Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (35 page)

“She was lying. It was all Josh’s idea.”

“Honestly, I don’t know who to believe. You’ve cheated on girls in the past. Why should I be any different?”

He reaches for me, but I retreat to the back of the elevator. “No!” I shout. “I’ve had enough, okay? I do not care anymore. You want to screw around with other girls, fine, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“You’re being rash.” He’s becoming frustrated. He punches the elevator wall. “You aren’t
listening
.”

“Step aside,” I warn through gritted teeth.

He holds his head, pacing, hand out. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I haven’t slept in days. I’ve been waiting in that—”

“Jensen!” I scream. “I. Do. Not. Care. Step away or I’ll call security.”

Reluctantly, he stands to the side and I press the stop button again, the elevator clunking back into motion.

As soon as those doors open, I rush out, the pain unbearable but my need to get away greater. I flag down the first taxi I see, Jensen’s cries of “Scarlet! Scarlet!” falling away but my anger increasing with every mile.

My cell goes off when I walk through the door. I closed all the curtains before I left, my apartment dark and dusty, more like an attic than a home.

Polly: Hate to be the bearer of bad news,
with a sad emoji.

I click on the link.

The horrible news hits home. There’s a picture of Jensen and Josh at the top, a smiling Carolina between them in a bikini. I scroll through fast, but the gist of it becomes clear soon enough. Carolina details how she’s caught in the middle of a depraved love triangle with the two brothers, how sex-crazed and sick they are. I read “hard bondage” and can’t stomach any more. I’m about to turn my phone off when I notice the video link.

Don’t,
but I can’t help myself. I click on it, a sobbing Carolina dolled up telling the camera all about it, about how the twins passed her around, even shared her at the same time. She’s good, I’ll give her that, completely believable, and who knows? Maybe she is telling the truth.

I drop the phone and collapse onto the floor, holding onto the leg of a chair for support as the pain, the lies, and everything slams me down for the count.

I’ve lost myself. I don’t know who to believe or trust any more. Everything’s destroyed and dirty. It can’t be repaired.
I
can’t be repaired.

I break down completely, let the carpet grow damp under my face until the street lights come on.

JENSEN

I’m used to frustration. Six straight losses in the NCAA—that was frustrating, but this thing with Scarlet is driving me insane. I call and nothing. She doesn’t text back, doesn’t reply. It’s like she never even existed.

But I know to keep my distance, know that pressuring her will only push her further away. I can’t have that. I can’t go back to life without her. She needs time to come around. That’s all it is. She’ll come to her senses. She has to.

Day six and I stop calling altogether. The game with the Red Bulls is tomorrow, and that’s where I need to focus my energy. Sitting around in the apartment all day doing squats and body rows isn’t doing me or the team any good. I need to get my mind off her, so I put my phone down and force myself not to disturb her. Hard as it is, she has to come back to me in her own time.

She will.

*

I don’t know how, but Josh is back in form. The Bulls are giving us a run for our money, but I see weaknesses opening up on the field.

I’m dangerous from the start. I take the anger over Scarlet and convert it into purpose, use it as a motherfucking fist to push New York’s defense all over the pitch. The press called the Bulls’s front line “inspirational”, but there’s nothing new here, just the same dopey chips they’ve been running all season.

Di Mannis darts through our line ahead. I watch him snake down the side and fire a solid burner. Our goalie manages to block it with a slide, but it’s close—way too fucking close. It’s a warning.

I redouble and tag him as he plays the ball down the inside-right channel. He crosses to that lanky prick in the forty-four jersey, who makes an angled run for the byline. From there it looks like a simple trot to the net, but Josh manages to squeeze in there and shake out the ball, the mistake allowing him to curl a shot towards me. I take it with my knee and storm forward hard, easily pushing for the six-yard box.

There’s a pack of Bulls coming hot from every direction, but the line’s clear to the goal. I’m in a perfect shooting position and I take it. There’s the satisfying boom of the kick, the arc of it sweeping into the top-right, collecting the net and the Bulls goalie feet away from even getting contact. As far as goals go, it’s the Mona Lisa.

The entire stadium erupts and I can’t help but whip them up, the energy insane, lifting me. This is exactly what I needed.

There’s a clear target on my back in the second half, but I barely feel it. I’m playing the best soccer of my life. For some mind-boggling reason Di Mannis is stationed way too deep midfield. The Spaniard watches, unable to do shit as we cover every inch of the field, the inevitable second goal arriving early.

