FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (62 page)

Case

Crash was taking way too long in the shower, and Case was bored. The novelty of hanging out with his pussy-chasing brother was wearing off quickly. So when his phone vibrated loudly on the countertop, Case dove for it with relief.

"Yeah, Teach?"

The president's voice was so hoarse it was nearly inaudible. "Need you to make the rounds," he rasped.

Case nodded. The snowstorm had interrupted his usual route. The bartenders were going to complain about not having enough time to come up with the money, but business was business. "Got it," he replied.

Teach dissolved into a coughing fit that didn't sound like it was going to end any time soon, so Case hit the end button.

"Yo, Crash!"

There was a scrabbling sound from the bathroom, two loud bangs, and then a muffled, "Whaddya want?"

Case smirked. "Sorry to interrupt your alone time, but I gotta run."

He heard a couple more bangs, then the squeak of the door hinge. Crash stood dripping in the doorway. "What about the party? Thought we were going to party tonight."

"Sorry man, club shit."

Crash shook his head, "Ah man, you work too damn hard. What the fuck is the point of being a bad ass biker if you still gotta punch the clock?"

Case laughed. "The point is to be a rich, bad ass biker."

Crash shook his head again. "Better you than me, man. At least I got the excuse of being half retarded."

"Don't talk about yourself like that, man. We all got skills. Stick with what you're good at."

"Getting girls?"

Case grinned. "Yeah, for some reason you're way better at that than I am." He extended his hand and gripped Crash's forearm. The shorter man nearly dropped his towel trying to return the handshake, and Case averted his eyes. "Thanks for showing me a good time last night man. I was in some sort of funk."

"Any time." Something in the way Crash said that made Case pause. Crash looked forlorn as he stood in the doorway of his shady ass bathroom, dripping water all over the peeling linoleum.

"Definitely," Case smiled. "You can get my ass laid any time. Lemme know what I missed."

He grabbed one last sip of the awful coffee before heading out into the blazing white world. From here, it was only a four-block walk to the first bar on his route. He hunched his shoulders against the cold, and started trudging.

It always took forever for him to get all the money.  First he had to shoot the shit with the bartender.  Then he would allow himself to be cajoled into a drink, Followed by a quick sweep of the bar to make sure his six foot four, leather clad presence was felt and noticed. Next came greetings with some of the old regulars who swung by to pay their respects to the biker who ran the joint. Then and only then did he finally feel it was okay to take the white envelope and stuff it into his jacket.

Then it was on to the next bar to repeat the same sequence.

He was four bars deep when the routine suddenly shifted. From the moment he walked into the Klassy Kavern, he could tell things were going to go differently.

The first thing he noticed was that change in the air; thick tension that greeted him the minute he walked in.  Then it was the way Bruce, the regular bartender, wouldn't meet his eyes.

Case slid slowly onto a bar stool, and waited silently, staring at the back of Bruce's head.  The minutes ticked by with Case waiting, unmoving, until the older man couldn't take it anymore. "Hey there, Case," he mumbled, his voice almost inaudible over the blare of the jukebox.

"Hey yourself, Bruce." Case knew that silence was the best way to go in these situations. Make them wait for you to start talking, and they inevitably started talking themselves.

And Bruce was no different.  When he looked up into the mirror that lined the back wall and caught a glimpse of Case's bearded, black-leather clad form hulking, terrifying, at his bar, his silence lasted no longer than thirty seconds. "Listen, uh, Case."  He turned, and Case could see he was struggling to keep his voice steady.  "The storm kind of fucked things up for us. One of those idiot kitchen workers left the heat off in the back room, and we had a water pipe burst. So uh, had to pay to repair that and uh, shit, uh, now I'm short on your fee."

Case remained silent, watching as Bruce struggled with himself. "But, I don't want you to go thinking that your presence is unappreciated," the bartender stammered, holding up his hands.  "Can I interest you in some other form of payment, maybe?"

