by Voss, Deja
I wonder what my dad would say about all of this? I know my mother would love Olive, but I think she’d probably tell me I wasn’t acting like a gentleman screwing her on the couch on our first real ‘date.’ They’re so wholesome, and I do everything I can to protect them from the club’s business. They think I’m going through a phase. They don’t understand how deep I’m in.
Also, it’s Tuesday, and I usually help Olive close the bar down. Does she still want me to do that? Is it going to be awkward?
I get out of the shower and towel off, and I sit down at the table with Red. He has a plate of bacon and eggs sitting in front of me and a giant glass of orange juice. It’s kind of one of those endearing quirks of his. He never had a kitchen growing up, and when we moved into this place, he took to cooking like it’s the greatest thing in the world.
“Drink up, bud,” he says. “You’re probably dehydrated after last night. I’m sure you lost a lot of man juice.”
“You’re sick, man. Why does that even concern you?”
“I’m just trying to cheer you up.”
“I don’t know if there’s really anything that could put me in a good mood right now. I’m sorry, it’s just… I think we fucked up. I think she probably came to her senses and realized we’re a couple of creeps.”
“I think you’re probably reading a little bit too far into this, Tank. Just trust me. You’re not a creep. She’s not going anywhere. You’re going to see her tonight anyway at the bar, aren’t you?”
“You think I should still go?” I ask. “Or will that just make it more awkward?”
“I think if you don’t go, it’ll be more awkward. We gotta show her that nothing’s going to change, that we’re still the same people, we just are finally doing what we’ve been wanting to do all along.”
“I don’t know if this is what I want to do, though,” I tell him. “I don’t want to just screw her. I want to date her. I want to marry her. I want her to live here with us and have our babies.”
“Trust me, I know girls like Ollie. You don’t just ask them to marry you. Sex is the gateway. You just chill. And eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
He stands up from the table and puts his plate in the dishwasher.
“How are you holding up by the way?” I ask him. I guess I’m totally not being fair to him. He might have gotten what he wanted to off his chest, but I was the one that got to spend the night with our dream girl.
“My balls about as blue as the sky right now. It’s awesome.”
“Do you want to remind me again why I’m taking advice from you? You sound like a psychopath.”
“I’m telling you, it’s going to be a game changer. This fight is going to be the best one of my life, and when all is said and done, we both get the girl.”
“Suit yourself,” I say.
“I’m going to the gym. I’ll catch up with you later,” he says, grabbing his bag and heading for the door. I guess he’s right. I have never met a girl like Olive in my life. The kind of girl that makes me question my values. The kind of girl that I’d rather have a part of than nothing at all, even if it means she’ll never be just mine. I trust this crazy fucker. Now I just have to sit back, act normal, and see where things go.
7
Olive:
“Sloan, what the fuck?” I shout, reaching over and grabbing a pillow and throwing it at her. “Why are you in my house?”
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she coos, before yanking my blankets off my body. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“You’re lucky I’m wearing anything at all. Haven’t you known me long enough to know that sneaking into my bedroom is a risky decision?” I’m trying to deflect from the fact that I’m still in Tank’s t-shirt and boxer briefs, but the girl is a trauma surgeon, and has known me since before kindergarten. It’s not easy to get much past her.
“Where is he?” she asks. “Or is there some poor shirtless guy out there on the mountain freeballing it right now?”
“What?” I stammer, covering my eyes with my hands. “It’s too early for your shenanigans, Sloan.” My best lifelong friend in the world, Sloan Sullivan, is tearing through my closet, sliding around my clothes. Her long brown hair is pulled up into a sloppy bun on top of her head, and I admire her ass in her black yoga pants in a friendly way from across the room. She bounced right back after giving birth to her daughter, that’s for sure.
“It’s three in the afternoon. And where is your bridesmaid’s dress?” she asks.
“I had to have it altered,” I remind her. “Apparently, custom-made boobs need custom-made dresses. It should be back sometime this week. Don’t stress, bridezilla. It’s going to be fine.”
“You’re not right,” she laughs. “Did you work late last night?”
“Yeah,” I say, although I’m well aware that’s not really the reason I’m still hiding out in bed right now. I’m hiding out in bed because I can’t stop thinking about what happened last night. I fucked up big time.
And I wasn’t even drunk. That’s the real bitch of it all. I have nothing to blame my stupid-ass decisions on but myself. Letting these men get into my head, letting my emotions, my lust, get the best of me. I’ve fought so long to keep this bottled up, but the second an ideal situation presented itself, I was all over it.
And it was fun. I can’t deny that. It felt good, all those years of pent-up suppression pouring out all over Tank’s dick, while Red encouraged us on. So strange, so dirty, but so fucking fun.
If I know anything about the life I’ve chosen for myself and my past history, though, all it takes is one night of “fun” to ruin everything.
“What’s it going to take to get you out of bed?” she asks. “I need your help with wedding planning.”
