Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance Read online

  I swallowed, starting to relax.

  “Coach Myers here told me how you've been to practice early every day this week –”

  “As you should,” Coach added grumpily.

  “Now, after much consideration, we've decided to temporarily lift your suspension for this one game.”

  “That's – that's great news, thank –”

  “Not so fast,” said Coach, taking a step forward. He held the edge of Dubois' desk with both hands, grinding his teeth. “I'm going to be watching you like a hawk. You show up a minute late or even the slightest bit hungover, and you're –”

  All 3 of us jolted in our seats as the door flew open with a bang.

  “Pops, you can't be serious!”

  Xavier barged into the office. It looked like he'd just come in second place in a marathon. He was wheezing hard through his red, puffy cheeks, and the back of his hair looked like someone had just given him a noogie with a balloon.

  “Xavier, what are you –”

  “How can you even think about giving this asshole a second chance? After all he did?” Xavier demanded exasperatedly, his nostrils growing wider with every word. He pivoted in place, his chest swelling in Coach's direction. “And you! How fucking incompetent do you have to be –”

  “Alright, Xavier, that's enough!” Dubois pounded his fist on the table, silencing his son at once.

  “But Pops –”

  “I said, that's enough,” Dubois repeated, glaring at Xavier. “Warner, that'll be all for now.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Dubois, Coach.” I sprang up from my seat, nodding at them. “Take it easy, Xavier.”

  As the vein on Xavier's forehead bulged to the size of a licorice stick, I walked out of the office, all smiles.

  Chapter Fifteen: Brooklyn

  2016

  I closed my book and tossed it aside, checking the clock on my nightstand. Damn it. It was 2:14 AM, and I was still infuriatingly wide awake. I've already downed 2 cups of warm milk. I sat through an entire National Geographic documentary about nothing but giraffes. I'd even finished the dreadfully boring copy of “The Ladies' Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness” my mother sent me 3 Christmases ago. And still, nothing. At the end of all that, all I'd accomplished was this new desire to chuck the book into the fireplace.

  As I looked around at my bedroom, my eyes settled on the top drawer of my cherry wood vanity dresser. I threw off my covers and opened the drawer, rummaging through the rows of rolled-up panties and g-strings. When I finally found the black silk pouch, I closed the drawer and jumped back into bed.

  Though I was still torn up about my cold war with Tabitha, I didn't realize how much I'd missed my alone time. And I meant actual alone time – without having to worry about Xavier showing up in the wee hours of the night for ill-timed pleas for sex or to snoop around the property for any signs that would indicate that a man had been here. None of that. This was my me time, and no one else's.

  I unplugged my phone from its charger and found myself a video. While the video buffered, I pulled off my cotton sleepshirt and slithered under the sheets, making myself comfortable. And when the 3 naked bodies materialized on the small screen, I unzipped the pouch and pulled out an 9-inch, flesh-toned vibrator.

  I started to tease myself. As the blonde dropped to her knees, stroking the fat, veined cocks on either side of her, I pinched the growing buds of my nipples lightly. The woman's intense, unblinking eyes darted from one man to the other, watching the pleasure unfold on their restless faces.

  Wasting no time, the men hunkered down and flipped her over on all fours. The man on her left jammed his cock straight into her mouth. The woman gagged in surprise, but went to work immediately, sucking and slobbering on that pole like her life depended on it. Behind her, the man spit into his hand. He flicked it against her pussy in one swift motion and spread her moist lips apart, sliding right into her.

  Biting down on my lip, I rubbed the tip of the toy against my cunt and taunted the aching button of my clit. But as I arched my back, squeezing the toy through the tightening lips, the whistle of my doorbell shrilled through the still of the house. Startled, I yanked the toy out and threw it under the covers.

  “Who – who is it?” I closed the video, threw on my sleepshirt, and headed into the living room. “Xavier, if that's you, I'm giving you 3 seconds to leave before I call the...”

  But the second I peered into the peephole, I unlocked the door.

  “Sorry, I know it's the middle of the night.”

