Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (4 page)

To my dismay, he pulled away from me, breaking the kiss.

“I gotta go. My dad's waiting in the car.” Ace cleared his throat, dragging his thumb down my lips. “I love you, Brooklyn. I always will. Be good.”

Before I could say anything, Ace put his hood back on and jogged down the hallway. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull off one of my heels and chuck it at the back of his head. I wanted to pick up the hem of my stupidly complicated gown and take off running after him. Anything.

But I didn't.

It took me a while to realize that my feet were moving again. I floated down the hallway and back into the gym, the jewelry box still in my hand. The music had been turned down and the dance floor emptied. I looked around me with glazed eyes, noticing the mob of students huddled up by the foot of the stage.

“And the Bay Valley Prom King and Queen of the Class of 2005 are...Ace Warner and Brooklyn Cunningham!”

“
Oh my god, Brooklyn, congrats!
”

“
I knew you'd take that crown, girl!
”

“
Brooklyn? Brooklyn, it's you! Get up there!”

Nodding, I wandered through the raining confetti and past the hooting crowd, making my way to the stage on my own.

Chapter Four:
Ace

2016

With my face still buried in my pillow, I swung out an arm and groped the nightstand for my phone.

“'Lo?”

The dial tone droned in my ear.

Grunting, I rolled onto my back and unlocked my phone. My thumb hovered over my phone, but one look at the screen and I jolted upright. And right as I sat up, searing pain burst through my throbbing head. I fell back like a drunken see-saw.

“Son of a bitch!”

I balled up my fist and punched the side of the nightstand. An empty pizza box and my hula girl lamp toppled over. As I looked around my room, my eyes started to water from the fumes of stale liquor. It must have been coming from all the beer and vodka stains on the carpet.

Kneading my forehead groggily, I reached for my phone again with my sore hand.

18 missed calls. 29 unread messages. 3 new voicemails. It was 5:30 in the afternoon. The game ended over 2 hours ago.

I groaned, tapping into the voicemail notification.

“
Where are you, man
?” The first message was from Hardwick. I could hear band music and the commentators' muffled voices in the background. “
We've been blowing up your phone for the last hour. The game's starting in 10 minutes. Coach is going fucking ballistic – you best get your ass over here, stat.
”

I held my breath after the beep.

“
Warner! Where the hell are you, you feather-brained-fucking-ingrate?”
Coach Myers boomed into my ear.
“If you think I'm gonna –
”

The voicemail message was interrupted by a call from Coach himself.

“Yo, Coach,” I picked up at once. My throat stung with every word that came out of my mouth. “I apologize, I –”

“
Save it, Warner. You bitch and you moan, but there's a reason why you got bumped down to second-string. I thought that would've been enough of a wake-up call, but shit, you're blowing that, too. It's one thing to show up half an hour late like you did the last 2 games, but not showing up at all?”

“Listen, Coach, I –”

“
Marvin wants to see you in his office first thing Friday morning.
”

The line went dead.

I slumped against the headboard and switched on the TV.

“
– and Whitaker scores a 25-yard touchdown with just 3 seconds left on the clock, winning the game at 23-17 –”

I turned the TV off and hurled the remote. The remote missed the flat screen by inches, hitting the wall with a loud crack before the back popped off and spit out the batteries. Gnashing my teeth, I stumbled out of bed. I had to get out of here.

I kicked aside the empty bottles in my path, shedding my clothes as I staggered to the bathroom.

After a long, icy-cold shower to wash off the stench of booze and smoke, I got dressed and headed down to the bistro across the street.

“I'll just have the usual, thanks.”

“A triple-decker sandwich with everything on it?”

“That's right.”

“You got it. Coming right up.”

I scooched over to the waiting area and started playing with my phone.

“Hey, Mister!” I felt something tugging on the end of my shirt. “I know you!”

I looked over my shoulder. My eyes dropped to the pint-sized Ron Weasley staring up at me. The freckle-faced kid wore an oversized Jets jersey and had green-and-white stripes painted to his porky cheeks.

“Hey, kid.” I slid my phone back into my pocket and turned around to face him.

“Aren't you Ace Warner?” He grinned at me, showing his missing front teeth. “My name's Timmy!”

“Yup, that'd be me. What can I do for you today, Timmy?”

“My dad and I were just at the game. Why weren't you there?”

“Ah, right.” I scratched my nose. “I wasn't feeling too good this morning, so I had to –”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“What's that?”

“Can you pass on a message to Jonathan Whitaker? Tell him I'm his biggest fan!” He mimed with his hands as he babbled excitedly. “I've got posters of him all over my room! I even dressed up as him for Halloween last year –”

“Mr. Warner, your order's ready.”

“Thanks.” I paid for my food, feigning a smile at him. “Sure, kid. I'll let him know.”

The kid seemed happy with that and finally screwed off. Dropping the smile, I headed for the exit and reached in my pocket for my ringing phone. I clamped it between my ear and shoulder, pushing the door open.

“
Warner, my boy. Guess who's back in town?”

“'Sup, Spaz?”

“
Misty and I are hitting up Sparxx tonight. You down?”

I slowed down on the sidewalk. I'd already been out 5 nights in a row this week, and to say that my ass was seriously on the line would have been an understatement. On the other hand, I was already in so deep I didn't see how another night would hurt. Might as well make it an even 6. I just had to make sure I left the club by 2 – 3 at the latest. That shouldn't be so hard.

“
Warner, you there?”

“Yeah, why not. Count me in.”

XXX

“Oh my god, you won't believe how mad I am at my roommate right now.”

