Chapter 19
Mari
I think Kas was lying when he said he’s getting my camera fixed. I haven’t seen it since the fight, and part of me feels like he’s not in any rush to get it working again because cameras seem to be the one thing he despises most in this world.
“Can you look a little more fierce? Put your fists up too, yeah, like that,” the woman organizing the shoot commands.
A petite lady rushes forward with a makeup sponge, dabbing it under Kas’s eyes for a second before he jerks away.
“Oh, this is fucking hilarious,” Dash says between the crunching of potato chips.
We hover at the edge of the temporary shoot prepared by the SFL. We’re on our fourth day in Vegas and today is shoot day for some posters and graphics. I’m all for this because it means I can start messing around with the final photos once they’re released.
I hold the business phone up and snap a quick BTS photo of Kas, his scowl deepening.
“Honestly, it’s the poses he’s being forced into. Did you hear them ask him to snarl like a lion?” I ask, snatching a chip from Dash. The woman in charge promptly tells us off for eating on the set. “He’s just nailing all of these poses by being his usual grumpy self,” I finish.
“He’s so dramatic. I’ve seen him less annoyed when someone pulled up to the gym and placed a gun between his eyes,” Dash says.
“Sorry, what? When?” My eyes widen at this new bit of information.
“Oh, years ago. Minor shit.” Dash stares mindlessly at Kas’s shoot. “I don’t think people realize how terrifying Kas can be.”
“He’s not that scary. I mean, look at him, he’s chronically unsettled.”
Kas squeezes his eyes shut when the woman with the makeup sponge returns to blend more concealer into his skin.
“Yeah, he has off-putting energy, and the ladies still, for some reason, eat that shit up,” Dash complains.
“What ladies?” I ask curiously. There’s an uneasiness in my stomach that’s appeared out of nowhere.
“All the ones I fuck. I ask them to meet me at the gym, they see him, and they stare at him for the entire time.” He sighs dramatically. “Am I considerably less attractive than Kas? Be honest.”
Dash crouches down in front of me and pouts. He isn’t ugly at all with his “cute surfer” archetype—sandy, sun-bleached hair and bronzed skin. He also has a bunch of tattoos, which I’m sure is a hit with the ladies he claims don’t want him.
“Stop fishing for compliments,” I say.
Dash straightens. “I bet it’s because Kas gives off ‘hard to get’ vibes and I’m easy,” Dash says. “There’s absolutely no chase when it comes to me. I’ll fuck anyone.”
At least he’s self-aware.
“I’m sure plenty of people like easy men,” I reassure. Dash wiggles his eyebrows jokingly and gives me a dramatic once-over. “Oh, absolutely not. Do not even go there.”
Dash laughs loudly and pats my shoulder in a rough, platonic way. “But for real, the closer we get, the more you kinda remind me of my sister, Margerie. Colorful fashion and shit.”
“Thanks? I’m very interested in your parents’ method of naming. Margerie and Dash?”
“Oh, yeah, Dash isn’t my legal name.”
I’ve referred to him as Dash this whole time; it never occurred to me that it wasn’t his real name.
“What’s your real name?”
“You’re a good woman, Mari. Open-minded, easygoing, and non-judgmental. I trust you to respect me and the name I’m about to tell you,” he says, straightening up and nudging his headband to the crown of his head.
“Of course.” I’m already giggling.
“Maurice McDonnell.”
I can’t tell if the name is funny because it’s an old man’s name, or because Dash absolutely hates it. Regardless, the build-up and reveal have me puffing my cheeks to hold my laughter.
“Don’t laugh, Mari.”
“Wait, it’s not even that bad,” I say between giggles. “I’m pretty sure that’s one of my uncle’s names.”
“I don’t look like a Maurice at all. There are so many other ‘M’ names to choose from. Maverick? Maximilian?”
I gasp and clutch my side. “I’m gonna get a stitch,” I croak. “Why Dash?”
“I hated my name in middle school and made it up. I wouldn’t respond to my parents or teachers unless they called me Dash.”
I can totally imagine a little Dash with unruly blond hair sitting cross-legged in kindergarten, refusing to move until someone addressed him as Dash. The image has me laughing even harder.
“Maurice is not a moanable name either,” Dash continues, gripping his potato chip packet like someone might clutch bedsheets in the throes of pleasure. “Put it in my ass, Maurice!” he moans in a high-pitched voice.
I rest my hand on his shoulder for stability and wipe away a couple of tears. “Oh my god, you’re so gross.”
Dash tenses and begins to shush me. Confused, I look up and follow his gaze to Kas, who is standing next to us looking pissed the fuck off.
I clear my throat and wipe both of my eyes that are directly in front of Kas’s oiled-up chest. I drop them down to his abs before meeting his gaze.
“Kas, hi. Is your shoot over?” I ask.
I swipe under my eyes again and skim my hand down my face to make sure there’s no drool around my mouth.
“No.” Kas’s answer is blunt and unamused. “I’m taking a break. Dash, Bill wants to talk to you.”
With a guilty glance, Dash leaves me in front of Kas, and I feel like a petulant child about to be told off by a teacher.
“Why are you having loud, sexual discussions with members of my team?” Kas asks with a firmness that has me backing up a little.
Dash can throw me under the bus, but I’ll be damned if I get run over.
I smile politely and, without responding to Kas, hurry off through the doors leading to the changing rooms before he can say anything else. I exhale a breath of relief when I’m a safe distance away from him.
The back of this SFL gym is much nicer than BD GYM. There’s a bunch of free vending machines with protein snacks and drinks outside of the conference room Davina and I work from at times.