  Aiden stood at the other end of the doorway, surrounded by 2 full duffel suitcases and a backpack with its zippers in danger of exploding. Even with his hood on, I could see the new bruise on his cheek and the brown trail of dried blood under his nose. My fingers shook around the edge of the door, my mouth and throat suddenly bone-dry.

  “Can I crash here for a couple of days? I didn't know where else to go.”

  Nodding, I stepped aside and let him through. Aiden swung the straps of all 3 bags over his shoulders, keeping his head down as he shuffled into my living room. I closed the door and turned back around to face him. But even before he set his bags down, he hit me with another whammy that woke the fuzz on the back of my neck.

  “Ms. C? There's something else.”

  “What is it?”

  “You know that Whitaker guy – that dead football player? The one all over the news?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think I know who killed him.”

  Part 3

  Chapter One: Brooklyn

  2016

  They say that eyes are the windows to the soul. They say that if you just look hard enough, you'll see who they truly are, without ever saying a word. Thank God for that, because all Aiden was giving me was just a little more than nada.

  The first week of class, I had the kid pegged as a lone wolf. He was cool, unfazed, and seemed like the type to just go with the flow. He did his own thing and excelled in the back of the room. He didn't seem at all concerned about fitting in, and ignored whatever attention he received, which was almost unheard of when it comes to teenage boys.

  It didn't take long before I started to realize that something seemed off. Of course, I was by no means an expert on the field, but even then, I could tell that Aiden was more secretive from the walls he built around himself than he was naturally quiet. And then there was that damn striped hoodie he just refused to take off – even when the AC broke and I, along with the rest of the kids, were reduced to tank tops and rolling our pants up over our ankles.

  When I saw the bruises, I finally understood the hoodie. The lack of steady eye contact. The reluctance to approach others, and vice versa. At the same time, it brought on a barrage of new questions.

  Was he getting into fights at school? Was it his overbearing father? Could he have gotten himself involved or roped into something illegal? Could it have been drug or gang-related, and was he being threatened into silence? Whatever it was, other than his silence, he seemed resigned, as if this was enough of a regular occurrence that it was like any other day for him. It was heartbreaking, but I knew that coaxing it out of him would be far from easy. All that mattered right now was that he was safe...

  “Brooklyn? Brooklyn, you seem a little distracted.”

  “Hmm?”

  I tore my eyes away from the crooning woman onstage and turned back to the table. Dad leaned back in his stuffed chair, tilting his boxy head inquisitively. Next to him, Mom peered at me with narrowed eyes, her glass of Bordeaux raised to her lips.

  “Sorry, did you say something?” I rested my cheek against my fist, glancing back at the stage. “She definitely does Dinah Washington justice, don't you think? Shame, with a voice like that, you'd think she'd be selling out stadiums by now.”

  “Yes, well unfortunately, she is quite lacking in the aesthetics department. I don't believe they offer stages big enough to accommodate a woman of her size,” said Mom in her snooty, highbrow voice. She had this maddening and cr
inge-worthy habit of disguising the most obnoxious things with her $2 words, especially in public. As if people around us – more so servers and public servants – didn't speak perfect English. “Now, come on, eat up. Your duck is getting cold.”

  My eyes rounded at the plate of crispy roasted duck and asparagus in front of me. I didn't even realize my food had arrived. Dad was right. All I could think about was the bomb Aiden dropped on me 3 nights ago.

  Needless to say, I was stunned. A moth could have flown right into my open mouth and I probably wouldn't have noticed. When I regained my motor skills, I urged him to set down his things and left to fetch him some water. But by the time I'd returned from the kitchen, he was curled up in a ball on my sofa, fast asleep.

  Since then, Aiden had retreated right back into his shell. He busied himself with his homework, shutting out the rest of the world with his headphones. At dinner, he kept his eyes on his food, only opening his mouth when he needed salt.

  Incidentally, Aiden was already proving to be a better house guest than Tabitha was. The kid was quiet, but he exhibited exemplary manners. He thanked me after each meal, cleaned up after himself, made his bed, and always remembered to keep the toilet seat down.

