Play Hard: Bad Boy Sports Romance (36 page)

“We can do that too, but I need to watch this first.”

“Need to watch it, huh?”

“Yeah. Come on.”

I turned and walked back into the living room with the television broadcasting the game. It still hadn’t started, but I didn’t want to miss a single minute. I glanced over at her a moment then turned my attention back to the wall-mounted television.

“There’s only two more quarters. You can go upstairs and start without me if you want.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” she asked.

I turned and saw her eyebrows bent down and a frown on her face.

Great
, I thought as I sighed.
An emotional breakdown. Not what I need right now!

“Come on, baby. I thought you were coming over earlier when we talked.”

“I went to get coffee and got inspired. After sitting down to write, I lost track of time. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think I might be quitting the newspaper.”

“Uh huh. Interesting,” I said, not even paying close attention.

“Will you stop watching for a minute and talk to me?” she asked.

I sighed again.

“Look, I have a lot of money riding on this game.”

“You gamble?” she asked.

“Yeah, sometimes. It’s not a big deal. Well, usually. Tonight’s game is different. It’s my biggest wager yet.”

“How big?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s my money.”

“I’m just worried about you.”

She put her hand on my arm. I turned to face her. We made eye contact.

“I’m fine,” I said. “This game is a sure thing. Once I win, I’ll be relaxed, and we can do whatever you want. I’ll owe you one, okay?”

“A sure thing? There’s no such thing.”

“Not usually, but for people like me, they do come along. My guy online is always accurate. Well, mostly.”

“Your guy online?”

I watched as her frown deepened.

“Look, it’s not your money, okay? I need this win.”

“You need the win? I thought your signing bonus was huge.”

“It was, but I spend a lot of money. This house isn’t cheap.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

“I’m just renting it,” I said, feeling stupid and upset.

“You’re just renting? Are you serious?”

“Yeah. The payments weren’t too bad at first, but I’ve had so many fines and my monthly expenses are high.”

“You need to get rid of some of your so-called friends.”

“Like you?” I snapped, wishing she would shut up so I could watch the game which was starting.

“Excuse me?”

She pulled her hand away.

“You’re the one always bringing up my money. I’m just saying…”

“I’ve never asked you for money or anything. In fact, Kenneth, my real friend, found a publisher that likes my idea for a romance novel about a sports journalist, and they’re going to publish it. I bet within a year I’m making more money than you.”

Unable to help myself, I laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your publishing deal sounds fishy. What’s the company?”

“I don’t know their name yet, but it’s real. I’ll be getting my advance check soon.”

I shook my head, still grinning at her naivety.

“What?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think I’m good enough of a writer?”

“No, it’s not that at all. I bet Kenneth is just trying to impress you.”

“Whatever,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of him.”

“I’m not jealous of him. If you want a man like him, go for it.”

“Who said I want a man like him?”

“You’re the one who believes this little scheme of his.”

“How do you know it’s a scheme?”

“Well, how many romance novels have you written before?”

“None,” she admitted.

“Exactly. You really think a big publisher is going to take a chance on your first novel without seeing it.”

“Whatever. You’re just jealous. Your career is almost over, and mine is just starting.”

The announcers on the television announced the kickoff. I glanced over at the screen.

“Watch your fucking game,” she said. “I’m leaving.”

“Fine,” I said, wondering why she was being such a bitch. “Call me when you calm down.”

“I might not call you at all,” she said, walking toward the front door.

I sat down on the couch, staring at the television as the Mustangs defended against the Cheetahs. Both were impressive teams, but the guru online had said the Mustangs would come out ahead. With the outrageous odds, I stood to end up with three million dollars if they won.

They have to win
, I thought, my knee bouncing up and down as I watched the game. I vaguely remembered Andrea stopping over and getting upset, but I pushed thoughts of her aside. I
’ll call her after I win
, I reasoned. It made sense. Too much was on the line to fuck around.

TWENTY

Tony

As the game neared the end, I realized the mistake I’d made. Placing a bet had seemed like a good idea at the time, but losing half-a-million dollars on one game was not wise in any way.

My heart sank as the clock ran out on the game.
Fuck. Why did I listen to some anonymous stranger online?
The person on one of the sports forums I posted on occasionally had told me this bet was a sure thing, but it wasn’t turning out to be that at all.
Fuck!

I sat back on the couch, hoping for a miracle. My phone rang. It was Andrea. I didn’t answer it, turning my focus back to the game. Half-a-million wasn’t all the money I had in the bank, but it would be a huge hit if I lost it, especially since I’d racked up so many fines and penalties.

“Fuck,” I said out loud.

The phone stopped ringing as I sat back up, moving to the edge of the couch. My heart raced as if I was on the field myself as I watched what would likely be the final play. All the Mustangs needed to do was run out the clock. If they did, I lost a huge stack of cash.

“Come on,” I said, rubbing my hands together.

When the Mustangs intercepted the ball, I picked up the remote control and flung it across the room at the screen, breaking it. This made me even more upset. I stood up, blood boiling, looking for something to destroy. Instead of breaking anything else, I went to my private gym downstairs.

