Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (33 page)

“Mm-hmm.”

“You know who I am?” I asked Daisy as Honey shuffled off. I handed Daisy her notebook.

“Miles von Weber. Everyone knows who you are,” Daisy replied, tapping her foot impatiently. “So? Is there something I can do for you, or...?”

“No, just wanted to let you know what you did for Derek – that was really cool,” I said carefully, frowning. “Wait, is it just me or am I sensing some hostility from you?”

“Wow,” huffed Daisy, laughing darkly. “You really don't remember, do you?”

“What am I not remembering, exactly?”

“You hit my dad's car two weeks ago when you were pulling out of 5
^th
Avenue. We got your plates and everything – when we took it up with the cops, they practically laughed us out of the station when we tried to press charges against you. You rich trust fund hooligans are all the same. What'd you do to weasel out of it? Whatever it was, I hope it was worth it – my dad had to cough up $5,000 to get his car fixed.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I furrowed my brows, thinking hard. “What are you talking about? When was this?”

“Two weeks ago – on the 7
^th
. You don't remember when you've rear-ended someone? How many cars have you hit since?!”

“I was visiting my grandparents in The Hamptons. I wasn't even –” I stirred as it suddenly hit me. I snickered, the pieces falling in place. “Big Rob and his cousin had my car that weekend. They must've gotten it fixed without letting me know about it. Dumbasses.”

“Uh-huh. I'm glad this is amusing to you,” said Daisy tonelessly. She adjusted her shoulder bag and hugged her notebook to her chest, turning to the school entrance. “I'm late. See ya.”

“Wait, I didn't mean –”

Daisy slipped into the school building, her sneakers squeaking down the hallway.

Chapter Two: Miles

“'
A little more than kin, and less than kind.
' The very first words uttered in Shakespeare's
'Hamlet'.
Now, who can explain the literary device in this passage?”

Even as I twisted the doorknob as delicately as I could, the back door of the classroom creaked like a sick witch's laugh.

“Mr. von Weber,” said Ms. Pine sternly without even looking at me. She continued writing on the whiteboard, the hem of her long skirt swishing as she moved. “So glad you've finally decided to join us. Why don't you take a seat, and I'll have a word with you after class.”

“Sorry, Ms. Pine.”

I slunk to the back of the classroom, slipping into the empty table between Big Rob and Allison. While Big Rob folded a sheet of yellow lined paper into a plane, Allison was hunched over, jotting down notes. She lifted her notebook and removed the piece of paper pinned underneath it, sliding it towards me. I leaned back in my chair and skimmed at the note, beaming.

“You're a life-saver, Dr. Gupta,” I whispered, slapping Allison heartily on the back.

“Don't I know it,” said Allison moodily, narrowing her eyes. “That's the last note I have. No. More. Got it?”

“Understood.”

Ms. Pine spun around from the whiteboard to face the class. Our English Literature teacher was pretty well-liked amongst her students, but she was kooky as hell. Today, she wore a floppy straw hat with plastic fruits glued around the crown. Her Big Bird-yellow skirt was patterned with cartoon monkeys snacking on bananas in different poses. It blew everyone's minds when we found out she had two PhDs under her belt.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my copy of the book, cracking it open for the very first time.

“So? Any takers?”

A hand shot up in the far left of the front row. The familiar set of thick shiny curls made me straighten up against the back of my chair. I shook my head to myself. How did I go through the last semester without even realizing Daisy was even in this class?

Maybe Allison was right. Maybe I really
was
blind to girls that didn't act like they were allergic to covering themselves up. Not that I was complaining about the school hotties – bless them – but damn. Was I that shallow?

“It's an example of verbal irony. '
A little more than kin' –
Hamlet is referring to his uncle, who we later learn is now his stepfather. The latter part of what he says is considered ironic, because he was the one who killed Hamlet's father.”

“Exactly. Well-put, Daisy. Now, if everyone will turn to page 181...”

I flipped to the page, folding the cover of the book to keep it in place. As Ms. Pine's words reduced to background noise in my ears, my eyes wandered around the room. Daisy was relaxed against the back of her seat, sitting with one leg crossed over the other. With one hand, she held her open book against her chest. With the other, she tapped her capped pen against her bottom lip.

But when I felt a pair of eyes burning into me, I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. My eyes landed on the table next to Daisy's, where Honey was seated. The chick's Tim Burton eye-makeup made her eyes look even bigger than they already were. As soon as she noticed that I'd caught onto her staring, she swiftly lowered her head to her book.

That was weird.

“Psst. Miles.”

I dragged my eyes away from Daisy's seat. Cindy Levine, the captain of the cheerleading squad, was sitting in front of me. She rested her chin on her shoulder, winking.

“What's up?”

“I had a real good time on your yacht last week. When are we having another party?”

“Huh?” I answered her distractedly, craning my neck to get around the side of Cindy's head. “Uh, soon.”

“You guys better hurry up and plan something big soon. I need an excuse to test out the new bikini my mom got me from Bali. Why don't you come by after school some time, so I can model it for you? I need a second-opinion – it may be a little too small for me...”

“Sorry, what's that now?”

“Miles. Are you even listening to me?”

Cindy picked up her pink pen from her table, biting the tip suggestively. My eyes snapped back to her as she stuck out the tip of her tongue, licking the length of her pen. She batted her lashes, swirling the pen around her parted lips.

“Ms. Levine, Mr. von Weber. Something you want to share with the rest of the class?”

Cindy popped the pen out of her mouth and turned back instantly.

“No. Sorry, Ms. Pine. Won't happen again,” said Cindy, giggling.

