Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (48 page)

“Have a seat in the bar.” Abasi pulled up one of the stools for me. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I'll just have a glass of water, thank you.”

Abasi slid behind the bar and fixed me a beer mug of iced water.

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you on your own while I make a few phone calls in the office.”

“You go right ahead. Ms. Schwartz sent me the team's schedule earlier today. We'll be meeting again later tonight to go over some formalities. I can take it from here.”

Abasi nodded, the crotchety look on his face softening.

“They can get a little rowdy, sometimes, but they're harmless. They're good boys.” Abasi started towards the door, looking over his shoulder to make one last remark. “But boys will be boys. You let me know if any of these fools make you the least bit uncomfortable.”

“I will, Coach. Thanks again for the hospitality.”

When Abasi left the lounge, I whirled around in my chair to check my reflection on the bar wall. I adjusted my topknot and leaned in for another once-over of my makeup. Wanting to look professional but comfortable when I follow the athletes around, I'd opted for a black spaghetti-strap, a form-fitting aqua blazer, black jeans, and a pair of oxfords.

As I was fiddling with the upturned strap of my top, the first wave of players wandered into the lounge.

I hopped off the bar stool, straightening the hem of my blazer nervously. Some smiled at me politely, but they all made a beeline for the dining tables to refuel. Hearing the commotion, the staff rolled out individual platters of grilled chicken, salmon, and vegetables, as well as hearty tuna and spinach sandwiches.

When the sound of high-pitched tittering floated into the room, my attention quickly snapped back to the doorway.

I sucked in my top lip and crinkled my nose. Kingsley came out of the doorway, his arms snaked around 2 attractive young girls. The girls were clad in #33 jerseys, with one tied up to bare her flat stomach and the other with a ripped neckline to show off the girls. The women bounced alongside Kingsley in ultra-short spanks that barely covered their asses, rubbing his chest and stroking his arm.

Just my luck. I looked back at the dining tables. #82, Kahale, was hovering over the table with his phone, sharing snapshots of a little girl in a Taekwondo uniform with the player opposite him. Why couldn't I do my main piece on him instead? I could never understand why the world was so concerned about Kingsley Kelly's tired antics. Then again, I completely understood why the Detroit Daggers management singled him out.

I puffed out my chest and strode over to Kingsley and the girls, who were now seated at the opposite end of the bar. Walking up behind them, I waited for the 3 to fill in their drink orders before prodding Kingsley on the shoulder. Kingsley whirled around in his stool to face me. The airheads dropped the giggling abruptly. The girl to his left hooked a hand over his shoulder possessively, glowering at me.

“Kingsley Kelly?”

“Hey, look, it's the nark.” Kingsley winked at me, his eyes gleaming. The girls threw their heads back in laughter like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard in their lives. “What can I do for ya?”

“The name's Carrie. Carrie Toussaint.” I extracted my tablet from my purse and logged on to my organizer app. “We're going to have to schedule a couple of one-on-one interviews, so I was wondering –”

“No can do, nark.” Kingsley shrugged, taking a swig of his blue sports drink. “As you can see, I'm a little preoccupied at the moment, and you know, I got things to do.”

“Stop calling me that.” I gnashed my teeth together impatiently. This guy was a dick.

“Relax. Just trying to get you to feel at home.”

“Done. I feel like one of the gang already.”

“I'm a very busy man.” Kingsley reclined on the back of his stool with a theatrical sigh.

“Uh-huh, I can see that.” I replied dully, unamused. “So, Kingsley –”

“Call me King. Everyone else does.”

“No thanks. Kingsley's just fine.” I cleared my throat. “So? When can I pencil you in?”

“Whatever, let's just get this over with. I mean, I gotta eat, right?” Kingsley finally relented. “Wednesday, lunch at Alberto's on Beechwood. I wanna say, noon-ish?”

