Arena Ch. 09

Book #2: Arena

Chapter 9

Coy sits in the shade with the rest of the landscaping crew, watching the small tractor strain at the roto-tiller, mixing the sand and peat into the hard California clay. He's pitched in with the spreading of the materials, unable to resist the temptation to get his hands dirty again. While machinery does the heavy lifting, there's still plenty of manual labor to go around, and he's enjoyed the chance to stretch his muscles on something worthwhile. While the tractor growls and shakes, preparing the arena floor, he and the rest of the crew, two men and a woman, cool in a narrow, shady spot, cast by the arena wall.

"Thanks again for helping us out, Coy," Lola says. "It's not often the paying customer jumps in and does as much work as the rest of us."

Coy looks at Lola and gives her his best smile. The woman has been paying an inordinate amount of attention to him, especially since he removed his shirt. "It's been my pleasure. I'm a farm boy from way back and it feels good to work the earth again."

Lola, smiles at Coy, the sexiest man she's ever seen. She thought she was going to have an orgasm just watching him work in the sun, his tanned skin glistening with sweat. What she wouldn't give to have him fuck her right here in the softly-whipped dirt. Pulling her mind back to the present she pushes away the lascivious thoughts... again.

"That explains why you know which end of the shovel to hold," she says, teasing him.

Coy smiles at her again, idly wondering what she'd be like in the sack. She isn't especially large, but she's strong, and has plenty of stamina, doing work every bit equal to the men. It's been nearly a month since he had a woman, and while that's by choice, it doesn't mean he doesn't want to have sex. Pretty in a plain, outdoorsy way, with light brown hair bleached lighter by the sun, she certainly seems willing, and he can see himself and lovely Lola in a hot and sweaty tumble.

"I've had training in all kinds of machinery," J. Edgar Bullfrog says, causing one of the men, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, to snap his head around to look at Coy while Lola giggles.

"You sound just like that frog, what was his name? In the Disney movie," Lola asks. "I have a nephew that loves that movie."

"J. Edgar Bullfrog," the man says, answering Lola's question. "I think so too."

"Can you keep a secret?" J. Edgar asks, Coy enjoying the game. All three of the landscaping crew nod that they can. "It's because I'm J. Edgar Bullfrog," he whispers conspiratorially.

"No shit?" Lola asks, leaning back. "Are you really?"

"I really am," Coy says in his normal voice.

"I've been wondering what the hell this place is," the second man says. "It makes since now. You starring in another vid?"

"An immersion actually, but yes," Coy says.

"What's it about?" Lola asks. "This place reminds me of a Roman coliseum or something."

Now Coy wishes he'd kept his mouth shut. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"If you'll tell me, I'll keep an eye out for it," Lola says. "I'll try it out and then brag to my girlfriends that I spent an entire day working alongside you, and you with your shirt off. They will be so jealous."

"I don't know about that," he says, downplaying his stardom as he always does while also ducking the question. "Check out Jungle Snow. Awful vid, but it was my first one... well... the first one where I didn't die the minute I appear on the screen, anyway. And I don't look like a frog in that one."

"I'll definitely check that out," Lola says.

"Lola, would you like to have a roll with me?" he asks with a wink and a smile, holding his hand out to her.

Lola freezes, eyes wide. "What?"

"I asked if you would like to have a roll with me. That roller will be a lot easier to pull with two of us on the handle," he says innocently.

Lola begins to blush a deep red. "Oh! Of course!" she exclaims, then begins to laugh. "You asshole. You're nothing but a big flirt," she says, taking his hand and standing up. "Don't wait up boys... Coy and I are going to go have a roll in the dirt."

"Be careful Coy," the older man says chuckling. "Word is she bites."

Coy gives Lola a long obvious look up and down. "She looks harmless to me."

"Don't listen to these guys, Coy. I'm as sweet and pure as a new born babe," she says before giving her co-workers a vicious middle finger and evil smile, making all the men laugh.

Coy and Lola have been hauling on the roller for about thirty minutes, pulling the heavy, water-filled drum along behind them, compacting the soil from the frothy fluff left by the tractor to a much firmer but still slightly springy surface. Lola's breathing hard but she's matching Coy step for step.

"So, Coy," she pants, "would you like to stop by my place after work? You surely brought a change of clothes. You can clean up at my place, I'll fix us some dinner, and then we can watch your vid. I'd be interested in hearing about the making of it."

