PLAYED - A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE

PLAYED

A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE

T
able of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter
10

Chapter
11

Chapter
12

Chapter
13

Chapter
14

Chapter
15

Chapter
16

Chapter
17

Chapter
18

Chapter
19

Epilogue

Special
Bonus Novels:

Illicit
Behavior

Protect
& Serve

And one surprise novel you’ll have to find for
yourself (hint: scroll to the back of the book!)

Prologue

Lex

My name is Alexander Lambert, but you can call me Lex… after all,
everyone else in Great Britain does. My rabid fans, the sportscasters, and the
tabloids know me by a slightly different name: “Lightning Lex Lambert.”

You see, I’m kind of a big fucking deal.

For the last twelve years, I’ve been rising in the football world – or
soccer,
as the Americans call it, rather
incorrectly
I’ll quickly add.

I’ve paid my dues, playing in some of the most prestigious teams to
grace the great echelons of English football might: some junior teams,
Manchester United, Galaxy League, a few seasons here and there with an underdog
or two… and now the National team.

Which means one thing:

I’m a
World Cup
caliber
player.

The greatest sport on Earth, watched with borderline zealotry by over a
hundred countries, all culminating in a grand championship that draws audiences
over hundreds of millions. The sheer marketing dollars spent on that tournament
outperforms the gross domestic product of smaller countries,
every single year
, and it’s only getting
bigger and bigger.

And right there on the field?

Me.

Lex Fucking Lambert, star player and team captain of the English
National Team. I am the best of the best, a regular household name in my home
country. My signature alone is a prized commodity in the realm of sports
merchandising. Signed headshots fetch for thousands of dollars on eBay,
especially since I’ve only signed maybe twenty or thirty of them in my entire
life.

My reputation for fearless, combative ball is legendary among
discussions of the sport. When I step out under the lights and look down my
hardened, take-no-prisoners enemies on the field, they
quake
with fear.

I’m known
off
the field as
well, although
that
preceding
reputation is slightly different… and even more fun.

Let’s just say that playing it
family
friendly
is a damned good waste of ridiculous fame, staggeringly impeccable
physique, and my particular breed of effortlessly rugged features…

I might have been caught in the tabloids a few times with some hot,
nameless piece of ass. Or, you know, maybe a lot more than a few.

What can I say? I’m a handsome piece, and I know how to wear a tailored
suit… and as it turns out, the women go
crazy
for that kind of thing.

They
all
fancy a shag with
Lex.

I had it all – the looks, the game, the prestige, and the effortless,
thirsty pussy
thrown
at me every time
I walked into a bar. Life was great, and the sex on demand was even better. But
I lacked one thing, and I knew
exactly
what it was.

The
big
money.

You might have never heard of the Patrovo Corporation, but they’re a
bigger deal in Jolly Ole England than
me.

Hard to imagine, I’m sure.

Pretty much everything from top-tier, high-end sneakers to household
boxes of oat cereal are owned by some subsidiary company that eventually bows
to the Patrovo Corporation, no matter how high up the food chain you have to
go. They have their grubby little fingers in goddamn
everything
… and they dish out one multi-million dollar corporate
sponsorships to one lucky star athlete per year… the best of the best.

In case you’d forgotten… that’s me.

I
wanted
that contract with
every fiber of my being. I burned for it. Nobody else deserved it more than me.
I was already a pop culture celebrity, known and beloved by the entire country…
and I had the
skills
to back it up.

That money belonged to me.

Which made this little conversation all the more upsetting…

“You do realize
why
you’re not
getting the sponsorship, yeah?” Jess casually asked as she sipped from her
frothing pint of dark ale.

She and I were sitting across from each other at a small, private
bar-top table in my favourite pub,
The
Grinning Twig
. It was one of the few watering holes that held my authority
in such reverence that I could sneak through the back and sit in a private room
with a lips-sealed,
mum’s the word
bartender.

Jess continued, setting her glass down and wiping the froth from her
lips with the back of her hand. “I mean, even
you
aren’t that dull in the head, Lex. Surely, you’ve figured it
out by now.”

“Go ahead, then,” I growled in slight protest; I set my own glass down
against the bar with a clatter that rang a little too loudly. My private
bartender glanced up from wiping out the mug in his hands, but when it was
clear that I didn’t give a rat’s
arse
about
him, he soon resumed his work.

One look at Jess’s face, and my mind quickly changed. “Wait, no. You’re
doing that sodding smirk of yours. Don’t do the smirk.”

