36 Inches: A MFMM Romantic Comedy

by Alexis Angel

  Not to be outdone, Madden starts kneading my shoulders. “God, Megan, I never meant to upset you.”

  I can practically feel them staring daggers at each other over my head, and I can’t take it anymore. I push up from the loveseat and go sit by Maya, ready for this plane ride to be over so I can just get the hell away from this mess.

  I have no idea why that just went down, and hell, I know it makes for good TV, but I didn’t sign up for that shit. Having them use the things we did together as a way to take a jab at the other. Fuck that.

  They both try again to apologize, but I just hold up a hand. I can’t even right now.

  I remain silent for the rest of the flight, and when we land, Maya has already ordered three separate cars to take us back to the apartment. How could my perfect dates have come to this? Now I’m even more confused than ever.

  Maya

  “What the fuck were you thinking, Maya?” my boss spits out at me. Literally. Spit is flying from his mouth as he rages.

  I stand there, growing more and more frustrated by the second. This asshole has no idea what’s really going on with his own damn show. “If you would just—”

  “That was a perfect opportunity and you just wasted it,” he roars. Pacing across the floor of his office in the back of the studio, he gestures wildly. So dramatic. I wonder briefly if he tried acting before he became a producer. Because his melodrama is so over the top it’s laughable.

  “What did you expect me to do? Let them duke it out forty thousand feet in the air?” I barely resist rolling my eyes.

  “What you were supposed to do was tape that shit on your phone. That’s what people tune in to my show for. Not to watch people be sappy and sweet and fall in love. They want to see fucking and fighting. That’s what this show is about. And you fucking wasted a perfect opportunity for the next episode to get higher ratings.” He turns and glares at me, as if I’ve singlehandedly sunk his show.

  “This show isn’t a fucking MMA fight,” I grit out between clenched teeth. “Someone could have been seriously injured. Then what?”

  He scoffs. “There are two things that sell. Sex and violence.” He ticks them off with his stubby fingers. “That’s how you make it in this business. That’s what people want. And we’re going to give it to them.” He stops pacing directly in front of me and points his fat finger in my face. “You better get one or the other for me for this episode. Sex or violence. You hear me? No matter what you have to do.”

  I want to slap his hand away because that shit’s just not cool. What does he think I am, a three-year-old child who needs reprimanding for sneaking cookies? But I refrain. Barely.

  “Look,” I say, going for a rational approach. “The ratings have never been higher. Not in this season or any other season. They climb up with every episode. We have a killer cast with these three. People are tuning in to see them. They love Megan. Fucking love her. They want to see her win.”

  He sneers at me. “Don’t be naive, Maya. People don’t want to see her win. They don’t watch this show for people to not have sex. What they want is to see her crack. They’re just waiting for it, watching every episode and buying online feeds so they can be there when it happens. So I’m telling you, she better crack soon and fuck one of these guys. And I mean soon.”

  He turns and waves his hand toward me. Apparently I’m dismissed.

  I spin on my heel, barely keeping my thoughts contained. What I want to tell him is that he’s absolutely clueless about what makes good TV, producer or not. I’ve spent my entire life wanting to produce, and I’ve worked damn hard to get to the position I’m in now. Production assistant on the country’s most popular reality show is a huge item for my resume.

  I know what I’m talking about. They do want to see Megan win. And so do I.

  But my boss wants to see her crack.

  Because that would be good TV.

  Well…two words.

  Fuck. That.

  I set my jaw, determined. I just have to find a way to work this out so everyone is happy. Where Megan is the winner. And hopefully not a broken mess by the time it’s over.

  Megan

  I stare at the ceiling, not really seeing anything. What am I doing? Is this really where I want to be? Is it really worth all this drama?

  I am so not a drama queen. I avoid it if at all possible. It was easy to stay out of the fray earlier in the game, but that’s apparently no longer an option. Because I’m right smack in the center of it.

  I can’t believe Tristan and Madden almost came to blows over me like that. I don’t like it at all.

  My door swings open, and I don’t even look over. I know it’s Maya because my door is locked and she’s the only one with a key.

  “Come with me,” she says brusquely, grabbing my hand.

  I just lie there, not sure I want to do this right now.

  “Seriously, Megan, we need to talk.”

  She says it so low I can barely hear her. Sighing loudly, I push myself to sitting and look at her. “I don’t want to.”

  Maya shakes her head and hauls me up. How can someone that tiny be so strong? But then she’s pulling me behind her into the bathroom, shutting the door behind us, and now I have no choice but to listen to her.

  I cross my arms. “What?”

  She comes to me and rubs her hands up and down my upper arms. “Are you okay? How are you doing? Hanging in there?” She looks truly concerned.

  “Maya,” I begin, then sigh and shrug. “I don’t know if I can keep this up. I’m having serious doubts.”

  She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Doubts about what? The show?”

  I look around, feeling helpless. “Everything. It’s so much harder than I thought it would be. What happened on the plane today…that was insane. I never expected that. It’s like being in this house is making us all act crazy.”

  Maya purses her lips, and I know what she’s thinking. That’s kind of the point.