Coach is surprisingly quiet. I imagine he doesn’t want to jinx this kind of magic.

In the last fifteen the Bulls lose it completely. They knock the ball around their own box with that lazy look of a side that’s spent too much time sitting in the opposition’s half. There’s a sharp save from the New York goalie, but five minutes later we get another by him to take things to three-nothing.

We have possession in the last minute. It’s looking good. I swear the wings on my back are flapping, the air rushing around between my ears, my lungs filling and expanding as my feet weave and knit, not a single Bull able to stop me.

I come to their box. There’s a sole defender in place. It’s fifty-fifty getting it past him, but Josh is open on the right. I could do it, maybe make it four-0, but not this time. I juggle it high, Josh leaping and hammering it in with a textbook header.

He lands and rolls, a single nod in my direction of acknowledgment.

You’re fucking welcome.

Coach tries to shout over the cacophony of celebration in the players’ area, but none of us is paying any attention. A cork pops, the tart taste of champagne hitting my lips as it’s sprayed around the room, Assistant Coach Druitt ducking under his clipboard for cover.

Our goalie, colloquially known as McTwist, sweeps a Gatorade table clear and stands on it. Someone passing him a bottle. “One fucking more! Victory is ours!” he cries, pounding his bare chest with a hand and drinking with the other, releasing it in a misty cloud over the team gathered around him, cheering and whooping.

For a moment, Scarlet is forgotten. I look to the entryway half expecting her to walk through, but she wasn’t in the stands. Someone slaps me on the back, whisking me off my feet as I’m carried towards the showers, but the only thing flowing tonight is Moet.

*

Slowly, everyone empties out to taxis and rides, the players’ parking lot to remain full at least until morning when twenty bulky men in sunglasses will descend once more to claim their chariots.

I barely drank, too swept up in the win to care. Wouldn’t have been that way a few months ago. A janitor found me in the middle of the field birthday-suited up last year. Someone had written ‘free rides’ on my chest in permanent marker, an arrow leading down to my dick.

Good times.

It’s colder than I expect outside, the parking lot full as I expected, my ride waiting up the back.

Someone approaches me from the wall. I stop. “If you’re looking for a story…”

“Wait.”

I snap around. It’s Josh, walking towards me with a calculating gaze.

I drop my bag. “What do you want?”

“What do you think?”

It’s too late for this. I don’t need Josh bringing down my night. “If you want to thank me for that goal, be my guest. Otherwise, get lost.”

He stops a few feet away. “Heard Scarlet wants nothing to do with you.”

I step forward. I don’t want to hit him again, but so help me God I will if I have to. “Thanks to you.”

“For the best, don’t you think?”

“So you can steal her away? Fuck you, Josh. Why should I even waste my time listening to the shit that comes out of that asshole you call a mouth?”

“Carolina’s got video. Looks real bad for you.”

Now I know he’s bluffing. I’ve never been with her. She’s not my type—skanky, desperate. “You’re full of shit.”

“You give me twenty K and I’ll make sure it never sees the light of day.”

So it’s money he wants. Figures. Money for him, fame for his chica.

I go to prod him in the chest, but pause, tuck my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie instead. “You’re lying. You’re a fucking liar and I don’t believe a single fucking word you’re saying right now. You say she has a tape? Fucking fine, tell her to do whatever she wants with it, shove it up her ass for all I care. Me? I’m going home.”

I turn to walk away, but he’s not done. “Don’t turn your back to me, you pussy.”

I look ahead. “You want my money? You’re not getting it. Let me make this very fucking clear: I want nothing to do with you.”

In the window of a car I see Carolina step out from the shadows on Josh’s right. “That goes for the
both
of you.”

“I’ll say you raped me,” she says, shrill. I’ve never seen someone so desperate for fame in my life. Let her have it, discover on her own the kind of trouble it brings.

I shake my head, walking on. “Do what you want. You’re not getting my money, and you’re sure as hell not getting my help.” I pull out my keys. “You two are on your own.”

“Let me tell you a couple of things about Scarlet,” continues Josh.

You don’t know when to stop, do you?

I clench the keys and turn
. Leave it,
but I can’t. “You say something?”

For a second it looks like he’s going to back down, but Carolina says something I miss and he straightens up. He counts off on his fingers. “One, she couldn’t suck a cock if her life depended on it.”

He waits, lets it sink in as I approach.

“Go on.”

“Two, she cried like a fucking bitch the first time I fucked her in the ass.”

