Fighting Vegas: Las Vegas Nights

CLIFF

We laid in bed snuggled up against each other when I asked the question that had been plaguing me. One of my closest friends was getting married in a few weeks and I didn’t have a date. Randy and I had been seeing each other for months, and I was getting restless. I wanted to go out and show my man off, but he was a world champion MMA fighter. You can see the problem with that, right? He was so far in the closet he was halfway to fucking Narnia. It hurt to be his secret. I was done playing games, though, and tired of hiding.

Knowing the answer, I asked anyway. Do you want to go with me to Jake’s wedding? Maybe I was being a bitch being so blunt, but because of his damn non-disclosure agreement, I couldn’t even tell my best friends, Rissa and Cassie, about him.

"Jake Moore’s very public wedding?" The horror and emphasis on those words were clear in his voice.

Yes, I agreed in a steely tone.

You know I can’t....

Can’t or won’t?

I don’t know... both? Coming out of the closet could end my career. No one would ever want to fight me in the ring again. You’re asking too much, Cliff. Why can’t we just keep doing what we’re doing? This works for us.

But it no longer works for me. Sitting at home while you go to premieres and fights, and have bimbos hanging all over you. I got up out of bed and put on my slacks that had been folded over the back of one of the exquisite Bernadette Livingston leather and fabric chairs that I had outfitted his room with. Every bit of the furniture and decoration was sophisticated elegance. This chair alone screamed cigar and whiskey neat, and I’d all about fought him over putting it in the study, but he’d wanted multiple man caves, his bedroom being one. Considering I’d spent quite a few hours enjoying the pair of leather slices of heaven, I acquiesced this one design choice. The dark hunter green walls and dominating mahogany furniture in a nearly 900 square foot bedroom could handle more than a couple of club chairs. I’d been so proud of the work and the new life infused in every square inch of his 7,500 square foot home, but now it just suffocated me. I’m done, Randy. Determined to have some balls of my own, and keep my broken heart quiet, I continued walking to the bedroom door. I deserve more than to be some asshole’s dirty little secret. I deserve a partner who loves me and is proud of me. Someone who’d attend my friend’s wedding with me, because it’s something I want. I need. The tears were still behind my eyes, but not for long. If you won’t even be seen in public with me, then it’s clear you don’t care about me at all. His hand clamped down on my arm and he spun me toward him.

You can’t leave me, Cliff. I need you. He reached his other hand up to cup my cheek, holding it gently. His eyes screamed his sincerity, but it was too late. Forced to witness him with others, being left alone, being hidden away; it was too much. I was never one to hide who I was, and he’d done that to me.

The problem is... you don’t give a shit about me. I sighed, realizing it was probably true. I’m the only one who knows your secret and you want to continue to use me for your own selfish urges. I’m done. If you ever decide to come out, give me a call, but until then, leave me alone. Ripping my arm from his grasp, to make my grand exit, he pulled me to him and kissed me hard and demanding.

I didn’t kiss him back.

He finally got the point and hung his head. I can’t give you what you want. He turned his back on me, literally and figuratively.

Well then, goodbye, Randy.

CLIFF

One year later...

Hello, this is Cliff, I sang into the phone.

Just the man I wanted to talk to.

Well duh, darling, you called me. I laughed. The man had yet to introduce himself and I was already rolling my eyes.

Yes, I did. You decorated Randy Bryant’s house? The name had me cringing. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about him at all in the last year but every time I did, rage filled me. He said he loved me but all he really wanted was for me to be his secret, never truly caring what I wanted or needed. He’d called repeatedly for months until I finally changed my number. Bitterness was all I felt when he was mentioned or I saw him on a gossip rag with whichever fake girlfriend he had that week, because I more than anyone else knew that man was not interested in what girls had to offer. I loved everyone, yet I hated him, and worse, I’d hated that there was that lingering bitterness within me.

I did. Are you looking for someone to decorate for you, or just bringing up unpleasant memories? That was a bitchy thing to say and probably wouldn’t help endear a new client, but again... I was bitter. Sorry, darling. The mention of that particular name makes me cranky. Let’s begin again. What can I do for you?

Thankfully the man laughed and didn’t proceed to defend the ass. That guy makes everyone a little cranky these days. He’s been a complete dickhead for the last year. Even his best friends don’t want to be around him. That tidbit of information had me brightening. Did I mention I was a catty bitch? I’m calling because I’m renovating my MMA gym and I need someone with eclectic taste to decorate for me. You came highly recommended.

Where is this... gym? I knew the answer before he even said it. I’d done a fantastic job of staying away from Sin City over the last year, but Karma was going to be a bitch. I’d always been a jovial soul, and the negative thoughts I’d been spewing for twelve months, were about to come crashing down.

Vegas. The grin in his voice was like a toll bell. Added bonus. I’ll take you to my favorite gay bar when you get here.

Are you flirting with me? I asked in a faux-shocked tone, batting my eyelashes even though he couldn’t see me.

Maybe, he chuckled. Would you be interested if I were?

Of course not. I don’t even know your name. Would playing coy work? He had a sexy deep voice and I wondered if the rest of him was as yummy. Maybe this was what I needed, a Vegas fling to get Mr. Too hot for his own good out of my system.

The name’s Darren, Darren Sparks.

