Page 4 of Magnetic God

“That’s him.”

He’s pointing to the massive screen next to the stage where a promo is playing to hype up attendees for the event.

Oh, my good god.

The man on the screen is freaking gorgeous. Like panty-melting gorgeous. If the stats on the screen are true, he’s 6’6, weighing in at two-hundred fifty pounds. It’s all muscle, too. He’s wearing classic black trunks with matching black wrestling boots, which means all of his body is on display. His sun kissed skin is covered in ink. I have to resist fanning myself. I love a man with tattoos. My gaze travels upward. His hair is dark brown and hangs just past his ears. His eyes are a piercing shade of blue, surrounded by thick lashes. I’ve never seen such long lashes on a guy before.

“Earth to Hannah. Are you going to drool over the man all night long?” Jess asks, laughing.

I blink, realizing that I probably was staring like a fool.

My cheeks heat as I say, “You’re the one who wanted me to come. You should be glad I’m getting into it.”

She shrugs, knowing I’m right, and leans into Matt, saying something that makes him laugh. Hopefully, they hit it off in the concession line.

At seven on the dot, the show starts. Both Peter and Matt are super into it, jumping up and cheering for their favorites during their matches. Jess spends most of her time on her phone. Not me, though. I’m surprised at how interested I am in the matches. Like, I haven’t watched wrestling since I was a kid, and yet here I am getting into it. I even almost cheer at the end of a match featuring all women wrestlers.

After their match, the stage is set for the main event. The announcers hype up the crowd. This is the best part about going to a live event. The energy in the arena is off the charts now. This is the moment that everyone has been waiting for. Loud music plays as the current heavyweight champion, Laughing Larry, walks down to the ring. It feels like the entire arena cheers for him. He jogs down the ramp, sliding into the ring. A ref tosses him a microphone and he launches into an animated speech about being the best in the company and how no one is going to take the belt from him. Just when he’s really getting into it, the lights in the arena dim right before pyros explode.

A shadowed figure stands on the stage as more pyros go off. Slowly, he turns and the crowd boos as they see that it’s Brooks McGruff. His pace is slow and calculated on his way to the ring. He’s in no hurry and wants everyone to know. A warm fuzzy feeling settles in my stomach just from watching him move.

Jesus. He’s even more stunning in person.

When he finally gets in the ring, he stares down his opponent before muttering something. Whatever it is takes the smile right off of Laughing Larry’s face and he shoves at Brooks, pushing him backward. The bell dings as the match starts and the two dive right in. The crowd is on their feet, watching as the two men go back and forth for the next twenty minutes.

Just when it looks like Laughing Larry is about to win, Brooks climbs to the top turnbuckle and soars through the air, landing on Larry. The ref counts to three and Brooks is the winner. He stands, motioning for a guy outside of the ring to hand him a microphone. Instead, one lowers from the ceiling. It’s vintage, reminding me of something someone like Elvis would sing on, and looks like the tattoo on Brooks’ bicep.

“Well, well, well. Looks like Laughing Larry isn’t laughing so much right now, is he?” He puts his boot on Larry’s chest. “Guess that’s what happens when the world realizes that you’re nothing more than a joke.”

The crowd boos, disagreeing with him, but he grins, eating it up.

“Hear that, Larry? The fans are onto you. It’s only a matter of time before you’re yesterday’s news. Good thing I have a solution.”

Larry tries to stand, but falls back with a loud groan. Brooks laughs, shaking his head.

“Pathetic.” He leans down. “I’m letting you and the world know that I’m coming for your title. When I win, you’ll become a joke in more ways than one.”

Laughing Larry finally stands before stumbling out of the ring. The fans who were booing moments ago now chant Brooks’ name. I grin. Guess some things never change in pro-wrestling. The fans love a good screw job.

Brooks stands in the middle of the ring until Laughing Larry walks up the ramp and through the curtains. Brooks waits a beat before letting go of the microphone and going to the corner turnbuckle to the left of us, climbing to the second rope. He looks over the crowd, soaking in the fans’ chants. Caught up in the excitement, I jump to my feet. Peter stands too, yelling Brooks’ name at the top of his lungs. I’d laugh at him, but don’t. Because I can’t stop looking at Brooks.

He’s a beautiful specimen and his photos don’t do him justice. Sweat makes his skin glow. It should probably revolt me, but it sends another surge of need right to my core. I also have a strange desire to lick his chest. Illicit images flicker through my mind, making that surge of need turn into a tidal wave that makes me clench my thighs together.

Brooks hops down and makes his way to the ring post nearest to us. He climbs up, looking over the crowd. From my vantage point, he looks almost godlike. Larger than life.

And then his gaze lands on me.

Holy fuck.

A jolt of electricity swells through me. His lips lift into a slow smile, as if he knows what he’s doing to me and likes it. The crowd continues to cheer for him as he flexes. His gaze never leaves mine, entrapping me. Making me ache for something that doesn’t make sense. Like, I don’t know this man. Period. Why am I having this kind of reaction to him?

Peter throws his arm around my shoulder, shaking me. “Holy shit! He’s looking right at us!”

Brooks’ gaze narrows, making me want to shake Peter’s arm from me. He jumps down, going to the next turnbuckle, his back to me. I feel…dismissed, and I’m not sure why.

Peter, whose arm is still around me, yells, “Did you see that? Fucking Brooks the Body is going for the championship belt!”

“Yeah, I saw.”

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