Shot Caller (A Bad Boy's Baby Novel) (7 page)

“So,
let me get this straight,”
he
says slowly, pacing back and forth across the boardwalk, “You, Poppy Abrams,
are a trainer for the Empire.”

“Correct,”
I confirm.

“The
Empire, meaning the club I just signed on to play for.”

“Yes.”

“OK.
OK…”
he
says, pausing to mull things over.

“You
doing all right over there?”
I
ask him, folding my arms, “Do you need me to get a pen and paper so I can spell
it out for you?”

“Nah,
it’s just…”
he
begins, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rakish smile, “That’s gonna
make things difficult for you. Seeing as you’ve never been able to resist
spreading your legs for me.”

I
wouldn’t be surprised if actual steam started pouring from my ears at Maddox’s
shitty, arrogant, presumptuous remark. Without another word, I turn on my heel
and march back toward my house, letting the screen door clatter shut behind me.

“See
you at practice, Ms. Abrams!”
Maddox
crows after me, finding this entire thing hilarious, of course.

I
storm off into my house, peering through the window as Maddox lopes away,
chuckling to himself. The nerve of that man, assuming that something is going
to happen between us. And all because
I
can’t resist
him
. Just
because that happens to be
true
…

“Oh
god,”
I
whisper, sliding down along the wall until I land hard on the floor. “What have
I gotten myself into?”

Chapter Seven

Poppy

Thankfully,
that’s the last time I end up alone with Maddox Walcott for the whole first
week of training. Though the team is hard at work training on the pitch every
day, I’m still getting a broad lay of the land behind the scenes from my boss,
Barry, and the manager Chris Glover. I’m something of a last-minute hire, so I
have to cram a year’s worth of research and training into a few short weeks. I
guess Mad and I are in the same boat, in that sense. I’m so busy and distracted
by my work that for the first week on the job, I barely have any time to think
about Maddox Walcott, or our close encounter on the boardwalk last week.
Already, that scene of Maddox walking out of the fog toward me on the deserted
stretch of beachfront is starting to feel like a dream.

On
Friday afternoon, at the tail end of my first full week on the job, I’m sitting
in my office in the Empire’s training facilities when I hear the heavy doors
leading toward the pitch slam open. A chorus of raised voices ring out through
the hallway, yelling and cursing angrily. I leap out of my chair and rush into
the hallway to see what the hell is going on. At first, all I can make out is a
pack of men, jostling and lunging down the hallway. The entire coaching staff
and a good amount of the team seems to be involved in whatever is going on. But
despite the commotion, I can still discern pretty quickly who the ringleader
is.

Maddox
storms down the hallway, keeping a hand pressed to the side of his head. He’s
been hurt—the entire left side of his face is streaked with blood. And he’s not
the only one who’s been injured, either. Hadrian Barlow, the team’s captain, is
marching alongside Maddox, clutching his own skull, but on the right side. The
two men are shouting obscenities at each other as they barrel down the hallway,
straight toward me. Their coaches and teammates try to keep them separated, but
I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them came out swinging at any moment.

“What
happened?”
I
ask Barry, as he trots ahead of the pack to reach me.

“These
two cracked skulls going for the same header,”
he tells me breathlessly. At sixty
years old and sporting a burgeoning beer belly, Barry isn’t in the best shape
to keep up with two brawling twenty-something athletes.

“We
should separate them,”
I
tell Barry, watching as Chris Glover places himself bodily between his two
sparring players. The last thing he needs is for the coverage of our home
opener next week to be dominated by how many black eyes the team is sporting.

“That’s
for fucking sure,”
Barry
replies, shaking his head, “I’ll grab Barlow and bring him into an exam room to
wait for the medical team. You do the same with Walcott.”

I
whip around to face my boss, feeling my cheeks go red. “You sure you don’t want
to deal with Walcott? I know how stoked you are to have him here—”

“This
is no time for going star-struck, Miss Abrams,”
Barry snaps, hurrying over to the
team’s captain, “Just grab Walcott and calm him the fuck down.”