The chick in front of me, Jill Something, twirled her long black hair as she spoke. She was one of those girls that sounded like she was asking you a question every time she said something. Which was just slightly off-putting, seeing as how she seemed to be a couple of years older than me.

“Oh, yeah?” I humored her, taking a long sip of my Whiskey Sour. “And why is that?”

“Ugh, so like yesterday, she left the dishes in the sink, and I was like, 'Mallory, stop leaving dishes in the sink! They better be gone when I come home! And so, I went to work, and you know what I found when I got home?”

“Let me guess – dishes in the sink?”

“Uh-huh!” Jill slurped her martini loudly, pulling a face. “God, I've had it with her. She's the worst roommate ever. She doesn't do dishes, leaves her dirty underwear all over the house, and she's always strutting around naked, too. And no, she's not hot – in fact, she's this super pretentious cow with a fake British accent. Anyway, she leaves spray tan marks all over the furniture and the white towels. Can you believe it? It's like everything bad happens to me!”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Jill rambled on.

“Oh, and right after that whole dishes-in-the-sink fiasco, I took a hot shower, went back into my room, and tried to relax. And guess what? Mallory used my Netflix account 'by accident,' and she totally messed up my queue!”

“That is tough,” I answered her dryly. “How will you ever manage to get over that?”

“Oh, don't worry about me, I think I'll be fine,” said Jill, shrugging. “But while we're on the topic, I wonder why they don't make Netflix for books. It just totally makes sense to me, you know what I mean?”

For a moment, I was speechless. I stared at her, watching as she polished off the rest of her martini. She set down her drink and looked back at me expectantly, smacking her lips. Fortunately, she had a nice rack, and those chubby peaches coming out the back of her tiny denim shorts looked real tasty, too.

“You mean...like, a library?”

“Oh, yeah. Wow, you're right. Do they even make those anymore? Anyway, I just thought of something else Mallory does that drives me completely nuts...”

I leaned an elbow against the railing, drumming my fingers to the old school hip-hop beat. Jill was still talking, but she pretty much lost me with that Netflix comment. From the second floor of the club, I could see Spaz and Misty getting down by the DJ booth.

My eyes flitted over to the circle forming in the middle of the dance floor. A blonde in tight leather pants stood solo in the center of the circle, busting out sick moves. This girl could really dance. She had this natural ability to command the attention of dozens of fired up strangers, who stopped just to watch her.

I squinched my eyes for a better look. She was constantly moving, so I couldn't really see her face, but I could still make out the toned lines of her dancer's abs under her midriff top. This chick wasn't even shaking any of her bits, but man, was she smoking. The thirsty dudes that started dancing around her seemed to think so, too.

“ – and I was like, 'If this cake isn't vegan, I'm totally flipping my shit' – Ace? Ace, are you even listening to me?”

I bent over the railing, frowning. The girl on the dance floor slid her crossed arms over her stomach and cranked her upper body to one side. I tightened my grip on the railing, watching her as she wiggled her arms, pulling herself upright. My mouth went dry.

“Ace, I said, are you –”

“I'll be right back.”

I raced down the stairs. My hands were all slippery and my heart was hammering away inside of me. But by the time I reached the landing, the circle on the dance floor had disintegrated. I poked my head over the bouncing heads in every which way, but it was too late. She was gone.

Taking a deep breath, I recollected and turned back around, making my way back to Jill.

Chapter Five:
Brooklyn

2016

“Lacey, it's okay to mess up, just keep going and remember to keep count. And Bosley, Drake, I see you – quit fooling around back there. Alright, guys, let's take it from the top!”

I aimed the remote at the portable sound system in the corner of the room. The funky intro of Ice Cube's “You Can Do It” blared out of the speakers, reverberating across the closed space. Behind me, 18 pairs of sneakers squeaked across the sprung floors as the teenagers shuffled back into position.

“Alright, ready? 5, 6, 7, –”

“Hey, Tabitha's here!”

I glanced to the right of the wall mirror. Sure enough, Tabitha strolled in through the rear exit of the studio, dragging a black suitcase behind her. She wore a corset dress in shimmering black, complete with black elbow-length gloves and a big floppy hat on her head. The formation behind me scattered and flocked towards her.

“Hey, gang! I'm ba-ack!”

Tabitha removed her stunner feline shades and raised one arm, twisting her hand repeatedly. I paused the track, grinning as I joined them at the back of the room. She gave me a quick hug and pecked me on the cheek.

“Where'd you go, Tab?” Thumper called out from the back. “What's it been, like 2 months?”

“I just flew in from Sydney – it was the last stop on the tour.” Tabitha took off her hat, revealing hair ironed to perfection and new summery gold highlights. “Whew, I am beat – still a little jet-lagged – but I'll be sticking around for a couple of weeks before I have to hit the road again.”

“Must be nice getting to see the world like that,” Maria chimed in, clicking her tongue. “Not to mention all those swanky theaters you get to perform in.”

“Believe me, Maria, if I can do it, so can you.”

“Yeah, right,” Maria scoffed. She patted the small bulge on her stomach, her lips tightened in a rueful half-smile. “I'll be lucky to finish junior year.”

“I've heard you singing Alicia Keys in the bathroom and let me tell you, she better watch out because you can definitely give that girl a run for her money,” said Tabitha seriously. There were hearty cries of approval all around. “And you can dance, too – that talent is going to take you places. Maybe it's Broadway, maybe it's not. You just keep doing your thing and don't stop. You just remember not to forget us little people when you make it big one day.”