Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (20 page)

“Good. You can go. I'll see you at practice tomorrow.”

“Definitely, Coach. I'll be the first one here.”

I headed out Coach's office. When I opened the door to leave, I heard a soft yelp. Carrie stood at the opposite end of the door, clutching her tablet to her chest. The hot image of Carrie going down on Ivanka was all I could see in my mind's eye, but I quickly recovered.

“Oh, God. You scared me.”

“You weren't listening in, were you?” I shut the door behind me, squaring my shoulders.

“What? Of course not.” Carrie snapped indignantly. An angry red swept across her cheeks. “I'm here for a meeting with Coach.”

“If you say so.” I shrugged and started to go around her, but she stepped in front of me.

“Kingsley, just wait.” Carrie took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. She curled her fingers to fists, looking like it was physically ailing her to do to this. “Whatever you're going through right now is unfortunate – it may be well-deserved, but unfortunate. And maybe we're not on the best of terms right now, but I would really appreciate it if we could keep things civil between us.”

“I am being civil.”

“Good. So you'll stop with all these rumors about me, then,” said Carrie astutely.

“I haven't said a word about you,” I replied coolly. “Whatever conclusions they came to is on them. In spite of what you think, you're really not all that important.”

“Fine. You believe whatever you wanna believe,” Carrie muttered. She sucked in her lips, dropping her gaze. “But please, keep this between us. I know you still have a couple of days to withdraw the payment for Jackson's medication, but please, don't take this out on him. He's done nothing wrong. If you and I could just work out a schedule –”

“The thought's never even crossed my mind,” I assured her, but I kept my voice leveled and emotionless. “And like I said, don't worry about the money. I'm doing this for Jackson, not you –”

“Is everything alright over here?”

Carrie and I spun around at the sound of Ivanka's voice. She had crept up behind me, her heels muted by the carpet in the hallway. I loosened my shoulders, nodding.

“Yup. Everything's great. I was just heading out.”

“And I've got a meeting with Coach, so...” Carrie placed a hand on the doorknob.

“Of course,” said Ivanka, smiling innocently at Carrie. “I hope you know I enjoyed our nice little chat in the toilet earlier.”

“Yup,” said Carrie, twisting the doorknob. “Excuse me.”

Before I could ask any questions, Carrie slid into Coach's office.

“Come on.” Ivanka slipped her fingers through mine, squeezing. When I resisted, poking my head in all directions of the hallway, Ivanka tightened her grip. “Don't worry. Everyone's gone home, even the staff. So, shall we head to your place or mine?”

Imagining Ivanka with my kitchen cleaver in her hands, my answer came without missing a beat.

“Yours.”

Chapter Twenty-Six:
Carrie

“
Kingsley wants me, and only me. I got to him first, so he is mine, simple as that. I do not know what 'no' means, and I always get what I want. This is just a taste of what's to come. Mark my words, Carrie Toussaint, if you ever cross Ivanka Svensson again...du kommer att betala.
”

Ivanka's queen bee speech had been weaseling its way into my thoughts since our run-in at the clubhouse ladies' room. I was so disturbed and intrigued by her words I looked up what the last part of her speech meant right after Ivanka left the bathroom. Apparently, she ended her speech by warning me that “I was going to pay.”

Her self-obsessed rant would have been laughable if it weren't for the fact that the 20-something-year-old woman said it with a straight face. And I mean, she meant every last word of it. It was clear the woman lived in her own world and was practically a different species. Her unreal beauty and talent intoxicated everyone she crossed paths with, and she had become so comfortable having things her way that anything just a little askew from her standards meant chaos for everyone else around her. In simpler terms, she was a high-key version of Jamie, if Jamie had money.