I
square my shoulders and march toward the fray. Maddox Walcott is grinning
devilishly at Hadrian Barlow, who looks like his head is about to explode—and
not just because of his fiery orange hair, either. I can see in an instant that
this isn’t a real two-sided fight. Maddox is just taunting Barlow. It’s a power
move. This is classic Mad Man Walcott—he was pulling this shit all the time in
the Premiere League. When he wasn’t busy breaking people’s noses, he was
fucking with their heads like a pro. It figures he’s good at mind-fucking as he
is actual fucking.

“Come
with me,”
I
order Maddox, grabbing hold of his ripped arm.

He
shakes off my hand without even glancing at me, watching as Barry tries to get a
hold of Barlow. Undeterred, I reapply my grip, digging my fingers into his
thick, muscled arm with a bit more intensity than is strictly called for. That
gets his attention. He looks down and sees me standing beside him, and I will
myself to stay focused even as I take in his gorgeous, sweaty face. He must
have had one last growth spurt after I saw him last, because I don’t remember
having to crane my neck quite this far to look him in the eye. He’s got to be
6’
4”
by now, an even foot
taller than me. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him get away with his
usual bullshit. Not with me.

“Let’s
go, Mad,”
I
go on, tugging him down the hallway, “I won’t say it again.”

“Aw,
come on. We’re just havin’
a
friendly little spat,”
Maddox
grins, jerking his head toward Hadrian, “Isn’t that right, mate?”

“Fuck
you, Walcott!”
the
captain bellows, fuming as Barry leads him away, “You cockney piece of shit.”

“The
only proper kind of shit to be, my friend,”
Maddox calls, flipping him off while the
coaches have their backs turned. Just before Barlow can come charging back at
Mad, Barry wrangles him into an exam room and closes the door.

“Real
fucking mature,”
I
mutter to Maddox, who strides down the hall toward a room of his own.

“What?
It’s not my fault if the prick can’t handle a little bump on the head,”
Maddox shrugs, shucking
off his tee shirt and letting it fall to the ground.

“You
know we don’t have any maids on staff, right?”
I say coolly, nodding at his dirty
laundry, “What, did you never learn how to pick up after yourself?”

“By
the time I had anything to pick up, I could already pay someone else to do it
for me,”
he
grins, sitting down on the exam table as the medical team arrives.

I
step back to let the doctors do their work. Maddox has a nasty cut on the side
of his head, and definitely needs stitches. He is absolutely unperturbed as the
medical team fixes him up. I don’t see him wince even once. I let my eyes
wander along his bare torso, telling myself that my gaze is purely
professional. As if. Maddox is far more built than when I last knew him. He’s
an absolute tank these days, made entirely of pure, hard muscle. It’s clear
that his strength comes from living and playing hard, not spending hours
toiling away in the gym.

That’s
the kind of body my ex-husband Jason had—all superficial strength, nothing that
ran deep. No strength of character to speak of, either. He kept himself just
fit enough to attract a lady on the side whenever he wasn’t “getting enough”
from me. I wasn’t even
all that surprised when I found out that he’d spent the four years we’d been
together sleeping with other women. Just disappointed, in him and myself both.
I’d married him to try and attain the normal life my parents always wanted for
me. I wanted to show the world that I was capable of “having it all”—that
shitty myth we women are taught to buy into. Nobody ever asks men how they
balance their work and home lives, but no one is surprised when a husband
cheats because his wife “works too much”.

But
any thought of Jason is pushed from my mind as Maddox arches his back, sending
a ripple through his impeccably cut muscles. He’s far more heavily tattooed
now, too—with full sleeves and additional pieces inked across his chest and
back. I’m seized with the desire to memorize each and every one of those
tattoos, study them up close. As close as I can get…

“There
we go,”
Becca,
one of the medics, says as she packs up her bag, “Good as new.”

I
stand up straight, snapping myself out of my daydreams. “Great. Thanks so much
for patching him up.”

Becca
and her assistant take their leave, letting the door shut behind them. It’s
just me and Maddox alone again. He swings his legs over the side of the table,
facing me straight on.

“So.
You were dispatched to babysit me then, is that it?”
he grins, “Make sure I
stay on my best behavior?”

“Something
like that,”
I
tell him honestly, “You and Barlow both needed a time out.”

