Pregnancy, Wrestling, & Dating

  Quiana Glide

  LR Publishing

  This book is fictitious.

  Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is inspired by and not at all a comment on them as real people or their wrestling characters.

  Cover art by Xenia @wiggedwonder

  Layout and Design by Quiana Glide

  Copyright © 2023 by Quiana Glide

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Contents

  1. Elle

  2. Logan

  3. Elle

  4. Elle

  5. Logan

  6. Elle

  7. Logan

  8. Elle

  9. Logan

  10. Elle

  11. Logan

  12. Elle

  13. Logan

  14. Elle

  15. Logan

  16. Elle

  17. Logan

  18. Elle

  19. Logan

  20. Elle

  21. Logan

  22. Elle

  23. Logan

  24. Elle

  25. Logan

  26. Elle

  27. Logan

  28. Elle

  29. Logan

  30. Elle

  31. Logan

  32. Elle

  33. Elle

  34. Logan

  35. Elle

  36. Logan

  37. Elle

  38. Logan

  39. Elle

  40. Logan

  41. Elle

  42. Logan

  43. Elle

  44. Logan

  45. Elle

  46. Logan

  47. Elle

  48. Elle

  49. Logan

  Epilogue Elle

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Elle

  I was just a Black woman screaming at the universe for my script to write itself. When the universe didn’t listen, I grabbed a lighter. Thankfully, from somewhere in the depths of my brain a voice of reason spoke up. Instead of setting fire to my laptop, I sought out a distraction that didn’t involve flames. I was on the run from my keyboard, from deadlines, from responsibility.

  That’s how I ended up at Save Point, a video game bar. I couldn’t help the shameful squeak I let out. This was the perfect distraction, a couple of drinks and retro video games in a dive bar. Big blocky, old school arcade games shared space with classic console games. Two dude bros tackled Billy Idol’s White Wedding on Rock Band. A bespectacled weeb tried impressing her date with a fast tempo game of DDR. A couple on the N64 played Smash Brothers. In awe and slightly overwhelmed, I wandered over to the bar. I hopped onto an open barstool. A bachelorette party had taken up residence on the far end of the bar. The group of bleach blondes all sported matching neon tutus. They laughed and shouted at each other as if volume was just a concept that didn’t apply to them. That unabashed freedom to cut loose was something I envied. The women had the bartender’s undivided attention, so I settled in for a wait. I was on the losing end in a fight with writer’s block. I’d get over this hump in the road, I always did. But right now? This sucked. With a sigh, I looked up at the flat screen behind the bar.

  Wrestling! Murder gymnastics!

  Bars usually played music videos, or other nonsense on their screens, but Save Point made another move to winning my heart, they played classic Greater Japan Wrestling Pro! Across the board the over-the-top characters and comical storylines in wrestling promotions fed into my love of storytelling. I’d first cut my writing teeth writing self-insert wrestling fan fiction in middle school. Of course, the main character who just happened to also be named Elle won the championship and got the guy too.

  “Can I get you something?”

  I ripped my eyes away from the match to the bartender looking at me impatiently. A messy mop of untamed white boy curls bushed all over his head. He scowled at me with harsh blue eyes.

  My god…

  “Uh… W-w-what do you recommend?” I stammered in awe of his glowing attractiveness that threatened to melt my face off.

  Bartender blinked back irritation. Dealing with a loud, giggly bridal party must have been annoying, and my indecision wasn’t making things any easier.

  “…Link’s quest is pretty good,” he mumbled.

  “I’ll try that then.”

  Bartender nodded, and I tried to turn my attention back to the TV. The bridal party’s squawking made that kind of impossible.

  “YOO HOO! CUTIE! WE NEED THOSE SHOTS!” One of the indistinguishable blonde bridesmaids leaned over the bar showing off her impressive cleavage.

  Bartender’s jaw noticeably clenched. His eyes peeked up at me and I shrugged. He took that as permission to pause my order. Eyes cast downward, he seemed to tune out his surroundings as he poured everything neatly. The defined muscles in his arms flexed as he set up the bridal party with two lines of kamikazes to a round of cheering applause. The grateful woman tried to convince grumpy to join in, but he declined. The bridal party downed their shots and burst into fits of giggles.

  “HEY SEXY!”

  I glanced over to a bridesmaids yanking up her shirt and bra to display her boobs. Her girlfriends cheered and clapped in support of this brazen move.

  “Cutie what do you think of getting out of here and spending some time with us?” still holding up her shirt she animatedly winked.

  Bartender stopped in his tracks and blinked. I clenched my drink napkin anticipating his reaction. He rested both hands palm down on the bar.

  “…I must compliment your wonderful breasts. But I can’t have you acting like that in here. This is a family bar. I’m sorry to be a spoilsport ladies,” he explained calmly.

  The bridesmaid lowered her shirt with a pronounced pout on her lips. Her friends gathered closer and patted her on the back. Thankfully, the party couldn’t be stopped by one disappointment. The girls got up and left the bar, their laughter trailing behind them. I glanced at the bartender, whose shoulders visibly relaxed as the giggles dissipated into the night. I bit my cheek to stifle my laughter.

