by Lux Miller
My stomach turns at the prospect of being with Brad. The very thought of being naked underneath him while he has his way with me without regard for my needs, wants, or feelings is… for the first time in my life, unacceptable. I shrug out of his arms and push his hands off my hips when they land there and he tries to pull me back against him. “Stop it, Brad… people are looking and you’re making a scene.”
His voice drops an octave as he whispers dangerously, “You haven’t seen a scene yet, baby. We don’t have to fuck, but don’t you dare stand there and act like I disgust you. You know you’re just a plain Jane tomboy with nothing spectacular to offer a man. You should be thankful I’m willing to do the universe a favor and try to give you a child. You’re not getting one any other way…”
Brad lets go of me as several people stop on the sidewalk and start to stare at us. I can hear hushed whispers all around me, but I can’t make out what any of them are saying. Not that I’d want to know anyway. From the looks of pity and disgust on the faces of the crowd around us, I don’t want to hear what anyone has to say. Right now, I want to melt to the sidewalk and slither to the nearest drain to hide. Escape. Get away from all the knowing eyes that can see my secrets and lies, no matter how I try to hide them.
With a huff, Brad storms back inside and I’m left standing on the sidewalk like a dolt. Gradually, life around me resumes its frenzied pace. Flashes of color whiz by as people hurry on with their daily lives. Finally, I come to my senses and shake my head slowly, trying to clear the sense of dread that’s clinging to me like super glue. I glance around, trying to find the source of the gloom and doom that’s hanging over my head, but I’m relieved to see that he’s nowhere to be found. I guess he found someone inside to terrorize, instead of coming back out here to further provoke me into a shell of skittishness.
As I’m scanning the gambling floor for any sign of Brad, my gaze stops dead on a familiar shape hidden beneath a hoodie, tucked away in the far corner of the slot machines. He must sense me staring at him in shock, because he lifts his gaze from the floor to mine and it’s like everything around me slows to a crawl. Honey-colored eyes meet mine and I can feel an inexplicable force drawing me deeper into the room.
My feet shuffle one in front of the other in a straight line until the unmistakable scent of musky vanilla invades my senses. It catches me off guard and lowers my defenses so that when his gruff his voice murmurs, “Poppy,” it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to throw caution to the wind and make a decision neither of us can come back from.
TWELVE
Storm
I knew seeing Poppy here was a distinct possibility. After all, this is where she works with that pea-brained husband of hers who doesn’t appreciate her or what he has. Well, that’s not a fair observation. I’ve hardly met the guy, but he made enough of an impression on me that I’m gonna have a permanent bad taste in my mouth where he’s concerned. There’s no amount of groveling that bastard can do to redeem himself in my eyes. Not that it matters. Poppy’s the one married to him. His pompous ass stormed through here a couple minutes ago, but I didn’t expect it to only take a grand total of eleven minutes for my and Poppy’s paths to cross.
She was gone when I woke up this morning, and if hadn’t been for the faint smell of flowers and her delicate hair clip in my bathroom, I’m pretty sure I’d still think I dreamed it all. She was jumpy as it was after we accidentally slept together last night and I can’t say I blame her. That husband of hers seems like a ticking time bomb that’s just waiting to explode. I’m sure finding out that another man’s been intimate with his wife is a good way to light a match. I’ve no intentions of ever telling the asshole and I doubt she does either. She seems smart enough not to poke the bear.
But when she walks into the room, something electric zings through the air and lifts my gaze to the doorway where she is standing, slack-jawed like somebody just told her she’s won a million dollars. My entire body tingles when our eyes meet, but I don’t dare move. I know better than to make a scene here. I’m already vilified for losing last night. A lot of people lost a lot of money betting on me to win. It wasn’t like I threw that match, but it doesn’t matter. People get pissy when they lose money. And I’m not looking to make any more enemies than I’ve already got.
