Chapter 2 Margeaux #2
“Damn. It’s been that long, huh?” she asks jokingly. “You’re so sex-starved, your only hope is fried starches? Aw girl, we need to go prowling. Get your needs met. You seem wound up.” She fluffs her messy bun in the mirror as I tie my shoes.
Jazz isn’t wrong in her observations. I haven’t had a good fuck in while.
Our training schedule is partly to blame.
I also refuse to mess around with the guys on our team.
I don’t have many rules, but that’s one I learned in my first year after signing a contract with PEW; it just complicates things.
It’s difficult to meet guys who understand the demands of this sport.
Non-wrestlers don’t see you beyond the persona you play in the ring.
Other guys just want the notch in their belt- that they fucked a celebrity.
Depending on the guy, I’ve been down. But I scare away most dudes.
Being super tall, muscular, tattooed, and pierced isn’t every dude’s smash fantasy.
That leaves me with my hands and my toy collection most days.
“I’m not in the mood to prowl, Jazz. I can be your wing woman this weekend, though,” I tell her. My phone vibrates from inside my bag, and I dig through all my stuff to find it.
My home screen is filled with notifications- social media, e-mails, voicemails, and texts.
I don’t look at most of them. I have over a hundred unchecked messages and thousands of unread e-mails.
Ashleigh handles most of my correspondence.
I make a mental reminder to tell her about that creepy fan letter later.
I click on a voicemail from the one person I’ll always make time for, my brother.
Hey, Mags! I won’t be able to catch your match tonight, but I promise to watch the highlights.
I know you’re gonna kick ass, Sis! Anyway, call me back.
Zoey needs a confirmation from you for her bachelorette party next weekend.
I know you’re super busy, but she’d love for you to be there.
It would mean a lot to me, too. Alright.
This message has gone on long enough. Talk to ya later. Love ya, Mags!
An hour, and an entire basket of fries later, Jazz is still trying to convince me to go to this stupid bachelorette party.
“Dude! You didn’t mention that her bachelorette party is in Paramount! That’s like, super dreamy vacation and party location,” she talks around a forkful of apple pie.
“Ugh. Don’t get me started,” I groan, considering ordering another basket of fries. I frown at my shirt, which has a fresh ketchup stain on it. I never make it through a meal without getting food on me.
“You know the coaches will let you take a mini-vacation. Fuck, I’ll crash the party with you. Is your soon-to-be sister-in-law cool with stuff like that?” she asks, sipping her vanilla milkshake. One thing about us wrestlers, we can eat.
I roll my eyes, considering how to describe Zoey. I settle on keeping it simple, too tired to go into a lot of detail. “I don’t think she’d be open to you crashing her party. I doubt she even wants me there. It’s more of a favor for Jacky,” I say
Jazz nods her head, slurping her milkshake again. “Got it. She’s a prissy bitch,” she shoots me a wink. Then hisses as she clutches her forehead. “Fuck fuck fuck. Brain freeze!” She pounds the table, thinking that will make the ache in the front of her face go away.
“You do this every time,” I laugh at her. She’s such a masochist. She chugs cold drinks, she eats food that’s fresh out of the microwave and burns her tongue. To be fair, I do that too. But I at least try to give my food a couple of seconds to cool off. Not Jazz.
“It’s fine.” She waves me off, massaging her forehead. “So, you gotta go, Mar. I mean. Paramount is amazing, I’m told. I’ve never been. At least go and come back with some cool story about all the ritzy people who live there.”
Paramount is like Neverland. Online images show the perfect beach city. Only celebrities and billionaires can afford to live there.
I roll my eyes, picking up a remaining crispy piece from my fry basket. “I guess it could be cool to get away for a few days. I just hate being around all those girls from my hometown.” I sink lower into my half of the booth.
I take out my phone from the front pocket of my hoodie. I pull up my brother’s contact info and shoot him a message.
Margeaux: Tell Zoey that I’ll go to her stupid bachelorette party
Jacky: AWESOME! She’s gonna be so excited to see you.
I smirk knowing he’s genuinely excited, but my stomach rolls just thinking about being around Zoey Gallagher and all her friends.
Margeaux: If you say so.
Jacky: Seriously, Mags. She’s been asking if you’re coming all week. You’re still my best WO-man at the wedding, right?!
My brother is such a dork. Aside from Jazz, he’s my best friend.
I practically tackled him when he asked me to be his best wo-man for their wedding.
I hate the idea of marriage, and it makes me want to vomit even more knowing that Jacky is tying himself to Zoey for the rest of his life.
But he says he’s happy. Who am I to interfere with his delusions?
Margeaux: You know I’ll always be there for you.
Jacky: GIF from Friends TV show.
I exit out of my conversation with Jacky and pull up Ashleigh’s details. I let her know the details for the bachelorette party and she replied almost instantly with a cheesy party hat emoji. She’ll figure out all my travel details and stuff.
Five minutes doesn’t pass until Zoey messages me with a fucking packing list for her party weekend.
Dress codes for each day, a fucking itinerary, and then proceeds to add me to a group text with all her bridesmaids and other “Gally Gals” who are attending next weekend.
I feel the basket of fries bubbling to come back up.
I show Jazz the group text that is blowing up my phone with the most trivial bullshit.
“Oh. Please take pictures and notes about all of these- what are they called- Gally Gals?” She tilts her head, fighting back a strong wave of laughter.
“Her last name is Gallagher,” I shrug.
“Well, here’s to a crazy weekend in Paramount with all the Gally Gals!” Jazz picks up her vanilla milkshake, and I clank my chocolate one against it.
“Fuck you, bitch.” We both take big swigs of our milkshakes and then share a hiss as brain freezes take over us both.