  Damn he handled that well.

  With laser-like precision, the bartender turned his attention to mixing my drink. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry as he slid a tall glass in front of me.

  How can forearms be sexy? How is that possible?

  “Do you want me to start a tab?” the bartender asked

  “Sure.” I nodded, unzipped my purse, and fished for my wallet.

  Card retrieved and relinquished, I sipped on my large drink. It was strong and sweet. A good combo to me. Grumpy Bartender had good taste. I stole another glance at him. During the lull in customers and he leaned against the bar watching wrestling with rapt attention. His mop of dirty blonde hair couldn’t seem to decide between being curly or being plain messy. The same dark blonde peppered his chin and cheeks in an unsubtle shadow of a beard.

  He looks so familiar… Why can’t I place him?

  “GJWP is so awesome. I’m surprised to see anywhere playing it,” I attempted conversation.

  “…You like wrestling?” Grumpy Bartender asked, his brows furrowed in a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

  “…Yep. GJWP, WWW, AAW. You name it, I’ll watch it. I fell out of it for a few years, but I still love it and now I’m back!”

  Grumpy Bartender nodded in appreciation. Before either of us could indulge in confessions of a wrestling fan, a group of guys made their way over to the bar. I sipped my drink and turned my attention back to the TV. The main event was starting. One of my favorite matches of all time. The match was a classic, the finals of the World Wrestling Grand Prix, with Shoto Watanabe going up against GUN Yamamoto. It was one of those matches that looked obvious in hindsight. Of course, the two guys in the five-year feud would go up against one another at the end of the tournament, right? But everyone went so hard that whole tournament, it could have been anyone going into that last championship match.

  Grumpy Bartender slid another Link’s quest in front of me. I smiled in appreciation, hoping to get one in return, but he just nodded again. I glanced back at the TV and gnawed on my straw in anticipation. The next part was my favorite-slash-least-favorite part of the match. Shoto ran full tilt at Yamamoto, ready to crash into him on the turnbuckle… only for Yamamoto to bend over, pick Shoto up and throw him up and out of the ring, through a conspicuous table at ringside! No matter how many times I watched this match, and although I knew it was coming every single time, and although I knew Shoto was fine, I winced like it was me going through that table! Every single time!

  Unable to watch, I looked over to Grumpy Bartender, who was half watching, half cashing out a customer’s tab. He shook his head at the table spot.

  “…Watanabe is one of the all-time greats, but God that landing makes me sick to my stomach every time.” I confessed.

  Grumpy Bartender handed a receipt and pen over to a customer. I was unsure he heard me until tucked the pen behind his ear and walked towards me.

  “Same. But all we can do is learn from his mistake, right?” he leaned against the bar across from me.

  “If I were a wrestler, I don’t think I’d do high-risk moves. I’m too scared.”

  “Sometimes you have to. Kind of like a big payoff when I can put my opp
onent through the announce table and get the crowd up on their feet.”

  My eyes widened in glittery amazement, “You wrestle?!”

  My excitement cracked through Grumpy Bartender’s gruff exterior. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a hint of a smile.

  “Yes, I do,” He nodded.

  “Wow!” I squeaked in dreamlike awe.

  A little more of Grumpy Bartender’s exterior fell away and his grin inched a bit wider. He was so damn cute although he didn’t want to show it. I looked back to the TV in time to catch the pinfall of the match. The ref helped a ragged Yamamoto to his feet, before holding his arm up in victory. Despite the brutality of the match when the crowd tossed colorful streamers into the ring it made things so much more cheerful.

  “…So, can I get you anything else before I close out your tab?” Grumpy Bartender asked.

  “What?”

  “We’re getting ready to close. I’ve gotta ring you up.”

  “Already? It can’t be that late?” Panic rose in my voice.

  Grumpy Bartender shook his head. “No. It’s Sunday. We close early on Sundays.”

  Just my luck.

  “Oh! No, I’ll just close my tab.”

  As Grumpy Bartender closed my tab my attention widened. I looked around the bar and I was the last customer standing. Slightly embarrassed I gnawed my bottom lip as I signed my receipt. I slid it across the bar to Grumpy Bartender’s waiting hand. I tauntingly wiggled my eyebrows at him and said,

  “You really should smile more. When I come into video game bars that play wrestling on their TVs, I expect the bartenders to flash me at least one fake smile.”

  Grumpy Bartender’s eyes widened before his face fell back into stony seriousness. Then for a split second, he flashed me a genuine smile with a glimpse of his pearly whites. A glitter bomb exploded in my chest. It was wonderful. I couldn’t help smiling myself as the moment passed and his smile vanished. I flexed my hands before I pulled my purse on my shoulder and hopped off the barstool to make my ineloquent exit.

  “Hey!” Grumpy Bartender called after me.

  “Yeah?”

  “I never got your name.”

  “Elle. You?”

  “Logan.”

  “Nice to meet you, Logan. Thank you for keeping your claws retracted.” No sooner than the words left my mouth I cringed at my shameless Wolverine joke.