But when I delved a little deeper into Ivanka's history through the magic of Google, I may have understood her a little better. Ever since she was 3, Ivanka had been groomed for just about every child pageant in Sweden, with her poor family relying on her prize earnings for income. She eventually moved to the United States at age 18, pursuing a lengthy stint with softcore porn and bondage modeling, while she started her own fashion line on the side. When Tyra Slow, the nation's best-selling country-pop star, began endorsing Ivanka's clothing line, sales went through the roof. She then retired 3 years later when she married Sam Gunther. When you've come so far from absolutely nothing, I couldn't imagine the lengths someone would go to just to keep that from slipping away.

It didn't take long for me to put 2 and 2 together. Ivanka was more than most likely the “anonymous tipster” the media has yet to stop going on about. But of course, I was alone on this one, and I wasn't about to point any fingers without an inkling of proof, lest I look even more suspicious...

“Alright, ma'am, we're here. Chelsea Park.”

I fished out the fare and paid the driver, hastily thanking him as I disembarked from the cab.

As the cab drove away into the night, I swung the strap of my purse over my shoulder and looked around me. Chelsea Park was glowing from the rows of twin street lamps. The stone walkways were mottled with shadows of leaves from the tall, rustling trees. Couples, both young and old, strolled through the park, sharing laughter and private smooches.

“Ms. Toussaint?”

An older man in an old-fashioned overcoat and a matching top hat approached me. Behind him stood a regal horse-drawn carriage with a black body and gold swirls, detailing, and wheels. Vintage oil lanterns hung from every side of the body, crackling prettily as it lit up the carriage path. The horse was equally beautiful, with a flowing black mane and a a rich chestnut coat.

“I – yes?”

The man smiled, knocking on the carriage door. Val emerged from within, dressed in a suit reminiscent of the '20s and white bowling shoes capped in black leather. He even had his normally country-club hair parted and slicked back from his face. His old-timey swagger tonight was refreshing and entirely pleasant to look at. The diamond stud on his ear only added an extra touch of bad boy to his visual class act.

“Oh my – Val, what is all this?” I was flabbergasted, holding onto my chest as I drank it all in. “I thought I'd overdone it when you suggested I wear something special, but I'm starting to feel like I'm a little under-dressed...”

“You're dressed just right. You look beautiful...I mean, damn.” Val looked me up and down, even leaning back to check out my backless red pouf dress.

“I – thank you.” I lowered my eyes and flashed him a small smile, enjoying a short burst of pride and titillation at his longing gaze. “You're not looking too shabby yourself.”

“Thanks.” Val offered me his arm. “Shall we?”

I took Val's arm and followed him into the carriage. The coachman got up front, guiding the horse onto the walkway. He used the string lights entwined around the street lamps to lead the way, stopping at a cornered off section in the rose garden.

As Val helped me out of the carriage, my jaw loosened on its own accord. A dressed round table set up with 2 chairs sat in the middle of the grass. Candles on a 5-tiered holder flickered between the fancy dishware. A chef and personal server in uniform bustled behind a portable kitchen, with the breeze carrying the scent of roast beef, garlic, and freshly baked pastries in our direction. Right then, the lonely, overweight, and unloved teenager in me awoke, basking in her moment.

“I don't even know what to say. This is all so – it's brilliant.” I settled into my seat, beaming uncontrollably. “I can't believe you put this all together. And for our first dinner, too?”

“Let's just say I wanted to make a good impression.” Val grinned. He leaned back in his chair, snapping his fingers.

The server hurried over to us, uncorked a bottle of champagne, and filled our glasses.

“Impression made.” I raised my glass, clinking it against Val's.

“Salute.”

The chef brought us our appetizers – goat cheese and strawberry balsamic canapes.

“Please, dig in.”

“Don't mind if I do.” I crunched down on half my canape, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. “Mmm.”

“Right?” Val winked. “You can slow down a little. There's plenty more coming. We've got an 8 course dinner lined up ahead of us.”

“8?” I swallowed the canape. My eyes bulged even wider when a man in a tuxedo and violin stepped out from the bushes, strumming the tune to “
Fur Elise
.” “That's beautiful. Remind me, why are you single again?”

