Save Me, Sinners: A Dark MFM Menage Romance

by Jess Bentley

  When I’m about to leave, early I might add, I’m told David Adams’ PR agent would like to see me and I have no choice. Shauna Rosenfeld is one of the biggest PR professionals in the country and can’t be denied.

  First they send me flowers, and now they want to meet me. I wonder what’s going on.

  Shauna calls me over to a restaurant nearby. Why does Shauna want to meet at a Michelin Star restaurant, and during off hours, when they’re not even open? Is there some special event? These people always seem to call me to places where there is something going on.

  Straightening my shirt and brushing the tangles out of my hair, I do my best to look presentable even if I’m not wearing the right clothes. A quick ten minute walk and I’m at Willow, the trendy L.A. restaurant that has been the hangout joint for A-list Hollywood celebrities for quite a while now. Apparently it takes half a year just to get a reservation at the place. Unless of course you’re someone famous. This is just how this town works. Be famous or die trying.

  I feel out of place as I walk in and find myself in a massive room, with sofas lined up haphazardly and a long bar toward the side. A couple of staff members are readying the place up or that night’s festivities and it takes a few minutes for someone to notice me.

  “Yes?” A man in a waiter’s uniform asks.

  “Er, I'm looking for Shauna Rosenfeld,” The man just stares at me blankly for a second and then exclaims, as realization hits him.

  “Oh yes, yes! Please, come this way. You're Carol?”

  “No. Carrie.”

  “Oh yes! Sorry about that. Just follow me.”

  He sure is being courteous for someone who works at such a snooty place.

  The man leads me into a large outdoor area that seems something out of a dream. It reminds me of Rivendell, where the elves live in the Lord of The Rings books, my favorite book as a child. There are trees, plants and flowers all around, but the centerpiece of the location is a big willow tree, growing right in the center.

  Although it’s still early evening, I can see how strategically the dim lights have been placed all around, along with minimal decor. This place must look like a dream at night. So romantic. After leading me through the maze of tables, chairs and plants, the waiter stops at a table where a guest is sitting.

  “You!” I can’t help but exclaim.

  “Yes, me!”

  “You're not Shauna!”

  “Would you like me to be Shauna? A dash of red lipstick and a skirt ought to do the job, don’t you think?” David Adams grins. As shocked as I am to be in his presence, I also can’t help but notice how hot he looks in a simple white t-shirt and faded tight jeans. Focus, Carrie! I scream inwards. Remember, you despise him.

  “Why don’t you take a seat?” He gets up and pulls out the chair next to him. After a moment of thought, instead of sitting on the chair he pulls out, I sit on the one opposite him. Better to keep distance between us. David shakes his head, smiles and then goes back to his own seat.

  “Why are you here? And why is Shauna not?” I ask.

  “Because Shauna was never going to be here. She’s out of town.”

  “Then why did she call me here?” I’m already getting annoyed.

  “She did call your office but she wasn’t the one who you were supposed to meet. I was,” he confesses. What the hell.

  “I'm not sure why you’d want to do that, Mr. Adams, as there is nothing we have to discuss.”

  “David. Call me David.” He pauses but when I don’t say anything in reply to that, he continues.

  “I wanted to…” he starts to say and then interrupts himself. “By the way, did you get the flowers?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “And...?” He sits in anticipation.

  “And they were nice,” I answer nonchalantly.

  “And... and there was a note too.” He gestures with his strong hands.

  “Yes,” I remain cold.

  “And... you never responded?”

  “Was I obligated to?” I shrug my shoulders.

  “Not at all,” he says. Then he sits back, exasperated that I’m was not giving him any rope. After a moment’s pause he stares at me right in the eyes, once again setting off that spark that I felt the first time he had looked at me like this. He leans in toward me, his arms resting on the table.

  “Look, Carrie. I’m sorry about the way I behaved that day. It was uncalled for,” he says slowly in his baritone voice, in that utterly sexy British accent.