Still, though, when Poppy makes eye contact with me, the dread, worry, and fear cocktail that’s been swirling around my gut since the doctor’s appointment this morning settles. I inhale sharply and the tinge of cigarette smoke in the air burns my lungs as they inflate. I don’t dare move a muscle as Poppy walks across the floor toward me like she’s enchanted and unable to stop.
Her feet stop moving when she’s inches in front of me and the concern in her voice is palpable, “Storm. Why...what are you doing here? I thought you didn’t fight again until Friday?”
I nod slowly, acknowledging that she is indeed correct. Well, maybe. I may never fight again, but she’s got enough problems to worry about. I don’t need to dump mine on her too. And to be fair, I’m one of her problems. One she’s admirably facing head-on. I shrug and sigh, “Maybe, maybe not, but I couldn’t stay in that hotel room today knowing...well… what happened there…”
Her cheeks blush furiously as she gasps and brings her hand to her mouth. It’s like I’ve just translated the Dead Sea scrolls and she’s shocked about their contents. She glances around quickly, undoubtedly checking to see if that jerk is nearby, then turns back to me. “Don’t speak of it, not here. God, don’t talk about it here…”
I chuckle and my big mouth fires before I can think to censor myself, “Why? You worried you’ll want it to happen again?”
Her eyes widen to saucers as she stares at me incredulously, then drops the biggest truth bomb that’s ever been dropped on me - or more like exploded right in my face. She nods quickly and stammers, “Yeah, but it can’t… it absolutely can’t...”
I truthfully didn’t expect to hear that, but nobody is near us, so I press on, “Why not? The intricacies and ethics of it all didn’t matter to you yesterday.”
She gulps and twists the toe of her sensible shoe on the threadbare carpet that matches her hideously gaudy uniform. “Because I’m not the same person I was yesterday. I was weak yesterday…”
I nod, folding my hands in my lap as I sit back, resuming my perch in the corner, “And you have suddenly found your strength today?”
Something flashes across her eyes and it looks like she’s about to rip me a new asshole, but it’s gone before she can even open her mouth. She sighs and shakes her head, her hair swinging wildly back and forth before settling on her shoulders again. She steps in between my knees and leans over me, her perfume walloping me about as hard as The Rocket did last night. It lights up every nerve in my body as the floral scent energizes everything inside me. She rests her hands on my knees momentarily, then whispers so quietly that I almost can’t hear her over the ambient noise in the casino, “If I’d found my strength, I wouldn’t have gone home at all last night. I would have woken up next to you.”
My jaw drops open at her admission, but she’s backed out of my personal space before I can even respond. She whips out a small note pad that’s tucked into the front of her apron and asks loudly, “So, a club soda with crushed ice? Will that be all, sir?”
I sit there, staring at her like a dumb fuck and all I can manage to do is nod as my brain short-circuits with her response. She turns on her heels and disappears. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I can call a spade a spade. There’s no doubt in my mind that she jerked away from me suddenly because that evolutionary mishap is watching. The penny slots where I’ve camped out aren’t too far from the blackjack tables and she did mention that when he isn’t hustling the masses from the cage, he’s a dealer.
She returns quicker than I expected with what might be the smallest glass of club soda I’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with crushed ice. She hands it off to me and I raise one eyebrow, then dig my wal
let out of my jeans and fork over a twenty. She laughs a soft, tinkling laugh and stuffs it into her apron. I nod my head at the glass and muse, “All out of the big ones that are more than a couple sips?”
She nods, “They’re waiting on the dishwasher. Which is me. I’m the dishwasher, but I’ll tell you what. You sit at a machine and play a few rounds and I’ll make sure you don’t go thirsty.”
A sly smile spreads across my lips and I nod. “Good thing I don’t have a cash back limit on my card. So which slots are the loosest?”
A snarling voice behind me interrupts, “Kinda an odd question to be asking a waitress, isn’t it? Next thing you know, you’ll be asking her whose legs are the loosest. I can tell you from experience, it ain’t hers.”