Coy smiles. Like all men, he likes the attention of pretty women, and in another situation he'd be all over her offer, but not only is he in abstinence until the capture, he's also hoping that something happens between himself and Sierra.

"Tempting offer," he says, also a bit out of breath. "A very tempting offer. Unfortunately I have to get back to LA tonight."

She tries to hide her disappointment. It was probably too much to hope for anyway. "I understand. The woman you arrived with. Your girlfriend? Wife?"

"Neither," he answers. "Co-star. I really am just busy getting ready for the immersion, but who knows, maybe another time. I know how to find you."

She feels a surge of hope. "Don't string me along, Coy," she says between heavy breaths.

"I'm not. I'm flattered that you invited me to dinner, and in another situation I'd take you up on your offer, but I am pretty well booked solid until after the immersion." He smiles at her. "Does this look like something I'm doing for fun?"

She gaps out a laugh. "What? You're not having fun? Fuck, I gotta stop," she says pulling up. "Let those lazy bastards pull a while," she says, stretching, trying to get her wind back. "Donnie, Chaz, get your lazy asses over here and pull a while!" she shouts.

For the next three hours either Coy and Lola, or Chaz and Donnie, pull the roller around the arena in thirty-minute shifts, crisscrossing the arena to ensure good compaction. Coy and Lola are on the roller, making the last few passes to finish the arena.

Sierra steps through the portal into the arena proper and sees Coy, shirtless, covered in dirt and dripping sweat, pulling on a large roller with an equally dirty and sweaty woman, the woman's shirt clinging to her like a second skin.

Coy sees Sierra step into the arena and look around. "Hey, Sierra," he gasps. "We're almost done here if Lola doesn't give me a heart attack."

The woman barks out a short laugh but seems too out of breath to speak. Sierra watches as Coy and Lola pull the roller along, leg muscles straining. Coy's looking fuckable as hell, and she feels a now familiar moistness form between her legs. She also feels a flash of heat, jealously that Lola seems to be enjoying herself far too much for the effort she's obviously making. Lola looks ready to collapse any moment, but she resolutely places one foot in front of the other. As they reach the edge of the arena, they haul the roller around and start back. Another short trip to the wall and back should complete the compaction.

"Why don't you have that tractor pull that?" she calls to their backs.

"Tracks," is all Coy says, breathing hard.

Reaching the other end, they turn the roller again and start back for the final time, Lola's head hanging low as she strains at the roller. Regardless of why she's doing it, to impress Coy, simple stubbornness, or pure work ethic, Sierra admires the effort she's making.

Reaching the end they drop the roller handle with obvious relief, Lola putting her hands on her knees as she breathes in deep bellows like pants. "Fuck me..." she says between breaths.

"You okay?" Coy asks, also trying to catch his breath.

"Yeah," Lola says, standing up. "Just out of breath. Who's fucking idea was this anyway?"

"Mine," Coy says with a chuckle.

"Then you're an asshole," Lola says with a short laugh before bending over again. After another few deep breaths she stands up again and gives Coy a hug, then steps back. "Whew... Your ride's here. Thanks for the help today. With your help we're going to finish today and not have to work tomorrow."

"You're welcome."

"But you're still an asshole for making us do this," Lola adds with a laugh. She then turns to Sierra. "I hope you brought a towel. I offered to let him clean up at my place but he said he's busy. Lucky you... Two hours back to LA with him smelling like a goat."

"A goat!" Coy cries in mock indignation. "I'll have you know this is the smell of honest labor!" He looks Lola up and down again. "A smell you are quite familiar with, it seems to me."

"Maybe so," Lola agrees, "but that doesn't mean you don't still smell like a goat."

"You're a mess," Sierra agrees. "Good thing it's an open Jeep." Actually, seeing him hot, sweaty, and dirty is turning her on. Only one more week. She only has to hold out one more week.

"Yeah, I know. Hang on a minute and I'll change into some fresh clothes."

"No need," Sierra says, stopping him. "You aren't even close to the dirtiest thing I've put in that Jeep. You should see me when I come in from a week-long hike."

"Okay then," Coy says. "Lola, nice to meet you. It's been fun. I'd forgotten how good it feels to put in an honest day's work. I'll say bye to Chaz, Donnie, and Hector on the way out."

