“Shut up! Let me focus.” I wet my mouth with beer and pulled the plug, my last shot. Everything depended on this, if I lost I was done for and I knew it. Cage showed no mercy for women or children. It was up to me to win it for myself.
My ball ended up in some other weird hole. Sounds like something a frat boy might say, but it happened on the pinball machine. More dings.
“What is that?” Cage asked, “Another ball? What the fuck? Why don't you just give her the game?” he threw up his hands, and knocked his beer from the table onto the floor.
Another massive distraction. How do you play pinball when you are laughing so hard you can't see? Another ball down the drain, luckily I had won one more. Cage was picking up the bottle himself, and brushed away the employee who was trying to help.
“My fault man, I got a little into it. Can you just get me another one of these?”
“Yes sir.”
“Make that two.”
“Two? Yes sir.” the young man scurried away.
“Damn. What's your score?” Cage asked. My stomach muscles burned from laughter, and I wiped the tears from my eyes, and he looked for himself. “900,000. With one ball left.”
“What is that? The Lance Armstrong story?”
I've always wondered what it is that makes us turn slap happy. Where everything becomes funny magnified by ten and you have no idea why. It's bliss. Pure madness. It's awesome and horrifying at the same time because you are beyond control, but you don't care. I usually only end up like that around my best friends, even then on rare occasions. Cage and I found that bliss madness on our first date, over a few beers and a pinball machine. If there's a moment you know, that was t.
After eventually recovering to where I could string together consecutive deep breaths without laughter, I pulled again. There was a calm in our banter following the storm of hilarity, and I played in silence with the game on the line. Ding, ding. I didn't look up, but I knew it was going well. Every whistle meant points, and I didn't need many.
“Fuck! You got me. Well done.”
I let the ball fall. It wasn't about the score, it was about beating Cage. I shook his hand, happy to have kept myself in the game with a hard earned game four win.
We sat down for an intermission, bitter rivals on laughing gas. The score was tied two to two. Another beer each. Cage already had two in front of him. The table was tall, small, and round, with bar stools.
“Congratulations on that lucky bullshit. Two more events and you will be bent over the edge of my mattress. You don't happen to speak Spanish do you?”
“What? No. Do you think only of sex when you look at a woman?” I asked.
“No. But I first think of sex. And with you that thought wants to escalate.” his fingers gripped my thigh. I brushed them away.
“Settle boy, settle.” I could feel my body having a visceral reaction to him. I wanted him, and needed to make sure I was making a favorable decision. “How many women have you slept with?”
“Whoa! So that's your business now?” he had been so close seconds earlier, only to scoot his stool away a few feet at a simple question.
“Hey. I'm vetting too. It's my business if you want me in your bed.” I laid my elbows on the table top and leaned in. Cage leaned back for a sip of beer.
“I won’t give you an exact number, but I’ve managed to keep it under ten.” he said.
“Managed to keep it under? That’s an interesting way to put it.” I looked at him hard, unsure of whether to believe him. “That’s surprising. I would guessed that number to be higher. That’s really the number?”
“That’s really the number.” he said. “What about women? You don’t think of sex when you look at a guy? You haven’t thought about what the sex would be like with me?” he leaned forward again, close enough to kiss me.
“Well, we do, but it’s different.”
“So you think about the same thing but somehow it’s different! Typical woman logic.” he threw up his arms.
“It is different. It’s not the first and only thing we think of. And you of all people can’t say typical woman, look at you. You are a typical man.”
“What about me is typical? I’m a 23 year old world champion out of Bayson. My mom died when I was 21, and I made myself a millionaire two years later. If I’m typical, then you’re basic.”
“Am I?” I asked.
“You know no you aren't.” he grabbed my hand, and leaned in for a kiss. I pulled away. Public displays aren’t my thing.
“Photo booth.” I said. He stood, and lead us that way. We rushed inside, and I leapt into his arms. The curtains closed and my tongue slipped inside his mouth. I had been waiting since the moment our lips broke apart the last time. Such a sweet taste. I was drunk. We were drunk. Denying something so obvious to yourself builds up, and it was pouring out.
“Angela.” he grunted, grabbing both of my thighs. We kissed again. “I want you.” at that moment, a flash went off and startled us both. The machine was taking pictures. I looked into the screen in time to see a countdown happening from 2, 1, snap! I burst out laughing and then kissed him again. The photos went off at three second intervals while we kissed. Again it was me who stopped things before crossing any lines of legality. He was already in trouble, and would have taken me in that booth had I let him.
“Let’s go. We still have game five.” I said. The machine printed two copies of our roll of film. I handed him one. “Cherish this.” I handed over one of the slips when he followed me out of the booth.
“Forever and ever.” he said.
When I put the pictures in my handbag, I remembered the recorder. It seemed silly considering I was out with Cage the human being, and not the fighter. I turned it off. For once, the story could wait.
We returned to our seats, and to our conversation. A quick make out session had been the small release of steam we needed to hold us over and until a later hour.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked. There was a glow on his face, I hoped I was the cause.
“Pink. How about you?”
“Green.”
Middle school all over again, I had a crush.
“How many girlfriends have you had? Like real ones.”
