“Mmmm. I can’t wait to taste you again.Tomorrow. I gotta run to training now. Love you. Talk to you later.”
Before I can say it back to her, she hangs up. Leaving me a sweaty, cum-covered mess. I’m so going to get even with her for this.
My plane lands in Kentucky, leaving me with an hour to get to the location that Margeaux sent me. My ride share is able to get me just outside the arena, where the crowds are huge. People carrying posters. Fans dressed in shirts with their favorite athletes’ faces on them. I join the masses, making my way to the entrance. Security guards wave me through metal detectors, inspect my backpack, and pat me down thoroughly. I show my ticket to the usher, who double checks it. He waves for me to follow him, and he hands me off to another guy with a black shirt that says “VIP Crew” in white lettering on the upper right corner.
“Follow me, sir,” he says. This guy is easily a foot taller than I am and has more muscle than a rhinoceros. I pull my shoulders back as if that’s going to make me any taller.
I follow him down aisles and rows filled with screaming fans as they watch a match between two male wrestlers, I don’t know the names of. They look young. Margeaux told me these events start with the rookie wrestlers, to see how they handle a crowd. Watching a match in person isnothinglike watching it on TV. The entire atmosphere is palpable. The energy is charged with something electric and unsettling. My muscles tense, making me want to jump over the guard rail and join these two guys in the ring.Even though they’d toss me out within seconds.
I watch three more matches, consume two beers, a small carton of popcorn, and make friends with the dozen other VIP crowd membersaround me. I tell them I’m here specifically to watch Margeaux, but don’t want to say I’m her boyfriend. Margeaux hasn’t made any public announcement about our relationship on her social media, and she told me it’s to give her some aspect of privacy. Also, after my incident with Becca, I’m certain Margeaux is just as protective ofmysafety as I am of hers.
The match we’ve been watching for the last ten minutes has come to an end. The MCs of the night announce a ten-minute break before the next match. Looking at the program, my nerves start thumping and twitching.This is Margeaux’s match.
The longest ten minutes of my life finally come to an end. The lights dim. The entire arena is shaking as speakers blast the song “Reckless” by Papa Roach. The crowd is on its feet, screaming. Grown adults and young kids are holding up signs with Margeaux’s face on it.My Margeaux.
I join in and cheer with them all as the woman, who is more miraculous than anyone I could have dreamed of, makes her entrance at the top of the ramp. She stops, holding her arms out to the side, letting the bright purple and blue neon lights behind her illuminate her from behind. Her dark hair is past her shoulders yet still showing off the bright ink on both her arms. She’s in a black halter top that looks like a sinful combination of leather and latex. She’s in matching bottoms that show off the bottom half of her ass. She wouldn’t be able to contain those amazing globes if she tried. All the time she’s spent in the gym the last few weeks have made her legs even stronger and more tantalizing. Her leg sleeve looks beautiful under the lights.
Just as the song hits the chorus, and Jacoby Shaddix starts screaming the words, “Cause I’m reckless! I’m a reckless son of a bitch!” Margeaux jumps onto the side of the stands and starts to climb up, driving the fans wild. People reach out for her to touch their hands, give high-fives.She’s a fucking star.
41
MARGEAUX
I pacethe ring in slow, deliberate circles. My pulse is beating louder in my ears than the roars of the crowd. My entrance was epic and went better than I practiced. I should be standing in the middle of the ring, looking confident and somewhat bored with whatever challenger awaits me behind the curtain at the top of the entrance ramp. I can’t stand still. My adrenaline is pumping like crazy through my veins, I can’t get my eyes to focus on any one face in the crowd. All I see is a blur of screaming faces.He said he’d make it.
As the music starts filling the arena, all other thoughts are pushed out of my head. This is no time to be distracted. The music starts slow, the crowd quietens, all eyes turn to the entrance ramp. A white, silk rope is lowered from the ceiling. My fingers twitch, trying to contain my excitement.
A muscular leg, with a knee-high white boot pokes through the curtain. The song “You Don’t Own Me,” covered by SAYGRACE, swells within the stands. The curtains open and Jazz emerges in an all-white outfit—a complete contrast to the all-black outfits she used to wear when she was my partner. Her dark hair hangs over her shoulders in perfect curls, rather than pulled back in a tight ponytail that would show off the shaved underside ofher head. Her make-up is light and sparkly, while mine is dark and matted.
Twisting her arms into the silk, she’s pulled up, hovering over the ground. The crowd watches in stunned silence. Whilemyentrance was edgy and wild, Jazz’s entrance is graceful and smooth. She spins and hangs upside down, entrancing everyone. She lowers down and the crowd is so loud and intense for my best friend. I hold back tears of joy for her. Our face-off hasn’t even started yet, and I can tell this is going to be the best match of my career.
“Looks like Jazz is making a statement for all to hear,” Mike, one of the MCs says.
“100%, Mike. Below Zero is no more, and The Glam Squad has a new queen bee,” Amanda replies.
“Two former teammates. Now enemies. This face-off is going to be brutal for the fans,” Mike adds. “Looks like Jazz is out to prove who deserves the women’s championship belt.”
“Looking at Margeaux Wild tonight, Mike, I don’t think she’s going to accept anything but victory tonight.”
Jazz enters the ring and we square off. I make quick work of grabbing her behind the neck and flinging her into the ropes. She rebounds off the ropes. I brace to clothesline her, but she jumps at the last moment and kicks sideways with both her feet, hitting me in my stomach, knocking the wind out of me, and bringing me to my knees.
The crowd responds with groans and cheers. Jazz grabs my hair, yanking my head back and delivers one. Two. Three blows to my face. She tosses me onto my back, where I lay sprawled out, trying to refocus. She makes quick movements to get to the top rope and faces the crowd, encouraging them to scream louder before she does a full back layout, landing perfectly on top of me where I break her fall and sell the severity of her hit.
She quickly whispers in my ear, “Doin’ okay?”
“Yea, girl. Keep going. It’s almost time for phase two,” I respond hurriedly.
She works herself into position to pin me. It’s tough since she’s just under five and a half feet tall, but she manages to apply pressure to my upper body. Devon, the ref, lays next to us and pounds his fist into thefloor, giving the first count for the pin. Before Devon can slam his fist down a second time, Jazz is ripped off me and tossed against the opposite corner of the ring.
“Out of nowhere, Talia Tanner has entered the ring, Mike!” Amanda shouts into her microphone.
“There’s no way she was going to let the Queen of Chaos be taken out that easily.”
Talia storms into the ring, wearing a metallic, dark blue two-piece outfit. Her usually clean makeup is a bit darker, with a matching metallic blue lipstick.
“Oh! Talia Tanner just threw Jazz out of the ring!” Mike screams. The crowd is on its feet, roaring.
Talia helps me up to my feet, and we set our sights on Jazz, who is on the ground, beside the ring, trying to get to her feet. I jump out of the ring and grab Jazz’s hair, earning a high-pitched shriek from her as she fights against my tight grip. I grab her cheeks with my other hand, forcing her mouth into a pout, and then send an air kiss her way before tossing her back into the ring. She rolls and crawls for the ropes to try to pull herself up. Talia hoists me up and we use that momentum for her to sling me across the ring, into Jazz, smushing her against the ropes.
