Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (61 page)

“Whoa, chill, Odell. Your name never came up –”

“Who the fuck did you talk to?” Odell demanded, his fists clenching even harder around my collar.

“Look, I'm sorry. I fucked up. I told Carrie, and I was drunk –”

Odell let go of me and took a step back, his chest swelling and deflating.

“I stood by and watched you self-destruct for years, and I did everything I possibly could to talk you out of every bullshit problem you get yourself into. If you wanna go around acting foolish and end up a sad, bitter old man with no one to come home to, you be my guest. You ain't never gonna man the fuck up, and you're damn near 30. Now that's not my problem. But don't you ever drag me or my family into this, messing things up for everyone else who already got it good.”

My eye started to twitch; I knew where this was headed.

“I'd never do that to you, man. She's got no proof – none of them do. It's all talk – all we gotta do is deny this shit. Ignore it, don't talk to nobody, and ride this shit out. Let it pass. I swear on my life I'm gonna keep your family out of this –”

“You better hope to God that's the truth. I should be smashing your teeth against that curb, but that ain't gonna help me none. Difference between us is I know how to exercise my self-control, like a real man does.” Odell turned away from me, lowering his steely eyes. There was a hint of pity on the disgusted expression on his face.

“Odell, you gotta let me explain –”

“Not interested. I'm through having your back. You're on your own.”

Chapter Twenty-Three:
Carrie

“Morning, Luther.”

I set my purse onto the bar of the empty clubhouse lounge, climbing onto a stool. When I realized the only staff member in the clubhouse who ever smiled at me was giving me the cold shoulder, I withdrew my cheery smile. Luther whipped his head away from me pointedly. His bubble-gum pink spikes bounced with his naturally bouncy gait.

“Hey, Luther, what's up?”

He lowered the glass he was polishing, heaving a loud sigh.

“Yeah? What can I get for you?”

“I – nothing, thanks.” I was caught off guard by his snippy response. “I've already had breakfast. Just wanted to get here a little earlier before the guys showed up, hopefully talk to Coach Abasi. Has he arrived yet, by any chance?”

“He's not here yet.” Luther's tone was only getting snippier. He went back to cleaning the glass. “He doesn't usually get here until 9:45.”

“Oh, that's fine. I guess I'll wait, then.”

“You do that.” Luther straightened his apron, turning back to the kitchen door. Halfway through that door, his stage whisper rang loud and clear. “
Snitch.
”

“Excuse me?” I called out after him defiantly. “Hey, Luther, if you've got something to say, you're welcome to say it to my face –”

“You heard me, snitch.” Luther strode right back into the bar. The bright, sassy badges pinned to his apron clinked as he crossed his arms over his chest. “People be tripping about lawyers and how they don't have souls, but for real, it's people in the media like you who will do anything to get ahead. You're all a bunch of snakes.”

“Wow, you think you've got it all figured out, but you really have no idea what you're talking about.” I leaned on the back of my stool, breathing out pursed lips to keep my composure. “I had nothing to do with that.”

This kid just graduated high school, and like many 17-year-olds, he thought he knew everything about the world.

“So you're telling me it was pure coincidence that this anonymous snitch comes out and broadcasts all these lies about King after your ass gets here –”

“Look, I can appreciate how worked up you are by all of this – it only shows how much of a family all of you are here,” I spoke over him tonelessly. “But you need to redirect that anger elsewhere because I didn't do anything.”

“I'll direct my anger wherever the hell I please. What, you think I'm scared of getting fired?” Luther scoffed, flipping imaginary hair over his shoulders. “Sam Gunther's my uncle. I can take a dump on the bar right now and clock in tomorrow morning, no biggie. King doesn't deserve any of this. That guy's the only reason those bastards at school left me alone. He may not be perfect, but he's a good person.”

