Working with that jackass?
Breaks my fucking heart.
Without another word, I hang up. Every fiber in my body is telling me to go find them. Find Logan. Punch him in the fucking mouth. Finish what I started that day Sarah ran out.
Natalie isn’t like Sarah. She made her choice where Sarah couldn’t. And looks like Natalie picked Logan.
That’s fine. I’m not going to go track him down and kick his ass in front of her.
No.
I’m going to go and destroy Logan where it hurts the most.
The ring.
Logan
I step out of the shower, and towel myself off. The steam has fogged up the mirror, and I wipe it away with the palm of my hand. Now I can see my face.
It's my father's face. The chiseled jaw line, strong brow. I even have his eyes and matching crease across my forehead.
You're a champion. Stay focused. Don't lose sight of the end goal.
The words of my father run through my mind again. "When you've completed 95 percent of your journey, you're only halfway there."
I wrap the towel around my waist and walk into the living room. The TV is on, and I see the Sports Network flash across the screen. The volume is up and I reach for the remote to silence it. But before I can do that, I stop when I hear what they're discussing.
“Sources inside the Gazette are telling us that the two premier boxing titans of the world have a deeper history than the world has ever imagined,” the network anchor says. "Few people know the tragedy that has haunted them both since college."
My body goes tense and for a few seconds, it feels like I'm holding my breath.
It's like I'm underwater and the pressure of it is pressing down on my chest.
I force myself to exhale.
Why is the Sports Network talking about Hunter and I?
I put the remote down. I refuse to silence the volume now.
The headline is still on the screen. It reads: “Hunter and Logan. Two of Boxing’s Heavyweights Linked By College Tragedy.”
What the fuck is going on? How do the Sports Network anchors know about this?
No one fucking knows the history that Hunter and I share. Not even those closest to us. The only person who knows is Hunter himself.
And then it hits me. There's only one other person who knows: Natalie.
A familiar sense of rage wells up inside of me.
I need to see Natalie.
I quickly dress and grab my keys, immediately driving to Natalie's place.
Within moments I'm knocking on her door. I hear her footsteps approach the door and then she answers.
"What are you doing here?" she smiles.
Instead of returning the smile, I give her a solemn look.
"Do you have anything to do with it? Tell me the truth," I say.
She stares at me, speechless. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
"Cut the crap. It's all over TV."
She shakes her head, and opens her door a little wider. "Why don't you come inside," she says, motioning inside of her studio.
I step in and immediately notice the small size of her place. She wasn't kidding when she said she could fit everything in the space between my fridge and dining table.
Remembering her saying that brought back the first night we met, and the first night I brought her back to my place. I shake these thoughts from my head.
She breaks the silence. "It wasn't me."
"So you do know what I'm talking about … but if it wasn't you, then who?"
"I wish I knew," she says, shaking her head. "I swear it wasn't me."
"The only other person who knows is Hunter," I say. "Could it have been him? But if it's him, why would he do that? That was always a carefully guarded secret between he and I."
"There's only one way to find out," she says. "Pick up your phone and call him."
Good idea. I don't know why I never thought of that. Of course. That's the simplest solution. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial him. The phone rings, but he doesn't answer and it eventually goes to voicemail.
"Let me try," Natalie offers. But she dials too and again, it goes to voicemail.
Just as we're about to try for a third time, we both turn and face the TV.
A sound has caught our attention.
What the fuck is going on? Just when I didn't think the day could get any stranger, it does. Sports Network is broadcasting an impromptu press conference with Hunter.
Natalie and I watch as he takes the stage. He's in a Navy blue suit, perfectly tailored, wearing dark sunglasses. But when he says my name, he has my undivided attention.
Hunter is standing behind a podium and speaking into a microphone.
"There's been a lot of talk in recent days about Logan and I. Sports analysts have been wanting to see us matched up for a long time. Some say it would be the match of a lifetime, and I'm here to officially go on record saying that I'm receptive to that match up. Logan, if you're listening, I'm ready to fight you, unless you're too scared to step into the ring with me."
The audience is going wild. They are chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" And flashes are going off as reporters take pictures for the next day's newspapers.
Hunter poses for them with both fists balled and raised.
Just then, my phone starts to ring. It's ringing with unrecognizable phone numbers. Has the media already managed to dig up my number? I ignore the calls and shut my phone off.
I take a deep breath. It looks like I only have one choice now. My back is against a fucking wall.
"There's no way out of this," I say to Natalie. "I'll have to fight Hunter."