As I looked down at my tablet to enter a reminder for Wednesday, another player joined us. He was just as built as the rest of the team, but he looked more like a model, with facial features much too pretty to ever rough up. If I squinted my eyes, he reminded me of a walking, talking Ken doll from the 90s. He ran a hand through his flawlessly coiffed hair and shook my hand.

“Carrie, right? Val Presley. I hope Kelly isn't giving you a hard time.”

“No, no, nothing I can't handle,” I assured him. I wasn't sure whether or not I was imagining the tension between the players, noting all the signs of alpha male posturing.

“Good, good,” said Val slowly. “Seeing as how you're gonna be here for the next 2 months, I'd love to take you for a tour around the clubhouse, show you what's what.”

“That sounds great.” I stared at Kingsley pointedly before turning back to Val with a wide smile. “Nice to see how courteous some of the other players are around here.”

“Excuse us. Ladies.” Val smiled at the swooning girls. “Ms. Toussaint, shall we?”

“Let's.” I slipped my tablet back into my purse, looking back at Kingsley sternly before following Val out the door. “Don't be late.”

“Not making any promises!”

Chapter Five:
Kingsley

I pulled up to the curb across the street from Alfredo's, the wheels of my Lamborghini rolling to a smooth stop.

“
Your father's come down with the flu, so he's been holed up in the lodge for 3 days now, the poor thing. Anyway, don't forget to call your Aunt Whitney. Her birthday's coming up this weekend.
”

“I won't, Mom.” I clamped my phone between my ear and shoulder, glimpsing at the flashing clock on the center console. “Text me her address and I'll be sure to send her some flowers.”

“
Good. Now, your father and I are coming back home in 3 months, so you must make room for...
”

Mom was still talking – I was hearing her, but I'd stopped listening. My roving eyes fixed on a sickening pair of lovebirds standing by the open door of a cab. The lady's fur-collar leather coat and white fur hat in the middle of August was all too familiar.

They tilted their heads and leaned in for a quick kiss. When they pulled away from each other and I got a better look at the lady, I was livid. It was a starry-eyed Ivanka with a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

I gripped my steering wheel harder, my knuckles turning white. I leaned in closer to the windshield to check out the dude she was with. He wore a thick gold chain and red Yeezys. It was only when he flipped his shades over his do-rag that I recognized the dipshit. It was one of the fuckers that never failed to drop a dick pic or 10 on Ivanka's phone whenever I was with her.

“
Kingsley, are you ignoring your mother?”

“What?” I pushed my phone to my ear. “Sorry, Mom, I gotta run. I've got a lunch meeting with this journalist. She's a real tight-ass, and I'm late.”

“
Oh, well, alright, you better hurry along then. You really need to work on your punctuality, young man, I did not raise you that way.”

“Yeah, sweet.” I wrenched my key out of the ignition and stepped out of the car. “Say hi to Dad for me. Love you.”

“
Love you too, Kingsley. Be good.
”

I hung up and pocketed my phone. My hands sprung into fists at my sides, and my shoulders squared in combat mode. I watched from afar as the cab drove off. The dude slipped his shades back on started walking off in the opposite direction. I swung one foot forward, ready to jump the bastard, when I got a hold of myself.

My shoulders slacked. I was about to fuck up some sap for messing around with some other man's wife. Frankly, we were in the same goddamned boat. The dude didn't deserve to get his day fucked up just because he was trying to get himself some strange. Hell, I had to kick out 3 Scandinavian hotties out of my apartment just an hour ago, so I wasn't sure what the hell I was getting so worked up about.

Muttering under my breath, I clicked my car remote to lock the Lamborghini. Odell was right. I needed to get a grip. None of this was worth getting benched.

I rolled up the sleeves of my button up and glanced in both directions for passing cars.

“King? King! There you are!”

I flinched, the hair on my arms and the back of my neck as startled as I was. Farrah rushed me from the side with both arms, appearing from what seemed like thin air. The weird-as-shit cowbell around her neck jangled noisily, and the thorns from her crown of actual flowers bore into my arm. She mashed her titties up against me, batting her lashes expectantly.