“I'm not contesting that,” I replied, though I wanted nothing more than to express the contrary. “I have no reason to –”

“Bullshit,” Luther declared, rolling his eyes. “I've got news for you, sister. The walls have eyes here. Nicole saw you and King in the locker room weeks ago. But unlike you, we know how to keep our mouths shut. We figured he must have done something to piss you off – like I said, the guy's not perfect. But to actually go out and stab him in the back like that? That's just low.”

“Holy hell, why is everyone trying to play detective with me lately? That's –”

Before I could finish defending myself on the stand I'd inadvertently wandered onto, a couple of the early birds from the team entered the room.

“You got a lot of nerve showing your face around here.” Louie Banks was the first to break the grim silence. He tossed his gear bag onto the table closest to him.

“Yeah, we ain't never called you out on none of those shady-as-fuck stories you been publishing lately.” Wyatt Turner joined in, taking the seat across from him. “But ain't you journalists ever heard of a line? And for the record, the only reason I'd gone on that drinking binge at Burning Man 2007 was 'cause my daughter, Lana, just died. So thanks for that.”

“Wyatt, I'm so sorry, but I didn't –”

“Don't be a jackass, Turner.”

Val came through the doors, dressed head to toe in casual Ralph Lauren. With his moussed hair, polo shirt, shoulder cardigan, and leather sneakers, he certainly did not look like he was on his way to practice. He approached me, the only one out of the bunch to not act like I was carrying some kind of deadly disease.

“Lana's the avatar of his daughter on Fantasy Ferrum,” Val explained. He placed his bag onto the stool next to mine.

“Oh. Of course.” I sank back into my stool, choosing not to react as Luther scowled at me before disappearing into the kitchen.

“I hope you're not taking anything they said to heart.” Val went around the bar and fixed himself a glass of lemonade. “They're King's boys, and his immaturity tends to rub off on them.”

“I won't, thanks.” I nodded gratefully, resting my chin on my propped up fist. “I've tried to lay low for a week, hoping that maybe things would cool down a bit. Apparently not. And I've still got 2 weeks to go in this place.”

“Well, I'd like to apologize on behalf of my team, anyway. If it helps any, I could try and talk to the guys for you, maybe get them to lay off a little.”

“Thanks, but I think I've got it. It's not the first time I've had to deal with grown men acting like children on the schoolyard.” I said the last remark especially loudly, eyeing Louie and them coldly from my seat.

“Duly noted. Now, I'd hate for you to leave this place on such a sour note. We're not all jerks here. How 'bout I take you out for dinner sometime so I can prove that to you?”

“Dinner? I – I don't know –”

Right that second, Kingsley decided to show up at the lounge. He saw me, but he was adamant in not looking my way as he joined Louie and the gang. I turned my attention back to Val and plastered a smile on my face.

“You know what? Dinner sounds great. I'm free this coming Friday, after 7.”

“Good. It's a date.”

XXX

“Hi, Aunt Carrie!”

As I hung up my purse on the back of the front door, Jackson rushed me from behind. He fastened his little arms around my knees. The scratchy polyester from his brown sleeves felt so prickly against my skin.

“Hey, Jackson. Ooh, nice costume.”

Jackson waved the branches of his arms, the plastic palms and leaves on his hat shaking along with him.

“I'm a tree!”

“I can see that. What's that for?”

“It's for a school play,” Jamie answered for him as she came out from the living room, meeting us by the foot of the stairs. She lowered her phone, looking aghast with Jackson. “There you are. We're not done yet! You promised me you'd let me take 3 more shots of you. Don't you want everyone to see how adorable you look?”

“No, Mommy,” said Jackson churlishly, pouting. “It's so hot! I want to take this off. And Alan the Architect is on right now!”

“Give him a break, Jamie.”

“Yeah, give me a break, Mommy,” Jackson repeated after me. He grinned at Jamie sheepishly before tugging on the end of my bolero. “Hey, Aunt Carrie. Where is Kingsley? He hasn't come to see me in a few days –”

“Go upstairs, Jackson,” said Jamie quietly, pocketing her phone. “You can watch Alan on my TV for a little while. But just one episode.”

