Big Man’s Happily Ever After

by Wylder, Penny

  There’s an entire life painted in these documents, and I’ve done this before, but it feels entirely different doing it for someone I’ve met. This is exactly why I shouldn’t be doing this. I can’t look through this man’s life story with any sort of emotional detachment, no matter how brief our encounter was.

  There are records from the foster care system, and juvenile detention records, too. The only file from juvenile detention that isn’t sealed is an incident involving a stolen car, though it doesn’t seem like he was the one who did the stealing.

  Now he is a fighter. That makes perfect sense to me. I knew when I saw his body that it was toned to perfection, and MMA is a place that you can’t afford not to be on the absolute top of your game.

  It is easy to find out why he was in Atlanta. A professional fight. It happened about a week after we met at the club. There are news stories praising his victory and his fighting style. Smooth and efficient, they call him. One story has a clip from the fight, and I press play.

  Seeing him in action takes my breath away. He’s far, far more than smooth and efficient. No movement is wasted. Precise grace. He moves like water, and it looks like he can predict his opponent’s every move. But I know just enough about fighting to know that the MMA isn’t wrestling. These fights aren’t choreographed for show. Jon is winning in his own right, and undefeated since he started fighting in the league a year ago.

  Pulling my eyes away from the mesmerizing way his body is moving and the completely distracting sight of him shirtless and shining with sweat and effort, I start to make notes. About his history and career, laying him out on a page so I can stand back and get a good angle.

  How would Jon feel if he knew that I was analyzing him like this? I imagine a deep smirk and him asking if I liked what I saw.

  That is the problem. I do like what I see. Far, far too much.

  After I finish those notes, I double check what Alan said, and it is true. There is shockingly little coverage of him that is just him. No splashy profiles. No gossip items to be found in the tabloids. Most of what I find is second hand at best, and speculation at worst. The only pieces I find of him quoted are a couple of brief pre-fight press conferences, and his Instagram.

  That could be interesting.

  I click on it, but instead of the feed full of delicious shirtless workout photos that I was expecting, his account is actually kind of…boring. It’s regularly updated, and he has thousands of followers, but the main content of the photos is food and dogs.

  A lot of dogs. Bandana wearing pitbulls that are practically smiling at the camera in every photo. That makes me laugh. I think I would have pegged him as a dog person, but I’m not sure I can even track how many dogs are in these photos. Are these all his dogs? Does he run a shelter? But it seems like his fans are also fans of the dogs, always calling them out by name in the comments and talking about how the photos lift their spirits.

  They aren’t wrong—they do.

  I click on his story to see his smiling face. It is a story from yesterday about to disappear. “Puppies are happy about running today,” he says, laughing. The camera moves and it looks like he’s being pulled forward. As the view shifts, I see what I count to be seven dogs on a combined leash, all running flat out. Jon is being pulled with them. “Slow down, you maniacs,” he calls. “I can’t keep up with you.”

  There’s laughter before the video cuts out. That’s sweet. Definitely something to talk to him about.

  I scroll back in his feed, and there are a lot of the same, until I see something that makes me pause. There’s a definite shift in the direction of his photos. Jon and a gorgeous blonde woman used to feature in nearly every photo. They are smiling and happy. The last picture is of them kissing on a beach at sunset, a perfect romantic photo.

  And then she disappears.

  The date on that photo is seven months ago. Nothing but food and dogs since then. Even though our encounter was long after that last picture, I’m surprised at my visceral reaction to seeing him kissing someone else. I don’t like it. But my heart also aches for him. From her abrupt disappearance, I can only guess what happened.

  Glancing at the clock, I try to re-focus. I’ve only got a couple of hours left.

  4

  Jon

  The WNSV station looks exactly how I imaged that a news studio would look from the outside. Sprawling and shining with dark glass windows and the large letters signifying it plastered on the side of the building.

  Ben must have worked quickly. I didn’t expect the interview to be literally the same day, but hey, whatever works. It seems like the station is just as eager to get me in to an interview as I am to get into the same room as Sadie.

  They tried to pawn me off onto some sports reporter, but I wasn’t having that. I wanted it to be her. I want to sit across from her and have her ask me questions, knowing that the last time we were together I was making her scream.

  Jeremy is walking ahead of me, still tapping on his phone the way he is ninety percent of the time. Some people might think he’s rude, but really he’s just that busy. I can’t give him any shit for it because the fact that he’s glued to his phone all day is what’s given me half of the opportunities that I’ve gotten. Ben is walking behind me.

  God, it’s so fucking weird to have an entourage.

  As we approach the doors, I get a glimpse of myself walking toward the perfectly reflective windows. I’m in one of the new suits that I’ve had to get for press conferences and appearances, and this one is the best. It fits me like a glove, and I look damn good. There wasn’t a chance that I was showing up here looking like anything but the best. Ben and Jeremy might not know why I’m really doing this, but I’m not going to have any pretenses with Sadie.