“What smirk?” She asked innocently, her eyes flashing wild with
mischievousness. “Couldn’t
possibly
know
what you’re talking about…”

“You’re doing it right now,” I repeated, my voice gravelly with mounting
frustration. “I
know
that smirk. That’s
the smirk you give that rambunctious, shit-assed pup of yours when he’s
misbehaving.”

Of course, I wasn’t referring to a dog. Jess didn’t own a dog. What she
did
own was a taste for men barely old
enough to move out of their mummy’s house… this month, he was a sniveling,
spineless punk wannabe.

Kept on a leash like any good dog, Timothy was a scrawny little fuck… a
wet-behind-the-ears kid just tall enough to pull off a leather jacket. Even
that
took a little convincing.

Ignoring my criticism of her fuck-buddy choices, Jess’s smirk widened,
and she reclined against the bar stool, crossing her arms.

“You
know
what I’m going to
say.”

“Let’s pretend that I don’t,” I insisted.

I didn’t like being toyed with, and she knew that. The two people I
needed to confide in at times like this were my best friend, and my publicist.

Life put both in the same fucking woman.

What a lucky sod that made me.

Jess watched me for a moment, choosing her words and judging my
reactions before finally cutting loose. “Lex, the Patrovo Corporation invests a
lot of money into proper
brand
representation. The athletes they slap on the boxes of cereal, or put in their
stupid shoe commercials, they need those athletes to protect their interests.”

“I’m well aware,” I gruffly reminded her.

Jess raised an eyebrow. “I understand that. But what you’ve got to
realize is that Brett Barker plays it safe as shit. His choice is going to be
careful, calculated, and
definitely
not
you.”

“I’m safe,” I protested, lifting my arms in protest before clasping the
fingers behind my head. “Safe as they come.”

“
Safe
doesn’t get their photos
slapped across a six-page major spread,” she grumbled, reaching into her purse
to whip out a creased tabloid. She shoved it towards me, and I lazily leaned
back forwards and rifled through the pages.

Sure, I was on the cover again. No big deal.

“I don’t see what you’re–”

Then I stopped, glancing at the photos. Seemed like the paparazzi fucks
had stalked me to a hotel balcony, where I’d been photographed with my arms
around two lovely little ladies.

I remembered them. Not their names, of course, but I recalled the three
nights of glorious, hardcore lovemaking we’d had together… and how jealous the
gods must have been in their various pantheons.

Of course, that didn’t matter now.

Not when I was staring at various blurry pictures, showing under no
arguable terms that I was kissing one with another on her knees in front of me
at cock level. In another candid photo, they were kissing for my entertainment…
and in
yet another
, they were
both
at cock level in front of me, with
my proud face held high and each palm resting on their heads...

Yeah, I’d almost forgotten how good those few days had been.
Cor blimey,
were they voracious in the
hotel bed... and in the shower… and on the balcony, as the paparazzi apparently
noticed.

“Yeah.
Safe
is the
last
word that comes to mind when I put
‘Lightning Lex Lambert’ and ‘corporate sponsorships’ in the same sentence,”
Jess elaborated. “I’m afraid your chances with Mr. Barker were tenuous before…
but now they’re shot to hell.”

“Brett Barker can ride a knob straight to hell,” I grumbled angrily,
downing the rest of my ale.

“Yeah, well, he’s your meal ticket,” Jess shrugged. “You can’t exactly
antagonize the Head of Public Relations for the entire Patrovo Corporation and then
expect to wind up his year’s pick for the cereal boxes.”

I gave a stiff nod to the bartender, who poured me another ale and
rushed it to my side. “Cheers, mate,” I offered him, and he stifled a small
smile with utmost professionalism.

“You’re my publicist, Jess,” I told her after a quick, refreshing sip.
“How do I get my big, grinning mug on a commercial?”

Jess sighed. “Do you want me to answer as your
friend,
or as your
publicist?
”

“Both, obviously.”

“Well, as your
publicist,
you
need to clean your fucking act up – and
fast.
No more of these stunts. The only reason you even have a ghost of a chance
anymore is that the entire country bloody well
loves you. You’re a national icon, regardless of the pair of lips
around your cock at any given moment. If you really want this sponsorship deal
with the Patrovo Corporation… something’s gotta give, and it’s gotta give
now.
”

I read her eyes thoughtfully, tempted to lash out about my various
trophies, athletic stats, or how vital to pop culture I already was.

But I trusted Jess.

I
valued
her.

And as an old friend and a talented representative, I let her speak to
me in ways that would earn scathing destruction under any other circumstances.