“What
Barlow needs is for someone to pry that steel rod out of his arse,”
Maddox barks, “How he
expects to play in that state is fuckin’
mystery to me.”

“Cut
the shit, Mad,”
I
shoot back, taking a step toward him. “You’ve been antagonizing Hadrian since
the second you got here. I’ve been watching you guys all week, remember? You’re
trying to prove that you’re better than he is.”

“I
am
better than he is,”
Maddox
points out.

“You’re
teammates, Walcott,”
I
go on, “Don’t you get that? Trying to put him in his place is just exhausting
the both of you. You’re going to end up playing worse if you keep wasting
energy bullying your captain.”

“My
worst is still good enough to outdo these MLS twats,”
he scoffs.

“I
hate to break it to you,”
I
reply, planting my hands on my hips, “But you’re one of these MLS twats now,
too. Thanks to your illegal extracurricular activities, this is your league
now. And you know what? It’s an
awesome
league. Better than ever. You
should be grateful that MLS even agreed to take your gangster ass. God, are you
so fucking pompous that you don’t even realize what a miracle it is that you
even get to play professional soccer? Some people would kill for that
opportunity. Myself included.”

“What’re
you talkin’
about?”
he shoots back, brow
furrowed, “You’re a physio.”

“It’s…Nothing,”
I tell him, shaking my
head. “I’m not here to lay my life story out for you, I’m here to make sure you
didn’t injure anything else out there. Apart from Barlow’s dignity, that is.”

“Yeah.
I did do a number on the poor kid,”
Maddox laughs.

“Aren’t
you two the same age?”
I
ask, stepping up to the table.

“Technically
speakin’, sure. But he ain’t seen half of what I have in life,”
Mad tells me.

I
glance up at his face, and watch as a dark cloud rolls through his gray eyes.
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard him mention his troubled past. I wonder
what the story is? No time to pry now. Forcing myself to stay professional, I
give him a good, thorough examination, checking to see that he’s in good shape.
Well, of
course
he’s in good shape, but…
you know what I mean. And though I
make it through my physical without grabbing hold of that fine, chiseled ass of
his, I’d be lying if I said that my mind was fully present. Maybe I should try
and find a local booty call and work through some of this pent-up sexual
energy? It has been a minute since I’ve gotten off with anything but my trusty
vibe.

“Does
anything else feel bruised? Sprained?”
I ask Maddox, reluctantly taking my hands
off his body.

“Nah,”
he says, “Fit as a
fiddle.”

“Except
for the stitches in your skull,”
I remind him, cocking an eyebrow.

“It’s
nothing,”
he
shrugs, “So am I free to go, or what?”

“Sure,”
I tell him, “Just let me
know if anything starts to hurt.”

“Will
you come kiss it better if it does?”
Maddox asks, “Cause if so, I can suggest a
couple places that need tending to.”

“Oh,
I’m sure you can,”
I
roll my eyes.

“I’m
serious, Poppy,”
Maddox
goes on, rising to his feet, “What’ve I got to do to get your lips on me
again?”

I
try and suppress the shudder of sensation that runs through me as Maddox takes
a step my way. I lean back against the counter, staring up into his suddenly
ravenous face.

“You’re
not gonna let this drop, are you?”
I murmur, glancing over to make sure the
door is securely closed. I can still hear the team and staff moving along
through the facilities. Someone could walk in on us at any second.

“Don’t
plan on dropping it, no,”
he
growls, running his hands down my arms. “I’d back off if I knew you didn’t want
me. But since that’s clearly not the case…”

“How
can you be so sure?”
I
shoot back, feeling goosebumps rise along my arms in the wake of his touch.

“Because
I can feel it in you,”
he
says, “Fuck, I can practically taste it…”

In
one swift motion, he’s grabbed me by the waist and tugged me forward. He pulls
my hips to his as he wraps his hands around the small of my back. I plant my
hands on his hard chest, trying to catch my breath.

“Say
it,”
Maddox
urges, holding me tightly against him, “Say you still want me.”

“Of
course I still want you,”
I
whisper. There’s no use lying to this man—he can see right through me. “You
have no
idea
the things I want to do to you…”

A
low groan rises up from his throat, and I nearly give in right then and there
as I feel his cock hardening against my eager body.