  “They tend to scare people and it’s easier to mix drinks when I don’t have them out,” he said without missing a beat.

  “…Well, I better get out of your hair,” I turned towards the door.

  “Hey… Um, are you doing anything when you leave here?”

  The disturbing siren call of the unfinished project on my laptop flashed in my head.

  “No,” I answered too quickly.

  “I’ve got some classic GJWP Super Cups saved on my TV… You wanna come over and watch it?”

  Heat rose in my cheeks. Logan didn’t raise any alarm bells. The man was just offered guaranteed sex on a platter, and he turned it down. That led me to believe he wouldn’t be dragging my ass to his apartment to chop my body into little pieces. Besides, I was already addicted to Logan’s smiles. I was desperate to see another one. He was an awesome distraction.

  “Sure.”

  Logan

  What the hell am I doing?

  That question screamed in my head as I rolled my shoulders and walked towards the back office. I barged right in. I always hoped Davis would be doing something important. But every time he let me down. Tonight, he was playing some cube matching game on his phone. I stood in the doorway and stared at my friend. The office lights shined marvelously off his stupid bald head. I was sure from the right angle the reflection could blind a man.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta head out early,” I spoke up.

  Davis’ head whipped towards me, “What? Why? Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head, “No…”

  What the hell do I say?

  “Something came up,” I shrugged.

  “What the hell does that even mean?” Davis deadpanned.

  “It means there’s a cute girl waiting outside!” Zeke exclaimed.

  I couldn’t help but scowl at his shameless smile as Zeke shimmied by me. Zeke, his brother Nick, Davis, and I were childhood friends. Save Point was a dream born from countless hours spent straining our eyes in-front of 8 megapixels.

  Zeke and Nick shared the head chef position. They offset their parent’s fear about becoming pro wrestlers by getting culinary degrees. Thankfully, the wrestling thing worked out, but at least now they got to use their degrees. For all their annoying over the top goofiness the pair were solid guys. But it wasn’t any less annoying when they peacocked around the bar wearing their Japanese tag team championship belts during business hours.

  “You’re fucking kidding!” Davis shouted.

  “I’d put my title on the line. She’s cute, and she’s waiting on him! …Do we need to have the safe sex talk with you?” Zeke laughed and flipped his long, brown hair over his shoulder like a character in a 90s movie.

  Nick and Zeke both sported long locks. Their noticeably thinning crowns didn’t seem to sway them on getting a trim. I touched my fingertips to my temples and shot up a quick prayer that my hair would be spared from all the surrounding stupidity.

  “…You don’t have a title to wager. So yeah. I’m just gonna go,” I shrugged again, still unsure what the fuck I was doing.

  I left a chorus of laughter behind me. I paused at the front door and sure enough, Elle was still waiting. She was engrossed in something on her phone, allowing me a quick moment to look her over. Her afro swayed effortless in the nighttime breeze. Dressed in a white t-shirt and a high-waisted black skirt decorated with silver stars, she was adorable. There was no denying that. She made me laugh, and that drew me to her. I wanted to talk about wrestling with her and get to know her better. The hormone driven part of my brain that I normally kept reigned in short-circuited and I invited her to hang out. I sighed. I had bigger things to focus on. My career needed to be the only thing in focus, not notches on my bedpost. In that moment, I decided, I couldn’t string this girl along. The immortal words from The Brady Bunch filled my head.

  Something suddenly came up.

  With a deep breath to steel myself, I stepped outside. Before I could say anything, Elle turned around, making me pause. Her wide eyes were on the verge of overflowing with tears.

  “…Are you okay?” I asked.

  She let out a deep groan, “Yeah… I mean, I think so. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Not really…” She sighed again.

  I raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

  “…I’m kinda stressed out. I’m a writer and I’ve got this big project I’m working on, and the deadline is coming up. I’m trying to step away from it, give myself some space before diving back in. That’s why I came in here tonight. And things were going fine until a friend of mine messaged me saying how excited they are I’m working on this. The pressure of it all!” Elle groaned and frantically wiped at her face banishing her tears.

  “I’m sorry you’re dealing with that… Come on, let’s watch some wrestling.”

  Elle’s face lit up like a solo firework show. It wasn’t much of a smile, but it wasn’t sadness, and it was for me.

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

  My brain didn’t stop screaming at me as Elle followed me to my car. I didn’t know what to say for conversation, so the offbeat tones of The Aquabats accompanied us on the ride to mine.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” I kicked off my shoes at the front door.

  They looked fucking massive next to Elle’s tiny flip flops.

  “Would you like some water?” I asked.

  “Sounds good.”

  I headed into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. Wanting to be a good host, I also grabbed the tray of brownies I made yesterday. It wasn’t something I went around advertising, but baking was an amazing stress relief. I kept it to myself because it was a private comfort. The moment you tell anyone you can cook, word spreads like wildfire, then everyone and their third cousin once removed is asking you to bake their fucking wedding cake.

  Shitty day? Bake a cake.