WineBar: The Complete Story

by Alexis Angel

  “I see,” he whispers, looking from me to Michelle, the way he’s narrowing his eyes letting me know that he’s trying to peer into our very souls. “Did you find anything interesting?” He continues, once again turning his gaze toward me.

  “Uhm, well,” I start, my heart suddenly jumping into a trot, “not really. I mean, I have some interesting material to work with, but nothing earth-shattering. He’s just another boring boxer, but I guess I can write a quality article out of the things he told me.”

  “I see,” he growls, his eyes on mine for what seems like an eternity. Then, without saying a word more, he simply turns around and leaves, only leaving behind the stale smell of his cigarette smoke.

  “Now that was some high-quality bullshitting,” Michelle whistles, glancing at me sideways. “What’s inside that tape, Natalie?”

  “Something the world doesn’t need to know,” I say softly, looking up at her and smiling. She looks back at me for a few seconds, and then just nods.

  “Do what ya gotta do, girl.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, opening the recorder and pulling out the tape. I stare at it and then, grabbing it tightly, I lean back against my seat and raise my arms up, almost as if I were preparing to make a free throw. Flicking my wrist fast, I let go of the tension in my fingers and the tape flies away in an arch, landing straight inside the trash basket in the corner of the office.

  “Three points,” Michelle says, clapping her hands together. “You should’ve been a basketball player.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper, even though I’m really not in the mood for jokes. I just threw into the trash the opportunity of a lifetime, so yeah, excuse me if I’m not in the best of moods right now.

  “Hey,” she calls me softly, “it’s alright, Natalie. Not every story has to be a story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some things are better kept in the shadows… We’re journalists, I know that. But we also have what I like to call common sense. Never put your job in front of your common sense. Or integrity, for that matter.”

  Who’d have thought that Michelle, the laziest journalist in the whole Gazette, a cynical hard-drinker, would be the one imparting me with her wisdom?

  “Thank you,” I merely say, smiling.

  God bless her; I’d go crazy without Michelle.

  Logan

  The rope slices the air.

  Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

  I continue jumping at a steady rhythm, swinging the rope over my head, one second after the next.

  The scene from the sushi restaurant keeps replaying in my mind.

  Hunter. Natalie. The two of them leaving together.

  Thwack. Fuck Hunter. Thwack.

  Sweat trickles down my biceps.

  I've never been so angry in my entire life. And this isn't like me. Not normally. But I can't help it. The one man who has been my rival for over a decade—Hunter—has bested me. And that isn't all. He's taken off with the one woman I'm interested in.

  Natalie. Na-ta-lie … three syllables that have come to symbolize a drop-dead sexy, funny, and whip smart woman.

  True, she unexpectedly appeared in my life, but I'm glad she did, and there's no way I'm letting her slip out of it now, just to be taken away by Hunter.

  Again.

  This isn't the first woman Hunter has taken from me.

  I let go of the jump rope and drop to the ground, pumping my arms and performing quick pushups. Maybe that will clear my mind.

  One. Two. Three. Inhale. Exhale.

  I need to stay focused. There's a Japanese proverb that says, "After victory, tighten your helmet chord." That's exactly what I plan to do.

  Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine.

  Sweat's now dripping into my eyes. I'm trying to stay focused on my training, but no matter what I do, I can't stop thinking about Natalie.

  I slide my hands into a pair of boxing gloves and hit a weighted bag.

  Bwap! Bwap! Bwap!

  I bounce on the balls of my feet. I jab, hook, and cross until my muscles burn, completely spent, and my breathing is ragged.

  I can't ignore this. I can't get Natalie out of my mind.

  There's only one solution. I need to see her.

  I need to see Natalie now, at her office.

  I grab a hand towel and drag it across my forehead, wiping the sweat from my face.

  "Finished already, boss?" a voice says.

  I turn around and see one of my sparring partners gearing up for the ring, securing padding across his abdomen.

  "Something came up. Another time?" I'm so distracted that I forgot about our sparring session.

  "Sure thing boss," he nods.

