Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (6 page)

“Come on, dude,” I kept my voice leveled, but my face was heating up, and it wasn't from sun. “Let him be. The guy's already lost his job and his family. Who gives a shit what he does behind closed doors –”

“That explains why Leibowitz was on that diet,” said Whitaker loudly. “Dude was probably trying to drop a few sizes so he could fit into his wife's clothes –”

I wasn't sure how it happened – one minute, I heard Whitaker's voice, and by the next, my vision turned red.

I'd already walked in front of him, but I whirled around on my heel and lunged at him. We wrestled to the ground, rolling around on the grass. For a second, the rush of adrenaline muted my headache and took control of my limbs. I finally pinned him down underneath me, holding his arms still with my leaded legs. But as I raised my fist over my head, 2 arms swooped under my shoulders and dragged me off of him.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Whitaker growled. He shoved off the guys trying to help him up and pushed himself off the ground. “It was a fucking joke –”

“Warner! Whitaker! What's going on over there?”

Our heads simultaneously turned at Coach's gravelly voice. No one breathed a word. I cracked my neck from side to side and dusted myself off.

“Just goofing around, Coach.”

“Well, you better get your goofy ass over here, then, 'cause Marvin wants to see you.”

I exhaled jaggedly, my shoulders slumping. It was only Tuesday. This couldn't have been a good sign. I could see Hardwick flashing me a worried look from the corner of my eye, but I looked straight ahead and marched right on to the clubhouse.

Chapter Seven:
Brooklyn

2016

“So, I said to Miller, 'What do you mean, you think you saw a goose? We're 40,000 feet in the air! You better lay off the mini-liquors if you want a ride back home on my jet, because if you keep this up, you can fly commercial and join the other schmucks in Economy!'”

Mom and Dad doubled over, their exaggerated peals of laughter ringing across our private section of the restaurant. Xavier leaned back in his chair next to me with a pleased smile on his face, brushing a hand through his wavy almond-brown hair. I reached for my glass of burgundy with a tight-lipped smile.

“What a delightful story, Xavier,” Mom trilled. She dabbed at the nonexistent tears in the corners of her eyes and fluffed her bleached beehive. “I'm sure your friend behaved himself after that. I can't imagine having to squeeze in with so many people – it's like sardines in a can! Not to mention eating that garbage they serve them.”

“Up until I was 12, and my sister, 14 – we didn't know Economy class actually existed.” Dad added, bragging about his ignorance proudly as he swirled the wine in his glass. His terrible ramen-noodle toupee slid around on his head as he spoke as if it was trying to escape from its master. All that money and he still couldn't get himself a decent hairpiece. “We thought it was something that only existed in the movies. My sister even shed a few tears when she found out – Winona is such a sensitive soul.”

I sputtered, nearly choking on my wine. Sensitive soul, my ass. Aunt Winona was a pill-popping, judgmental witch most relatives avoided at family gatherings, but hey, she was family.

“She sounds like a treat,” said Xavier as he cut into his rib eye. “I would love to meet her. Perhaps we can all set up a date for a little getaway – I have a splendid summer home in the Hamptons that's been dying for some company.”

“What a fabulous idea!” Mom simpered, fingering her triple-strand pearl necklace. “Let's do it sometime soon – I've been stuck here for almost a month!”

I knew Xavier was hamming it up for my parents, but I couldn't help but feel like he seemed just a tad too comfortable with all this bravado. I was just grateful we were all seated in our own room – I might probably die from mortification if others were listening in to the mind-blowingly shallow conversation transpiring at our table.

My parents have never seemed to master the concept of “inside voices.” It never occurred to me what a problem this was until 3 years ago, when a journalist at a neighboring table recorded one of my parents' Sundates in a live-tweeting session that went viral. I've been gingerly suggesting that they request for the most private of tables ever since.

“What do you say, honey?” Mom reached across the table and patted my hand with a cold, rigid hand, almost as if she was afraid I could be hosting some kind of contagious disease. “I don't think we've had a family vacation in years – not since you started at Slater Oakridge.”

“I'll try, Mom, but I've told you this – it's not just Slater Oakridge, I can't just leave when I want to –”

“She's right, Barbara – leave the poor girl alone,” said Dad, grinning at me knowingly across the table. “Would you believe that? My little girl playing with the big boys on Wall Street. Just be thankful she's not wasting her life with something absurd – imagine if she chose to became a teacher or took up some public service job –”

“No, Dad, that's not it either, but thanks.” I pinched my lips and laced my fingers together. “What I was about to say was that I can't just leave when I want to – who's going to run the studio while I'm gone, make sure all the kids are there –”

“Oh, honey.” Mom touched her chest. Her pointy nose and lips twisted like she'd just swallowed a sour grape. “You're not still doing that silly project, are you? Shouldn't you be putting this money away instead of you wasting your time with those hoodrats –”

Xavier must have noticed my tensed shoulders and the color rapidly draining from my face.

“With all do respect, Barbara, though I don't understand it myself – if this is what my Brooky-bear wants to do, I say let her do it.”

My heart swelled for a brief moment, but promptly deflated when Xavier continued.

“Let her work it out of her system – she's bound to get tired of it, someday. You know how women –”

“Anyway.” I cleared my throat and straightened up in my seat. “How's Grandpa Lou doing? Is his body still weak from the chemo?”

“It's unbearable to watch.” Mom lowered her eyes, her orange-red lips quivering. I softened at the wobble in her voice. “My father was a hunter, a man's man – now he's this tiny, shrunken little thing. Those machines are the only thing keeping him here today.”

