Get my ass kicked in the ring? Bake a dozen cookies.

  So much of myself was presented to the world, there was one thing I want to keep for me. Elle sat crossed legged on my couch. I handed her a bottle of water and set the brownies on the coffee table.

  “Oooo! Those look amazing!” Astonishment widened her eyes.

  I noticed she sat on the far end of the couch. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, I sat on the opposite end. I grabbed the remote to pull up the pay-per-view as Elle grabbed a brownie. I pressed play and the GJWP theme started. Back when video rental stores and tape trading were still a thing, I’d watched this show and one’s like it on repeat. My love of wrestling came from the over-the-topness of the 80s and 90s. Often mocked; it was another thing I tried to keep to myself. If you knew, you knew and there was nothing to explain.

  “Oh my God!” Elle shouted, snatching me from my wrestling fan boy introspection.

  I looked over at her. Eyes closed and a goofy smile on her face, it took all of me not to burst out laughing.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “That has to be the best brownie I’ve ever had,” she sighed wistfully before picking up another.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  I tried and failed to let the compliment not go to my head.

  “I think during this series of shows, Yamamoto was on fire,” Elle said in between bites.

  With the performance swagger I could only wish to possess someday, Yamamoto strutted to the ring to a chorus of boos. I nodded in agreement. I was so used to watching wrestling with my friends, where deep and profound conversation went to die. We rarely talked about the characters or the storylines, instead preferring to make note of the coolest moves and which ones we want to attempt to incorporate into our move sets.

  The intellectual approach to wrestling was different. I’d never had a woman sit on my couch and not laugh at the stupidity that is wrestling. The pay-per-view opened with a tag team match. As if Elle and I were in sync, we oohed, laughed, and groaned at every amazing spot.

  “I love this storyline!” Elle gushed as the ref held up Yatra’s and Yamamoto’s hands up in victory.

  “Me too. I met Yamamoto once.”

  “Really?!” Shocked Elle turned to me with her mouth hanging open in a small O.

  Her lips…

  They looked so plump and soft. I turned my head to the side and rubbed the back of my neck.

  “Yep. I wrestled in Japan for several years. He was backstage at a show I did. He patted me on the shoulder.”

  “That’s so cool! What did you say to him?”

  “Nothing. I mean, I wanted to, but Akira Ishida had just knocked out my tooth like five minutes before and they were rushing me to a dentist.”

  “Still pretty cool.”

  “I guess.” I shrugged off her compliment and grabbed my water bottle off the table.

  I took a healthy gulp of water to settle the sudden nerves that inched up my spine.

  Why did she have to compliment me?

  I hated compliments. I didn’t deserve them. Naoyuki’s theme started playing as he made his way to the ring. I took another oversized swig of water.

  “I wanna wrestle you.” Elle’s tiny voice spoke up.

  “What?” I sputtered water down my chin.

  “I wanna wrestle you,” she repeated.

  I put the top back on my water bottle. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think it’s smart or safe.”

  Elle laughed, “I think you’re just scared of me beating you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Trust me, it’s not that.”

  “Oh, come on! Please?” She pleaded.

  What could it hurt to show her some moves?

  “…Okay, okay. But if I do anything that hurts, you have to let me know. Okay?”

  She nodded before hopping up from the couch. Standing there in her starry skirt and her genuine goofy smile. I repressed a laugh by shaking my head. I wished my usual opponents were so cute.

  “Pinfall?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Come at me,” she motioned.

  “Copy me.”

  Casually, I walked towards Elle and positioned one hand around the back of her neck, and she copied placing her hand around the back of my neck. The height difference was much more noticeable when we’re this close together. I’m surprised her little arms could reach my fucking neck. I looked down at Elle, who was trying to keep her expression neutral, and I stifled another laugh. My other hand grabbed her elbow. She mirrored me, and suddenly I was standing in the middle of my living room with a girl I met a few hours ago in a lockup. The guys I typically wrestled were of various sizes, but there was always some muscle behind them. With Elle, she was so light that despite her digging her heels into the carpet; it was so damn easy to push her around. I led the terrible dance as we moved around the living room.

