All the Best Men: An MFMM Menage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  That was true. My dad was going to spend some of his millions on his stepdaughter’s college tuition. But Berklee and Tisch were no-gos for us, they didn’t even have football teams, they were little liberal arts schools where everyone wore painter’s smocks and talked about politics.

  “Jerry, I appreciate it,” Karlie said graciously, “but I’ve had a change of heart lately. I think State or maybe even Ravenswood would be good.” Ravenswood Junior College was a feeder to State, that way Karlie could stay close by in case she didn’t get into State.

  “Honey, you can’t!” gasped Karla. “A community college? What happened to working for National Geographic one day? Or the New York Times? Or even as a freelance photographer?”

  “Mom,” said Karlie slowly. “I just don’t know right now, okay? I mean, I still want to be a photographer, but it doesn’t have to be the center of my life. Besides, a college degree isn’t important if you want to take pictures for a living.”

  “But, but,” stuttered Karla. “I always thought you wanted to get an arts degree, honey I was so proud of you.”

  “Mom, you’ll still be proud of me,” said Karlie softly. “I just have other priorities now, okay?”

  “But what?” pleaded Karla. “What could be more important than following your dreams?”

  And that was the sticking point. Because Karlie was following her dreams, her dreams just lay with us now, Cain and I were her priorities, more than any camera, any world travel. And we’d make sure our little girl was taken care of, that we’d do right by her.

  “It’s tough to explain Mom,” said Karlie patiently. “But trust me, this is right for me, okay? I’m applying to State, we’ll see what happens,” she smiled.

  And I reached for her thigh under the table, giving that luscious flesh an appreciative squeeze. State was our first choice, they had an amazing football program, a new stadium, strong boosters, all the stuff that goes into a winning season. And if we could bring our girl with us, move her into our apartment, live with her during the weekday while winning games on weekends… well life just didn’t get any sweeter.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cain

  Damn, this NCAA shit was boring. Colt and I already know where we want to go, State’s the place for us and we’re practically admitted already. The head coach has already come by our house three times, they’ve talked with Dad, the school’s already hosted us for pre-admit weekend, all that kind of stuff. So I figured the meeting with the NCAA was just a formality, more talk about rules, regulations, things we already knew.

  But it was odd. When we showed up, we were guided to a private conference room and the commissioner was there. Really? Commissioner Dean, the man himself, was sitting inside, another dude by his side, ready to take notes.

  But whatever. This was going to be cakewalk and I strode in, confident, assertive.

  “Colt, Cain,” the older man said jovially, shaking our hands as we sat down. “Door please,” he directed the other man.

  And the door was closed, shutting us into what looked like a sound-proof room.

  “What’s this about?” drawled my brother. “We’re into State, that’s the place for us.”

  “We realize that,” said the Commissioner formally, “But we wanted to talk to you about infractions.”

  What the fuck? We hadn’t even matriculated and they were already talking to us about breaking the rules before they were broken. Fuck my life, this college shit was getting to be a drag.

  But the commissioner continued.

  “It’s come to our attention that you know Jimmy Long, the equipment manager of the Eagles,” he said.

  Colt snorted.

  “Of course we know him, the dude’s always around, why?” he asked. “What does it matter? Is he selling drugs or something, dealing dope? Because my brother and I don’t use the juice,” he said, his voice menacing, his eyes already shooting sparks.

  “No, no steroids,” said the Commissioner slowly. “Nothing like that. It’s come to our attention that the footballs you use are deflated.”

  I sat back, thunderstruck. Deflated balls? What the fuck? Was this some kind of sick joke?

  “What do you mean?” I asked slowly. “We use regulation footballs, same as anybody else.”

  But the man wasn’t answering my questions.

  “Aren’t you the one who checks them before each game?” he asked Colt, his question directed at my brother. “Don’t you check all the game-day balls before they’re used?”

  Colt frowned, his handsome face stormy.

