Bedding the Bad Boy (Bad Boys of Football Book 1) (4 page)

“Do you hear me, girl?” she screamed.

I hear you. The whole world can hear you, megaphone Mama.

“Yes, Mama. I hear you, but, please, let me explain. I promise you, I did not move across the country for that man or any other man. I learned my lesson, I swear,” I said.

I could just imagine the face she made as she contemplated chewing me out for falling prey to another man, especially so soon after getting my heart ripped to shreds by my ex-boyfriend.

“So, you’re sure that Malcolm isn’t the reason why you up and left your family again? You know my heart can’t take much more of this nonsense? I told you, ain’t no man, woman, or child – well, maybe your child, depending on how they were behaving at the time, worth losing your head for,” she warned me.

I stifled a chuckle. My Mama was what people in my community called a ‘tell-it-sista’ because she tells it like she sees it and doesn’t care who hears it or who it offends. “Ma, I promise you, he’s not here. I don’t know why you even mentioned his name. I told you, I never wanted to hear his name again.”

“Funny because it seems to me all I’ve heard is his name and I’ll tell you what – I used to like that name until he did what he did. Anyway, if it’s not him, who is it, then?” she asked.

“No one. Well, I mean, I didn’t move here for a man. I came here for a new job,” I explained.

“Then, why are all your aunties and your cousins calling me telling me you’re marrying some football player? You know those guys are no good? With all those head injuries and nasty heifers killing themselves to get their claws into them, their heads aren’t right. Leave that man alone. Come home now and forget all about him. Why can’t you date that nice boy from the church?” Mama asked, referring to the man she’d been trying to get me to date since I was sixteen-years-old.

“Because he’s gay, Mama,” I reminded her.

“Well, at least you know he won’t cheat on you with no tramp. No female tramp,” Mama teased.

Just as the frustration started to leave my body, my office door flung open and Beck sauntered in, looking at me with bedroom eyes. “Who are you talking to?” He asked.

“None of your business,” I snapped.

“I know you’re not talking to me like that,” Mama snapped back at me.

“No,” I glared at Beck. “Some jerk barged into my office.”

I didn’t hear what my mother said, because Beck distracted me by spinning my chair around to face him and planted a kiss on my lips.

“What are you…” I started as cameras flashed.

“Smile for the cameras. I invited them in to formerly meet you,” Beck winked at me.

“What is all that noise, Isla?” My mother asked as Beck took the phone from my hand and ended the call.

The nerve of him!

Well
,
I knew I looked good to go. I hoped she did too. The last thing I needed was to be stepping out with my new fiancée looking like she’d had a rough day. I had an hour before we were set to arrive at the restaurant. Just enough time for the paparazzi to get the pictures they wanted and make me appear to be a nice guy. All I needed was to make sure my lovely fiancée was game for it. The way she acted back at the office wouldn’t suffice for this event. Luckily, I knew how to work the media. Telling them, she was camera shy and too in love to concentrate added a nice touch to the growing narrative that would come out of this mess.
How the hell did I end up with the DA’s daughter? Why did I even bother to pay for the security detail if they were going to let me do whatever I wanted?
It was their job to vet people. Someone was going to be out of a job real soon, but first, I had to get through this romantic dinner with Isla.

“Sir, the car is ready,” Frank, my long-time driver and confidant, informed me.

“Thanks. We need to make a quick stop on the way over to her place. Where does she live anyway? Did you get an address from her?” I asked.

“No, but your assistant spoke with her. I don’t mean to step on your toes, but do you really think she’s ready for a public date?” Frank asked. He knew me too well. After having spent every day of the last several years with me, he was a good judge of character.

I shrugged it off. He’d been around long enough to know how things operated in my life. Women were inevitable. There was always a new one to wine and dine, or in some cases, to escort to a hotel suite. Most were giggling, jittery, no substance women. They acted like I was doing them a favor by spending time with them. Truth be told, I had done plenty of favors for women, but I didn’t need them to act like I had. I wanted one – at least one – to make me work for it. Getting the goods without having to ask was getting old.

“Sir?” Frank asked.

I hadn’t heard him ask me anything. “Yeah?”

“About Miss Johnson?” Frank reminded me.