My body tenses, but I let the rude comment roll off my back. I stand up out of my chair and tip my glass at Poppy, then turn around. I’m pleased to find that while I don’t tower over the twatwaffle, I have a couple inches on him. He’s not some scrawny kid that I could squash like a fly, but if he starts something with me, I don’t think I’ll have a hard time finishing it. Poppy backs away from the two of us as I stare her husband down.
I can practically see the steam billowing out of the dude’s ears as he mean mugs me. Is this fluffernutter trying to intimidate me? I’ve been more scared of little old ladies who threaten me with their handbag. Granted, being whacked with a handbag hurts, so I try not to find myself on the receiving end of that kind of assault. Besides, my Pops taught me to be kind to all women from the time they’re in diapers to the time they’re in diapers.
I’ve never been much of a gambling man. Sure, I bet on my own fights, but that’s a different ballgame. I’ve never been one to feel the need to sit down at a card game and try to beat the house. There was just never any appeal for me, but right now, I’m super tempted to go plop my ass down at this doofus’s table and take a chance. I chew on my lip thoughtfully, then motion to the guy’s uniform, “Dealer?”
He tenses and narrows his eyes as Poppy disappears from my peripheral view. “What’s it to you? You’re just an MMA punk. I still can’t believe you threw that fight last night. Cost me four grand! Rumor’s got it you bet on the other guy. Expecting to lose? Or just really that unlucky?”
A deep breath keeps me from exploding right there in the middle of the casino with everyone, including the eyes in the sky, watching, but I can feel the vein in my neck bulging with irritation. “Dude pulled the equivalent of a sucker punch. In case you weren’t paying attention, it was a knockout, not a technical knockout. That means I was knocked unconscious, by the way...”
Poppy shakes her head imperceptibly from where she’s slipped around him. I make brief eye contact with her and sigh, holding both hands up in resignation. I’m not walking away without getting in a final dig, though, so I smart off, “Besides, talking about how loose someone’s legs are is kinda a strange thing to be saying about a waitress. I just wanted a club soda, and since some asshole made her late to work, she hasn’t had a chance to do the dishes yet and had to bring me this paltry little thing. I like my club soda, since I don’t drink alcohol. It makes gentlemen turn into blubbering idiots who make awful decisions. Some might even call their actions criminal… But no matter, I was just confirming with the lady that there wouldn’t be a problem with me getting a refill, if you will…”
The look on his face is positively murderous as he turns and stomps off. I glance at Poppy with a sheepish smile and find it impossible to read the look on her face. She looks like she’s caught somewhere between wanting to laugh and cry and I instantly feel guilty for provoking the guy. She’s probably going to be the one to pay for my inability to just walk away. “I… I’m sorry,” I stammer.
She shakes her hand and holds up her hand, “Don’t be. He deserved a tongue lashing. But I have to ask - are you totally bonkers to provoke him like that?”
I shrug my shoulder, then catch her gaze with my own as I murmur, “To be honest? Probably, but I’ll tell you a secret… all the best people are…”
THIRTEEN
Poppy
I can’t say I was completely surprised to see Storm show up at the casino that day after our tryst, but to find myself still inexplicably drawn to him, despite the fact that we already broke every rule in the book blows my mind. I know that he’s something I can’t have, despite the very real magnetic draw I feel whenever we’re in the same room. It’s been torture ignoring the undeniable pull to him, but I cannot enter that garden - not to paint roses red and not to have a taste of forbidden fruit.
Against public expectation, Storm fought again the Friday after we met and he beat the crap out of his opponent. They didn’t make it out of the second round before Storm pulled a ‘ground and pound’ and literally knocked the guy out before either of them could deploy any dirty moves. They’ve had five more fights for a grand total of seven, and Storm has marched away victorious every time after that first fight. He’s taken a couple of nasty punches and one really worrisome kick to the gut, but he’s rallied against his opponent every time, refusing to go down. Even when it seemed like his opponent had him beat and they were headed for a technical knockout, Storm would still somehow find his way out of the hold and turn the tables on his opponent.