  “Sure, but it’s routine. I squeeze ‘em and stuff, but it’s not like I get out the gage and check each one’s pressure individually. Why? Was I supposed to?”

  “I don’t know,” said the Commish slowly. “We have reports that the balls were underinflated, making it easier for you to grip … and for your brother to catch.”

  Oh fuck. What the fuck. This was serious shit, not some slap on the wrist for going to strip clubs and banging hot chicks. This was the real deal, cheating … before our career even started.

  “Listen,” I growled, feeling my muscles tense, my jaw clench. “We’ve never skirted the rules, it’s all fucking lies. Where the fuck is this coming from anyways? Did another team complain, sore losers?”

  “Well, no,” said the Commish. “Jimmy Long stepped forward himself, saying that you paid him to deflate each ball.”

  “That’s a fucking lie!” I roared, standing up, pounding the table with a huge fist. “What the fuck, we barely talk to that guy, and we definitely don’t give him money.”

  “Calm down son,” said the other man, “no need to leap to conclusions. All Jimmy said was that you and your brother routinely passed him cash with the understanding that he’d deflate balls before each game, making it easier for the Eagles to win. We haven’t verified his statement,” he said, holding his hands up. “We merely wanted to notify you of the claims, let you prepare a defense.”

  Prepare a defense? WTF? This was more serious than I thought.

  “Do we need to get lawyers?” I asked slowly. “Because this is starting to sound like a lawsuit.”

  “I can’t tell you what you should and shouldn’t do,” said the Commissioner smoothly, the other man nodding in agreement silently. “But there will be an official investigation and from here on out, the McKesson twins are suspended. No game time, no meetings, no practice. You’re effectively benched until this is cleared up.”

  And Colt and I sat back, thunderstruck. This was fucking bullshit. We needed to get to the bottom of this clusterfuck pronto.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Karlie

  “What?” I gasped, my hands flying to my cheeks. “You’re suspended? Why?”

  “Some bullshit,” Colt growled, his mood dark, his face furious. “It’s fucking lies.”

  “But how? Why?” I asked, shaking my head in confusion. This was all a huge mix-up.

  “They said Jimmy Long, that fuckhead equipment assistant, deflated balls before game time,” snorted Cain. “What a loser.”

  “But how would that even help?” asked Karlie. “I don’t get it.”

  “Honey,” said Colt patiently. “Have you ever touched a football? You know those things are big, they’re hard to grip even if you have hands like ours,” he said, flexing his fingers, the digits articulate yet powerful. I grew red, just thinking about where those fingers had been on my body, but this clearly wasn’t the time.

  Colt continued. “Deflating balls even by a little makes them easier to catch and throw. Jimmy’s saying we paid him to do it.”

  I shook my head. “But who is this Jimmy Long guy? Why would he do this?”

  “Who knows?” ground out Cain. “Probably some idiot fuckwad who’s jealous of what we have.”

  I was silent for a moment, shaking my head confusedly. The name sounded familiar, something rang a bell although I wasn’t sure what. My mind whirred before seizing on a vague impression. Oh yeah. A scrawny dud
e, some little guy who was always running around with a load of towels, shin guards, breast plates, that kind of thing.

  “I think I’ve seen him around,” I said slowly. “In fact, I think he asked me out my first week at XM.”

  That caught my brothers’ attention.

  “Really?” they asked, their gazes sharpening. “Did you go?”

  I sat back, perplexed. How to explain this? But I related the story as best as I could remember.

  “I was at Dairy Queen,” I said slowly, “grabbing a burger, and Jimmy came up to me when I was at the counter, offering to pay. He was cocky, not to mention rude and insistent. I said no of course, I didn’t know him from Adam. But he persisted, literally shoving his money into the cashier’s hand.”

  “It was weird,” I continued. “But because he paid, I felt like I had to invite him to eat together, so he sat down and we chatted. It was okay,” I shrugged. “It wasn’t terrible that time or any other time.”