“I know,” I say. Sloan and Gavin are finally getting married, and as the maid of honor, I have a lot of work ahead of me. I love that she trusted me with such an important part of her big day. She’s like a sister to me, and I am going to do whatever it takes to make sure everything is perfect. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and walk into my bathroom. “What’s on the agenda for today?” I ask as I brush my teeth.
“I think you’re going to like it,” she says. “I brought cake.”
Normally, this would be the start of a perfect day. Hanging out with my best friend and eating cake? Catching her up on all the juicy gossip I have been gathering at the bar since the last time I saw her?
I really want to tell her about what’s going on. I really need her advice, but I also need a few days to see how things play out. It’s going to be hard not to blab to her.
“So who’s the lucky guy?” she asks as I come out of the bathroom in my bathrobe. “Am I going to get to help you plan a wedding soon?”
“Why are you so bent on there being a guy?” I almost burst out laughing, thinking about what the hell a wedding would even look like. It’d definitely be one that people would talk about for the rest of their lives, even up here on the mountain where we’re all a bunch of weirdos. I’ve never been a wedding person, though, so I just shake that thought right out of my head.
“Because you’re wearing boxer briefs and you have a hickey on your neck the size of a grapefruit. You can’t tell me you got into a fight with your vacuum cleaner. Do you even have a vacuum cleaner?”
I slap my hand over my neck. Great, I think. Looks like I’m wearing a turtleneck to work tonight.
“You have to promise to keep your mouth shut,” I tell her. “Especially to Gavin.”
“I will!” she promises, offering me her pinky. “Is it someone in the club?”
“Yes.”
“Do you care to be more specific?”
“Not really,” I say. “It was just a fling. It’s done.”
“Were you drunk?”
“Unfortunately no,” I say. “Just doing my usual biannual self-destruct.”
“Dammit!” she laughs. “Usually I get to be there for it.”
We
walk out into my kitchen and I start a pot of coffee going as she pulls a Tupperware container out of her tote bag filled with cupcakes.
“Trixie did all these. We’re lucky we got any at all,” she laughs. “The guys were shoveling them in their faces this morning before I could pick them up.”
“So what you’re saying is, it doesn’t really matter what kind of cake you have at your wedding because, as long as it’s free, everyone will eat it?” I ask.
“Exactly. None of this planning stuff matters,” she laughs. “I feel like I’m trying to go through the motions of what a ‘normal’ bride would do, but the more time I put into it, the more I realize it doesn’t matter. We aren’t ‘normal,’ and as long as I get to marry Gavin, who cares about the details?”
“So I don’t have to wear that monstrosity you picked out for me?” I ask optimistically. Sloan has never been known for her taste in clothes, and I’m afraid I’m going to look like a banana with a mermaid tail walking down the aisle, but it’s her day, and ultimately her call.
I pour us both a cup of coffee and grab my favorite caramel creamer from the fridge.
“Oh, you’re totally wearing it. And that’s offensive.”
“You don’t want to hear what I have to say about your dress if you think that’s offensive,” I tease her. She swats at my hand as I go to grab a cupcake.
“If you can’t at least pretend to humor me, then you definitely don’t get any cake.”
“I’m kidding, you know that. You’re going to be a beautiful bride.” I really never thought we’d be sitting here having this conversation. Her marriage to Gavin is partially my fault. If I hadn’t made her bring me out here for a party years ago, she would’ve never met him. I fought tooth and nail for her to stay away from him, thinking this life was not a good one for someone like her, but in the end, love won out.
“So…” she says, holding the box of cupcakes just out of my reach. “I want dirt.”
“Fine. But you keep your mouth shut. If you tell Gavin, I’m going to tell him about your bachelorette party.”
“You wouldn’t.” She winks. “You planned it, after all.”
“He expects shit like that out of me. You, on the other hand…” I think it’s awesome that Esther is willing to turn the Gingerbread Ranch into an all-male stripper night in celebration of our girl’s upcoming nuptials. It was Sloan’s suggestion to begin with. We’ve been doing a pretty good job of keeping it under wraps to the guys, and if anything gets out about it, we’re just going to say it’s a business promo thing, not a private party of hard bodied, hairless stripper men for our own visual pleasure.
“I guess if I’m going to dish this out to anyone, you’re going to be the one,” I tell her. “You know me better than I know myself.” Sloan and I grew up together. We both had crap childhoods and neither one of us has a clean past early adulthood either. We both know very terrible things about each other, and the more I think about it, the more I think that this is just a very little thing in the whole spectrum of my life. “I guess I just don’t want anything getting out because I don’t want to lose my job. I don’t want to lose the respect of the guys in the club, or you, or Esther. I don’t want my life to change. I’m happy here.”
“Olive, you showed up to Heat’s birthday party in pasties and leather shorts and the guys still respect you.”
“It was really hot outside. And those weren’t pasties. It was a crop top. With no sleeves.”
“Olive, everyone here loves you for who you are. Not what you do. Not what you wear. You already earned your respect. The only way to lose it is by being shady or doing something to hurt the club. Now spill your guts. Nothing exciting has been happening lately.”
“Fine. I slept with Tank last night,” I blurt out.