  I can't tell if that's disappointment on his face, or relief, but I don't have time to wonder. I grab my car keys and leave the gym.

  The second I step out of the gym's glass doors, the noonday sun is blinding. I blink back the brightness, and before I can even see where I'm heading, I walk straight into a man in a tailored suit and thick, horn-rimmed glasses.

  "Excuse me," I say, stepping out of his way.

  "Logan?"

  I look up at the man and holding a hand cupped over my brow to shield my eyes from the harsh sun.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Your profile article in the Gazette is creating some buzz," he says. "Is it true about Hunter?"

  As soon as he says this, I notice he's holding a pen and small pad of paper in his hands. He must be a fucking journalist.

  "Sorry, I don't talk to journalists," I say.

  "You talked to Natalie. I only want a moment of your time," he says.

  I keep walking, ignoring him. I'm almost to my car when another reporter approaches me. She's a thin, frantic woman who seems to speak with her hands, gesticulating wildly.

  "You and Hunter are the two best fighters the sport has seen in the last decade. Seeing both of you profiled at the same time is causing people to talk," she says, holding a voice recorder in my face.

  "I don't have time for this."

  "People aren't just talking," she continues. "Your article has created a media frenzy. Everyone is asking why the two of you have never fought each other?"

  "We'll never fight each other," I say.

  "Why not?"

  "It's personal."

  "But you two are the best in your divisions. People are saying the matchup would be the fight of the century," she says.

  Finally, I place the key in my car door, open it, and slide inside. But before I can shut the door behind me, the woman continues, "There can only be one champion. What are you afraid of?"

  "Afraid?"

  I don't know why, but her accusation brings back the images of Hunter and Natalie together in my mind again. I'm willing myself to stay calm.

  She shrugs. "Do you think he'd win and get the best of you? Is that it? Are you afraid to see what the outcome of that match would be?"

  "If it's one thing I'm sure of, it's this: Hunter wouldn't stand a chance against me in a fight," I say. So much for staying calm. I can feel a rage building up behind my temples and my pulse is kicking into high gear.

  "So why not fight? Why not show the world who's the best fighter?"

  I think about the way Natalie and Hunter exited the sushi restaurant, hand in hand.

  Enough is enough.

  Hunter isn't going to dictate what or how I live my life. He doesn't get to step into my life and wreak havoc, or take women from me.

  Fuck it. I'm tired of being cautious. Always playing by a safe set of rules.

  I look up at the journalist. "If Hunter wants to fight me, I'm more than happy to oblige."

  Maybe it's time for us to go into the ring.

  Natalie

  No wonder everybody hates Fat Ed.

  It's already 10pm, and I'm still stuck at the office. I was about to head home, trailing after Michelle as she dragged her feet down the hallway, when Ed ambled out of his office, a burning cigarette perched on the corner of his mouth.


  “I need you to do this. Tonight,” he grumbled, pushing a stack of documents into my hands. “ I need it uploaded then,” he told me, turning on his heels and marching down the hallway. “Have a good night!” he laughed as he left, leaving me completely stunned.

  And now here I am, sitting behind a pile of documents as I turn them into tweets, Facebook posts, and what have you. Thankfully, Michelle’s here with me. The moment she saw what Ed did, she turned around and decided to stay behind to help me.

  “What did you do to piss him off?” Michelle asks me, never looking up as she drums her fingers against her keyboard, furiously tapping at the keys. “Gah, this is fucking bullshit! He has you updating the information on the website about the local teams. The local teams! What did you do to piss him off?” she repeats. Jumping up from her seat and placing her hands on her hips, she taps one foot against the floor as she waits for my reply, and I feel like a schoolgirl telling her parents the reason she brought home a note from school.

  “Nothing!” I sigh, gritting my teeth as I feel anger taking over me. Why today, of all days? I can't work overtime today!

  “Well, he looked pissed off. But then again, he always looks as if he's pissed off about something,” she admits, sitting back on her chair and exhaling sharply, her frustration showing on the wrinkles on her forehead.