He knows he’s not making it out of this parking lot alive. Maybe that’s what he wants, but he’s committed now. He can’t back down in front of Carolina.

“Three,” he says, shaking his finger at me, “she’ll never be anything more than my leftovers.”

I’m on him so fast I can see his Adam’s apple caught, bulging in his throat as I slam him up against the nearest car, the window shattering against his back.

He’s tense, stiff in my grip awaiting the pummeling I so want to give him, but he’s not worth it. I thought there might have been a sliver of something worth saving inside, but now I know for sure he’s rotten through. The only way to deal with him now is to discard him for good and never look back—blood or not.

I put my mouth right against his ear, fight the instinct to bite it clean off. I’m aware of Carolina somewhere behind my back. I don’t trust her for a fucking second.

I get my lips real nice and close, make sure he hears what I have to say loud and clear. “You think talking about her like that makes you more of a man, like Pops?”

No response. I shove him against the window again, the last fragments glass falling away. “I was prepared to give you another chance back at her apartment, but then you had to go and fuck it all up over,” I motion behind me, “
this
piece of pussy? What makes you think she’s not using you?”

“I just need some money,” comes the pathetic response.

“Ask me for money again and I’ll…” I leave the threats. “No, I’ll tell you what. We have to play together, fine, but if you ever talk to me, if you ever try to contact Scarlet or myself again about your miserable fucking life, I’ll let Coach, the press, anyone with a fucking Radio Shack microphone know about the drugs, the booze, the mental abuse, the physical abuse. You think I don’t know?”

“I never hurt her.”

I slam him into the door again. “Bullshit! There’s probably a stash of shit in your lockers right now.”

His silence tells me I’m on the money.

“You’re high right now, aren’t you?”

Nothing.

“You hurt anyone I care about again and you’re done, for good. It will all be over. And Carolina there? As soon as she works out you haven’t got two dimes to rub together, that you just flushed your career and riches away, she’ll be gone too. You’ll be all alone, and I won’t shed a single fucking tear.”

I expect him to throw a punch, at least do something, but he simply stays in position as I back away. I give Carolina the same look and collect my bag, casually making my way to my car and getting the fuck out of there. For once, my knuckles aren’t bleeding when I do it.

SCARLET

The camera zooms in tight on Jensen. He’s smiling, clearly happy over the win, but there’s a look of resignation on his face as he scans the stands.

He’s looking for you.

Won Ton yaps on the sofa beside me. I notice his little Victory jersey is looking awfully stretched. “Might be time to cut back on those jerky treats, hey buddy?”

He looks sideways at me, yaps again and darts off to his bed. He’s not one for after-game festivities. I pick up the remote and switch the TV off. Neither am I. At least I know where
he
is directing his frustration.

My phone sits silent on the coffee table. I almost want him to call again. It’s become reassuring if nothing else. I should pick it up, face him, but it’s gone too far now. What the hell would I say?

I forgive you. I was wrong.

No, maybe there’s a smattering of truth about the whole Carolina thing, but he doesn’t know how embarrassing it was to walk into that. I have every right to be angry. He’s guilty by association.

“What do you think, Won Ton?”

You’re asking your dog? Next you’ll be hitting up the fridge for financial advice.

And then there’s Josh. Even if I wanted to go to a game, he’d be there. Carolina would be there. Everyone would be looking and scrutinizing me, Angela Barnet angling for the scoop, a pack of hungry pap wolves in her wake.

It’s a good thing it’s been so busy at the hospital. There must be a fire sale on Glocks somewhere, given the rise in gunshot wounds. A guy came in the other night who’d been shot right in the balls. Boom, right through the middle of his sack. If it wasn’t for the ghostly look of concern he was wearing over his precious manhood, I would have laughed my head off.

Manhood.

That
is something I’ve been missing. Josh was packing, but Jensen… ‘Fire hose’ doesn’t do it justice. ‘Gobstopper’ would be more accurate. And I’ve been adventurous, completely out of control sexually. It felt good to be free like that. Josh would complain nonstop about how I wouldn’t do this and that, why I couldn’t be more like Sasha Grey or Jenna Jameson. The thing is, I kind of wanted to try new things, let myself go, but the way he pestered and whined made it completely unappealing. It’s different with Jensen. There’s no pressure. The kinky stuff comes naturally.
Came
naturally, I correct.

I ignore the twitch of arousal between my legs and let them unwind below me, picking up my phone and sitting up on the kitchen counter.