  Now was that so hard to say? I almost want to smile but restrain myself. I want him to grovel… but for now this will suffice.

  “Okay,” I reply. David Adams, who’s used to having his way with women, is stumped at my answer and lost for a response. Luckily for him, they’re interrupted by the arrival of another man. A man who seems familiar somehow, though I can’t recall how I know him.

  “Hey Dazza, you all right, mate?” A tall man, in chef’s clothes catches David in a half-hug.

  “Yeah, not bad,” David responds. “You?”

  “I’m okay. Obviously not having as much fun as you, you jammy bastard,” He winks and then gets alarmed as he notices me sitting across the table.

  “I'm sorry, pardon my French. I'm Jon. My brother’s manners seem to have gone cock up since he came across the ocean.” He gives David a look.

  “I was going to introduce you, you slapper, if you’d give me a break to speak,” David retorts and mock punches Jon.

  I don’t understand half of what they’re saying but they remind me of two happy bull dogs, play fighting each other.

  “This is Carrie and this fellow, unfortunately, is my brother Jon.”

  “Hello, Carrie, a pleasure,” Jon says, extending his hand. “I hope I'm not interrupting something.”

  “Oh not at all,” I answer. I already like this guy. Mostly because he’s messing around with David.

  “He’s my family but he doesn’t have a moment to spare for his elder brother. Probably, because he’s still bitter about all the pranks I pulled on him as a kid,” Jon smiles. He tries to pull David’s ear, but the latter quickly swats his hand away.

  “Just stop it, you wank—” David starts but is interrupted by Jon.

  “Come on Dazza, mind your language in front of the lady. Or did our mother never teach you anything? But what’d be the use of that, you’ve always been such a thick-headed duffer.” Jon tries to rap his knuckles on David’s head but he once again gets swatted away. Meanwhile I struggle to control my laugh, so delighted I am to see the proper David Adams get bothered by his elder brother.

  “And what a fine impression we’re making on her,” David says finally. “She must think we are a bunch of idiots.” He steals a glance at me.

  “No, actually, I don’t think so at all,” I answer, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face. “Jon doesn’t seem like an idiot at all.” I wink at Jon, who breaks into a huge laugh, slapping the table in joy.

  “You, I like you,” He points at me and gives me a high five. “A feisty one isn’t she?” He turns to David, who doesn’t respond, clearly not pleased with the axis formed between the other two people at the table. Feeling self-conscious that suddenly all the attention was suddenly on me, I change the topic.

  “So Jon, do you work here?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” He smiles.

  “Bollocks, enough with the bloody humble guy act,” David rolls his eyes. “He owns this place,” he says.

  “Wow! Really? Wow! That’s amazing. From what I hear, this is the hottest place in L.A. Right now. Must be very satisfying?” I ask Jon, but it’s David who answers.

  “Yeah. He gets perverse satisfaction out of making the rich and the famous beg for a table.”

  “Well, I come from a working class background and I do admit that there is a certain pleasure in doing that,” Jon confesses. I know a few people I wouldn’t mind seeing beg, I think, stealing a glance at David’s mischievous smile. I bet he’s preparing some
other nasty remark to make fun of his brother.

  “Your mother must be so proud of you.” I address both of them.

  “Yeah, she is. But as always, she’s worried about Dazza here and how he will earn a living when he grows up,” Jon throws another sly line at his brother and laughs.

  Chapter 86

  I chose my brother’s restaurant as a meeting place because I’d have privacy here and also because it’s close to Carrie’s workplace. But as much as I love trading insults with Jon, a typical British pastime, I can’t say I’m too pleased at being outdone in front of Carrie.

  I called to patch things up, to make a good impression on her, and to see if I might get her to finish that piece on me. She’s made me realize that I’m surrounded by too many yes men and I need someone like Carrie, someone who speaks her mind and gives it to me straight, if I’m to get out of the mess I’m in. The girl doesn’t realize it but she has the gift of perception… besides, she’s inherently cute, not that I plan to do anything about it. This is strictly professional.

