“Another scotch, sir?” the bartender asks me and I wave to the glass. I’m sitting at the bar of the Intercontinental Hotel in Midtown. Mainly because I have no idea where else to go today.

See I was supposed to meet this fucking slut that came by the gym a while ago. Some wife of some fucking high and mighty Manhattan hedge fund manager. Gimme a fucking break. Not so fucking high and mighty if his wife is going around looking for other cocks to suck, you know what I mean?

But then Natalie happened.

That’s right. Natalie fucking happened. Or I fucked Natalie.

And the walls of Jericho came tumbling down.

Basically, in a nutshell that’s exactly what fucking happened. Overnight I knew in my heart of fucking hearts that my world was never going to be the fucking same. No more banging random fucking broads. No more one night stands.

I’ve fallen for a woman that I shared at the same time with another fucking man.

I take a sip of the scotch and lean back.

Yeah, I curse a lot. What the fuck are you going to do about it? You would have stopped reading much earlier if it bothered you that bad.

Besides, you’re probably wondering how we even get to a happily ever after, after what happened the other day. I mean, for all you know the three of us fucking might just have been the HEA that you were looking for.

All this is probably some fucking extended epilogue.

I mean, how’s this shit going to work? Logan and I fuck Natalie at the same time? She spends Monday night with me and Tuesday night with him? He moves into my apartment? I mean, if I have Natalie, I want her all the fucking time. I don’t know if I can share forever.

I mean, how does that even work? What happened with Logan and me with Natalie the other day…It was…

I take another sip of the scotch. I have no fucking clue what to think.

But if it could happen once, then it could maybe happen again, couldn’t it? Don’t get me wrong. It was intense. It was raw. There wasn’t any thought that went into it. We didn’t go in thinking hey, we’re going to both fuck this woman at the same time. The only thing that guided our motions and our movements was lust.

If it happened once, it could happen again.

But if it happened again, then what does that mean about me and fucking Logan. Is it maybe time to see if it’s worth burying the hatchet?

I mean, I know he was hurting too. After Sarah. After everything. We both took her death pretty hard. People change. Maybe Logan has changed enough that we can go back to the fucking relationship we had when I first joined the fraternity. The friendship. The brotherhood.

I pull out my phone and flick to Logan’s number. I never got rid of it. I always kept it. Despite everything that motherfucker ever did to me, I never got rid of it.

He’s probably somewhere in the city. He could come over to the hotel bar. Have a drink. Maybe take a first step towards repairing this fucking chasm we’ve built over the years.

Fuck it, I’m going to call him.

I take another sip of my drink when my eye catches the television. It’s on mute but I can read the headline.

“Turn up the volume,” I point to the television and command the bartender. He takes a look at the screen, looks at me, and nods. His face has gone white.

The volume to the Sports Network comes on.

“Sources inside the Gazette are telling us that the two premier boxing titans of the world have a deeper history than the world has ever imagined,” the network anchor begins and my heart fucking stops. I swear to you, it fucking stops.

Although, not sure why I should be surprised. The headline that I saw that made me ask to turn up the volume? Its still there. Reading: “Hunter and Logan. Two of Boxing’s Heavyweights Linked By College Tragedy.”

How the fuck did they ever find this shit out?

No one fucking knows.

Someone must have fucking gone through my shit.

I look at my phone, my vision turning red. But I don’t call Logan. I flip the contacts to get to Richard, my agent. It rings twice and he picks up.

“You see the fucking news about me, Rich?” I ask right as he picks up the phone. No need for a fucking hello.

“Are you surprised, Hunter?” comes the question right back at me. Almost as if he’s expecting it.

“What you talking about, dude?” I’m curious. In my head I wonder as to everyone that knows about this shit. There’s Sarah’s family. Logan and me. A handful of fraternity brothers who have never said shit so far.

And Natalie. Who works at the fucking Gazette.

Is Richard talking about Natalie?

“You see what that bitch at the Gazette’s been doing? Profiling Logan?” Richard asks and I frown as I hear his words through the phone. “I guaran-fucking-tee you that Logan got some decent press coverage and got his panties in a twist because you’re the bigger star, baby.”

Fuck. Pretty boy Logan. It makes sense. But why?

I don’t get a chance to ask or even think.

“He wants to fucking fight you in the ring I bet,” my agent says. “Wants to finally settle the score that you guys started so long ago. Now that he’s famous, he thinks he can do anything.”

I mean he was famous before, but I think I understand the reasoning. He’s got Natalie at his side, pumping up his ego.

“Natalie,” I almost whisper. And Richard picks up on it.

“And that bitch Natalie – the reporter – been very close to Mr. Logan the last few days. They hung around the offices of the Gazette. The two of them, Hunter, would absolutely fucking do something like this,” Richard states.

Logan the greedy fucker who absolutely will do whatever it takes for a multi-million dollar payout. Yeah, I can totally fucking see that. But Natalie? Working with that jackass?

Breaks my fucking heart.

Without another word, I hang up. Every fiber in my body is telling me to go find them. Find Logan. Punch him in the fucking mouth. Finish what I started that day Sarah ran out.

Natalie isn’t like Sarah. She made her choice where Sarah couldn’t. And looks like Natalie picked Logan.

That’s fine. I’m not going to go track him down and kick his ass in front of her.

No.

I’m going to go and destroy Logan where it hurts the most.

The ring.