“Only two.” he said. “Been a while. Haven’t dated anyone since mom died.”
“I’m sorry.” I said.
“I forgive you.” he smirked while looking into the bottom of his beer. “First there was Misty. I was 18, she was 25. Misty was wild and introduced me to marijuana. Mom hated her.” I could understand her point of view on that one. Not that there’s really anything wrong with weed, but it’s still smoking. “Then there was Kelly, the pretty idiot.” he took another drink. “I was 20 then. The last girlfriend I ever introduced to mama.”
“And what did she think about her?” I asked.
“She is the one who nicknamed her the pretty idiot.” he said. We laughed.
“She sounds cool. Your mom I mean, not the pretty idiot.”
“She was. I know what she would have thought about people, so I have to choose accordingly. If you couldn’t have passed her standards, you don't make the cut.” he said.
“So does that mean?” I asked.
“She would have adored you Angela. I think she would have hugged me after meeting you.” I could tell he believed it.
“Ever been in love?” I asked.
“Not yet. Been too busy winning that title.” he said. He acted like belts were stupid, but I could tell it was an accomplishment he was proud of. I had followed the careers of enough champions to know the type of work and obsession that went into that. “How about you?” he asked.
“Not the way I want.” I said, matter of fact. The answer sprang forth, and surprised even me, but it was true.
“What’s your dream?” Cage was finally committed to asking me questions. This was a question I didn’t have to think twice about.
“I’m living it.” I said. “MMA journalist. I guess you co
uld add the word successful there. I’m working on that part. Successful MMA journalist.” I said it out loud again. It sounded right. “Keep punching people in crowded clubs, and I will get there in no time.” he laughed at himself, a good sign. “Speaking of that, when is your court date? What is your lawyer saying?” I asked. Cage stood up straight.
“Actually, it’s tomorrow morning.” he started laughing, and I rolled my eyes. Of course it was. “He says not to worry. We got it.” he didn’t seem worried, so I decided not to be either.
“Do you think Jet sent that guy to harass you?” I asked.
“I dunno. That would be a bitch ass move if he did though.” he said. Cage's go to emotion was happy, with anger behind that. For the most part, he saw the humor in things.
Cage was however many beers deep. He polished off another but was well in control of himself. I was functional but well past operating a vehicle.
The next two events were a driving game, and an arcade style fighting game. I won the first event, a clear sign he wouldn’t be driving home either. And Cage button mashed his way to a win in game six.
As fate would have it in any good story, we approached game seven tied three to three. Selection for the final event would be made by me, and I knew just the game. The secret weapon I had been keeping in my back pocket. Briar Patch Doom, Part Four. It was a game I had mastered growing up. I'd played twice a week at the laundromat for almost two years, and my scores littered the leader board. My initials, ARC, Angela Rachelle Clark.
“Let’s play this one. You have to go first though.” I said, trying not to let on that I had played before. It was similar to basketball in that it had been a long time, but if my car was going to be fixed, that was the game I would bring it home on. Cage didn’t suspect the ambush I was walking him into.
“Let’s do it.” he grasped the plastic gun and swiped his pass. “Time to fuck shit up. Cage Edwards style.” He took aim and let loose right away, firing away at everything that moved. “Die scum!” he was elated, only to arrive at the realization everyone he killed had been a friendly. “Wait, oh damn.” I had a laugh at his expense, and slapped his butt for a change.
“Try killing the other guys.” I said.
“Which ones?” he asked, in a scramble to figure out the game before he blew it completely.
“Orange and red! Blues and greens are on your side, and you reload by shooting the wooden ammo packs.” I tried to catch him up while he was in action.
“Where are you seeing this?” he asked, looking around the edges of the machine and struggling mightily. I chose beer to mask my silence on the matter. “Have you played this before?”
“No!” I shouted, obvious.
“Always with the blindsides! What are you gonna hit me with next?” he continued to fire, and made it to the end of level one. That was the easy round, and he did horrible. “I should have known this game wasn’t random.”
Level two proved to be his match. I felt confident in a deep way taking the other gun from the holster.
“Game seven. Where we separate the women from the boys.”
The slaughter that took place need not be relived. I played out the second level, and took a bow. Cage handled it like a gentleman, but I sensed him bitter over the way the chips had fallen.
“You can pick my car up after court. I guess that makes me, what, the champion?” I stepped into his arms, our foreheads resting together. He puppy eyed me to a kiss. “No congratulations?” I asked, raising his chin so that his eyes found mine.
“I’ll be filing an official complaint with the commission in regards to having the result overturned. I suspect foul play was involved here.”
“No you won’t.” We kissed again. He smiled, drunk.
“You’re right. Congratulations.”
We finished up our drinks, and thanked the staff for everything. It was late and the best night I’d had in a long time.
Of course, Cage had to pose for pictures with everyone of them individually, and then a group photo. Things move surprisingly fast when people have families to get home to.
“I called myself a cab, back to my place. Need me to call another one?” Cage asked, confident enough to risk my not going home with him.
“Shut up.” I said. We both knew how the night had to end.