  I’m here for her. What was meant to just be a one-night thing hasn’t left me alone, and I want her again. I want to take her out and make her smile. And then I want to take her back home and reenact everything that we did in the club and take it further. I want to taste her again. I want to see her on her knees and let her finish what she started.

  And most of all, I want to be able to do all that while I can call her by her name and she can scream mine. By now she knows that I’m coming here, and she knows that it’s for her. No need to pretend otherwise.

  I’m not a saint. I’ve had one-night stands before. There were plenty of them before Kristy. But no one has ever stuck in my mind the way that she has. Clearly there’s something here, and I want to figure out what it is before it drives me mad.

  And I haven’t slept with anyone since her.

  As soon as we walk through the doors, I see her. Or rather, her picture. There’s a huge banner of her and her co-anchor Bill smiling at the camera in a traditional pose. She’s so fucking beautiful, even in that image, that my breath catches.

  And then there she is for real, approaching us from across the lobby, high heels clicking on the tile. She’s wearing a blue suit that perfectly sets off her hair and skin tone, that same hair I ran my fingers through swirling in waves around her shoulders. I want to sink my hands deep into it again so I can hold her still and kiss her. Hold her still so that I can make sure she’s not going anywhere again.

  Her smile is brilliant. Dazzling, even. Her hand extends toward me. “You must be Jon,” she says. There’s the tiniest challenge in her eyes. Like she’s daring me to say that we know each other and how in front of my team.

  “That I am,” I say. If she wants to keep it a secret for now, I can play along. “This is my agent Jeremy, and my assistant, Ben.”

  She shakes both of their hands and makes a point of looking them in the eye. More than some people do when I introduce them. I’ve met my fair share of people who’ve looked straight over everyone—especially Ben—because they don’t think that he’s important. When I see that happen, I know those aren’t people I can trust.

  “Right this way,” she says leading us through the lobby and into a hallway. “We’ve got the studio set up
, so we’ll be ready shortly once we can get you lit properly and in make-up.” Pushing through a door, we enter a cozy studio made up to look like a living room. The kind of thing that you see on news shows when they want someone to be in a comfortable environment. There are a couple of couches facing each other and a small coffee table in between. Huge professional lights are in each corner, but there are smaller lamps to the sides of the couch to make it look intimate. Despite this cozy façade, now that we’re in here, Sadie looks anything but comfortable.

  “Mr. Lawson,” she says, “I was wondering if I could speak to you privately for a moment.”

  Jeremy snorts. “I don’t think so.”

  She looks so unsure, but pulls it together. “Just a minute. I just need to clarify something for the interview.”

  “No,” Jeremy says, finally looking up from his phone. “Absolutely not.”

  I hold out a hand. “Jeremy, it’s okay.”

  He gives me a suspicious look, but shrugs. Sadie blows out a breath in relief, and leads me to another doorway off the studio. It’s just a small room, like some kind of booth that’s not being used, dim with only light from a darkened window.

  Sadie turns to me, hands twisting in front of her. She looks nervous. And the last thing I want her to be is nervous. I want her to be ravenous. For me. “You remember the last time we went to a private room together?” I ask.

  “Of course I do,” she says quietly. “Which is exactly why I can’t do the interview.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She groans, and moves to run her hands through her hair before she remembers that she’s camera ready and drops them. “Because it’s not right. Believe me, I want to do it. This is the first thing they’ve actually offered me, and it’s because you insisted that I do it. But as a journalist, I can’t interview you without the caveat that we’ve met before. And people would ask why. If that comes out, my reputation won’t recover.”

  Anger surges under my skin. “Show me anyone who says anything to you about having consensual sex and I’ll knock them into the ground.”

  “No,” Sadie says, stepping forward. She puts her hand on my chest almost instinctively. And she freezes when she does, like she didn’t realize it was happening until it did. I lift my hand and lock her hand against me. “My professional reputation, Jon. You’re one of the interviews that everyone wants. If they find out that I slept with you and that now I have an exclusive interview with you, they’ll think…”

  I shut my eyes. “That you fucked me so that I’d do the story.”

  “Yeah.” Looking down at her, her gaze is unflinching on mine, but I can see why she’s anxious. But there’s no regret there either. That’s a relief. “I’ve typed up my notes for another reporter here. Would you please consider doing the interview with him?”

  Sadie said herself that this story would help her—that it’s the first thing that they’ve given to her. So the fact that she’s holding her ethics above personal gain is impressive. Even if no one around her would do the same. I could guarantee that. I may not have been in the real fighting business that long, but I already know that everyone works for themselves no matter what anyone else says. The fact that she wants to keep her hands clean is beautiful, even if it’s a little naive.

  But if I can help her keep her reputation, I’ll do it.

  “One condition,” I say, still keeping her hand on my chest.

  “Name it.”

  “Go on a date with me,” I say. “A real one. Just you and me. No back rooms or secrecy. You can tell whoever you want because we met here when I came for the interview and we hit it off. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

  She pulls away from me, and I let her go. There’s annoyance on her face, but I don’t care. I want her.