My sneakers squeak on the linoleum flooring as I pace and I check my phone to outwait Kas’s anger.
Isaac: Wyd?
“Go away,” I whisper.
Isaac has been messaging me daily, wanting to know my every move like a fed. He’s not discreet with his jealousy either. It’s always questions about my opinion of Kas and discouraging statements about how I’m in way over my head with this job.
I keep my replies measured and rare so as to not encourage him to follow up on his “belongings in landfill” threat he made before I left. I’m still unsure if it’s a joke or not and make sure to keep things polite, just in case.
Me: Working.
Isaac: Miss you. Wish you were here with me.
Isaac: Surprised you still have that job btw, hilarious. Kas isn’t bored of you yet?
Me: :)
“I don’t appreciate those types of loud conversations during working hours with members of my team.”
Kas’s voice echoes down the corridor and snakes its way around my body until it brings my pacing to a complete stop outside of the men’s changing room.
I choke out a laugh. “Sexual discussions? Breakfast yesterday included a conversation about someone snorting cocaine off someone else’s ... thing. Joking about Dash’s legal name is where we’re drawing the line? Seriously?” I say, turning to face Kas. “It was also Dash moaning, not me.”
Kas looks at me like my explanation isn’t valid. He’s all furrowed brows and slitted, judgmental eyes.
“I don’t care what it was. Don’t do that shit again. Do you understand?”
“What’s your issue?” I say, puffing my chest to pretend I’m not intimidated by him.
He lessens the gap between us, challenging my proximity. “Yes, or no, Mari. Do you understand?”
The firmness in his voice disappears by the end of his question and his head tilts curiously. He can’t even maintain his anger. There’s a part of me that thinks the anger was to overcompensate for another feeling.
I want to say jealousy, but that’d be a stupid assumption to make.
I stare into his piercing gaze, both of us unblinking. This close up, there are some dark-blond hairs dotted throughout his brown eyelashes, and a small freckle sits just underneath his left eye, barely visible. He runs his upper teeth against his lower lip, increasing the blood flow there. It grows in redness and appears plumper as the seconds tick by.
“Answer me,” Kas says softly, leaning forward with his hand lingering near my waist.
I keep my eyes on his lips and try to ignore the growing scratchiness in my throat when his palm finally makes contact. Heat emanates from his touch, through my clothes, and onto my skin.
“Who do you think you’re speaking to?” I counter in a hoarse voice.
Kas visibly swallows and his eyes flit across my face as if connecting the dots between each feature, from the barely visible scar on my chin to the tiny freckle on my cheek that only appears in the summer. If I stood on the tips of my toes, I could plant my lips right on his chiding mouth.
“Kas—” I start.
Both of his hands grasp my waist, pulling me flush against him before I can even finish my sentence. His thin MMA shorts leave little to the imagination because I feel him against my lower stomach—thick and hard.
I prepare for what’s next and press my eyes shut. My head inclines toward his, and I freeze at a creaking noise at the end of the hall. Kas spins us, slipping into the men’s changing room just as the hallway door pushes open.
“Mari!” Davina says loudly. “Why did Kas storm down here pissed off?”
“Hey! Dav!” I beam forcefully.
I take a wide step away from the door Kas stepped through. My feet carry me to Davina, landing in front of her with a small skip, jump, and clap of my hands. She looks at me with a raised brow over the top of her glasses as she balances a laptop on her forearm.
“And yeah, I don’t know, he told me off and went straight to the changing room,” I say, pressing my hands together and rocking onto the balls of my feet, unsure what to do with the pent-up energy trapped inside of me.
I place my hand on my neck to feel my pulse thrashing beneath the skin. I ache in places I can’t remember aching in before and pinch the skin of my hand hard enough to create a throbbing different from the one between my legs.
“I’m glad you’re in good spirits. Ignore Kas, this fight shit is sending him over the edge,” Davina says, fully engrossed in her late-morning admin.
“Well, he’s being a dick.”
“Language, Mari.”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “You guys are bad influences.”
Davina’s grinning at me, somewhat impressed at my use of words. I follow her back into the gym to get started on my work. The temporary photo shoot takes up most of the space, and the permanent ring in the middle has now become a place for everyone to dump their bags—mine included. The women around the set nod politely at Davina as they sip their coffees, and the youngest one laughs coyly at Dash who seems to be doing his best to woo her.
“Kas has been highly strung for the past few hours. I’m hoping he mellows out soon considering we have a few weeks of cameras in his face,” Davina says.
She huffs and settles on a random bench near a bunch of hanging jump ropes.
“I hope so too, he’s hard to get along with.”
I sit cross-legged on the ground next to her and grab my laptop from where I precariously placed it under the bench.
“Which should never be tolerated,” Davina says, looking firmly over the top of her reading glasses. “Especially if it’s making your life and work difficult, alright? Whatever is going on, sort it out between yourselves, or I can intervene if you get the urge to kill him.”
It’s kind of nice to have Davina advocate for me when she hasn’t known me for that long.
“Yeah, we aren’t used to hanging out this much,” I say.
Davina chuckles to herself. “I have a prenatal appointment tomorrow morning, you should train with him. I’ll tell him to wait for you in the morning so he can give you a ride. Let’s call it team building.”
“Team building?” I curl my lip, unable to conceal my displeasure.
“Don’t sound too excited,” she says sarcastically.
I’d argue that nobody on this earth has responded to random team building with unadulterated enthusiasm. Especially when it’s with a coworker they almost kissed.