Without thinking, I’ve unlocked the screen and worked my way into the call log, the pad of my thumb hovering over Jensen’s name. A day or two ago the log would have been filled with him, countless missed calls, but there’s been nothing from him in almost forty-eight hours. For whatever reason, he’s leaving me in peace.

That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?

My thumb starts to fall. Won Ton barks ‘Do it, do it!’, but I draw my finger away at the last second, the phone dropping to the counter like a cellular full stop. No, not now. Let him enjoy the win, have some fun.

I look around at the apartment, completely dark but for the flicker of headlights through the window. I haven’t left this place all day. I’m going to emerge a Cullen if I keep this up, the crazy dog lady.

I remember Josh and Jensen coming over when I first got this place. We were all fresh from college. Their deal hadn’t even come through yet. I’m not a big drinker. It takes a single shot to knock me out, but somehow we managed to make a whole bottle of Jim disappear between us that night, taking shots whenever there was a group quack in
The Mighty Ducks
. Characters high-fiving in
Top Gun
, a phone ringing in
Scream
, whenever Stifler swore in
American Pie
. It’s no wonder I don’t remember much from that period.

Then the deal came and everything changed. Overnight Josh turned into someone who was completely unfamiliar. Gone were the movie-night drinking games to be replaced with private poker parties at his new place in the Hills. Jensen started hanging out with us less and less, became a poster boy for playing the field. I should have known then how it pained me to see him with a new girl every week. I should have known there was something more to my feelings.

He might be telling the truth. I’d be stupid to rule it out, given the kind of stunts I’ve seen Josh pull in the past.

You’re never going to know if you don’t talk to him.

I wish I had an on/off switch for my brain sometimes with its stupid logic and rationalization. Why can’t I do the single thing for a while?

I look around again, the shadows growing larger, bearing down on me. I can’t take it anymore, switch on a table lamp and feel the way my chest relaxes. I can’t be alone again tonight.

I scoop up my phone and text Polly. I’ve been staying at her place on and off. It works given she’s barely there herself, the circus freak gone and yet another new man in her sights, or sheets. Maybe
she
should hook up with Jensen. The pang of jealousy that runs through me at this thought takes me by surprise, but I send it away.

With the a-okay from her, I change out of my PJs and collect my things. I stop by the fridge on my way out. There’s a single Oreo left. I take it out, hold it in my hand. I don’t even have any candles.

“Happy freakin’ birthday, Scarlet.”

*

I’m halfway to Polly’s place when she sends me another text:
Heading out, sorry. Have fun on ur bday!

I throw my phone into the passenger foot well, annoyed at being ditched on my birthday by my best friend for some random guy, but that’s Polly for you. I’m going from one empty apartment to another. I may as well be a real-estate agent.

Polly’s family is quite well off. She’s got a killer pad right up at the top of a new development by the river. You can see Atlas Stadium from her balcony. I’ve stood on it often in recent times looking at the lights and wishing I was there.

It’s funny. I never had the slightest interest in soccer before I met the Collins boys. Everyone in Rosie was big on football—a bit weird given the nearest NFL team was a thousand miles away. The two of them found a soccer ball around town, brought it to show-and-tell on their very first day at school. Suffice to say, they were not immediately the cool kids. Two months later and everyone was playing soccer, much to the chagrin of the football coach.

It takes me fifteen minutes to find a place to park. It’s freezing outside, too, and I didn’t bring a jacket. I hike up the street with my arms wrapped around myself. I hit the buzzer twice before I realize she’s not up there. I have to wait another fifteen for someone to leave the building so I can slip in.

Damn you, Polly,
I mutter, stepping up to the elevator and, of course, finding it out of order. Twenty flights of stairs await.

Hip hip hooray!

I make the last flight suitably sweaty, struggling for breath. I hunt through my pocket for the spare key, freeze for a second thinking I’ve left it down in the car, but I find it in my back pocket, sliding it into the lock and turning.

The lights are off as I enter, the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the apartment filled with spotty lights from the city in the distance, those of Atlas growing brightest.

He’s probably leaving the stadium with some super-hottie right now.

Something smells funny. My nose twitches. I want to sneeze, but hold it back.

I step in searching for the light switch, can never seem to find the damn thing. There’s something soft under my feet. I take another step forward, the floor uneven. “What the—”

The lights come on—
bam
—and all is revealed.

