Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (2 page)

I didn't need to be told twice.

I rolled under the bed, squeezing my bulky figure between the mattress and the cold floor. From a distance, I heard the wheezing staircase and a pair of feet thudding up the steps. Ivanka hopped back onto the bed, the springs of the mattress groaning in my ears. As she smoothed the covers, the door swung open.

Narrowing my eyes at the slit of the bed skirt, I could make out the short, porky figure of Sam Gunther on Ivanka's vanity mirror.

Gunther was a multi-billionaire, but that's the last thing you'd have guessed if you saw the dude. There was barbecue sauce all over his Hawaiian shirt, which were the only things that fit him, and all 3 of his chins were unshaven. On the other hand, the man was pushing 75, but he was redder than he was wrinkled, so he didn't look a day over 60. 

I balled up my fists and held my breath, inching to the right and away from the slit. Sweat was leaking out of every pore, and my heart was going off like a ticking bomb in my ear. All I could do was pray to whatever god was listening.

If Gunther spotted me now, I might as well kiss this career goodbye. Ivanka and I had been doing this on and off for a little under 3 years now, so this was bound to happen sometime. In truth, I could only blame myself for coming this close to the edge of the grave – I dug it in the first place. This was what I got for sleeping with the wife of Sam Gunther, sole owner of the Detroit Daggers.

I wasn't exactly proud of boinking another man's wife, but Ivanka's always told me he's a prick-and-a-half, which makes it loads easier for me to stick my prick in his wife. And while we're at it, drop my load in her, too. Gunther had been the team owner for years, but I'd never personally met the man, save for a handful of times at season-end parties and award shows. He always hung around the bar and kept to himself, knocking back one bottle of
Bombay Sapphire
after the other. If the world worked right, Ivanka would have divorced the emotionally abusive degenerate years ago, but Gunther made her sign a prenup and forbade her from working.

Gunther set down his luggage and took a heavy step towards the bed.

“Hi, darling. You look nice tonight –”

“Why are you home so early?” Ivanka barked. The mattress creaked above me. “You said you were coming home on Sunday.”

“Yes, I did, darling, but I – ”

I couldn't even see Gunther, but I could feel the man deflating. My left eye started to twitch, the way it did when I smelled fish. Something wasn't right.

“But you what?” Ivanka demanded. Her lies were as smooth as her angelic hair. “I was getting ready to meet Antonia and them for a girls night out, and now I'm going to be late. Now instead of getting ready, we're here arguing –”

“No, no, no arguments here.” Gunther sounded resigned. “I'm sorry, darling, I should have called first. I can arrange for one of the choppers to bring you downtown if that's where you're going.”

“No,” Ivanka replied moodily. She sniffed. “You have done enough. Just leave me alone tonight and go sleep in the guest room. I won't be home until later, and I don't want to have to try and fall asleep with you snoring like a hundred trains next to me.”  

“Of course, I wouldn't want you to lose any of your precious beauty sleep.” Gunther made a limp swat at humor, but it was just plain sad. “But darling, I came home early to surprise you. We haven't spent any time together in months, and I miss you. I've booked a trip for us to Milan tomorrow, just you and me –”

“Absolutely not. You did not think to consult me about this? I – I've already made plans with the girls – we are taking the jet to Jamaica for the weekend.”

“Ah, but darling, do you think you could reschedule?” The man's patience was admirable. “We haven't been intimate in more than half a year –”

Not gonna lie, if they couldn't see me, I'd be slithering out from under the bed and right on out of here.

“Can you blame me?” Ivanka snickered frostily. “Have you seen yourself?”

I blinked, gulping to relieve the scratch in my throat. My ears were ringing, disbelieving of what they'd just heard. Gunther said nothing.

“Well, alright, I'll be in the guest – hold on. Why are there 2 champagne glasses on the nightstand?”

I screwed my lips shut, bracing myself.