  “Look,” she says, slinging an arm around my shoulders and squeezing, “you need to make sure that this isn’t just the lust getting the better of you. Yesterday was pretty nuts, too. I mean, two super-romantic dates with two sexy billionaires, both of who you experienced things with that you probably haven’t before. It’s bound to do a number on you.”

  Is that what it is? I’m not sure. I think it’s more. That my developing feelings for Tristan and Madden, feelings that feel pretty fucking real in spite of this being an orchestrated reality show, are a bigger part of the problem. I think I’m really doubting that I’m going to get out of this without losing something. Like my heart. That is so not part of the plan.

  Apartment? Yes.

  Prize money? Yes.

  Love? Hell no.

  “Listen,” Maya continues, her voice going even lower, “I want to see you win. And it’s not just me, either. The whole world wants to see you win, Megan. The ratings are climbing with every episode that airs.”

  Great. Now even more people will get to see how crazy this thing is.

  Maya looks me in the eye. “Don’t forget, this is a game. That’s all it is, Megan. A game. With a life-changing prize waiting for you at the end if you can just get through the next few days. And also, don’t forget, you aren’t the only one playing this game. Madden and Tristan are playing, too.”

  I nod, ready to be alone again, but even after she leaves, her words echo in my head.

  Madden and Tristan are playing.

  What does that mean? Are they playing me? I thought so at first. And maybe that’s why I’m really upset now. Because the things they said sounded an awful lot like I was just some thing. A prize. Not an actual person they care about. And that’s a problem because I do care about them.

  But that doesn’t feel right, either. Could they really have both faked everything yesterday so well? My gut says no.

  So what are they playing then? Why did they do that? Is it because they actually do care and are each trying anything they can to get me
to choose one over the other?

  If so, it doesn’t really help. Because I don’t want to choose. Some part of me wishes—as impossible as it is—that I could have them both.

  But that’s ridiculous. I just have to remember what Maya said. It’s all just a game. Too bad my heart is telling me differently.

  Madden

  Shit, I feel like such an asshole. I was an asshole.

  I can’t believe I let Tristan get under my skin like that. Even worse, I feel terrible that I upset Megan.

  The way she looked at me on the plane, like I’d plunged a knife in her chest or something, makes me feel sick.

  I drag a hand through my hair. I’m not sure when it started, but I don’t think I can deny it any longer. I’m starting to care about Megan. As in real feelings.

  Never saw that one coming.

  I think back to the beginning of this competition, when she first caught my eye. I knew then that she caught Tristan’s eye too. I figured I set my sights on her because I can’t resist competing with him in anything and everything.

  But now I think it’s more than that. I think I saw from the beginning that she was different. And now that I’ve spent more time with her, I know it’s true. She’s amazing.

  I’m not sure how that’s supposed to work with this show, though. My job here is to knock out as many virgins as possible, something I didn’t have the least problem with. I mean, they flocked to me. It was too easy.

  And don’t get me wrong, I totally want to be the first man that Megan has inside of her. But it’s not just about that anymore. I know this because part of my brain is telling me I want to be the only man she ever has inside of her.

  And that’s fucking ridiculous. It flies in the face of who I am. My entire reputation is built on me being the billionaire playboy bachelor. It’s why I was brought on the show in the first place.

  And now I find myself developing real feelings for the one person who I’m not supposed to be worried about. Other than fucking her brains out, that is. And getting her evicted from the house.

  But I don’t want her to leave. Unless it’s with me.

  A knock on my door pulls me out of my thoughts, and I’m fucking glad. That’s some shit I really don’t want to linger on too long. Way too dangerous to give it any true thought and consideration.

  I yank open the door and find some production assistant with a headset on standing on the other side, a tablet in hand.

  “Yeah?” I bite out, irritated that it’s not Megan.

  “Um, Mr… um, well,” he stutters. Then he just thrusts the tablet toward me. “You’re supposed to watch this.”

  I arch an eyebrow as the assistant I’ve never seen before scurries away. Then I shrug and shut my door again, carrying the tablet over to the chair in my room and sitting down. I stare at it for a long minute, not sure if I really want to watch.

  For some reason, I have a bad feeling about it. Maybe because I know what happened the last time someone handed off a tablet. I swooped in and took Megan right out from under Tristan’s nose.

  I’ll be fucking pissed if this is another announcement about the two of them going off on another date or something.

  Might as well get this shit over with. I wake up the tablet and see that a video is already queued up.

  I can see a still frame of Megan and Tristan in a pool.

  Great. Just fucking fantastic. What the fuck is this shit?

  I jab my finger at the little arrow to play the video. I’m not going to get out of watching it. I’m certain there are cameras trained on my face right now as I watch this, just waiting to catch my reaction, so I might as well do this and move on.

  But as the video plays out on the tablet, my fingers tighten around the edges, and a roar in my ears nearly drowns out the audio.

  My lip curls up as I watch Megan’s hand wrap around Tristan’s cock. Normally something like this would be fucking sexy. I might have my own cock out, stroking it as I watch. But right now, my hands are occupied by holding the tablet up to my face so I can get a better view of the expression on Megan’s face.