“Interesting,” she says. “And what made you choose him over Red? Or was it just one of those spur of the moment things?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, I mean, as long as I’ve known the two of them, they’ve been completely blinded by you, tripping over their feet to get your attention. It’s cute, but I always wondered when it was going to come down to you having to make a choice.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Well, that’s really interesting. Please don’t be too creeped out while I draw a picture in my head.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I tell her. “Red just watched.”
“Olive!” She laughs nervously. “I always think you’re never going to be able to top your last story, but you never cease to surprise me.”
“It sounds pretty fucked-up,” I say, shrugging. “I’m done, though. It was just a night of bad choices.”
“Well, was it good?” she asks. “I bet he is an awesome screw. He’s so quiet and mysterious. I bet he ripped you in half.” I can still feel the marks from his fingerprints on my hips and I shake my head.
“It was very good. Too bad he’s such a nice guy.”
She chuckles. She knows me. Nice guys aren’t my wheelhouse.
“Well I guess it’s a good thing you have the bad guy to round him out,” she says. “Even though we all know Red’s mostly talk.”
“Do you really think this is a good idea, Sloan?”
“Hell no,” she says enthusiastically. “But I think your worst ideas are sometimes the best things that happen to the two of us. Now let’s eat some cake.”
“Just like that?” I laugh. “You’re gonna give me some advice that isn’t even advice and leave me to my own devices.”
“When have you ever taken my advice anyway?” she asks. The girl knows me well enough not to waste her breath.
“Fair enough.”
“As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters to me.”
“Well, you know what’s going to make me happy right now? Four cupcakes.”
“Have at ’er, Ollie,” she says, sliding the box across the table to me.
8
Red:
Adrenaline rushes through my body as I jab at the bag. I haven’t felt this on fire in a long time. This hungry. This motivated. I’m dripping in sweat,
“Easy there, chief,” my coach calls from across the gym. “You need to save some of whatever that is for Saturday.” I look down at my bloodied knuckles and laugh.
“Must’ve got carried away,” I say. I feel like I’m outside my body, my mind clear and focused, and my body working in perfect time with this lack of thoughts. I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders.
Sure, I can’t stop thinking about the way Olive throws her head back when she rides on Tank’s dick, her long hair wild. The way she looked me right in the eye, as if to say she was fucking me just as hard as she was fucking him, it was more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced.
As hard as it’s going to be to keep my hands off of her until my fight, I know it’s in my best interest. It’s almost like I’m addicted to watching the two of them together, and I can’t wait to get my next fix.
You’d think it’d make me jealous, especially because I passed on so many opportunities to be with her over the years. If I had just wanted to fuck her, I am fully confident I could’ve made it happen multiple times over. We are cut from the same cloth. We have so much in common. Hell, if I wanted to date the girl, I probably could’ve done that, too.
But the fact that I actually did the right thing for once, the fact that I put my best friend’s best interest over my own, it’s just proof that I’m a changed man. Seeing those two together, her eyes on me the entire time, smiling like I just gave her the greatest gift in the world, it makes me halfway hard. Laying in bed last night, with my door purposely open so I could hear her moans as he made her cum, was torturous in the best possible way.
The fact that I’m going to get more than my fair share with her as soon as I knock this fucker out on Saturday night is a huge motivating factor, too though. Until then, though, I’m just going to bide my
time, let Tank have his moment, and use all that pent-up lust to get the most out of this fight.
I know it’s old-school, but my coach is a firm believer in no fucking two weeks before a fight. I get what he’s saying. It makes you hungrier for a win. As I shower off in the locker room, I battle with the urge to just let it all out there. I know better, but my erection is hard and furious.
Save it for Saturday, my inner voice tells me.
And if training today went so well, just imagine what it’s going to be like on Saturday if I subject myself to a whole week of this.
There’s only one logical solution. I towel off and slip on my sweatpants and hoodie. I’ve gotta go see her.
* * *
“What are you doing here?” she asks, only pushing the storm door open a crack. She’s still in her bathrobe, her hair a mess, and I think she has chocolate cake smeared across her face. I don’t care; she’s still sexy as fuck.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Olive. Are you going to invite me inside or what?” She looks like she’s in the midst of an anxiety attack, the way she’s furiously blinking.
“I gotta get ready for work,” she says.
“That’s ok. I won’t get in the way.”
She reluctantly lets me into her little trailer and I follow her back into the bedroom. She opens her closet door and just stares into the abyss as I sit down on her bed with a groan, my legs stiff from the ride up the mountain.
“You’re talkative today,” I say, resting my head back on her pillow. It smells like her hair, a smell that’s always driven me wild, sugary sweet with a hint of smokiness, and I debate asking her if I can take it home with me.
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to be talking about,” she says. “Last night was fucked-up. End of story.”
“In what way?” I ask her. Sure, it wasn’t your typical Monday, but I assumed everyone involved had a fairly decent time. If anyone should be complaining, it should be me. Those two kept me awake ’til all hours with their screams and smacks and who knows what else while I laid in bed and painted a picture in my mind.