“Clarisse was doing my hair this morning and I offered her a drink. Is it a crime now to be polite to my guests?”

“No, I was just –”

“Will you please get out of the room now, Sam? I said I'm going to be late!”

“Of course. Sorry. Have fun tonight, darling.”

Gunther crossed the room to kiss Ivanka on the cheek.

“Okay, enough of that now. You smell like old pork.”

Gunther left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. I waited as Gunther's footfall faded down the hallway and out of earshot. Ivanka pulled up the bed skirt, poking her head under the bed.

“He's gone.”

I slid out from under the bed and hoisted myself to my feet. Ivanka wiggled her shoulders, catching her falling straps under her arms. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and began crawling across the bed towards me.

“Now, where were we?”

“I, uh. I think I'm gonna hit the road.” I reached behind her and pulled out my clothes from under the covers.

“What? Why? I just got rid of Sam – he's not coming back for the rest of the night.”

“Maybe another night.”

I dressed myself, pocketing my phone and keys.

“Fine, go.” Ivanka tossed her hair over her shoulder huffily and kissed me on the cheek. She brushed her palm against my cock. “Call me when you finally grow a pair. And you better make this up to me.”

“Night.”

Before I was even halfway out of there, Ivanka was back on her phone.

Chapter Two:
Carrie

6 strips of bacon sizzled in the pan as I brushed a coat of mascara onto my lashes. I leaned away from the oil splatter and flipped them over. While the bacon crisped, I pulled out the 3 rolls from the toaster oven and plopped them onto the plates on the counter, next to the fried eggs and potato hashes. I brushed my other set of lashes with mascara and glanced up at the clock on the wall.

My eyes rounded in panic, splotching my wet mascara all over my eyelids.

“Mother –”

“Good morning, Aunt Carrie.”

“Father,” I finished briskly, turning off the stove. “Good morning, Jackson!”

Jackson dawdled over and wrapped his arms around my legs, giving me a hug from behind. He opened the kitchen drawer, took out 3 sets of utensils, and began to set the table. I laid out the bacon on the plates and set them onto the place mats, ruffling Jackson's messy mop of black hair.

“Thank you for making us breakfast. It smells so good!”

“Not a problem, buddy. And thank you for setting the table.”

I scanned my nephew up and down, fighting a smile. It was pretty clear Jackson had taken it upon himself to make his own wardrobe choices today. He paired his Christmas sweater with the bottom half of his Red Power Ranger costume, and had even added a  dinosaur sticker on his chest.

I picked up his Batman lunchbox and placed it next to him before pulling up the seat across from him.

“I didn't have time to pack you a hot lunch today, but I made you some cheddar and apple sandwiches and some fruit gummies for a snack.”

“That's okay. I like cheddar and apple sandwiches.” Jackson shrugged, digging into his plate.

I flipped up his hair, feeling his forehead with the back of my hand.

“You sure you're feeling okay today?”

“I feel great, Aunt Carrie. I don't have a fever anymore, and I want to go to school. I miss my friends. But I miss Sally the most.”

“Wow. And what's so special about Sally?”

“Sally shares her Oreos with me at snack time.” Jackson drank from his Batman glass, emerging with a milk mustache.

“So, you like this Sally, girl, huh?”

“I guess, but I like her Oreos more.”

“Gotcha.” I nodded, grinning. When my eyes landed on the untouched plate between us, the smile waned. “Where's your mom?”

“Mommy is in my room. I think she's still sleeping. She must be really tired.”

Over the years, Jamie had slowly moved herself into Jackson's room, even though she had a room of her own right next to his. Apart from grabbing some clean clothes, she could go for weeks without setting foot in her own room. Jamie camped out at Jackson's regularly, sleeping on a shabby cot next to her son's bed. But with her son's chronic asthma, pitiful immune system, and his recent susceptibility to seizures, it was understandable. The lengths Jamie went to ensure her son's well-being might seem extreme to some, but at the end of the day, it was commendable.