  “Don’t you've some eggs to boil or some ducks to massacre?” I say, eager to see my brother leave Carrie and me alone.

  “Of course I do. Not everyone has all the time in the world to faff around like you do.”

  How rewarding it would be to smack my brother in the head.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Carrie. You must come here to dine sometime. And Dazza you be a good boy now, I’ll see you later.”

  Once Jon’s gone, I’m not sure how to continue the conversation with Carrie. Thankfully she speaks first.

  “He seems like a nice guy,” she smiles. I notice she looks a lot less tense than she did when she walked in. Maybe joking around with Jon did some good after all.

  “That’s just an act. Don’t be fooled. He’s a bloodthirsty wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “I love how you guys ‘banter’, as you Brits say. Makes me wish I had an older brother too.”

  “No. You never want that. Older brothers are an absolute menace. They think it’s their right to mess with you,” I laugh. She does too. Carrie has a lazy smile that feels genuinely sweet and has just the right dash of shyness added to it. It’s as if all the light of the sun is suddenly filling the room. She’s a woman who surprises me, in a good way. How often does that happen?

  “Carrie, I called you here to apologize for my behavior. I'm usually not as terrible a person as I might have seemed to you the other day.”

  “Apology accepted.” She smiles again. I’m surprised by how easily she accepts it. I expected her to make me grovel some more.

  “And I’d be chuffed to bits if you’d come back on board and write that feature on me,” I venture.

  “Why me? You could get anyone to do a piece on you,” she asks. I sit back and think over her words.

  “Because you're honest, you're genuine and you speak your mind. What you told me at the party was right. That I should’ve been more careful. And that’s what happened. Someone posted a video on Instagram, and the coach flipped out and threatened to throw me off the team.”

  “Oh, gosh! I'm so sorry to hear that!” Her hand rises to her chest in sympathy.

  “Had I listened to you that day, it wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t be in such a mess. Which is why I want you to finish this piece and depending on how it turns out, maybe you can write a biography for me too. Shauna’s always going on about how I need to release a book.” I smile, but she just sits there like she’s just seen a ghost.

  “David Adams, the biggest soccer star in the world just made me an offer to write his book?” she says slowly. “This is not what I was expecting. At all.” She looks down at her water glass and ponders. “This is the kind of offer that a young writer like me would never get. The kind of offer you say yes to…” She pauses. “But why me? You can get people much more experienced than me?”

  “Because I've got too many yes men around me, and I want someone who will give it to me straight. Someone with an honest voice and if I'm to release a book about myself, then I’d rather that the story be told honestly. I'm done being misunderstood and I'm done with the media painting a false picture of me.” I look away, unable to hide the frustration and torment on my face. “So I want you to do this because I think you'll do a good job. And also because you’re exceedingly adorable.”

  “I haven’t been called adorable since I was five,” she smiles.

  “What a coincidence. I haven’t called someone adorable since I was five,” I grin.

  Her red rose lips quiver and rise into a full smile, despite her attempts at restraining it from emerging.

  “Okay, David Adams. I’ll do this for you. If only because I owe you one for saving me from a fall at the bachelor auction,” she winks and shakes the hand that I hold out for a shake. “This is going to be an interesting journey,” she says.

  “Damn right,” I answer.

  Chapter 87

  I may have been raised by a father who ran a sports bar, where patrons spent hours watching and discussing football, baseball and sometimes, hockey — but soccer was never on the menu. My father and his cronies thought it was for girls.

  Sitting in the bleachers, watching David train with his team, I realize how wrong they were. Soccer is definitely not a sport for the ‘soft boys’ as my father’s pals claimed.

  David invited me to the training to get a glimpse into what his life is like. The car he sent arrived at my place in the morning and for once I enjoyed the trip, not being forced to drive through all that traffic. I watch David again, as he makes a strong tackle on a training opponent, who goes half flying in the air, landing uncomfortably on his ankle. Ouch.