"Thanks again, Coy, for helping out. You were a huge help today. Hector told us if we got the arena finished we wouldn't have to work tomorrow. So thanks for giving me back my Saturday." Lola looks at Sierra, then holds out her hand to Coy. "I hope to see you again sometime."

Coy takes her hand, giving it a good, firm shake. "Same here. Enjoy your weekend," he says, then picks up his shirt from the ground. "You ready?" he asks Sierra.

"Yep. Let's hit the road," Sierra says, walking out with Coy. She'd thought they'd stop for dinner somewhere along the way, but not with him looking like, and smelling like he does. She's never smelled a goat, but if they smell like Coy, they stink.

Outside the arena Coy tells Chaz and Donnie goodbye while they rake away the equipment tracks around the arena, then has Sierra stop the Jeep on the road out so he can tell Hector goodbye as he grades and smooths the road.

"Damn... my ass is dragging," he moans as they bounced down the dirt road. It's noticeably smoother than it was that morning.

"Did Lola wear you out?" Sierra asks, her tone sharper than she means for it to be.

"What? Sierra Pederson, are you jealous?" he asks with a chuckle.

"No... you could have gone and had a shower at her place if you wanted. I'm sure she'd have been thrilled to help wash the dirt off of you."

"You are jealous!" he crows.

Sierra ignores him, stewing, refusing to answer his implied question.

"Look, I'm here with you, aren't I?" he finally asks.

"Just because you needed a ride back to LA."

"I'm perfectly capable of renting a car to get from Bakersfield to LA," he says mildly. "Or maybe Lola would have taken me. I'm going home with you because I want to."

She ignores him until they get on the interstate. "She seems a little familiar to me," she shouts over the wind noise.

He hates trying to talk over the noise of Sierra's Jeep. He wanted to come in his truck, or rent a car, but Sierra insisted on her Jeep. "So, she was hitting on me. What of it? I'm sure you have men hit on you all the time. It doesn't mean anything, does it?"

She thinks about it, and finally admits he is right. "Yeah, I guess," she shouts. "But I've made no claim on you."

"Unfortunately," he shouts back. "But I'm working on that."

She smiles as she watches the road in front of her. That much is true. She and Coy have been out on several dates and she's enjoyed them, though the sexual tension between them is maddening sometimes. Once they get that behind them, a week from tomorrow if all goes well, then she'll be able to better tell how she feels about him. She finally smiles at him.

"Yes you have. You've been the perfect gentleman."

"So is it working?" he asks with a smile.

"A little."

Two hours later Sierra delivers a windblown and dirty Coy to his small house. "Come in and have dinner with me," he says, sliding out of the Jeep.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, probably not, but do it anyway."

"Aren't you concerned that something may happen?"

"No. If it does, it does, but I don't think it will. I think you want to wait until next week as much as I do." He and Sierra have begun to kiss regularly on their dates, sometimes quite passionately, but this is the first time they'll be in a position where their passions could be acted upon. "Consider it a test of our resolve."

She stares at him standing beside the Jeep. "You have to bathe first."

He laughs. "Count on it."

Twenty minutes later Coy emerges from his bedroom, freshly scrubbed and dressed. Sierra has thrown a zapper meal into the machine and started it cooking. As much as she'd have liked to have him prepare her a meal, it's getting late to start preparing a dinner, so she'd rummaged in his pantry until she found something.

"I thought I was cooking for you?" he asks, stepping up to her and holding her in a loose hug.

"I'm hungry. This is quick, easy, and you don't have to mess with cooking tonight. I assume you like Fettuccine Alfredo with roasted chicken since it's in your pantry."

"Yeah, that's fine. Did you open a bottle of wine?"

"No. I don't know anything about wine, and it seems kind of weird to have wine with a zapper meal."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't know anything about wine either other than white with chicken and fish, red with beef."

"So what do you drink with meals?"

"Don't forget, Sierra, I'm from Texas, where sweet tea is considered the house wine," he says with a grin. "What do you drink?"

"Wine, beer, water, whatever. I'm not picky."

He turns her loose, and moves to the refrigerator. "Well then... let me introduce you to the Paul Coy Bell house vintage," he says, pouring three fingers of tea from a pitcher into a glass and handing it to her.

She takes the glass and gives the contents a tentative sip. "Certainly sweet," she says, smacking her lips, "but not syrupy sweet." She tosses back the rest of the glass. "I've tasted worse."

"Thanks... I think," he says, smiling as he takes her glass and sits it on the counter. He looks at the timer on the zapper—six minutes to go—so he begins pulling lettuce and other salad makings from the refrigerator. "You want a salad?"

"Yes please," she says, watching him efficiently go about the task of making two salads, tearing the lettuce and slicing tomatoes, olives and cucumbers onto the salads, adding a few croutons to his, but leaving them off of her. "Don't I get croutons?" she asks.

"I didn't think you liked croutons since you tend to leave them behind. But I can certainly give you some," he says, reopening the bag.

"No, no. That's fine. I'm just surprised you were paying that much attention and remembered."

He smiles. "All part of wooing the lady... paying attention."

"Oh really? So tell me something else about me."

"You prefer chicken over beef, which you like better than fish. You prefer your cucumbers without their skin and thin-sliced." He points to the cucumbers in her bowl, skinless and sliced appropriately. "You like white cheese more than yellow, red sauces to white, and your steak cooked medium rare. Oh, and your favorite sandwich is ham and cheese. Let's see... you like to garden, or at least like plants, but you have no place for a garden where you live. You prefer showers to baths, and you care about your appearance, but you're not vain. How's that so far?"

She stares at him, impressed. "How did you know all that?"

"It's elementary, my dear Watson," he says in a passable British accent. "The food is easy, I just watch what you order and what you leave or seem to eat with reluctance. The garden or plants I guessed by seeing how you admire well-manicured natural areas and flowers. You never say, 'I need a bath,' you always say, 'I need a shower.' You always dress nicely, but you drive an open Jeep which musses your hair. When you arrive, you always run your fingers through your hair to neaten it up, but don't bother brushing it unless it is something important. It's why you wear your hair short." He pauses and smiles. "Like I said, I pay attention."

While she stares at him in amazement, the zapper beeps, announcing that the meal is ready. He busies himself getting plates, utensils and the food to the table, so she pours two glasses of tea, still thinking about all he has said. He's figured out more about her in three weeks than Will had in eight months, and she's flattered by his attentiveness. Yes, his actions are definitely working. As they eat she notices that he picks at his food rather than eating with his normal gusto.

"What's the matter? Don't you like it?" she asks, pointing to his plate with her fork.

"It's fine. I just don't have much of an appetite tonight. I'm not used to working that hard. I'm getting soft."

"Hardly. That Lola chick is going to be so sore tomorrow she can't walk."

"I doubt it. They work like that every day. I don't... and they wore my ass out."

"Too tired to make love to me?" she asks, smiling around a fork of pasta.

He freezes, his fork spearing a bit of chicken on his plate. "Never too tired for that," he says, looking at her before looking at his food. "Is that an offer?" he asks without looking up.

When she doesn't answer he glances up, holding her gaze. "No, not for tonight," she says, wondering why she even asked the question. They stare at each for several long moments, saying nothing, until she decides it's time to come clean. "Look, Coy, I'm conflicted over this whole situation. I don't know what I want. I have a boyfriend, sort of, but I'm becoming tired of that relationship. It's complicated, but he's never here, and that's the main problem." She pauses, taking a deep breath, then plunges ahead. "You are here, I like you, and the more I get to know you, the more I like you. And God knows I want you. I want you so badly I can hardly stand it sometimes. But I don't know if the attraction I feel for you is because I have this itch I want you to scratch, or if it is because of... something else." When he doesn't say anything, she prompts him. "Well?"

"Well what, Sierra? Except for the part about having a main squeeze, you described me, though I think my feelings for you are a bit more clear. I know I want to get to know you better, to find out if you are the one."

She props her elbow on the table and puts her chin in her hand, staring at him. "You're right. I was a little jealous at the arena today, and it surprised me. I don't even know why I was jealous, but I was. I didn't like the attention Lola was paying you."

He smiles, not his heart-stopping smile, but something sweeter. "Don't worry. The only woman, the only woman, I want to sleep with right now is sitting right here in front of me."

She continues to stare at him, her meal forgotten for the moment. "Maybe we should just fuck and be done with it."

"Maybe we should. On the other hand, I've gotten myself so pumped up about next Saturday that I..." he says before trailing off.