  “Do you think he realized I was keeping something from him?” I ask her, my eyes darting to the trash basket in the corner. It’s already empty though; it’s so late that the cleaners have already come to empty it.

  “Maybe? I don’t know… Who the hell knows what’s going through his head?” Focusing on her screen again, she goes back to typing so fast that I’d almost say it’s humanly impossible. That’s Michelle—Goddess of Procrastination by day, the Vigilante of Productivity by night.

  “Oh, well,” she continues, “it’s not like I have anything better to do. I was hoping to doze off while watching Netflix, but oh well.”

  “I wish I could feel as upbeat as you do,” I admit. “He couldn’t have chosen a worse day.”

  “Why’s that? Had any plans for tonight?”

  “Yeah…” I whisper, biting on my lower lip. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut - now I’ll have to tell her about it. “I had a, uhm, date.”

  “Oh, you rascal!” She laughs, looking away from her screen and looking straight into my eyes. “Which one is it? The gentleman or the wild beast?”

  “The wild one,” I laugh, feeling my cheeks turn red.

  “You’re really something, uh? Who’d have thought it? Natalie, going on dates with multimillionaire fighters… Soon enough you won’t even need to be a journalist. Just get a ring on your finger and you’ll be set for life.”

  “It’s not like that. And, besides, the way you say it… It’s not as easy as you think, you know?” I tell her, throwing my head and staring at the ceiling for a few moments. “It just isn’t right - I mean, I’ve been with Logan, now I’m going out with Hunter. It’s just so --”

  “So fantastically awesome? Because from where I’m standing, that’s what it looks like.”

  “Yeah, yeah… Alright, it’s a lil’ bit awesome. But I don’t feel that great about it. I don’t like being duplicitous.”

  “Then don’t,” she shrugs, “just be honest. And grab your phone; tell Hunter to come and get you. I’ll cover for you tonight.”

  “No! You don’t need to --”

  “I do. And you’ll treat me to dinner one of these days. Somewhere fancy. Now grab your phone and do what I tell you to, you peasant!” She finishes off, raising her voice and trying to speak with a faux (and definitely very exaggerated) British accent.

  “Right away, Your Royal Highness,” I reply in the same tone as her, chuckling as I grab my phone and send Hunter a quick text. Sure, I’ll be there in 30, he replies just a few seconds after I fired off my message. I don’t even know how to thank Michelle - I had already given up on dinner with Hunter, and now he’s picking me up at the office. Ah, I’m definitely taking her to the fanciest place I can find whenever I have the chance.

  “Alright,” Michelle yawns a few minutes later, raising her arms and stretching her back. She closes the her laptop’s lid and then jumps up to her feet. “I’m taking this home, and I’ll finish it in front of TV. It’s going to be long night for me, so you better make sure my sacrifice wasn’t made in vain.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” I reply, getting up to my feet and offering her a mocking salute. “Seriously, Michelle, I don’t even know how to thank you.”

  “Don’t. Just make sure you have fun, alright? Have a g’night.” With her purse slung over one shoulder, the laptop tucked under her arm, she heads out of the office and leaves me alone in the eery silence of the Gazette. Hunter’s going to be here in five minutes or so, so I better get ready.

  I’m about to head out the sports department offices and make my way toward the bathroom, when I hear the chime on my Facebook feed go off. My eyes dart to it almost instantly, and my eyes widen as I see a video of Logan under a headline I wasn’t expecting: “A FIGHT IN THE MAKING?”

  Holding my breath, I drag the mouse icon toward the video and press play. I watch in sullen silence as a bunch of journalists crowd around Logan, pestering him with a thousand questions all at once. Then, the guys shoving their mics into Logan’s face start going on and on about Logan, and that’s when he relents: if Hunter wants to fight, he’s more than willing to oblige.

  Oh, crap, is all this because of me? After what Hunter told me, the last thing I want is for two to fight each other over me. No way I’d accept something like that. Feeling nervous, I stand up and walk out of the office. I’m making my way toward the bathroom when I hear footsteps behind me.