  “Any other time?” interrupted Colt, his eyebrows raised. “You saw him again?”

  “Well sort of, yes,” I confessed. “I mean, he was always popping up unexpectedly. Like he knew where I was going to be and when I got there, he’d be waiting.”

  “How the fuck would he know that?” ground out Colt. “How the fuck would he know where you were?”

  “I guess from yearbook,” I said, thinking back on events. “I mean, he’s on the staff too, so it’s pretty easy to figure out where I’ll be shooting next. There’s a schedule on the wall, I go to all sorts of activities as staff photographer – French club, debate, you name it,” I said slowly.

  “Anyways, it got creepy with him around all the time, so I started ignoring him, trying not to meet his eyes,” I continued. “And he got the message, so I quit worrying. Jimmy stopped showing up unexpectedly and I figured the problem was solved, game over.”

  “But clearly he held a grudge,” ground out Cain. “You rejected the dude and now he’s out for revenge.”

  I laughed a little.

  “I wouldn’t say revenge, brother, that seems a little extreme.”

  But Colt and Cain just shook their heads.

  “Never underestimate a man’s bruised ego, girlie,” they said. “I mean, the dude’s what – five four? Short men always have Napoleonic complexes, and he gets turned down by the new girl at school, even though he’s first in line. So yeah, I’d say some revenge is in order.”

  “But I don’t get it,” I said, still puzzled. “I mean, wrecking your athletic careers over this? How does he even know we’re together?”

  A moment’s pause.

  “From the Donkey,” said Cain simply. “He was there the night we did the blue light.”

  The blood rushed from my face and my knees felt weak. I still remembered that night, it’d been one of the best in my life. But how had Jimmy recognized me? I’d had a mask on, only my ruby red lips visible.

  Colt’s face was grim, reading my mind.

  “He must have paid someone,” he ground out. “Long must have paid someone at the club to find out which girl did the blue light that night. Have you made enemies at the Donkey?”

  Sort of. Us working girls generally got along but there was always some cattiness, some sniping between women who are afraid of growing old, their bodies sagging, their livelihood gone.

  I shrugged helplessly.

  “I haven’t made any enemies as far as I know, but it doesn’t matter,” I said sadly. “It would take so much energy to figure out which girl slipped Jimmy the info and for what? We wouldn’t go after her anyways. But this still isn’t making sense,” I said slowly. “How did you pay him? Did the commissioner tell you that at least?”

  “Through you,” said Colt simply. “We allegedly passed money to him through you.”

  I sputtered and gasped.

  “What? How?” I was genuinely shocked now. I’d never given Jimmy any money, maybe lent him a dollar for a Coke or something, but that was all.

  “That’s the thing, sister,” said Cain slowly. “He said that he took a cut of your tips from the Donkey Club. That we made it rain, and he took some of the money for himself. That’s how he was compensated.”

  I sat back, astounded.

  “Does the NCAA know about this?” I asked slowly.

  And my brothers nodded.

  “Yeah, they know about the Donkey ... that you dance, that you strip, and that you get money for it,” said Cain slowly. “We don’t know how much they know exactly, but I think it’s pretty clear where this is headed.”

  And I fell into a faint, the black closing around me. My innermost secret was in danger of being revealed to the world … that I’d been sleeping with my brothers.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Karlie

  My mind whirred as I stood in line at the lunch counter, woodenly picking up some food.

  “Black bean soup, honey?” asked the lunch lady, smiling kindly.

  I smiled back like a robot, nodding my head.

  That’s how it’s been for the last week. I’m on auto-pilot, acting like everything’s okay when inside I’m a mess, my emotions turbulent, liable at any second to burst into tears or melt into a sobbing puddle.

  I can’t help it. The NCAA investigation is going on this very second, and there’s nothing to do but wait. But it’s killing me inside, taking all my energy just to keep it together, not to let this completely take over my life.

  I scooted down the line with my lunch tray, absentmindedly reaching for a Diet Coke before pulling out my wallet to pay.