“Whoa, Farrah. What are you doing here?” I wriggled out of her arms as gently as I could, fully aware of the passersby who were starting to stop and stare. A few whipped out their phones.

“I've missed you so, so much. You never called me back!” Farrah declared, unfurling her bottom lip. “I've been waiting and waiting –”

“I, uh, never said I would.” We'd been fucking around casually for a couple of months now, and I never knew what to say to this chick. “I don't even have your num –”

“I thought you'd never ask!” Farrah squealed. She reached into her purse, pulled out a fountain pen, and started unscrewing the lid. “Gimme your arm.”

I didn't even need Farrah's number; this chick just always had a knack for showing up at random.

“Maybe la – oh, Jesus.” I jolted back as a live bee flew out from one of the flowers on her crown and buzzed past my ear. “Listen, I'm late for a meeting, so I'll catch you later.”

“Oh, okay.” Farrah's face fell. “I'll see you later.”

I ignored the eerie whisper of “I love you” and booked it, ducking into Angelo's.

“King! Great to see you again.” Sylvie, the friendly hostess, greeted me at the door. “Should I get you your usual table?”

“No thank you, Sylvie, I'm actually here to meet – ah, there she is.”

Carrie was sitting in the last booth by the window. While she scrolled away at her tablet, she was trucking her way through 4 different plates of food. She looked surlier than a cat forced to play dress up for its master.

“Bring me a Bloody Mary and some spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Right away, King.”

“Thanks, Sylvie. You're a doll.”

I walked towards Carrie's booth jauntily and settled into the bench across from her.

“Man, I'm starving. What're we having?”

“Well, I'm having baked ziti, shrimp scampi, a chickpea bruschetta, and a roasted fig salad with goat cheese,” said Carrie coolly. She swabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I don't know what you're having.”

“Oh, I get it. You're the type that doesn't share food, huh?” I grinned, thanking the waitress who'd brought me my Bloody Mary. “Nice to see a woman with an appetite.”

“It's nice to see anyone with an appetite.”

“True, true...” I didn't think it was possible, but this woman was even more annoying than I thought. “Alright, Carrie, I'm sensing a little animosity here. I'm gonna go ahead and take a wild guess and say it's because I'm slightly late to our meeting.”

“Bravo. Beauty and brains too,” said Carrie snidely. She shoveled another forkful of ziti in her mouth. “And slightly? You're 50 minutes late.”

“Beauty?” I arched an eyebrow, grinning. “So you're saying I'm hot stuff, huh?”

“No, don't you put words in my mouth. I said no such thing.” It was actually pretty hilarious to see how testy she was. But when she swooped for her glass of white wine, the corners of her mouth twitched. “If the food here wasn't so darn good, I would have left half an hour ago. But good to see you've finally learned my name. Don't wear it out though.”

The same waitress returned with my plate of spaghetti.

“Anyway, I'm here now. And as much as I'm enjoying all this banter and the intense sexual chemistry between us, I can't stay long. So, let's get this over with so we can be done for the day.”

“Believe me, I'm not enjoying this any more than you are. But you do have a point, so let's get this thing rolling. Let me just open up my notes here...”

Carrie got busy with her tablet, fidgeting with the ends of her straight black hair absentmindedly. The more I looked at her, the more infuriatingly stunning she was. She had the classic case of the ugly duckling syndrome. If I had to keep it 100, I rarely looked twice at a woman who wasn't showing skin, but I seriously couldn't take my eyes off this chick. Her sultry green eyes and full, luscious lips were enough to keep me hooked. But what really baffled me was how she managed to sit so still with that stick up her ass.

“Do I have a booger, or something?” Carrie looked up from her tablet. She untangled her fingers from her hair. “What are you staring at?”

“Not that I'm aware of.” I rested my elbow on the table and stroked my chin thoughtfully. “You don't look anything like your picture on the The Daily Dirt staff profiles.”