Case grunted.  "I'd prefer money."

Bruce looked up excitedly. "You say that, but what if I could promise you even more money in the future?"

"Sounds like bullshit."

"It ain't. Look, come with me a sec."

"Rather just get my money and leave."

"I promise you, it'll be worth your while."

Case sighed as he slid from his stool. It was a break in his routine.  But he supposed it was worth at least seeing what the man was offering before he beat him down. He followed the man into the back room with his fists tense and ready.

Lexi

Ingrid was barely even moving, picking her way so slowly down the poorly shoveled sidewalk that I kept having to pause and wait. That didn't help my increasing nervousness.

I should be studying,
I told myself.
I shouldn't be in this neighborhood
. It was loud here, and in spite of the cold, there were still people milling about. Homeless people mixed with the hurrying college students. Steam rose from the vents in the street and I could smell the stink of the sewers permeating the area. The noise of the train on the elevated track above us startled me so badly I almost tripped. "Come on, Ingrid, why did you wear those shoes anyway?"

"The streets of Philadelphia are my runway," she announced loftily.

I rolled my eyes. She was walking more like a newborn baby foal than a fashion model. "You told me this was just going to be a little get together. Why did you need to be in runway mode?"

She tossed her head. "I'm always in runway mode," she announced, just as she pitched forward and caught herself on my arm with a dainty squeak.

"Those shoes...."

"Were worth every penny.  Look at how amazing they are." She twisted her foot around in a circle.

"Very pretty," I muttered, but then I had to laugh. This was just so absurd. "Just hold on to me, please," I patted her arm. "My ugly boots have tread at least."

Both of us slowed down as we neared the party house.  My heart hammered in my throat.  "This does not look like a small get together, Ingrid."

It looked like something you'd see in the movies.  People spilled out onto the snow-covered entryway of a three-story house that nestled snugly between two high rises of student housing. The front porch was packed full of people taking a smoke break and laughing loudly. "Did you take me to a frat party, Ingrid?"

I expected her to scoff at me but when I looked at her eyes I saw she was just as surprised as I was. "I don't know, my friend told me it was just a get-together."

"You mean you've never been here before?"

"Noooo...." She drew out the word in a hesitant sigh.

"So you were taking me to meet a group of people you don't even know?"

She paused for a second, worry flashing in her eyes before she shook her head  and seemed to make up her mind. "Come on, Delaney," she grabbed me again.  "This will be good for you."

I let myself be led, feeling increasingly silly as I saw the partygoers. Everyone seemed so much more sophisticated, so much more grown up, so much more fun than I ever could be. I felt like at any moment someone would come up to me and demand to know what I was doing here. "You are not a fun person, Alexandra Delaney. We know you're just an impostor. Get out."

I am a fun person
, I told myself.

I tried to believe myself.

Ingrid led the way in through the front door, shamelessly throwing elbows to clear a path for us. This steamy heat of bodies pressing up against us felt good for a mere moment before I started to sweat.

"Where do you think I should throw our coats?" I shrieked into Ingrid's ear.

"Fuck if I know!" She bounced up and down to the music with a wild look in her eyes. "Stop worrying so much!" She scanned the room, bright eyes shining, and I tried to feel some of her excitement as I gazed across the sea of faces that I didn't know. She had nearly completed the entire circuit of the room when her whole body went stiff and her jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

She was completely rigid, and staring as if she had seen a ghost, or some other mythological creature. I looked where she was looking.

Ahead of us the crowd had parted like the Red Sea, and all eyes were on a leather clad man, his jacket open to reveal a bare torso underneath, glistening with sweat and a patchwork of tattoos. He was holding a keg out in front of him, his face contorted with exertion. I was momentarily terrified until the crowd answered his roar with a deafening cheer as he lifted the keg high above his shorn head.

"Crash is here," Ingrid breathed.

"Who is Crash?" I asked stupidly. It was pretty clear that this tornado in front of us could be no one else.