"You can't," she says, shaking her head. It's not what she wants to hear.
"What about the truce? You can't break that. You made a promise."
"That's in the past," I say, "and unfortunately, Hunter is using our past together to blackmail me into fighting him. I never thought he'd go that low, but now it's clear he has. I can't fucking stand that."
I look out the small window of Natalie's studio, lost in thought.
"I have to fight Hunter," I say, nodding my head
with the recognition of it all, "because it's the honorable thing to do."
Natalie
“This isn’t fair!” I pout, looking down at the empty shot glass in my hand. I turn it around, watching my pale reflection on it, and then just slam it down on the counter. “TWO MORE!” I say, or, well, shout. Dutifully, the bartender makes his way back toward Michelle and I and refills both of our glasses.
“For someone who doesn’t like to drink when she’s out celebrating, you sure go at it when you’re commiserating,” she tells me, throwing her head back and drinking her own shot. She makes a grimace and then coughs into her hand, the tequila clearly getting to her.
“But it isn’t fair!” I repeat. Just like Michelle, I make a grimace of my own as I down my tequila. Oh, I’m going to have a massive headache tomorrow. “Everything was going great, and now this! It doesn’t make any sense!”
“I know, I know…” she agrees, taking the empty glass out of my hands and setting it down on the counter. “But drinking yourself silly isn’t going to help, is it?”
“I dunno. I feel good,” I shrug, although the whole counter seems to be leaning away from me. “TWO --” I start, raising my hand to call for the bartender, but Michelle moves fast and grabs me by the wrist.
“No, no more. We have to be in the office tomorrow morning, did you forget about that?”
“I don’t care about the office,” I pout, but I still allow her to pull me up to my feet.
“C’mon, let’s go. I’ll get you a taxi.”
With one arm around my waist, she guides me across the packed room of the bar, pushing our way through the sea of people drinking their Friday night away. We step out into the street, the cold night breeze caressing my skin, and I notice that there’s already a yellow taxi parked out front.
“I told the bartender to call for a taxi,” she tells me, opening the door for me.
“What about ya?” I mumble, my whole body relaxing as I slide into my seat in the back of the taxi.
“Well, that cute bartender is getting off in fifteen minutes,” she shrugs, a devious grin on her lips.
“You told me to go home because we’re working tomorrow morning.” I narrow my eyes at her, but she just shrugs again.
“And we do. Doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun.”
“Alright, alright… Just be careful, okay?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m an expert at kicking guy’s in the balls,” she laughs, winking at me and then marching back into the bar.
Pressing my head against the headrest, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep in just a couple of seconds. By the time I open my eyes, the car’s already halting to a stop in front of my apartment building. Groggy, I reach for my purse, but the driver just waves me down.
“Your friend already paid the fare,” he merely says, and I thank him with a nod.
“Oh, God,” I mutter as I get out of the car, the door to my apartment building dancing in front of my eyes. Yeah, I definitely shouldn’t have drank all those shots of tequila.
Somehow I manage to open the building’s door and make my way toward the apartment. Once there, I simply throw my purse over the coffee table and collapse on my couch, my knees giving up under my deadweight.
Crap, why did this have to happen? Everything was perfect, and now this… I can’t believe that, because of this stupid leak, I’m on the verge of losing Hunter and Logan. Yes, Logan seemed to believe me when I told him I had nothing to do with the leak, but what if he changes his mind? And what about Hunter? He completely shut me out!
After what happened between the three of us, I don’t know how I’ll go with knowing that it’ll never happen again. Sex with them was… more than amazing. It was a religious experience. It might be silly when said like that, but you wouldn’t understand without experiencing it. There was a connection there, one more real than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Their lips on mine, their naked chests against my skin, their hands wandering all over my body… It was perfection. Oh, just thinking of it is enough to get me going. I already feel my heart racing, my pussy growing wet with each passing second…
Pursing my lips, I slide one hand down the front of my dress, bunching it up as I flatten the palm of my hand between my thighs. The moment I feel the pressure of my hand there, I start working on instinct alone: I slide my hand under the hemline of my dress and, flicking my thong to the side, I press two fingers over my clit.
“Ah,” I pant as I rub on it, going faster and faster as the memories of what we did in the deserted Gazette’s office flood my mind. Holding my breath, I slide my middle finger inside my pussy, pushing it past my drenched folds, and allow thunder and lightning to climb up my spine.