“Oh, well, she’ll be fine. She’s nervous. You know how it is?” I pretended like it didn’t bother me, but the truth was, no matter how fine she was, if she blew this for me, I’d make sure she never got another job in this industry again. Hell, she could go back to wherever she came from and wait on tables for all I cared. This was about me, not her, so she could suck it up and deal with it.

Frank nodded, but I swore, I saw his eyebrow twitch. He wasn’t buying it, but like the smart man he was, he knew enough not to argue with me. He wouldn’t win. I’d toss him out of here and destroy the comfortable lifestyle, this job afforded him. I treated him well. I paid him well, but for a price. He had to remain loyal and discreet at all times. So far, he’d never betrayed that trust. I hoped that wouldn’t change because of a nervous public relations woman.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” I said, dismissing him so I could make a quick call.

“Hello?” She didn’t sound as angry as she had the last time I’d spoken to her.

“Hey, beautiful,” I greeted her. “We’ll be there in a little while. I hope you’re wearing something sexy.”

So much for her being calm. She blew up. I bit my tongue because I needed her to work with me. There would be plenty of time for feistiness later.

“Calm down. I’m messing with you. Well… maybe not. Wear something sexy, but not trashy. I need you to look like you have class,” I said.

“What? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I’m not one of your sluts!” Isla raised her voice in anger.

“Slut? I never called you a slut. Why are you getting all worked up?” I asked, hoping I could dissolve this situation before she changed her mind and ruined everything.

She took a long time to respond, but I could hear her breathing – like a dog in heat – on the other end of the line. I waited to see how she wanted to play this out. “Okay, listen and listen good. This is how things are going to work. And, I don’t want to hear one flipping word about it. Got it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.
Why was she being so serious?
This was the easy part. All she had to do was remind herself how lucky she was to be in this coveted position. I was the ticket to her future. I was about to make her a star.

After a long sigh, Isla continued, “Did you hear me or have you had too many blows to the head?”

She was good, but not quite pro level yet.

“What’s wrong with a blow to the head? I happen to like those. A lot, if you must know. And, since you brought it up – pun intended – there are plenty of women who can tell you how much they enjoyed it too. You should ask around, honey,” I said, only half-joking because I’d heard women lament on the topic for years – ever since my voice changed back in middle school.

“You’re sick,” Isla groaned.

“Nope, I’ve been tested and I wrap my stuff up. No sickness here. I can guarantee that. Speaking of that, you’re going to have to get tested before we can get down,” I warned her.

“Get down? Are you kidding me with this? I swear, you are like one of the crazy white boys who thinks because they know a black person, they’re cool. Just so you know, you’re not. No one really believes that about you,” Isla said, much to my surprise.

“Wow. Where did you learn that? In college?” I joked with her. She really needed to pipe down because I was about to get offended -- about to, not actually get offended because I loved myself too much. I didn’t have time for negativity. That’s why very few people were allowed to enter my inner sanctum. I always believed negativity in, negativity out.

“Whatever. All I’m saying is, I’m not doing this for you. This is about keeping my job that you so readily put on the line with your immaturity,” Isla reminded me.

She had it all wrong. It was time to set her straight and let her know who was actually in charge of this sham -- my ingenious operation. “Enough, sweetheart. I get that you think you have to play hard-to-get, but it’s not necessary. I’m not trying to get a happily ever after; I’m trying to get to let’s be happy now -- at least, until the media attention dies now. After that, you can put out a press release and call it all good. You’ll come out of this looking good -- better than you look right now. They’ll say you were the one that got away. Whatever. I don’t care.” I shrugged it off.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Isla started, but we were interrupted by the sound of a horn honking outside my front door.

“Look, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Be ready. And,” I stifled a chuckle because I already knew how she’d react. “Wear your hair down. I like it that way. Maybe, I’ll get to pull it later if the night plays out like it should.”

She hung up, as I expected she would, but that was the point. Otherwise, I would have been stuck on the phone for the next few hours listening to her whine about her life, my life, her job, etc.

I listened to my play list to get me in the mood as we drove across town to what most would say wasn’t the best neighborhood for a single woman alone. I liked it out there. It had grit and was so full of life, very different from the world I lived in in front of the cameras. I never spoke about it much, but my childhood was nothing like the life I now led. Well, almost nothing. I can’t deny, I always had women throwing themselves at me for as long as I could remember. From my mother’s book club friends to the lady who ran the concession stands at my touch football games, they all wanted me and I knew it, even as a kid. My mom always made it a point to warn me to watch out for them. They were like vultures is what she always said. I tended to believe her too, because that’s how they came off all the time. They wanted a piece of me because fame and fortune were coming my way.