  “I was never supposed to see you again,” she says. “You were my last night of freedom before my face was splashed over Nashville. No names, no regrets, nothing.”

  Slowly, I nod. So that’s why she disappeared without a word. After seeing her on the news I kind of figured, but it is nice to have a confirmation.

  “And how’s that been for you?” I ask her. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night. Over a month and I can’t get it or you out of my head. If you can say that you haven’t thought about it at all, I’m not going to force you to go out with me. This can end here and now.”

  Her eyes slide away from me to the door, like she’s thinking about running, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “Tell me, Sadie, have you thought about us?”

  “Yes.” The word is barely there, but it still sends a thrill through my veins.

  I don’t respond, just wait. She knows what I want, and now it’s on her. Finally, she extends her hand. “Fine. I will go on a date.”

  Taking her hand to shake it, it’s not nearly enough. I tug her toward me so it’s not just her hand that’s plastered against me, it’s her whole body. Those lush curves can be felt through both her suit and mine. She’s so close that I could kiss her, and fuck, I want to. But I don’t.

  Instead, I let her think that I’m going to, leaning close and changing direction at the last second and pulling her earlobe between my teeth. Just gently, biting hers the same way that she bit mine. Fuck, I’ve been waiting to pay her back for that tantalizing little thing.

  Sadie gasps, twisting away from me, eyes wild with surprise and lust. Instantly, she straightens herself, making sure that nothing is out of place.

  “You look perfect.”

  “Thank you,” she says, hesitant, but giving me a small smile.

  Together, we head back out into the studio so we can update everyone about the change for the interview.

  5

  Sadie

  The TV in my living room plays a familiar jingle, and I hear my own voice over the speaker announcing the exclusive interview with Jon Lawson with WNSV’s very own sports reporter, Jerry Klein. Even though I didn’t do the interview, they had me do the voice over for the spots.

  A little reward, I guess. Alan was beyond fucking thrilled that I had talked Jon into doing the interview with Jerry. He’d done an okay job, though he’d avoided the more intense questions. But just like Alan predicted, the interview is blowing up. Every time it replays, even in part, views shoot up. Clips online are getting all the hits, and people are praising Jerry for managing to land the white whale of sports journalism.

  It makes me question my own ethics, even if I know that it was the right thing to do. But every time I hear my voice or see Jon’s devilish smile in one of the promos, I think about how uncomfortable it can be to ride a horse as high as mine. Especially since nobody else seems to be that concerned about it.

  Jon—it is still strange to know his name—is sexy as ever. The intensity in the way he looked at me, even when he should have been looking at Jerry, nearly set me on fire. If I’d let him touch me any more in that stupid little back room, I wouldn’t have had to worry about disclosing anything, I would have been caught red handed.

  I may not have a choice about going on this date with Jon, but I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t excited about it. Because he is right, that night wasn’t just a one-night stand. Impossibly, it was something more.

  According to Jon’s assistant Ben, the dress code for tonight is a nice dress and shoes that I don’t mind getting a bit dirty. That in itself is a little curious, but in a good way. Mysterious. But the only shoes I have that fit that description are some casual flat sneakers. They don’t really match the light sundress I am wearing, but this is what he asked for. Might as well see what he has planned.

  My stomach jumps with nerves as I turn off the TV and peer out the window. Though we’ve already had sex, and I know all kinds of facts about him, I don’t know, Jon. We have chemistry, that much is clear. But nerves still swim in my gut. Will it be the same when we actually talk?

  A deep part of myself really hopes so.

  An older model truck pulls up in front of
my house, shining from what looks like a recent wash, but it isn’t the kind of car that I’d expect from someone like Jon. He has money, and is coming up in the world of sports. In my investigation yesterday, I saw some of the prizes that he’s won, and it is frankly a jaw-dropping amount.

  I imagined him pulling up in some shining Porsche or some other sporty car. Not something that looks like it would be more at home on a dirt road than in the city. Jon gets out, and I go out to meet him, suddenly smiling when I see that he has on a suit and hiking boots. “I was worried that my shoes would be too casual.”

  He grins down at my sneakers. “No, those are perfect.”

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask as he opens the door of the truck for me and helps me up into it.

  “I’d rather it remain a surprise.”

  I laugh. “How did I know that you would say that?”

  “You’re very perceptive, that’s how.”

  Jon pulls away, and I immediately note that being with him is comfortable. It could have been awkward, given what happened in the club, but it isn’t. Instead it feels natural.

  The inside of his truck is clean, I note, but it also smells a little like dog. Given the number of dogs on his Instagram account, that isn’t exactly a surprise.

  We pull onto the highway for a few exits heading to the outskirts of Nashville, and then off a more rural exit. It dumps us onto a dirt road, and I laugh because of my earlier thought about that being where this truck belonged.

  “What?”

  “Dirt roads, isolated country,” I tease. “Is the surprise that you’re taking me out here to murder me?”

  His head snaps over and he looks shocked. “Shit. I didn’t—Sadie, if you’re uncomfortable we can go back to a restaurant. Absolutely.”