“I'm sorry, Mom, I –”

“You know, honey –” Mom talked over me, fluttering her spider-leg lashes. “Your Grandpa Lou has always wanted to see you walk down the aisle –”

“Please, Mom, not right now –”

“I have a feeling Grandpa Lou may just get his wish much sooner than he thinks,” said Xavier airily. He leaned back, draping an arm over my chair.

“What's that now?” I blurted, gripping the edge of the table.

“Oh, my!” Mom gushed, clutching onto Dad's arm. “Isn't that exciting?”

“Brooky-bear, you've hardly touched your food.” Xavier rubbed the back of my rigid neck. “Is something wrong?”

“I – sorry – excuse me. Nature calls.”

I rose from my chair, tucking my clutch under my arm.

“Now, Brooklyn, that's not very ladylike –”

Mom's disapproval fell on deaf ears as I picked up the pace and headed straight for the bathroom. I opened my clutch and dug around for my pack of slim menthols. I picked up the dirty habit in college and kicked it when Xavier and I got together, but I still kept a spare pack laying around as an occasional stress-reliever. I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that this was one of was one of those moments.

“Holy shit. Brooklyn, is that you?”

That voice. I was frozen to the spot, my hand glued to the door handle. My mind went blank, as if it wasn't sure how to process what it had just heard. At the same time, a flurry of warmth and resentment battled inside of me.

“Brooklyn?”

“Yeah?” I tore my hand off the door handle and spun around as nonchalantly as my body allowed me to.

I had taken the time to brace myself, but my knees still knocked together at the sight of him.

“Ace?”

I licked my dry lips, touching the warm sides of my face with the back of my hand. 11 years later, and he was still as handsome as ever. Ace had gone from a cute, lovable high school jock to a strong, sexy beast of a man. He'd grown his dark hair out, which was pulled back in a loose man-bun, and he now sported a full, viking-like beard. My eyes darted to the silhouette of his bulky, toned arms bulging through the sleeves of his tight-fitting black shirt.

“You cut your hair,” said Ace softly.

His slightly crooked smile prompted some serious tongue-biting on my end.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did,” I mumbled, raking a hand through my straight, shoulder-skimming hair. “Got it cut before I started at Slater Oakridge. Thought it might make me look a little more professional – anyway, not important.”

“Damn. Slater Oakridge, huh?” Ace crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to the men's bathroom door. “I never pegged you as the corporate type, but that's crazy impressive.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I smoothed my topaz-blue dress, my eyes meeting his apprehensively. “So, what brings you to Peachtree Gardens?”

“I'm here for a meeting with some Vitamin Water execs for a sponsorship deal.”

“A sponsorship deal?”

“Ah, yeah. I play for the Jets – quarterback, second-string.”

“The Jets?” I repeated, my jaw hanging. “As in, the New York Jets?”

“Yep.”

“I – my boyfriend's father owns the team.”

His face darkened, a pucker forming between his thick, flat brows.

“You're dating Xavier Dubois?”

“I am. Have been for almost 2 years now.”

Ace pushed himself off the wall, taking a calculated step towards me.

“Listen, Brooklyn, maybe we should talk –”

“I gotta go,” I turned away from him, my stomach fluttering. “Sorry, I've hung around long enough. I should get back to my table.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course. You look good, Brooklyn. I'll see you around.”

My bladder squeezed when I was halfway down the hall, but I kept on going, all the while viciously cursing under my breath.

Chapter Eight:
Ace

2004

“Bay, Bay, Valley High,

Lions fired up, and we ready to fight,

Bay, Bay, Valley High,

Lions gonna take you down tonight!”

The cheerleaders' high-pitched cries resounded through the field. I slipped my head under the long strap of my gym bag and peered over my shoulder. They flaunted their over-the-top spirit, kicking out their legs, pumping their fists, and making some pretty sweet jump-splits.

When the girls disbanded, my eyes fell on the new cheerleader. She took off her ponytail and shook out her long, light-blonde hair. I scanned her up and down from afar, from the faint lines on her toned stomach to the graceful, tanned legs stretching out of her short black-and-gold skirt.

I've seen her around school before. She was also a junior and one of the smartest girls in school – enrolled in AP courses, the debate team, the works. I've seen her hanging around with the dance club, too, so evidently, the girl does it all. Naturally, we barely crossed paths, besides Shop, which we had every other Wednesday at 2.

I had to admit, I've always thought she was a stunner, but I've never been able to work up the courage to talk to her. This girl was filthy rich, fucking brilliant, and way out of my league. Put me in front of any other girl in school and I guarantee you I'll have her number by the end of 1
^st
period, no problem. But this girl – man, she was something else. I never thought you could have a thing for someone without knowing anything about them.

The girl waved goodbye to the other cheerleaders with her gold pompoms and began making her way towards the bleachers.

Her friend, Tabitha, was waiting for her on the far end of the lowest bench. She was hunched over a thick wad of papers with her earphones plugged in and iPod in hand. As she did this, she took turns belting out some musical number and scribbling notes. This took up most of her time. She was this good-looking, but weird ginger goth chick that was regularly cast as the lead role for most of the school plays. The only reason I knew her name was because we had a bunch of classes together.

“Yo, Ace, heads up!”

The second I heard that whiz of the wind behind me, I pivoted. A hard, leathery object smacked right into my raised palms. I pitched the football back to Reggie, but by the time I'd turned back around, the bleachers were empty.

“Thanks – that one got away from me there. The guys and I are gonna try and see if we can sneak in to watch
EuroTrip.
You in?”

“Nah, I'm good. My dad's going on the road to Phoenix for about a week tomorrow, so I gotta have dinner with him tonight.”