  An expression of pure ecstasy as Tristan takes her tit in his mouth, her head thrown back, her fingers clutching him tightly to her. My teeth clamp down so hard that I feel like I might grind them into dust.

  I’ve seen that look on her face before. Last night in the limo. With me.

  And seeing it here? Now? With fucking Tristan? It makes me crazy. Like I want to break something. Maybe his face.

  Especially when the video gets to the part where that arrogant face is shoved up in my woman’s pussy, licking and sucking her until she comes so hard, screaming and moaning his name. Not my name. Not, “Oh god, Madden, fuck me now.” But Tristan.

  I don’t want to watch this shit, but I can’t seem to make myself stop. It’s like a car wreck that you can’t look away from. It’s sucking me in, just like—wait. Oh, hell no.

  No fucking way.

  Megan gave Tristan a blow job?

  Yeah, about that not being able to look away thing? Fuck that. I’m not watching this garbage. I toss the tablet across the room, not even caring if it breaks.

  What the fuck?

  I mean, logically, I knew they messed around. I’m not an idiot. If she did those things with me, why wouldn’t she with Tristan? But some part of me hoped that I was wrong.

  What I don’t get is the way it’s making me feel. I have some primal urge to rip Tristan’s fucking head off. What’s that about? I feel hot, my skin on fire, my pulse out of control.

  Then it hits me. I’m jealous. Fucking jealous. Of fucking Tristan.

  Not once in my life have I experienced this before, despite our lifelong history of competing against each other. Not like this. And I don’t have the first clue what to make of it.

  Tristan

  I’m pacing again. There’s going to be a path worn into this carpet by the end of my stay in this apartment if things keep on like this.

  But I can’t be still. I’m keeping myself moving so that I won’t go the one place that I actually want to be. Megan’s room. I need to give her space, though. Let her have time to process what went down today and come to her own conclusions.

  Like I’ve said, I’m patient. I can wait it out. Bide my time like I have all season.

  But this is fucking hard. I want to go to her and make sure she’s okay.

  This morning was a fluke. A slip in my firm grasp on my self-control. Something that can’t happen again. I shouldn’t have let Madden get to me like he did, provoking me like that. I should know by now how much he likes to drag me into his games. It’s how he plays things. He likes to get his hands dirty. Play dirty. And sometimes it works for him.

  I knew better than to respond to his shit. But fuck, when he started talking about Megan being wet for him, I lost it. I can count on one hand the times I’ve lost my cool like that. And I know exactly why I did today. It’s obvious.

  I care about Megan.

  She matters to me, means something. If she didn’t, none of that shit would have gone down. No way would I have let Madden push my buttons. But he knew exactly which ones to push.

  A knock on my door stops my pacing in its tracks, and I just stand there for a minute, staring at the door until another knock gets me moving. Who could it be? Megan?

  My pulse speeds up at the thought. Maybe she’s ready to talk. Then I can explain to her that I only reacted like that because I care about her so much. That I couldn’t stand hearing those things come out of that asshat’s mouth.

  But when I pull the door open, the smile fades from my face. Some random production assistant I’ve never seen before is standing there staring at me, all wide-eyed and hesitant.

  I raise my brows, irritated that it’s not Megan. “Can I help you?” The way I say it should be obvious that it’s code for tell what you came for then get the fuck out of here.

  “I, um… I’m supposed to give you this.” He thrusts a tablet into my hands, then
makes a hasty retreat.

  Fuck.

  What now? The last time I got an unexpected tablet delivery, Madden showed up and swept my woman away from me. Right out of my fucking arms.

  I sigh and scrape a hand over my stubbled jaw, staring at the tablet in distaste. I automatically know I’m not going to like whatever it is I’m about to see. I toss it on the bed, debating if I should actually watch it.

  I do things to distract myself. I take a shower. I shave. I sit down with my computer and stare at the blank screen.

  And still, all I can think about is that damn tablet. Fuck it. I’m going to have to watch it at some point.

  Pushing my chair back, I retrieve the tablet from the bed, then drop down to sit on the edge. I open the tablet, and there’s a video all queued up, ready and waiting to torment and torture me.

  I already know what this is, even without pushing the arrow to play it. And I know I really don’t want to see it. But my body seems to move all on its own, my finger tapping the icon that brings the still images of Megan and Madden to life.

  I immediately wish I hadn’t. Because what Madden said on the plane is totally true. She was wet for him. So fucking wet I can see it even on the video. As his hands are up under her dress, doing fuck knows what to that sweet pussy. As she grinds on him so hard, her desperation clear on her face. As she strips for him—I have to stop for a minute here because fuck, that was supposed to be me with her last night at dinner. In the limo. Her stripping for me, her pussy glistening with juices because she was hot for me. Not Madden.

  But it’s right here in way too vivid color. I must be a glutton for punishment because I watch the rest of the video—Madden making my girl come on his face, then sticking his cock in her mouth.

  I’m so fucking pissed that I’m shaking. I want to punch a hole through something. Preferably him.

  Goddammit.

  This is fucking hard. I knew it would be once I started to care for Megan on a different level. And I knew they would do things on their date. But seeing it for myself makes it way too real. And it fucking hurts.