  I shuffled to the left and grabbed Elle’s wrist, twisting it slightly. Elle effortlessly followed my lead and played up the theatrics of it all by scrunching up her face and stomping her feet in faux pain. She sold my move better than some guys I’d wrestled recently. She tried getting out of my hold by ducking behind me, but I easily jutted my hips back and tucked her into a side headlock. Her curls were soft against my forearm. Elle let out a frustrated little huff.

  “Still okay?”

  “…Yeah,” she grunted as her arms hugged my waist.

  I dug my heels in, effectively ending her efforts to push me forward. Again, she huffed. I smirked. Her frustration was cute as hell.

  “…Logan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are there abs under this shirt?” Elle asked as her hand gently brushed across my stomach.

  Suddenly I’d worked up a damn sweat.

  “Maybe?” Was my best answer.

  “Cool. Cool. I was just wondering.”

  Cheers from GJWP egged me on as I remembered I still had her in a headlock. I dropped down to my knees and swept Elle to the floor. She hit the carpet with a small thud. The swiftness of it all made her laugh.

  “You okay?” I checked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” I hooked my arm under her thighs and pulled them up to her shoulders for the pin.

  Her skirt fell back, exposing her bare legs and a pair of tiny, very cute, pink panties. For extra security, I pressed some of my body weight down on her. It sent a delicious thrill through me and forced me to press up on my tiptoes to keep my true feelings on this ‘match’ hidden. I very much wanted to press my hard on into her thigh.

  “One!” I smacked my hand onto the carpet by her shoulder.

  Elle rolled her eyes, “Oh, come on and count it already!”

  “Two!”

  “Three! Still the reigning and defending living room champion, Logan!”

  Elle’s stony face worried me. Scared I’ve hurt her, I shifted my weight off her, only for her to lock her ankles around my shoulders. I thought she was going for some type of choke hold, but instead she snaked a hand into my hair and pulled my lips onto hers.

  Elle

  The pressure of Logan’s body against mine set me alight. Heart pounding, I expected him to push me away. He was more than capable. But no, he kissed me back.

  Damn. His lips are soft.

  My lips parted, allowing Logan’s tongue into my mouth. His tongue danced circles around mine, and I felt lightheaded. Logan’s hand grazed my thigh, eliciting a gasp. He pulled back from me and pressed our foreheads together.

  “You okay?” He checked in again.

  “Yeah.” I answered in an embarrassing, breathless rasp.

  Logan smirked before shimming to his feet and releasing me from the pin. As if they were attached to a spring, my legs flopped back to the floor. Logan extended a hand, which I gladly took. His hands were big and rough. I very much wanted them all over me. Logan’s eyes sparkled deviously, as if he could read my mind. He whipped me forward and pushed me against the wall. Suddenly, he was on top of me, devouring my mouth. His erection pressed against my hip. I wanted him so fucking bad. He pulled my skirt up and ran a finger over my damp panties. It was embarrassing how turned on I was.

  “You really want me, don’t you?” Logan chuckled.

  “Yes.”

  My words burned my ears. He pushed my panties aside and shoved a finger inside of me. The unexpectedly rough motion thrilled me. I groaned and slumped forward against his shoulder. Ever so slowly, Logan inched his finger in and out, sending shock waves through me. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt for much need support as my knees buckled. As quickly as he gave me waves of pleasure, Logan snatched it away by withdrawing his finger. I whimpered at the absence.

  “Clothes. Take them off,” He whispered harshly.

  He stepped back, crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow in expectation. Without hesitation, I pulled down my skirt, pulled off my shirt, unhooked my bra, and stepped out of my panties. Feeling self-conscious and suddenly very aware of what I was doing, I crossed my arms over my breasts. I glanced down at my feet as my body nervously shifted from side to side. After a lingering moment in my private humiliation, I built up the courage to glance up at Logan. His eyes smoldered in appreciation.