There was a loud snort from the front of the room. I blinked, turning to the source of the sound. Daisy shook her head, throwing me a deadly glare before whipping her head away from me.

I reached into the bottom of my bag and fished out a No. 2 pencil with a dull point. Twirling the pencil in my hand, my eyes drifted to Daisy yet again. I didn't know what it was about her. About an hour ago, I wasn't even aware she existed. Now, I couldn't keep my eyes off of her.

As Ms. Pine selected a couple of kids to read a scene from Act II, Daisy stretched her arms over her head in a yawn. The ends of her white button-down rose slightly off the waistband of her old jeans. I could see a hint of the light caramel skin on her lower back. It was just for a split-second, but it was enough to make my dick react.

The longer I found myself sneaking glimpses of her, the more I got lost in my thoughts.

Daisy was the only one left in the stark-empty classroom, packing her books into her bag. I snuck up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Pressing my rock-hard dick against her jeans, I wedged my raging boner between the shape of her ass cheeks. I pushed all her hair to one side of her shoulder, tracing her bare neck with my tongue.

She squirmed out of my grasp, turning back to face me.

“von Weber?! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

My eyes stayed fixed on hers, but I didn't say a word. She licked her lips, panting as she stared back at me. Without warning, she threw her arms around me and pulled me towards her. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, wrestling with mine. I smirked through the kiss, my hands finding their way to her full, juicy ass cheeks. As Daisy sucked on my bottom lip, I heaved her off the floor, and onto her table.

I spread her legs open, holding her by the ankles. Leaning close to her chest, I seized her left tit and licked through her white blouse wildly. When I pulled away, the fabric of her shirt was see-through with my spit, showing her innocent, plain white bra. I undid my belt buckle with one hand, letting my pants drop around my ankles. Daisy fumbled with her jeans, unbuttoning it shakily before pulling them down with her panties. Pulling my dick out of my boxers, I shoved the tip between her slippery pussy lips, and filled her whole.

As I fucked her mindnumbingly tight little cunt, my fingers slithered towards her neck. I pressed down on the soft flesh, my thumbs grazing her windpipe. I squeezed, pumping my dick faster as I tightened my grip around her neck. Her eyes widened as far as they would go, flashing with her fear and confusion. I grinded my teeth, on the verge of creaming inside of her...

“Mr. von Weber? Are you with us?”

The pencil in my hand cracked in half with a loud
snap
. I loosened my grip, the broken pieces clunking dully on my table. Along with Ms. Pine, 30 pairs of eyes veered in my direction. Allison kicked me under the table, shielding her mouth with her hand.

“
Imagery.
”

“Imagery,” I answered Ms. Pine, clearing my throat.

Ms. Pine nodded with tightened lips, turning back to the whiteboard. As I glanced at the back of Daisy's head in the front of the room, a wave of guilt crashed over me. I sunk down in my chair, sliding a head across my forehead.

Before I could wade any further in my guilt, the school bell shook the room.

All students rose at once, fighting to get out of the classroom. I headed to the doorway, where Mr. Pinciotti, one of Dad's accountants, was waiting as scheduled. The chubby, unsmiling accountant's mustache twitched as he handed me a slip of paper.

“Thanks, Mr. Pinciotti.”

“Right. Let your father know I have been trying to get a hold of him since last week.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Have a good day.”

As Mr. Pinciotti headed back to the school entrance, I walked towards Daisy's seat. Honey was hovering next to her table. She tapped Daisy on the shoulder, pointing at me wordlessly.

“Yeah?” Daisy slung her shoulder bag over her head. “What now?”

“Here.”

She took the check from my hands slowly, her forehead wrinkling.

“What is this?”
“It's $5,000. It's for your dad. If you could let him know I'm sorry about the accident, that would be great.”

“I – wait. Really?” Daisy stammered, taken aback. She tucked her hair behind her ear, wetting her lips nervously. “This is way overdue, but thanks, I guess.”

“If you'd let me, I'd like to make it up to you. Show you that I'm more than just a – what was that you called me? A 'rich trust fund hooligan'?”

“Well, I, um, stand by what I said. What do you mean, anyway?”

“My buddies and I are going to the fair at
Winfield
Boardwalk
this Friday. Wanna come with me?”

“What, like a date?” She lowered her head, arching one of her eyebrows.

“Maybe,” I shrugged, smiling. “We'll see where it takes us.”

“I – I guess?”

“Love that enthusiasm. I'll pick you up at 8.”

Chapter Three: Daisy

“I'm home!”

I closed the door to our cramped three bedroom apartment. Kicking off my sneakers, I stepped over a box of our Christmas lights and ornaments to get to the kitchen. I tossed my suede messenger bag onto the island and fetched the pitcher of lemonade Mom made this morning.

Mom was a machine, a blue-collar goddess. She woke up at 5:30 every morning like clockwork to get to
Grover Elementary
, where she drove the school bus everyday. Before she leaves, she would prepare full, nutritious breakfasts for Dad, Ethan, and me. Somehow, she managed to find the time to chop up meat, potatoes, and veggies, and dump them into the slow cooker for dinner later, too. After she dropped the kids off at school, she would rush off to her part-time job as a secretary at a tech start-up. She would be back just in time to drive the kids home after dismissal. That was her life Monday to Friday. Then, every Saturday and every other Sunday, she would pick up extra shifts as a housekeeper for wealthy families in the East Village.

After pouring myself a glass of lemonade, I pulled up an island stool. I dug around in my bag and pulled out the check from the slip pocket. Smacking my lips nervously, I laid the check flat against the granite countertop. As I sipped from my glass, I reread the fancy personal check over and over again.