I walked over to a punching bag and went to town without gloves, which was dumb, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Whenever the anger took hold, my body became capable of marvelous feats. It was one of the reasons I did so well on the field, at least when I could control it.

After the bag, I went to a pull-up bar. Maybe Coach would change his mind and let me play during the playoffs. I had to be ready for that possibility. He knew the team wouldn’t win without me playing.

Why didn’t Andrea see the importance of my success? Her getting upset while fucking around with that Kenneth dick didn’t sit right with me. Not at all.

Fuck her
, I thought as I pulled myself up, straining with every inch. By the time I reached the top, I felt guilty for cursing her when she wasn’t around. Did she mean something to me or not? Usually exercise allowed me to clear my mind and get into the zone, but it wasn’t working.

I let go of the bar and let myself fall to the floor. Still not satisfied, I got onto a treadmill and turned it on full speed. The faster I ran, the more blank my mind became. All my problems were washed away as I sweated and concentrated on keeping up with the machine.

Half-an-hour later, I turned it off, almost collapsing out of exhaustion. My heart racing, I headed to a small refrigerator and got out a cool water. After taking a few big gulps, I walked around the huge room, trying to come down from the exercise-high.

All the while, thoughts of Andrea returned. I walked over to a shelf and glanced at my phone. Zero calls and messages. My life had been going fine before she came into it. I would be able to get back to that without her. I didn’t need any woman, let alone her.

The adrenaline and endorphin rush gradually faded as I showered all the sweat from my body in the walk-in shower connected to the basement gym. As the cool water ran over my body, I stared at my feet. Even they reminded me of her.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I had no answers for my questions. After drying off and wrapping a towel around my waist, I turned my phone off and headed upstairs to sleep. In the morning, I would get up and plan my next move. If they didn’t want me playing football, maybe I could get a job on television. I had the right look.

TWENTY-ONE

Andrea

When Tony didn’t answer my calls for whatever reason, I took my laptop into the kitchen. Sitting at the table, I wrote as if my life depended on it. As I reached a sex scene, I slowed down, unsure if I would be able to pull it off without the words sounding flat and mechanical.

I closed my eyes and thought of Tony, his powerful body and that massive cock. The memories of the orgasms he’d given me all rushed back to me at once. I became conscious of the way my nipples brushed against the fabric of my tight, green tee-shirt.

A tingling ran from my breasts to between my legs as images and thoughts of a sexual nature assaulted my senses via memory. The mere mention of Tony and his prowess at making love made me wet. I remembered the way he penetrated me, so hard and skillful.

Ready to begin, I opened my eyes and positioned my fingers over the keyboard. Words flowed as the scene trapped in my head made it to the page. I described his flat, chiseled stomach with abs straight out of a magazine. My heroine made love to my ideal image of a man.

With each word, desires grew, heightened in intensity. The rest of the world faded away as my fingers flew over the keys, creating a scene one sentence after another. As a first draft, I didn’t stop to think or wonder about the grammar or anything else.

All that mattered in the moment inspired by the muse of sex-filled prose was getting the images down. My book would need a ton of work, but I became caught up in the excitement of creation. Even a scene of a sexual nature mattered to me. Every single word.

Just as my rhythm appeared and the words flowed, my phone rang, breaking me out of my trance. Ugh, I sighed then glanced at the phone, hoping it was Tony. I saw Kenneth’s name with no photo attached to his number. I thought about ignoring him too, but I answered.

“Hey, Kenneth.”

“Hey, Andrea. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Actually, I was just working on the novel.”

“Oh no! I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”

“It’s fine,” I said, hating his insecurities. “What’s up?”

“I’m heading out to dinner, and I wondered if you wanted to join me.”

“Maybe some other time,” I said, really wanting to get back to my novel.

“I have the paperwork and your Money Order.”

“Okay, but I don’t have a lot of time. Where do you want to meet?”

“How about the Jersey Sub Shop downtown. That work?”

“Sure. I’ll see you there in about half-an-hour.”

“I can pick you up,” he said.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll meet you there. I have other plans tonight too.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“I’ll see you there in thirty.”

I ended the call and stared at the screen of my laptop. The words were a blur. Why wouldn’t Tony answer my calls? Was he done with me forever? Did I even care? He was just a dumb jock. Kenneth understood me as a writer and artist.

After a moment or two sorting through all the questions in my mind, I stood and went to throw on a baggy sweatshirt to go get a late-night sub with Kenneth. He didn’t need to see me at my best. If I dressed down, he might finally get the hint that we were just friends.

If it wasn’t for the money from the publisher, I would have refused to go out so late to see him. My paychecks from the newspaper were small. Even a modest advance would help me considerably. Part of me wondered if Tony was right about him, but I pushed those thoughts aside.

Kenneth wouldn’t lie to me about something so important. If he didn’t have the advance money, I’d know he was pulling my leg and would leave. On the other hand, if he followed through, having a bite to eat with him in public wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t like Tony and I were married.

The thought of marriage had been on my mind lately, but the more I considered everything, the more I realized Tony might not make a suitable husband. Being good at fucking wasn’t enough to vow to spend the rest of my life with someone. I wanted more.