  “So now that I’m naked, does that mean I get to see those abs?” I asked.

  Logan’s head fell back in soft laughter. “In due time. I wanna try something first.”

  He motioned me to him. I swallowed hard before tepidly walking towards him. Swiftly he dropped to his knees in front of me. Those rough, powerful hands of his caressed their way up my calves to my thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He grabbed my ass and lifted me onto his shoulders.

  “Holy shit!” I laughed as Logan stood.

  I stooped forward to avoid the thankfully off ceiling fan.

  “What are you doing!?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna powerbomb you or anything. I’m just gonna eat your pussy, and after you cum on my face I’m gonna take you in my bedroom and fuck your brains out. Sound good?”

  I swallowed as excited nerves bubbled in the pit of my stomach.

  “…Sounds good.”

  Elle

  “So, have you made any progress on that screenplay?” Aunt Renee’s voice carried from the kitchen.

  I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. I was stretched out on the couch at Aunt Trisha’s house. She and her wife Renee were in the kitchen making Sunday dinner. For some stupid reason, I’d been craving gravy smothered pork chops, and the only person I know who can properly satisfy that craving is my aunt. Besides being the best cook, I know she was my only family. Mom passed away from cancer when I was 12 and I never had a relationship with my dad. So, the raising of the moody tween fell onto her. She was 24 and in the middle of her MBA, but she dropped out and took on raising me the best she could. Through the grief, mood swings, cosplay, anime conventions, and wrestling shows, she was there.

  Trisha took an interest in my interests. She respected me as a human, not just some dumb kid without a mind of my own. Mom struggled with her illness for so long, my interests become safe havens for me to lose myself in. Learning everything possible about Digimon gave me something to focus on rather than my emotions. When Trisha fell in love with Renee, I was the first person she talked to about it. She wanted to make sure her relationship wouldn’t disrupt my life. When we first met, Renee won me over with a Sailor Moon manga from Borders. I’ve loved her ever since and I still missed Borders. The married, dark-skinned lesbians and their nerdy writer niece/daughter. One big happy family.

  “Helloooo? I know you hear me talking to you?” I looked up to Renee standing over me.

  “…Uh… Kinda? I’ve gotten 20 pages into it, but I don’t know if I’m gonna keep em’.”

  “You’re overthinking it. But that’s what you do,” Trisha huffed as she carried a bowl of mashed potatoes from the kitchen.

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but I know if I did Renee with smack me with the spatula in her right hand. I wasn’t a kid anymore, but I still needed to respect my elders… according to them. I repressed my eye roll and shuffled off the couch. Renee and Trisha outdid themselves. They filled the dining room table with platters of gravy smothered pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and buttered rolls. All week I begged them to make these for me and I was so damn delighted I could dance. Renee sat down beside me and handed me a plate.

  I inhaled. The hardy smell of gravy filled my nose as I put two pork chops on my plate. I expected the scent to make my mouth water, not twist my stomach. My face scrunched at the sudden discomfort. I put my plate down as a tide of nausea overtook me. My stomach squeezed, launching me from my seat. Before I could dash to the bathroom, my stomach exerted control, and I vomited all over the dining room floor.

  “Holy fuck!” Trish shouted.

  My stomach twisted again, and I dropped to my knees before more foul-tasting vomit splattered the hardwood. Cool beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. I groaned in relief as the random wave of illness passed.

  “I’ll get the mop.” Renee said as she stepped over the ocean of barf.

  “What the hell was that?” Trisha asked.

  “No idea,” I said as I attempted to stand on wobbly legs.

  “You pregnant?”

  “What!? No?!” I coughed back the burning sting of bile in my throat.

  It pissed me off that anytime a woman had stomach problems that doctors, nurses, family, friends, acquaintances, and strangers jumped to the baby conclusion. Besides, to make a baby, one must first get pregnant, and to get pregnant, one must have sex. And besides a single gloriously amazing one-night stand, I haven’t been doing that.