Eleven - Angela
“Do not make me regret this.” my first words inside the cab. Two drunk twenty somethings who wanted each other, stuffed in the backseat of a little car after a night of connection. There was kissing. Hands were involved.
The driver was nice enough to keep his eyes straight. I suspect he was long jaded to such escapades.
There wasn’t anything about Cage that didn’t have me captivated. I wanted more of him. His body, the temple of destruction that I knew would lay claim to me in the deepest way. The way he spoke, his scent, the very essence of him. All the cliches come true at once when you experience it for yourself, the all encompassing power of this thing that is more than you could ever be.
“Kiss me.” I whispered, and told myself I was drunk.
“I’m gonna do more than kiss you.”
His arm wrapped around me, and he squeezed me tight. Cage had a touch that was full of love. There was a hint of beer on his breath when we kissed, and I let go of all resistance. The chase was mostly over, the rest was little more than a formality. Every mile of highway we put behind us brought us closer to his place, where we would share his bed.
“You seem to have this impression that I am selfish.” his breath was hot in my ear, and sent a chill down my spine. “I’m gonna go down on you until you change your mind.”
He handed the driver a couple of twenties when we arrived, and then helped me out.
“Thanks homie.” Cage said, and slapped the trunk cover as the foreign man pulled away. We were standing in the driveway of a castle. Casa de Cage. “Kind of glad we took your car now. You have to go back there tomorrow.” he said.
“You have to go back to my place tomorrow for your bike.” I said.
“Master plan.” he found the key, and unlocked the front door.
We stepped inside of a beautiful house, with nothing in it.
“Ever heard of decorating?” I asked.
“Woman’s touch.” he said. “Needs an Angela.” I followed him up a flight of stairs to the master bedroom. The rest of the house needed work, but I could appreciate what he had done in the master. At least for a guy.
I asked myself what I was doing with a twenty three year old.
“I like your bed.” I said. It was bigger than a king. Custom sized, and covered with psychedelic covers and pillows. And comfortable. I stepped out of my shoes and plopped down. The night’s fatigue could be felt in my every appendage, but I could stay awake for one thing. I was to the point of aching, not even in the mood to tease things out. Cage removed his shirt, and shoes.
“Take off your clothes.” Cage was on his knees at the other end of the mattress, wearing only his jeans. “All of them.”
The lighting in the room was dim, and for the first time since we had met, I didn’t ignore or deny his come on. There wasn’t much fabric for me to remove. One black dress, slowly inching up the front of my thighs. Cage was a wide eyed spectator, and joined in the undressing process by unbuckling the front of his jeans.
“You too. I want you naked.” I said. The dress was still hiding most of my body, and Cage was having none of it.
“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” he grabbed hold of me by the ankles, and slid me across the mattress in his direction.
“Now you are the one who has to fight for it.” I said, resisting. No sooner had I broken free of his grip and scooted way, he had pounced on top of me.
“Okay.” he said, hand latching the fabric of my dress. I was wide awake. Cage tossed my dress on the floor beside the bed. “Mine.” his hands took hold of my breasts, and his mouth followed. Suckling, kissing, groping, worship. “Mmm, hmm.” he moaned, exploring, slow at first.
The conscious use of restraint.
“Cage.” I said his name and arched my back against him.
“Yes?” he asked. I spread apart my legs, and he brought his lips to mine.
“I want you.” after fighting against his advances, surrender was sweet.
“Are you mine?” he asked, his fingertips running over my hair. I answered with a kiss.
“Yours.” I said, breath hitching. Cage went back to his jeans.
“Show me. Show me you are mine.” I watched his muscular legs emerge from his jeans, and then the bright orange pair of boxer briefs were added to the pile alongside it. Seeing him flaccid was enough to bring to mind a measuring tape, and the reality of taking it inside me was staring me in the face. “Come here.” he said, taking hold of my hair like it was there as a handle.
“Cage.” it was too late, I had a mouthful of cock. Parting my lips to receive him happened automatically, and he pressed his length into my mouth.
“Oh, yes.” he exhaled, and tossed back his head. Something primal in me took over, and I was fully uninhibited on my knees in front of him. “ Angela, don’t stop.”
I kissed all over him, rubbing and sucking in a lust hysteria.
“You’re so good.” Cage leaned forward, and guided me by a fistful of hair, finding the perfect balance of rough. “Lay flat.” he made it so, tossing me down onto my back. Before I knew what was happening his mouth was buried between my legs.
“Ugh!” I whimpered, amazed he found the spot so quickly. “Cage, whoa, slow down.” he took direction well, and slowed his role.
“It’s hard to control myself with you.” he said, breath heavy. His thickly muscled chest was rising and falling rapidly. He looked up at me from down between my legs with pouting eyes, arms latched under my legs to pull me close, and smirked. The subtle dimple in his cheek appeared, the one that melted my heart. I could practically feel the image burning into my mind forever. “You taste amazing.” he kissed the inside of my thigh, and drew circles on my skin with his fingertips to follow where his lips had been. “Spread your legs for me Angela.” he said, assisting with his hands. His wet lips followed, and again he located my clit in a hurry, taking it between his soft lips for sucking.
Scrapper: MMA Badboy Romance Page 9