"He's an absolute legend. I've heard stories but I've never seen him myself." She licked her lips a little. "No one ever mentioned how sexy he was. Damn, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Indeed I was. He looked like some sort of dangerous wild animal, frightening yet beautiful. His head was shaved nearly bald, exposing the ridges of his scalp that was crisscrossed with a network of fine white scars. Dark heavy eyebrows set off his intense blue eyes. He wasn't much taller than I was, but his compact power made him seem absolutely huge. He ripped his leather jacket off, and threw it to the floor, standing there with his glistening bare torso revealed for all to see. I suddenly wanted to lick my own lips. His rippling abs were unlike anything I had ever seen in real life. I lifted my hand slightly, then put it down, embarrassed at how much I wanted to reach out and run my hand along those ridges and valleys.

"Who is he?" I demanded.

Ingrid blinked several times then shook her head as if to dislodge a fantasy. "They say he is some sort of bad ass biker dude, and he is completely batshit insane. He like, lost half his brain in a bike accident, and now he can't feel pain or something."

We both watched him for several more moments, as he whooped wildly, gripping a whiskey bottle by the neck and dancing with the girls that surrounded him. I felt a twinge of jealousy out of nowhere. "Do you know where the drinks are?" I asked Ingrid.

She looked at me with a lopsided grin. "Now you're talking, Delaney." She grabbed my arm and hauled me through the crowd towards the back kitchen. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me!" she called sweetly, as she shoved people aside.

"Remind me never to get in your way," I muttered.

With one last push. Ingrid broke through the ring of bodies that blocked the way to the keg, and laughed in triumph. "Well I've had my workout for today!" she practically screamed, then turned to the bored looking frat type that stood watch over the keg. "Two please," she said. Sweetly.

"Did you pay?" he glowered.

Ingrid shot me a crooked smile. And with one quick movement, she flashed the guy. His eyes went wide. "Okay then!" he grinned. "Two cups for my new best friend!"

"Don't say I never did anything for you, Delaney." She sipped her foamy beer, "That guy was totally not my taste."

"I'm forever in your debt," I smirked, and raised the red cup to my lips. The beer was mostly head, and it tasted awful.

Ingrid must have seen my sour face, because she grinned. "Yeah this tastes like piss," she agreed. "Let's go see if there's anything better." She grabbed my hand again, and hauled me back through the crowd. I was buffeted by sweaty bodies that jostled my drink, spilling half of it on the floor.

"Where are we going?"

"Dunno.  Somebody, somewhere has to have some liquor."

I thought for a moment. "Crash does."

Ingrid stopped short, then slowly turned to face me. "You just get more and more interesting, Delaney.  Yeah," she smiled, "let's go see if we can get drunk with the biker dude."

"Well when you put it like that…" I hesitated.

But she was already dragging me out towards the back porch. Just as she was about to slide the glass doors aside, we heard a whoop go up from the huge crowd that had assembled there. Everyone was looking upward, and a chant of, "Do it! Do it! Do it!" rose up.

"Say my name!" came the roar from above.

"Crash! Crash! Crash!" the crowd cheered.

I looked up to where everyone was staring and gasped. Crash was on the roof of the kitchen, clad only in his jeans and boots. He lifted his arms above his head, waving what looked like a baking sheet above his head, and the roar of encouragement only grew louder. "Crash! Crash! Crash!"

He looked down at our upturned faces, and his eyes locked on mine. "If I do this, you have to kiss me as reward!" he suddenly called, pointing directly at me.

Everyone turned to look at me, and Ingrid squeaked. Grabbing my hand in hers, she lifted it over our heads. "She will!" she screamed to the bouncing figure above us.

"Hey!"

"What is he even going to do?"

"Why do you care? If you don't kiss him, I swear to God I will never speak to you again," she hissed. "Oh my God, you lucky bitch."

"Give me a countdown!" Crash called to us. "From five!"