Val laughed nervously. He drank from his glass, but when his whistle was wet, his lips aligned. The corners of his eyes drooped with his reply.

“Well, I wasn't always single. I was married for 3 years, divorced for 2.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” I bowed my head, stuffing the rest of the canape in my mouth to keep myself from adding onto the awkwardness I created.

“Don't be. It was for the best,” said Val ruefully. “Xiao-Xin was just in it for the money and a green card. Found that out a little too late. But that's over and done with, and I'm not the type to dwell on things. And I mean, it's led me to you, hasn't it?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged playfully, thanking the server as he replaced our plates with chilled corn soup.

The exquisite food. The dreamlike ambiance. Val's handsomely chiseled face washed over by the candlelight. Maybe those were all to blame for romancing the moment, but I felt the warm birth of hope coursing through my body, and it was invigorating. The wounds from Kingsley's dog-like deceit were so fresh they were still hot to the touch, but I was already hopeful that they'd scar over and fade out much sooner than I'd expected. Who knows? Maybe this was life's way of catching me up on all the romance I'd chosen to neglect all my life.

XXX

“Ooh, that tickles...”

My tipsy giggles filled the back of Val's Bentley. Val scooched closer towards me, knocking on the leather partition as he kissed a trail along my right ear. The driver rolled the window up, enclosing us in our own little private room.

I rested my neck against the cushion of the headrest. My body was tingling from feel of Val's soft lips massaging the curve of my ear. I rubbed up and down his strong thighs, teasing him by inching closer to the growing bulge on his form-fitting slacks.

Val's lips slowly traveled back to mine. It didn't take long for me to melt into the sweet, sensual kiss. I grabbed onto his wrist daintily as I kissed him, tracing the outlines of the long, ropy fingers on his powerful hand.

Taking 3 of his fingers, I lowered his hand between my knees. Val caught on immediately, the corners of his mouth tugging back behind our kiss. While his tongue pushed past my lips, exploring the roof of my mouth, he drew circles with his fingers across my inner thighs. He made me wait for it, taking his time before he began to prod at my cunt through my lacy red hipsters.

I pulled away from Val, groaning as I arched my head back against the headrest. He squeezed my breast through my dress and pushed my panties aside. My fingers curled around his arm, twisting and pulling as he wiggled his middle finger into my slit. I gritted my teeth, heaving out my parted lips. His fingers did not disappoint. I could almost feel the ridges of his long, powerful finger pulling in and out of my tight, juicy folds. But as I felt his second finger prepping itself to join in on the fun, the wheels of the vehicle slowed to a halt.

I peered out the window, gently easing his finger out of me.

“Here's my stop.” I pulled my panties back up from around my ankles, smoothing my hair and dress. “I suppose we'll have to continue this some other time.”

Val frowned, but his lips swiftly retracted when I seized his wrist once more. I dried off his finger, licking up every drop of my juices. He pulled me in for another quick kiss, pulling back my bottom lip with his teeth.

“Good night, Val. Tonight was...just what I needed.”

“Night, Carrie. Call me?”

“Maybe.” I beamed, waving at him coquettishly over my shoulder. “You have a good night.”

As the Bentley sped off, I walked up our driveway with a bit of a spring in my step. I was bubbling with inspiration. All at once, I knew it was time to write my final piece for Wattana. I rummaged through my purse for my keys, eager to get behind my keyboard.

This was it – I was about to carry out the sweetest revenge of them all.

Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Kingsley

I hated to admit it, but hitting the gym downtown for my Saturday morning routine wasn't nearly as fun without Odell around. It took a whole lot of convincing to get the severely pussy-whipped Odell to start going with me in the first place. Rockwood Gym was smack dab in the middle of a modeling agency and casting company, and just 2 blocks away from a flight attendant school. Over the years, it had become my breeding ground to pick up hot, super fit chicks, both local and foreign.