“Thanks, Mommy! Bye, Aunt Carrie.”

When Jamie heard the door to her room clicking shut, she threw her hands up at me.

“What did I tell ya. Do you see what you've done?”

“Oh, pipe down, Jamie,” I snapped, kicking off my pumps. “This is not the time. Wattana's been on my case all week about that story, not to mention Sloane, everyone at work, and the whole team thinking I sold out –”

“Well, why did you do it?” Jamie retorted, her tremulous voice racked with uncertainty. “That's how you're gonna repay the man who's so selflessly helped us out –”

“Hold the goddamn phone,” I exclaimed exasperatedly. I raked a hand through my hair, pulling at my roots. “Not you, too. I didn't – but what does it even matter?! You were the one who forbade Kingsley from seeing Jackson in the first place. I don't even –”

“Well, that was before –”

“You know what, forget it. I'm not dealing with this right now.” I looked at my sister dead in the eye with a stinging chest. “I know we've been getting on each other's nerves lately, but I actually thought you, out of all people, would understand. Or at least make the effort to. But I was wrong again, so fuck me, right?”

Jamie played with the loose skin of her elbow, averting my gaze.

“Whatever. I'm going to watch Alan the Architect with Jackson. He's the only one that's got any damn sense around here.”

I ignored Jamie's attempt at an apology, trudging up the steps to join my nephew.

Chapter Twenty-Four:
Kingsley

“
Here in Tokyo, time has been turned back 2 million years. This is my report as it happens...
”

My eyes were glued to the grainy black-and-white images on the TV screen. I watched as Godzilla tore through 2 transmission towers, knocking them over like a pyramid of cards. Even as a dense fog surrounded him and he was struck repeatedly by a hail of bullets from the army barricade, Godzilla was untouched. He whipped his lumbering tail, swatting at the tiny planes buzzing past his ears.

“Enough of this.” Ivanka declared from the opposite end of the sofa. She uncrossed her legs and stood up, untying her loose silk robe. “Why don't you turn that thing off so we can start having some real fun?”

I didn't know why I'd agreed to let Ivanka come over in the first place. This chick was beyond crazy, using false allegations of rape as a handcuff to keep me in this twisted relationship. But when it all comes down to it, it wasn't all her fault. I was the one who screwed up and invited both Ivanka and Carrie to my place at the same time. Besides, I'd grown so used to sleeping with some random body next to mine that this was better than no body at all.

Ivanka draped her robe over the sofa and stuck a hand on her hip. She paraded towards me in her full naked glory. Blackmailer or not, Ivanka was irresistible. Her slender arms, small shoulders, and long, lithe legs were so dainty and feminine. Even the small moles on her stomach were scattered gracefully, marking her smooth, tight flesh. As she arched her body over me, she pushed apart the curtains of her golden hair. My eyes fell to her cute nipples, stirring from the draft in the room and hardening before my eyes.

She guided my hand over her left tit, urging me to feel her. I palmed her tit and craned my neck forward, allowing her to pull me in for a kiss. Her tongue entered my mouth gently, grazing against mine. As I shifted in my seat, diving deeper into the kiss, she retreated in true Ivanka fashion.

“Just give me a minute to get freshened up for you.”

“Don't keep me waiting too long.” I stared at the swaying apples of her ass cheeks as she walked towards the bathroom.

“I won't.”

I lifted the remote to turn the TV off when I heard a knock on the front door.

“Yo, who's out there?”

Going with the unsettling feeling brewing in my gut, I grabbed the barbell under the sofa and slowly walked to the door. I kept the barbell at arm's length and stuck one eye over the peephole. When I saw nothing there, I pressed my ear up against the door. Still nothing.

I rolled back my shoulders, bracing myself as I pulled the door open.