  “Brooklyn, honey, please, don't eat with your elbows on the table. And sit up straight. Don't bring your mouth to your fork, bring your fork to your mouth,” Mom nagged, her mauve, bee-stung lips pressed in a tight frown. “I was afraid this would happen when you left home. It's like you never even read that book on ladies' etiquette I got you for Christmas. With gilded edges, too, so I certainly hope it's not sitting around somewhere in your tiny apartment, collecting dust –”

  “Of course, I did, Mom. I read it on the toilet all the time,” I said loudly, wiping the orange glaze from my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Good God, Brooklyn, keep your voice down –”

  “Never mind that, Barbara.”

  I was about to thank Dad for coming to my rescue, but he wasn't finished.

  “What's this I hear about you and Xavier splitting up?”

  “Right.” Taking a deep breath, I set down my knife and fork, reaching for my wine. I hadn't even had the heart to break theirs yet, but I guess they would have found out sooner or later. “I know how much you guys adore him, but it just...wasn't working out. We decided it would be best to part ways.”

  “Oh, honey. Don't you think you're being a little rash?” Mom reached over, tapping the back of my hand. Her face softened as much as her Botox allowed her. “You've been together for nearly 2-and-a-half years now. We thought it was going so well – when Xavier called us last Tuesday, I thought he was going to tell me that he had proposed! Imagine my –”

  “Wait, wait. Xavier called you?” I cocked an eyebrow, frowning. “This isn't why you invited me out to lunch today, is it?”

  “Well, of course.” The grooves on Dad's forehead doubled. He exchanged a brief, puzzled look with Mom. “Why else would I have canceled my golf day with my buddies today, other than to talk you out of this terrible mistake you're –”

  “Why else?” I grumbled, stabbing my duck. “Oh, I don't know, because you miss your daughter and you want to spend some quality time with her?”

  “Don't be so melodramatic, Brooklyn,” said Mom stiffly, cutting her watermelon arugula salad with her knife and fork. “Now, tell us, what's the problem? A relationship is all about compromise, don't you know.”

  “That's right,” Dad pitched in, nodding. “There isn't a problem that exists that can't be worked out, unless...well, please, honey. Do tell us what's wrong. We are your parents, after all. We care about you, and all we want is to see you happy.”

  “Okay.” I sighed, my fingers loosening around my fork. “Here's the thing. Things were going well for the first few months, but we've just been fighting nonstop. It wasn't all his fault, but he's been getting increasingly jealous and obsessive –”

  “Sweetheart, that just means he cares about you.” Mom gave me a small, pitiful smile, holding her hand over her heart. It was the kind of smile you gave to an idiot.

  “I highly doubt that. It just – trust me, Mom. It took me way too long to realize that it wasn't normal. But when I found out he was cheating on me, I had to end it –”

  “Was that it?” Dad cried. He relaxed against the back of his chair, bursting with relieved laughter.

  “What?” I breathed, shaking my head. “Cheating on me with multiple women for over a year? Probably the whole time we were together?”

  “Oh, honey, what did you expect?” Mom asked breathlessly. She clutched onto Dad's arm, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “Xavier is young, wealthy, and devilishly handsome. It's completely normal for a man to want to explore his options before he settles down for marriage. Isn't that right, Hal?”

  “Your mother's right. You have to understand, Brooklyn – you're looking at this at too narrow of a scope. Things are different when you're rich. Love isn't as black and white as it's often portrayed on those sappy movies and books you loved so much as a teenager. Those stories often come from poor, working-class folks with, frankly, not much else to look forward to in life.”

  “Precisely.” Mom tittered some more. “And here I was thinking that Xavier had run into some kind of problem with the estate, or that his father was cutting him off. Maybe it's time you apologize –”

  “Wow. You guys can't be serious?”

  “Of course we're being serious,” Dad snapped, clearly miffed. “Your 'problems' with Xavier, on the other hand – wait, Brooklyn, where are you going?”

  I grabbed my purse and rose to my feet.

