Episode 28: Rich Rivalries
Sugar turned her attention back to Gizzard, who eyed her with amusement. He was probably wondering how in the hell she and his boss ended up together.
“What’s your poison, Ms. Sugar?” he asked.
“I’ll take a Sex on the Beach,” she ordered.
“Comin’ right up,” Gizzard said with a nod and turned to make the drink.
Suddenly, someone shoved between Sugar and a man standing beside her at the counter. An impatient woman clapped her hands rudely to get Gizzard’s attention.
“Excuse me, I need a Vegas Bomb! Scale back the ice and heavy on the whiskey. Top shelf only,” the woman ordered. “And I’ll know if you try to skimp on the whiskey.”
“I’ll be right with you after I finish this order, ma’am,” Gizzard said, his face twisting in irritation at her attitude.
“Well, maybe you should get to it instead of wasting time staring at me with your beady damn eyes,” the woman hissed.
Sugar’s jaw dropped at the audacity.
She glanced at the woman and realized there was something familiar about her face, even in the dim light. She cocked her head in confusion before her eyes widened in recognition.
“Mariah?”
Mariah whipped her head toward Sugar, surprise flashing across her face.
“What are you doing here?” Mariah demanded, her eyes darting around the room like she was checking for other familiar faces.
“I’m here with a friend,” Sugar answered, arching an eyebrow at Mariah’s odd behavior.
Though she already suspected the answer, she asked, “Is Lance here too?”
This place wasn’t Lance’s style. He loved glitz and glam, and this place was neither. She thought Mariah shared the same tastes, but apparently not.
“No, I’m with a friend myself,” Mariah replied, shaking her head. She slapped her hand on the counter impatiently to get Gizzard’s attention again. “Hurry the fuck up!”
Sugar narrowed her eyes. “Stop talking to him like that. He’s going as fast as he can.”
Mariah scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I can do and say whatever I want to whoever I want.”
Just then, a tall, buff, handsome dark-skinned man approached Mariah from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What’s taking so long, babe?”
Mariah stiffened, horror washing over her face.
Sugar’s eyes flicked between Mariah and her ‘friend,’ a smile curling on her lips. The irony of the situation was both sad and utterly delicious.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Mariah?” Sugar asked, batting her eyelashes innocently. When Mariah didn’t respond immediately, Sugar extended her hand to the man.
There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“I’m Sugar. Mariah and I know each other quite well,” she said, her voice dripping with pride. “And you are?”
The man’s eyes widened slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
“Erm, Kyler,” he said, uncurling his arm around Mariah’s waist and hesitatingly shaking Sugar’s hand.
Kyler? Another flicker of familiarity struck her. She had heard that name before.
As she shook his hand, her eyes fell on the engraved wedding band on his finger. Her amusement faded. There was a wife somewhere at home, wondering where her husband was. Even after wrecking one marriage to secure her own, Mariah was still chasing after married men.
Gizzard placed her drink on the counter.
“Here’s your Sex on the Beach,” he said, turning to Mariah. “Your Vegas Bomb is up next.”
“Forget it,” Mariah muttered, shaking her head frantically. “I changed my mind. Let’s go.”
She grabbed Kyler’s hand and pulled him into the crowd.
Sugar shook her head, taking a deep gulp of her drink.
A drunk man beside her jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Hey, Gizz! Was that Kyler Edwards I just saw with that baddie?”
Gizzard nodded. “Sure was.”
Sugar frowned. “Who’s Kyler Edwards?”
The drunk man looked at her like she’d just asked him to commit an unspeakable crime. “He’s a wide receiver.”
Sugar blinked. “He’s a professional football player?”
“One of the best wide receivers in the league. Just re-signed a contract last year that put seventeen cool mil in his pocket,” Gizzard added.
Mariah got exactly what she wanted: a football player with a bigger wallet than Lance’s.
She sipped her drink, trying to muster some sympathy for Lance but found none. The only one she felt sorry for was Lance and Mariah’s son. If Lance and Mariah divorced once the truth came out, that poor child would become nothing more than a trophy to fight over. But Sugar wouldn’t be the one to spill the truth. Parading around the city with a pro football player would eventually catch someone’s attention.
After finishing her first drink, Sugar ordered another and lingered by the bar, watching the eighth and final round of the match from a safe distance. The fight ended with a clean, forceful punch from a boxer named Tuff Luck who knocked his opponent out cold. The referee counted to eight before declaring him the winner.
As the ring cleared, the announcer called the names of the next fighters. The crowd erupted into loud cheers, making Sugar’s ears ring. Her heart pounded at the sound of Chef’s name.
Groups of people chanted for him, while others cheered for his opponent, Filthy Rich.
Squeezing through the crowd, Sugar slowly made her way toward the boxing ring for a better view. Chef rolled his shoulders and craned his neck from side to side. Bare-chested, wearing royal blue boxing shorts and black gloves, he looked ready for battle.
His opponent, Filthy Rich, a younger man with a buff physique, knocked his gloves together and shouted something taunting. But Chef remained unfazed. When the fighters were called to the center of the ring, they took their stances.
At the sound of the bell, the first round began. The two men circled each other like predators. Filthy threw the first punch, but Chef dodged smoothly and delivered a clean jab to his face, snapping Filthy’s head back.
Filthy stumbled but quickly recovered. The exchange of brutal punches made Sugar wince, but Chef blocked and dodged many hits. He was clearly holding back, but she didn’t understand why. By the fourth round, Sugar had inched closer to the ring, stopping when she found a good spot. About ten people separated her from the action now.
Filthy landed a forceful punch that sent Chef against the ropes, but he bounced back with impressive timing. His expression hardened, a look Sugar could clearly see from where she stood. It both frightened and thrilled her. In return, Chef delivered four gut-wrenching punches, causing the young boxer to hunch over.
Chef stepped back, allowing him a moment to recover.
Watching him box was like watching art in motion. His tattooed skin gleamed under the spotlight, and his muscles flexed with every powerful punch. He absorbed the hits with undeniable resilience.
On the other hand, Filthy was all brute force, attacking whenever he saw an opening. But he lacked strategy because he was an opportunist. A weakness Chef had likely sniffed out from the start.
A smile tugged at Sugar’s lips as Chef unleashed a series of precise punches on his opponent. Filthy’s attempts to fight back grew increasingly desperate and sloppy.
Barely a minute into the seventh round, he hurled a nasty blow to Filthy’s face, sending him to the mat. The referee started the count, but Filthy didn’t get up.
The fight was over.
When the referee declared Chef the winner, the crowd erupted with a mix of cheers and boos of disapproval. Sugar’s scream of excitement blended into the chorus of masses as she jumped up and down.
After he left the ring, Sugar decided it was time for a quick bathroom break. Fighting her way through the rowdy crowd, she finally found the restroom. After finishing up, she washed her hands and glanced in the mirror just as the stall behind her opened.
Mariah emerged.