The normally tiled floor is littered with pink roses. They’re everywhere, a carpet of them throughout the whole apartment as I step in carefully. There are vases and vases of them on the dining room table, the hutch, kitchen bench, even hanging in bunches from the roof.

A figure steps out from the end of the hallway, blocks my way. He’s dressed in jeans and a white tee, the biggest bunch of roses yet cradled in his arms.

Jensen smiles. “Happy birthday, Scar.”

“I, I—” I stammer.
Holy hell, I’m mute.

He places the roses down. “Speechless, huh?”

I hate surprises, but I’ve got to admit, this is something special—a textbook rom-com maneuver.

I try to talk again, but the signals from my brain refuse to make it to my mouth. I nod instead trying to wipe the look of shock off my face.

He starts to step forward, hands out in surrender. “I know you don’t like surprises, but Polly gave me the heads up, and I simply couldn’t let you spend your birthday alone.”

Finally, my voice shows up. “You should be at Atlas, celebrating.”

He looks hopeful. “You watched the game?”

“Of course.”

He’s getting closer and closer. “I missed you out there. No, scrap that. I miss you completely.”

I’m being tugged towards him.

What, a couple of roses—a couple hundred—and he thinks I’m going to flip back into lovey-dovey mode? “I don’t know, Jensen…”

He places his hands on my shoulders, looks into my eyes. “Let’s talk, open and honest. Can you at least give me that?”

I nod, relenting. “Okay.”

We sit in the living room, the floral scent of the roses overwhelming. He sits opposite me, the coffee table and five vases between us. He pushes them aside, leaning forward. “A little over the top?”

I put my handbag down, looking at my baggy jeans and favorite sweatshirt. “I’m hardly dressed for such extravagance.”

“You look perfect, more than perfect.”

“I’m immune to your flattery by now.”

“Are you?” he smirks.

“You really went all out. I’ll give you that, but…” I actually don’t know how to verbalize what is keeping us apart.

“The thing with Carolina?”

I swallow. “Yes.”

“I’m going to tell you this with complete honesty, Scar, because you deserve it.”

I tighten.
Here we go.

“It was a lie. Josh and I had a run-in just now and he confessed everything.”

“Josh?”

“He was with Carolina. They approached me in the parking lot.”

“Oh.”

“I was telling the truth before and I’m telling it now. They set me up.”

“But why? If he’s with Carolina, why would he want to break us up?”

“Competition, I imagine. He can’t stand the idea that I won you, if you call it that. He’s jealous
I
got the girl.”

“I don’t know, Jensen.”

He leans forward further, eyes wide. He’s restraining himself from pleading. “Like I said, Josh had a spare key to my place. He took my phone during training and sent that text, made sure Carolina would be waiting. It was a setup and you got sucked right into it. I’m sorry you got screwed around like that, but know I would never cheat on you, not in a million fucking years. I’ve done many things in the past I’m not proud of, but when we’re together, I don’t know, it’s like lightning. I’m alive. I can’t lose that now. I can’t lose you.”

“Josh confronted you just to say this, to rub it in your face?”

Jensen stands, hands on his hips. He seems frustrated with talk of his brother. “No, you know what he wanted? Money, for him and Carolina.”

I’m a little surprised. That’s the last thing Josh needs. “Money?”

“He’s on the hard stuff, Scar. He’s gambling, doing all kinds of drugs, deep in the shit with shadowy fucking figures and he wanted me to help him out, lend him twenty grand.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“How’d he take that?”

“Not well. I threatened to go to Coach, the press if he didn’t leave us alone.”

“And what did he say?”

“Tried to blackmail me, said he had a tape with Carolina and I in it, but it was a bluff. They’ve got nothing. When they saw I wasn’t going to buy their shit, they just stood there. I made it really fucking clear I wanted nothing to do with him from now on. He’ll leave us alone.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“I know my brother. It’s different this time.”

There’s a sudden, swelling compulsion to fall into his arms, but I stay seated, still cautious. “This is a real mess. I mean, I knew it always would be, but I can’t be the one who comes between you and your brother. You’re family. You’re blood.”

Jensen comes around the side of the table and sits beside me, taking my hands in his. I can feel the heat his body is giving off, the post-game energy exudes after a win… or sex. “He’s not family any more. He said some things, really crossed the line this time. I cannot forgive him.”

We both grow quiet for a moment. They’ve always been so inseparable. I can’t imagine them apart.

My head’s starting to hurt. I let go of his hands. “This is a lot to take in.”

“Stay. Enjoy your birthday. Be with me.”