  “Thanks for lunch, but I've lost my appetite. I'll see you guys later.”

  “Oh, now, honey, wait!”

  Without bothering to look back, I gave them a half-assed wave and headed for the exit.

  Chapter Two: Brooklyn

  2005

  “Hey, Brooklyn! You look lovely tonight.”

  I lowered my phone, glancing up at the sound of the deep, cheerful voice. A bald, bull-necked man stood before me, dressed in a black dress shirt and a pair of red-and-black plaid suspenders holding up his pants. I slipped my phone back into my pearl clutch, smiling back at him.

  “Thanks, Mr. Hill. So do you. Love the suspenders!” I put my clutch down on the drinks table and ladled up some fruit punch for him. “There you go.”

  “Oh, hey, thanks!” Mr. Hill took the red cup from me, looking around at the gym. “So, where's your father?”

  “He's running a little late, but I'm sure he'll turn up soon.” I sounded much more convinced than I actually was. I widened my smile for good measure.

  “Of course, of course.” Mr. Hill hid his mouth behind his drink. He didn't sound entirely convinced, either. “I'm sure he will.”

  “Hey guys, what are we talking about?”

  Tabitha joined us at the punch table, her lace-up army boots clicking against the polished gym floors. She wore a strapless petal dress with an embroidered black skirt and a red-and-black plaid bodice that matched Mr. Hill's suspenders. Next to me, Mr. Hill's face lit up.

  “Tabitha! Great. There you are.” Mr. Hill passed me off to her awkwardly. “I think I see some shrimp at that buffet table over there, so I'll catch up with you girls later.”

  “See you later, Mr. Hill.”

  “It's really nice of Mr. Hill to come out today.” I smiled, watching the man shovel shrimp onto his plate happily.

  “I think so, too. He's my favorite of all of Aunt Tracy's boyfriends,” said Tabitha with a small, sad smile. “He rescheduled with a college buddy who was in town tonight. He even asked Aunt Tracy what I was wearing and went out to get those suspenders so we could match. I just hope he lasts. My aunt works all the time, so I don't know where she finds the time for all these guys, but she goes through them like I go through Twizzlers.”

  “Aww, that's sweet.” I felt a sting of jealousy, but I kept smiling, anyway. With everything Tabitha's been thro
ugh, she seriously deserved it.

  “Your dad's still not here, huh?”

  “Nope. He's not answering my calls either, so looks like he's a no-show to –”

  Before I could finish my sentence, my clutch started to vibrate. My eyes widened at once. I popped my clutch open and grabbed my phone.

  “Oh my god! It's Dad!”

  “Well, there you go!” said Tabitha brightly, nudging me on the elbow. “And you were all worried. He's probably walking over here as we speak.”

  I grinned, flashing her a thumbs up as I walked off into the corner, answering the call.

  “Hey, Dad!”

  “Hey, sorry, Brooklyn. I've just seen the missed calls.”

  “No problem,” I chirped, tugging on the ends of my bubblegum-pink dress. “Are you here? Do you need me to come pick you up?”

  “Oh, no, I'm afraid not. I'm at St. Paul's for the christening of one of my client's nephews.”

  “Oh. But you are on your way, aren't you? It's okay if you're late, I mean, better late than never, right?” I laughed, but it sounded strangled.

  “Sorry, Brooklyn, but I don't think I'm going to make it. There's still the luncheon at the Park Hyatt afterwards.”

  “But Dad, this is the last school event I'm ever going to have before I leave for college –”

  “I'm sorry, honey, I don't know what to tell you. I was going to call you a few hours ago, but I got a little busy. You're a big girl – you understand, don't you?”

  “Yup. I understand perfectly. But that doesn't mean –”

  “Great! I knew you'd understand. Listen, sweetheart, I have to go now. You have fun at that party. I'll talk to you later!”

  I clenched my jaw at the sound of the dial tone. And of course, with impeccable timing, the lights of the gym dimmed. A young guy with shaggy black hair and a hoop earring strode up to the microphone stand, adjusting his collar.