  “Did she tell us she’s pregnant yet?” Renee asked as she walked back into the dining room, mop in hand.

  “What the fuck?” I groaned.

  My aunts busted out laughing. At first, I thought little of it. Then I puked up an extra-large order of fries and an extra-large chocolate shake in the Sonic parking lot. I apologized profusely to the very pissed off teenage carhops. After spending most of my Wednesday night hugging my toilet, I started having some suspicions. In between waves of nausea, I headed to the 24-hour drugstore.

  Pregnancy tests in their little pink and white boxes stared at me mockingly under the harsh lights. I had no frame of reference for this, or any girlfriends to call. My BFF lived across the country, and she had much more important things to deal with. I grabbed a test I’d seen on TV and a cold two liter of Sprite. Half a liter of soda and one long pee later, I sat on the edge of my bathtub and waited for results from the test resting on the sink.

  3 minutes felt like a fucking eternity. I knew I wasn’t pregnant. Some people tried for months, sometimes years, without getting pregnant. I couldn’t be pregnant after a random one-night stand, six weeks ago, in the middle of a two-year dry spell. We used condoms. My periods were never regular anyway. I was overreacting. Totally overreacting. I sighed to calm my overworked nerves. The test would be negative, and I could move on from the absurd notion of pregnancy. I ran my damp palms down my jeans. I was worried about nothing. I rolled my shoulders, and I stood up.

  There’s nothing to worry about.

  I looked down at the pregnancy test to a giant blaring, plus sign looking back up at me.

  Plus.

  Positive.

  Pregnant.

  I’m pregnant.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit. I’m. Pregnant.

  Logan

  Davis, being the non-wrestler of the group, had labeled himself manager of Save Point. Nick, Zeke, and I mostly ignored it. Lately he’d been harder to ignore when yelling about social media analytics. Running Save Point’s social media seemed like a proper job that none of us was qualified for. Davis insisted we needed to post things. Since it didn’t include a pay raise and I was expected to not to yell at idiots on the internet, I ignored it. I stuck to my personal accounts and let the goofballs have at it. Their efforts seemed successful because visitors to the bar increased.

  It might have more to do with the fact Zeke, Nick, and I started wrestling full time for MWA Millennium Wrestling Association. MWA had a weekly show with a rabid and loyal fanbase. I’d been doing the wrestling thing for such a long time, but it never really occurred to me that people knew who I was. I wore an ‘I’m big in Japan’ shirt on TV the other week and the viewers ate it up. Death threats, and heart eyes emojis filled my mentions. It was exciting, and it revived a sightly deteriorated passion for my life’s work. I couldn’t help the smirk on my face as I strolled into the bar to open on Tuesday.

  Zeke, the taller Hudson brother, made the poor choice of wearing his thinning shoulder length hair up in a man bun. Nick had his hair pulled back in a braided ponytail. They looked like ring rats, not professional wrestlers, and not professional chefs.

  “Hey dude. A girl was in here yesterday looking for you,” Nick said.

  I was so happy they weren’t wearing their tag championships, and that it took a second for what he said to register. My smirk fell.

  “Girl? What girl?” I asked.

  “I think her name was Elle or something.” He shrugged.

  My chest tightened. I hadn’t seen Elle in nearly two months. Not since she ducked out of my bed before I woke up after several very intense and rigorous bouts in the sheets. It surprised me she could walk after all that, and I was even more surprised to wake up alone.

  “Oooo! I can’t believe Logan got a girlfriend and didn’t tell any of us!” Zeke piped up beside his brother.

  I strangled the urge to clothesline them both into the Q*bert cabinet.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Zeke said as he tilted his head to the side.

  I turned to look in the direction his head was pointing to see Elle peeking in the window. Besides a very detailed apology that I could totally care less about, I had no idea why she’s here. Brow furrowed in confusion, I ignored the frat boy cheers from Zeke and Nick as I unlocked the front door. Elle looked very tiny in her baggy sweatshirt and ripped jeans. Her head was ducked, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes.