1 Hot Scheming Mess Read Online Free Page A

over or bands that had long ago broken up or joined society in a nine to five job somewhere. Pock marks on the walls were big enough to conjure up questions of how they got there, some with old gum shoved inside.
    Spenser started messing with her camera gear again, giving Madison the impression that she was just trying to look busy. Madison tried to think of something to talk about to ease the situation, at least till the show started. The booze hadn’t fully hit her system yet.
    “You know you’ve barely come up for air since you met Daniel,” Madison said. “You two are pretty mushy.”
    “Just the way I like it. How’s the new apartment?” Spenser said with a smirk. “All settled in?”
    “No. Still living out of boxes. And stop mocking me.”
    “I didn’t say a word,” said Spenser.
    “That wasn’t your voice in my head just now?”
    “No. You have me mistaken for some other voice.”
    “Oh. Sorry. I thought that was your voice telling me that I’m a sorry-ass procrastinator.”
    “How did you find such a nice place for rent that cheap?” Spenser asked.
    “ExBoy found it for me. I owe him for that.”
    The Break Beat music made a noticeable shift in style and volume, meaning the show would be starting soon. The anticipation in the room ratcheted up as conversations and laughter picked up the pace. The increased thumping rhythms added to a growing unease within Madison. She rubbed her head and exhaled. “When are they going to start this stupid show anyway? The sooner the better before all the whiskey really does hit me.”
    Spenser said, “I’d better be ready to jump when they do.” Madison knew that once the show got started, Spenser would be dashing around the venue with her camera, trying to get some action shots. She assumed most of the shots would be of Atomic Waist. He’d been wearing normal clothes when Spenser had introduced him a few months ago. But tonight, Spenser said he would be wearing… um… a tight little sparkly, spangly, bathing-suitie kind of thing, denoting his evil character’s vanity. It was just so wrong, because it was so right. Oh, and wrestling shoes. But she doubted anyone would notice the shoes.
    Thinking of how to tell her mother about the portrait idea Madison leaned back, mumbling, “She could’ve at least shown up.” She rubbed her eyes, looking up at the low hanging pipes over the stage. Unblinking, Spenser said, “You must have known that someday you were going to have to deal with this.”
    “With what?”
    “Getting to know your own mother. Seeing her through your adult eyes.”
    Madison blinked, thinking about that idea. “That would be different,” she said, as a nice little drowsiness came on.
    Right then, as if on cue, her cell phone began to play the theme music to the movie Jaws , which meant her mother was calling…
    …and the fight show started.
    Whistles and clapping exploded as the MC strutted out onto the stage holding a microphone with a long cable. Madison looked from the stage to her cell phone. Ah, hell no. If I answer that she might figure out I’m drunk. She tossed the phone unanswered into her purse under the table and let the excitement of the show sweep her away.
    The gravel-voiced MC yelled, “Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! You hot writhing hunk of underbelly wetness!” The crowd cat-called back and drummed their hands on the tabletops. The MC began to pace back and forth on the stage like an animal searching for a way out of his cage, the microphone cable snaking along with him. “But it’s not the rain that’s made you wet!” His voice dropped to a low urgent purr as he pressed the mic to his lips. “It’s that fevered anticipation. Your hot breath on our windows.” His voice turned to a gravelly whisper. “That bad dream moment when you’re scared and tangled in your sweaty sheets.” He returned to yelling. “Scared that you might miss out on FIGHT CABARET!
    The crowd hollered out their enthusiasm, banging on the tables