I watched, dumbfounded, the roaring in my ears drowning out the roaring of the crowd.  He bounced lightly on his toes, clapping his hands across his chest to psyche himself up and stay warm.  When the count reached one, I froze.

He ran headlong to the edge.  As he leapt out into nothingness, he swung the baking pan up under himself, then tucked his whole body over it.  He landed perfectly on top of the huge pile of snow that had been shoved up to the fence line, skating down the slope gracefully, rolling off just before he crashed into a cement wall. He flopped onto his back, steam rising from his torso as he lay panting.

We all paused, then the simultaneous cheer rose to a deafening shriek. "Crash! Crash! Crash!"  Three in the crowd separated from the pack of us and went running out into the snow with a bottle of whiskey.

He rose with a shout and poured it down his throat.  "You!" he cried.

He was pointing at me.

"Hey! Good luck charm! You promised me a kiss!"

The crowd roared and I was jostled forward until I had no choice but to step into the snow.  "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" they cried. 

He sat in the snow and grinned at me, almost sheepishly, a look of boyish delight on his face completely at odds with his menacing look.  He looked eager and happy and I couldn't help but smile back.  When I reached him, he yanked my arm, pulling me down so I landed ungracefully into his lap.

"What's up, I'm Crash," he smiled.

"Lexi," I panted.

"Bottom's up, Lexi!"  He jammed the whiskey bottle between my lips and before I could protest, the burning liquid flowed into my mouth.  I had no choice but to swallow over and over again, the fire flowing out from my belly and permeating my limbs.

I sputtered and quick as a wink, he caught the dripping liquid as I choked, covering my mouth with his own and swallowing the last dredges.  I froze in complete shock and he took his opportunity to snake his hand into my hair and pull me down close to him. Numb with the whiskey and the attention, I let him probe my mouth with his searching tongue.  His touch mingled with the wooziness of bourbon and I felt like I was spinning and flying at the same time.

With a gasp I pulled myself free.  "Fuck!"

He let go obligingly and sat back grinning in the snow.  "Fuck!" I repeated, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"The thought crossed my mind." He licked his lips.

"You are completely insane."

"So they tell me."

"You're going to die of exposure out here.  Aren't you cold?"

He looked down at his bare chest in mild surprise.  "Yeah, I guess."

My mothering instinct was drowning out every other instinct I had.  "Let's get you inside where it's warm."

"Help me up."  He waved his hands helplessly, and even though I had just seen him pull a death-defying stunt, I still fell for it.  I offered him my hand...

And he yanked me back down again.  "Girl, you can keep me warm just fine right here."

This time I was ready for his kiss. Or I thought I was.  The bourbon slowed my reaction time, so that when I thought I was about to push him away, in reality I was moving my hand languidly across the snow.  By the time I had mustered my wits enough to realize this, the thought of resisting him didn't make sense anymore.

It had been ages since I had been kissed like this. The tentative pecks from the past were nothing, not even close to the wild, animal hunger in Crash's kiss.  He possessed my mouth as quickly and neatly as if he had belonged there my whole life.  It was all I could do to keep up with the mad swirl of his tongue as he broke down my defenses.  Our bourbon-laced tongues met, sparred and finally mingled as I surrendered to him there on the snow covered back lawn.

But when his mouth moved down from mine, down onto my throat, trailing on to my neck and under my sweater, I finally found myself.  "Wait," I half gasped, half shouted. 

"What for?" he murmured into my neck.

I pulled back.  "One, I don't know you.  Two, it's freezing out here.  And three, there are a billion people watching."

He looked over to the hooting crowd on the porch.  "Not quite a billion," he smirked.

"You know what I mean."

"No, " he pulled himself to his feet.  "Not really.  But I ain't the type to fight with a girl."

"I'm not a girl."

He fixed his eyes on my chest.  "Coulda fooled me."

I reddened.  "You know what I mean, I'm a woman, dammit."

"Same thing."

"Oh my god."