  Like any typical L.A. Afternoon it’s hot and I’m amazed at the athletic prowess of these players. They don’t let the heat or the humidity bother them. Amongst those men, David is a god, his chiseled body gleaming with sweat highlighting every contour and angle. His muscular frame is impossible not to watch, that perfect V-shaped figure making him appear utterly statuesque.

  Plus David is clearly the best player on the field. He dribbles around players, scores goals from way far out and does it all with effortless ease. The phrase, “one of the best players of all time” came up again and again when I Googled him last night, and it’s clear why.

  “This your first time at a soccer practice?” Scott, David’s manager who’s sitting next to me, comments as he catches me gawking.

  “Yep,” I reply sheepishly, trying not to blush too red with embarrassment at being caught staring.

  “Kinda boring, this sport, ain’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Seems pretty fun to me,” I answer, cocking an eyebrow.

  “I’d rather sit back and watch a football game. This sport is... it’s for girls,” he guffaws.

  “It seems pretty hard to me,” I say sharply. “I mean all those guys in the NFL play with so much padding. Even with all that pushing and shoving, it couldn’t possibly hurt as much this must hurt.” I nod to the guys on the soccer pitch. “Look, they aren’t wearing any protective gear, and I bet it hurts a lot when you get trampled by those cleats.” I’m having fun proving Scott wrong. For some reason I can’t pinpoint, he makes me want to be on guard.

  “Eh, whatever,” he shrugs. “Anyway, about that article, has Max explained it all to you?”

  Max. I can’t even recall the last time I spoke to him. He’s still away with Katherine and no one knows when he’ll be back. Sure, thinking about him still torments me but I have bigger problems to solve. There’s only one solution to those problems — put my head down and get to work.

  “What do you mean?” I reply to Scott who grunts in frustration.

  “I don’t know why Shauna insisted on getting you for this job. You're obviously totally green and have no clue what you're doing.” He shakes his head and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, but then quickly pops it back in his pocket as he realizes he’s in a non-smoking zone.

  “Okay, look. This is how
it works with these things. You follow David around, you see what you gotta see and in the end you write a piece that paints him in a saintly light. You make him look so good that they want to award him the Nobel Prize. Capiche?” He raises his eyebrows as if he’s talking to a five-year-old child. His condescending attitude is starting to piss me off.

  “Sure,” I say, choosing not to engage him in an argument when I can silently seethe.

  An hour or so later, when the training session finally comes to a conclusion, Scott rushes to greet David and say his goodbyes. The way he speaks, the way his demeanor is, it all reminds me of Max. Men who will do and say anything to get what they want. The reality of who Max is may be hard for to swallow. But I have to.

  The reality of what David Adams really is, is slowly revealing itself too. I can’t help but smile as I watch him giving autographs to a bunch of kids, ruffling their heads and cracking jokes with them.

  “And you, Joel, are you eating your greens? You doing as your mum tells you?” I hear him say to one little boy as I climb off the bleachers.

  “Yes I am!” the boy says proudly. “I can’t wait till I have muscles like yours!”

  “If you do what I say, I promise that you'll have them soon.” He kneels down to the boy’s height. “Now how many of you little ones are going to come see me play at the next match?” All the kids raise their hands.

  “And how many of you'll do your homework everyday before you play video games?” Again, all hands go in the air. “Now give me some high fives before you go!” David reaches out and starts high fiving all the little hands that leap up.

  “I see you've a little party of your own going here,” I say to him. “Hey, kids!”

  He smiles a warm, happy smile as he turns toward me.

  “Kids, say hi to Carrie.”

  “Hi Carrie!” All the kids crow in unison.

  “Aww. You guys are so sweet.” I love kids and seeing these little ones dressed in their soccer uniforms is making me wish I had a few of my own.