“Here we are, sir,” Frank said as he pulled the car in front of a three-story walk-up in the center of a busy city street. “Would you like me to get her for you or would you rather I honk the horn?”

I shook my head, snickering. I figured Isla wouldn’t appreciate being summoned by a honk outside her door, so I played it safe and walked to the door to get the pretty princess with booty myself.

How I approached her now would determine how the rest of the evening would go. One false move and Isla would retreat, making a scene every step of the way.

While I waited for her to open the door, my eyes scanned the neighborhood. We’d managed to dodge paparazzi. I figured they were too busy fighting for space outside the restaurant doors. I’d had my assistant, Hannah, leak the story to my Twitter fans and, as expected, the information broke the internet. People were clamoring for a glimpse of me and this Nubian beauty – as if she and I were an anomaly.

She finally buzzed me in.

“Really? I have to walk up the stairs to get you,” I groaned as I walked through the doors and over a basket of laundry discarded under a row of mail slots. “Nasty.”

It had been a long time since I’d been in a building like this. The scene was still familiar. Food cooking in one apartment. Someone else watching the evening news in another apartment. Isla’s apartment was on the third floor. There was no noise coming from her place.

I paused outside the door, expecting her to open it for me, but after a moment, she hadn’t. I knocked on the door, calling her name, “Isla, are you home?”

“Give me a minute,” she called back. I could hear the click-clack of high heeled shoes on the wood floors.

Good, she listened to me.

When she opened the door, my breath caught in my throat. She looked amazing.

“Wow!” Those were the only words I could muster after taking her in from head to toe.

She blushed, averting her eyes from mine. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

And, in that instant, all the good thoughts I’d begun to have about her were wiped clean. She killed the moment. This was business, not pleasure for her.

“Don’t sound so excited,” I said, taking her arm in mine.

“I hate everything about this,” she groaned as she locked the door behind her. “I don’t know how to pretend to have a good time. I don’t have a poker face.”

I allowed her to go in front of me, not because I was trying to be a gentleman, but because I was dying to find out what the back of her red dress looked like. As expected, it hugged every curve.
Damn, she was making this night hard for me!

As if she could sense my eyes had honed in on her perky ass and firm thighs, she snapped her head around to glare at me. “My eyes are up here.”

I muttered, “I know where your eyes are, but I don’t care about them right now.”

Frank stood outside the car, waiting for us. His eyes lit up when he caught sight of Isla. “Good evening, miss.”

She greeted him, making small talk.

He motioned for her to get into the back seat.

“Oh, thank you. I’ve never ridden with a driver before,” she said.

I scooted in next to her, pretending to need an ample amount of room so I’d be able to feel her warmth next to me.

We drove in silence. We had to get our heads in the game.

Cameras started flashing as soon as we pulled onto the street the restaurant sat on. “Ready?” I asked her.

Her green eyes were as big as saucers. “I think I’m in way over my head,” she answered.

“It’ll be fine. Pretend they’re not there,” I explained. “They want pictures.”

Once we were seated, Isla took a deep breath. “They’re not going to come in here, are they?”

I looked around, recognizing a few of the faces seated around us. “They’re already here. Relax. Talk to me. Tell me about where you’re from.” I thought that would help calm her down, but in actuality, it looked like I’d touched a nerve.

“I don’t want to talk about that. This whole mess has my family going out of their minds. Let’s talk about something else,” she suggested.

Since she asked, I thought it only right to oblige her and change the subject. “Tell me about the last time you were in love.”

Isla gasped, her eyes growing wide. “No, definitely not. Talking about your ex isn’t a conversation for a date.”

I smiled. “So, you do see this as a date?” I teased.

Another panicked look.
What was it with this woman? Wasn’t she in the PR business?

I never got the chance to hear her admit she actually liked me because some dumbass with a camera took the opportunity to ruin what was supposed to be a perfect night. He’d moved too soon. Way ahead of schedule.

“Hey, Beck, what’s wrong? Did you run out of white women so you had to move on to a black?” He asked.

I knocked him flat on his ass. The people I’d invited to capture our romantic dinner were treated with the money maker they’d waited their whole careers for -- photos of me beating one of them. I was screwed and not in a way I enjoyed.