  “Did you forget something?” I ask Michelle as I turn around to face her, except these footsteps don’t belong to Michelle. Before I know it, Hunter has his hands on my waist, and he pushes me back until I’m pinned against the wall.

  “Hello there,” I laugh, looking into his eyes as I feel my pussy growing wet. Just having his body on mine like this… It’s enough to drive me crazy. And to make me forget about Logan’s willingness to fight.

  “Hey,” he grins, brushing his lips against mine. Then, taking one step back, he adjusts the collar of his shirt and offers me his arm. “Shall we?”

  I’m about to ask him if he saw the video with Logan, when I hear the elevator stopping at the end of the corridor. I look at it by instinct, watching as the door slides open, and my heart stops as I realize who’s coming.

  It’s Logan.

  Logan

  The doors to the elevator slide open and the Gazette office smells of recycled air and coffee. It also smells of deadlines, and fake handshakes, and late nights, and something else that I can't quite put my finger on.

  And then I see him, and my blood runs cold.

  It's Hunter, and yet again, he has his hands all over Natalie. He has one hand on her waist, and another hand running up her thigh and under her skirt. She's pressed against the wall of her office, and he has his mouth on her neck.

  Rage flickers behind my eyes. I waste no time in approaching him.

  "I should've known you'd be here," I growl.

  "What the fuck is it to you?" Hunter says, stepping toward me in a dare and moving away from Natalie.

  Natalie is shocked to see me here. She shakes her head as if she can't believe we're all in the same room again.

  Hunter is a cocky bastard, and he's had his fun, but that fun is coming to an end.

  "Do you really expect me to stand back and allow you to talk shit and run game all over my life? If so, you've fucking stupider than I thought," I say, stepping toward him.

  "What the fuck did you just say to me?" Hunter squints his eyes and his feet are held in a wide stance. A fighter's stance.

  "You heard me," I say.

  I see Natalie waving her hands at us, telling us to stop.

  "You guys are being ridiculous.
Please don't do this. The whole block's going to hear you both acting like idiots," she says.

  But we both ignore her. It's as if a wick on a stick of dynamite has been lit, and the flame is traveling toward the TNT. There's no stopping us now. There's going to be an explosion any minute.

  "You think you're so fucking tough, but you know what you are? You're soft. And scared," Hunter sneers.

  "Soft? You couldn't keep my fucking pace if you tried." I almost laugh. He wouldn't last one round with me in the ring. It's a joke to even think about.

  Hunter throws his shoulders back and moves toward me, closing the distance between us. We are so close to each other now that I can practically feel his breath on me.

  "A fight with you wouldn't go the fucking distance. Mark my word on that," Hunter says.

  "I eat through fighters like you," I say. "You want me? Come get me. I'm right fucking here." I throw my hands up in the air, taunting him.

  As I say this I point to my chest and open my arms, taunting him some more with the easy access. If he wants the first punch, he can have it. He stares at me for a moment, as if he's deciding whether or not to make the first move.

  I'm so mad I decide to taunt him some more. "I ain't got nothing but time, Hunter. Let's go tough guy. What the fuck are you waiting for? You can sneak behind my back with Natalie, but you can't back that up to my face. You gonna stand up and do something, or are you gonna stand there like a little bitch?"

  Hunter is breathing hard; his nostrils are flaring. He clenches his fist and says through grit teeth, "You're a fucking bitch. You wanna fight? I'll make easy work of you."

  I laugh. "Sure you will. I'll knock you the fuck out! It'd be like watching a lion fight an ant. It's not even a fair match up."

  Hunter holds my gaze. "We can settle this in the ring," he says.

  "That's hilarious. I run the fucking ring. ME," I growl. We're now circling each other with fists clenched. His eyes are slightly squinted in anger and I can see the tension in his shoulders. My own heart is kicking in my chest and it's taking everything for me to not knock him out right now. If this keeps up, we won't make it to the ring. This will have to get settled right here. Right now. But I sense Natalie standing there in my peripheral vision. She seems worried that we're going to brawl right here in the office of the Gazette.