Due to his spectacular performance, Storm has been offered several gigs in Las Vegas and he’s expected to take one of them. He’ll be announcing nearer the end of his stint in AC which one he’s going to be taking, but there’s been offers from the MGM Grand, Mandalay Bay, and several off-strip places including the T-Mobile Arena. Of course, this is all hearsay. I wasn’t able to go to the fights because I was working… and because Brad would have had a conniption. How do I know he’d have freaked out? Because I convinced one of the cage-side waitresses to swap me with me for tonight, Storm’s eighth fight against The Rocket. And Brad literally lost it. Started ranting and raving about how being cageside is no place for a woman. Nevermind that he had no issues with any of the other waitress working it. I suspect he just doesn’t want me anywhere near Storm.
I still haven’t told Brad that I slept with Storm and I probably never will. That’s my own secret that will probably eat me alive from the inside out, but it’s not going to benefit anyone for Brad to know. I doubt he’d even care. After our very public fight, he laid off demanding sex. In fact, he hasn’t even asked. Things have been somewhat calm on the homefront, until Brad lost his mind that I was going cageside. But it’s not like he can stop me. I’m just going in there to sell drinks and make some extra cash, not find a side piece anyway. That’s probably why he’s pissed anyway, because he knows he won’t be able to find one for himself if I’m down cageside while he is.
For now, I’m just trying to finish things up and clean up the area the cocktail waitresses use so that I can change into my cageside uniform and get down there before the fight starts. Storm was in his usual spot this afternoon and I made sure he got his extra large glass of club soda with crushed ice and he made sure to slip me a ridiculously large tip, along with a business card, which was unexpected. I pocketed both and looked at them later, while I was on break and out of eyesight of Brad. The front of the card has the information for his agent or manager or whatever he is, Peter, but on the blank back, in handwriting that’s loopy and surprisingly neat, is a string of numbers that I assume are a phone number. Written across the top, just above the numbers are the words, ‘Just in case. Anytime. - S’
For now, I wrap the card along with my stash of cash tips that I’ve been saving here at the casino and put them in the employee locker that I’ve been using for my personal effects while I’m working. What Brad doesn’t know is that I’m leaving my growing stack of cash there nightly, so that he doesn’t know it exists or how much I have. I’ve done well as a waitress and Storm’s daily tips aren’t hurting. When I file for divorce, there’s no looking back, so I have to make sure I’m financially stable. It’s going to take a while to do it, especially once Storm stops giving me up to
a hundred bucks in cash a day. Working at the casino instead of the ranch will be slow-going, but I’ll get there someday.
I gather up the loaner uniform and step into one of the private bathroom stalls to change. I shimmy off the atrocity that is my regular waitress uniform and unfold the loaner for cageside. I groan when I realize that it’s got a cross-cross back that will making wearing my bra impossible. At least I thought ahead to wear a thong, because I knew the shorts would probably be pathetically small. And boy is that an understatement. When I pull up the skin-tight hot pants, the only thing I’m relieved to find is that they fit my body well enough that nothing literally shows, though it’s a close call. If I had bigger hips, half of my ass would be hanging out of the bottoms of these ‘shorts.’
I struggle to get the top on. It’s big enough to cover my breasts, but again, just barely. There’s a pair of triangles that cover my nipples and most of the surrounding flesh, but the ties and straps that complete the rest of the top leave very little to the imagination. How Amber wears this, I’ll never understand. Her boobs are bigger than mine! This thing makes the skimpy uniforms at the beer-and-wings places look modest. I shudder as I gaze at my reflection, shaking my head. There’s no way I’ll make it down to the arena in this without Brad noticing - and he’s going to lose his shit when he sees it.