Breathing hard now, I let my fingers take me to the heights, my whole body tensing up as pleasure pools inside me. “Fuck,” I groan, my brain reaching the melting point. “FUCK!” I cry out again, pleasure shooting up my spine and exploding inside my head. I remain lying there in the couch, feeling tipsy and horny, as every single muscle in my body seems to be twitching and spasming.
By the time I take my hand out of my pussy, I feel so exhausted that I can’t even help myself. My eyelids droop, I take one deep breath and, still with all the memories dancing inside my head, I drift off to sleep.
Logan and Hunter… Will I really be able to let go of the two of them?
Never, the answer comes to me, and it’s the last thing on my mind as the lights finally go out inside it.
Natalie
“Are you sure?”
“There’s no way around it. We have to fight,” Logan tells me, staring out of the limo’s window as we ride through New York City. Even though he didn’t have to, he called me this morning and told me to accompany him to the Empire State Building. The place where a fight with Hunter will become inevitable.
A small army of lawyers has been busy drafting up a document that’ll bind both Logan and Hunter, and today he has been called in to sign it. I hoped that this wouldn’t happen, but soon enough there’ll be no turning back; once their names are on the contract, there’s going to be a fight, one way or the other.
“You can’t fight. It’s just… wrong,” I try and tell Logan, thinking of everything Hunter told me. I can’t believe that they’re going to do it despite what they’ve gone through.
“There’s no other way, Natalie,” he repeats, laying his hand on top of mine and squeezing it softly. “It’s the last thing I want to do, but…”
“But…?”
“It’s been a long time coming. Some things can only be settled inside a ring,” he whispers, the grave tone of his voice enough to make my skin prickle. This isn’t about sports, prizes or money; this goes so much deeper than all that.
As the limo finally stops in front of the Empire State Building, we both get out of it and start walking toward the main entrance. We do it a brisk pace, hurrying as a light drizzle threatens to turn into a serious downpour. Even Heaven itself seems to be crying over what’s about to happen.
I follow after Logan as he heads toward the elevator, and we remain in complete silence as we make the climb toward one of the top floors. On the way up, I grab his hand and give it a soft squeeze, just like he did before. It’ll be okay, my gesture says, although I’m not so sure if I can believe that.
As he leads the way toward the offices where they’ll be signing the contract, I feel my heart beating faster with each step I take. There’s already a young receptionist waiting for us in the front desk of our floor, and she’s the one leading us toward the conference room.
“They’re already inside,” the receptionist tells us with a nervous smile, waving at the double doors in front of us and stepping to the side. With a confident nod, Logan runs his fingers down the length of his tie and steps forward, turning the door’s handle.
I follow him into the conference nervously, and my eyes meet Hunter’s in a fraction of a second. He’s sitting in the middle of the table, flanked by what I assum
e to be his agent and lawyers, and his gaze is as cold as ice.
I look from Hunter to Logan, expecting them to say something or, at the very least, to acknowledge each other.
They don’t say a word.
They simply remain silent, not even daring to look into each other’s eyes. It’s as if there’s a barrier between these two, one that simple words won’t be able to cut through.
“Hunter…” I whisper and, even though he looks straight at me, the ice in his eyes doesn’t melt. Under the table, Logan holds my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.
“So, we’re all here,” one of the men next to Hunter says, clapping his hands together and resting a briefcase on the desk. Popping it open, he takes a few documents from the inside, stacking them into two neat piles. He hands one of these piles to Hunter, and the other one to Logan.
“I’ve take it you’ve already read the copies I’ve sent you this morning,” the man continues. “What you’re holding in your hands are the originals. Just sign them and we’ll be good to go.”
Hunter is the first to move. Without even bothering to flick through the documents, he grabs the pen in front of him and signs his name on each and every page, his movements tense and angry.
Logan doesn’t follow suit. Instead, he grabs the contract in front of him and opens it up, taking his time as his eyes run over each line on the page. Then, satisfied with it, he grabs the pen in front of him and signs it, his movements fluid and relaxed. Even though he’s as angry about the whole thing as Hunter seems to be, he doesn’t allow his feelings to run rampant.
As everyone waits on Logan, the tension in the room keeps growing and growing, becoming almost unbearable. The palm of my hands becomes sweaty, and I start drawing quick and short breaths, too nervous to take a deep breath. How did it come to this? Just a few weeks ago I was a nobody, and now here I am, right in the middle of what’s about to become the fight of the century!
Still, it doesn’t make any sense. Why would Hunter drag the memory of the woman they loved through the mud? All this because of a fight? Somehow, I don’t believe that Hunter was the one behind the leak. But if it isn’t Hunter, then who?