Well then, Mr. Darren Sparks, when should I start? My tone was flirty, and Sin City was a large enough place to not have to worry about a certain brunette with golden-brown eyes. Maybe Darren was a ginger?

I have a feeling this is gonna be fun. Can you be here tomorrow?

Text me the deets. I’ll catch the next flight. Ciao, darling. I hung up the phone, feeling better than I had in ages.

On the flight to Vegas I googled Darren Sparky Sparks. He was an MMA fighter back when the sport first made its debut. He was rather good too. He had numerous title belts and he was just as yummy as he sounded on the phone, well as long as he aged well. Most of the photos of him were twenty years old or more; he could have gained weight and lost his hair for all I knew. He’d had a career-ending injury during a training accident with a fellow fighter, which had started his coaching and training career. The fact that he was openly gay didn’t seem to bother the fighters who vied for the honor to be trained by him. Sin City MMA Gym was one of the most prestigious gyms in the country, but I was confident mine and Randy’s paths wouldn’t cross. As the premiere fighter, he had his own gym, and full use of those at the MMA facility.  

It was amazing the things you could find on Google. I found myself getting excited about the opportunity to decorate such prolific place and putting my own stamp in the industry that otherwise hadn’t really treated me all that well.

But, the closer I got to Vegas the more dread filled me with unpleasant memories.

Cliff? Randy had called one afternoon from one of the guest bedrooms. I think I’ve changed my mind. I want to go a dark hunter green in here.

The bedroom already had two walls painted a dark crimson.

What? Are you fucking kidding me? I growled at the infuriating man. None of the furniture I picked out for this room will match hunter green.

I guess we’ll have to pick out new furniture that’ll match then. He grinned rocking back and forth on his toes. I wanted to slap the grin off his too perfect face. The job had already lasted longer than I thought, dealing with the ins and outs of design. Who would think an MMA fighter would have cared? But the man was infuriatingly picky and wanted to be involved in every decision.

He stalked toward me; he’d been extremely flirty with me since I’d started working for him. Always looking for an excuse to touch me or accidentally brushing his hand on my arm. If I hadn’t known he was an MMA fighter, I would have thought he was gay.

He crowded my space and my breath caught in my lungs. His seductive chuckle skated across the exposed skin of my neck. I know you want me, cupcake. Why don’t we stop beating around the bush? he’d murmured, caressing a single finger down the ridged length of my Armani clad cock. The only sound in the room was my ragged breathing and the clang of metal as he pulled down the zipper showing the Calvin Klein boxer briefs underneath.

Wh-what are you doing?

You’re wound too tight, figured I’d help you relieve some of the... tension. He pulled me free of my underwear and squeezed gently. I know I can stand to release some build-up as well.

His warm breath skated over the skin of my neck as he pumped me in his hand. My body shuddered as I thought about what I was doing and who I was doing it with. Holy shit. Mr. Hot MMA fighter was jerking me off? When did this become my life?

Don’t think you’re getting a discount for sexual favors. He chuckled under his breath at my snarky comment, and the dark throaty sound had my balls tightening.

Wouldn’t dream of it, cupcake. He plastered me to the wall as his lips descended on my neck licking, nipping, tasting. I couldn’t breathe. It was delicious.

At some point the fog in my brain had cleared. What the hell am I doing? He’s a client for Christ’s sake. This... is a bad idea. Y-You’re a client. I mustered as much strength in my voice as I could but still fell flat. His hand on my dick was making it near impossible to speak fluently. I-I can’t be fooling around with clients.

What does that matter? I knew before you walked in the door I wanted to bend your ass over my dining room table and fuck you into oblivion. He growled close to my ear only pumping me harder.

A bucket of ice water replaced all the blood in my veins. Of course. That was the reason for the NDA he forced me to sign. I pushed him back, completely disgusted, shrinking faster than an ice cube in the Miami heat. He looked at me with confusion before the light in his eyes sparked.

Look, cupcake, everyone signs an NDA, don’t take it all personal. I can’t afford to be outed to the press. He at least had the good sense to look ashamed of himself, if the blush running up the sides of his neck were any indication. I’d shaken my head, zipped myself back up, and walked away. The poor guy must have been burned in the past but I had too, and I would never date someone that was in the closet again.

I shook myself from the memory, berating myself for the millionth time for not sticking to my guns and allowing the relationship to continue, regardless of what I’d known—that it would end just as badly as it had. What was with me and big-muscled men? Why couldn’t I say no to them?

When the plane touched down and I made my way through the airport, there was a man holding a sign with my name on it. He had his cap pulled down over his eyes as if he was hiding something. As I grew closer his features became clearer. The man hadn’t aged a whole lot from the pictures I’d seen, except for the bit of graying hair peeking out from below the cap. I always did have a soft spot for a silver fox. Hey, Sparky.

Huh, I see someone has been googling me. He looked me up and down in a completely shameful way and I wondered if he liked what he saw. Of course he does, because I am fabulous.

Of course I did, but from the looks of things Google has been your friend too. That was the only way he could have known who I was. I was sure random people walked up to him all the time, which was probably why he wore the hat. I would have remembered meeting someone as delicious as he was.

Touché. He grinned.

So work or play first? I waggled my eyebrows at him.

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