  And suddenly my eyes snapped to life. Because who was at the cash register but Jimmy Long, leering at me like nothing had happened.

  “Hey Karlie,” he said, his breath smelly and stinky even from two feet away. His face was so shiny that the oil was almost visible, his collar stained with sweat.

  “Hey,” I mumbled back, looking down, my face flushed. I was embarrassed and angry at once. Here was the source of our pain, the so-called whistleblower on our own personal Deflategate. How much I wished I could rewind time so that I’d never met this guy.

  But suddenly a wave of rage overtook me. Who was this person to dictate my life? Why was he able to cause me immense pain, and threaten my brothers too? The unfairness made me choke, the anger swelling inside, making me see red, the clanging of bells loud in my ears like an internal siren going off.

  But I struggled to keep my emotions in check, showing nothing to the world.

  “Hey Jimmy,” I said, my voice deceptively mild. “How’s it going?”

  “Oh you know,” he said, ringing my food up. “It goes. I guess it’s going for you and your brothers too, isn’t it?” he said smarmily. I wanted to punch his face, knock out some of those brown, tobacco-stained teeth.

  But I forced myself to focus, not let my emotions get in the way.

  “Oh sure,” I said lightly, “Life goes on, you know. By the way, I was wondering when you’d be coming by the Donkey next?”

  Now it was his turn to grow beet red, the color mottling his skin. I bet he hadn’t expected me to tackle the issue head on, much less say the word “Donkey” out loud. But he recovered quickly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, scoffing. “Never heard of the place.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said sweetly, giving him a coy glance. “Joy says hi by the way.”

  If possible, the dickhead turned even brighter red, purple almost, the top of his head practically popping off with excitement and embarrassment. Because yeah, I’d asked around if anyone had seen Jimmy Long that night, who’d been talking to him. And what do you know, the girls remembered a lech coming backstage that night acting like he owned the joint.

  “Girl, why you wanna know about a guy like that?” asked Ebony, a seasoned dancer in her forties. “He’s got no money.”

  I shook my head. Trust Ebony to stick to the basics. No money, no dance.

  “Because he owes me cash,” I said slowly. “I thin
k he took a cut of my tips.”

  Now this was serious business. We were there to get paid and had a right to know if our earnings had been tapped.

  “How? Why?” asked Snooker, a cute little blonde, bouncy and twenty-one at most.

  “It’s the night I did the blue light,” I said. “The football team sent a guy backstage afterwards with a wad of cash. My earnings,” I clarified. “But their delivery boy took some of that for himself, so I’m trying to figure out who saw him, how he pulled it off,” I said.

  “Man, that’s low,” whistled Ebony. “You tell us when you figure it out, kay girlie? We don’t need no cheaters like that.” She walked off, her ass wiggling with the feathers attached to her panties.

  But Snooker wasn’t so quick to go. She obviously had some info.

  “I think I remember that guy,” she said slowly. “Was he really ugly, with bad skin, bad hair, a midget about yea tall?” she asked, gesturing with her hand.

  I nodded slowly.

  “Yeah, that sounds like Jimmy,” I confirmed.

  “Well,” continued Snooker, “after you danced that night you were kind of passed out afterwards, remember?” she said. “You were lying on the lounger over there, resting, and this dude came in. He had money for you, but he was acting like he was boss around here, like we had to do whatever he wanted.”

  Us girls hate that. Sometimes patrons come backstage and act like the Prince of Persia, we’re their concubines cum personal servants, there to do their bidding. The entitlement emanates in waves off these guys and worst of all, they usually don’t have any money.

  But Snooker continued.

  “He came backstage and he was trying to feel up girls with both hands, practically dropping the money, his boner out and waving,” she said slowly.

  Oh god, gross. The worst type of client.

  “Yeah, so Joy took one for the team,” said Snooker. “She grabbed the money out of his hand, knelt down, and then gave him head.”