Still, Jamie could definitely work on routine and her social media addiction. My sister exhibited some pretty damning qualities of what older folks attributed to a stereotypical millennial. Jamie had gotten pregnant when she was only 16, dropping out of high school not long after. She spent the first 2 years of Jackson's life sneaking out of the house to go underage-partying with her loser friends and left newly legal me to run back and forth to Jackson's crib while pumping out my thesis. But when Jamie turned 18, a few months after Jackson's 2
^nd
birthday, his health started deteriorating.

It was the wake-up call that finally got Jamie to yank her head out of her ass. She'd been inseparable from him since, presumably wallowing in guilt for neglecting her son for the first 2 years of his life. Thing was, with no high school diploma or any certification to her name, the best she could scrounge up was a dead end job at a fast food joint, barely making minimum wage. I picked up 90% of the bills and handled all of Jackson's medical expenses.

“She fell asleep with her phone on her face again. This morning, I took it off her and put it on the table, and I tried really, really hard to wake her up, but Mommy said she wanted to sleep some more.”

“That's okay, Jackson. Why don't you run upstairs and brush your teeth –”

“Oh my goodness! Jackson, honey, you look so cute!”

We were interrupted by a small flash to our left, followed by the irritating shutter noise of Jamie's phone camera.

“I'm not cute, Mommy. I'm 5 years old now – I'm handsome,” said Jackson matter-of-factly. He jumped off his chair, carrying his dirty plate and glass to the sink.

“Of course you are,” Jamie patronized him. She ambushed him by the sink, aiming her phone at him once more. “Smile for the camera, honey – I've got to show everyone how adorable you look today!”

Jackson tucked his hands behind him and flashed the camera his best smile.

“Mommy, are you done? I have to go brush my teeth now.”

“Yup, all done.” Jamie stooped over and kissed him on the forehead. “You can go.”

Jamie raked a hand through her blonde highlights and flumped down on her seat. She broke the yolk with her roll and munched into her bread, her eyes still glued to her phone. I gritted my teeth, clearing my throat loudly.

“'Sup, Carrie?” Jamie looked up at me, raising her eyebrows. “You know, if you insist on facing your mornings everyday with a frown like that, you're gonna get wrinkles –”

“Why aren't you dressed for work?”

“'Cause my shift isn't till 2...” Jamie leaned towards me, pointing at my face. “You know you've got mascara booger all over your eyelids –”

“I know!”

“Jeez. Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed –”

“Yeah, no, I nearly didn't wake up at all. I missed my alarm, and so did you. And guess what, you forgot Jackson's lunch – again.” I snuck another dreaded look at the clock. “Great. And now I've got 20 minutes to get Jackson to school and myself to work before my ass gets fired. You know Wattana's looking for any reason to –”

“Well, I'm sorry for being such a bad mother, but I'm doing the best I can with what I've got.” Jamie rocked back on her chair and folded her arms over her chest.

I did all I could to keep myself from rolling my eyes – I didn't have time for another one of Jamie's well-meaning, but sorely misguided “as a mother” speeches.

“I'll have you know I worked like a slave this week – 3 8-hour shifts back-to-back. I was up all night getting Jackson's fever down and I forgot his lunch for once –”

“Okay, first of all, I'm not even going to get started on how ignorant you sound right now –”

“You don't even know how hard it is for a single working mother out there, especially one working for such criminal wages,” Jamie scoffed. “It must be so easy for you to talk down to me when you sit around in a fully air-conditioned office all day in front of a computer. I've actually had to stand on my feet multiple hours a day for 3 years now, working that register, just a slave to the corporation with no chance of a promotion –”

“I wonder why that is!” My voice was dripping with sarcasm. “You show up late to work, you get called out for being on your phone all day, and you're settling! If you'd just listened to me for once in your life and just get your GED and your ass to community college –”