Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (5 page)

I couldn't help but crack a smile at the glowing look on Maria's face.

“Anyway,” Tabitha continued. She pulled at the hem of her dress and crouched down to unzip her suitcase. “I thought I'd drop in to hand out a couple of things. I've got a little something for everybody! Ah, that reminds me. Brooks, I swung by your apartment to drop off your stuff before I came over. You won't mind if I hand out a couple of presents, would you? ”

I looked up at the clock, shrugging.

“Sure. Go nuts.”

Tabitha was like Goth Santa, handing out large bags of jerky, potato chips, chocolate, and other treats. This was one of her biggest hauls yet, and it didn't end there. She continued to pass out European-printed hoodies, snapbacks, novelty socks, and colorful jewelry. Each kid leaned in to hug her, thanking her profusely.

“Yo, Ms. C, don't you and Tabitha go way back?”

“I believe it's been – wow, 17 years. Yeah, we met when we were 11. Haven't been able to get rid of her since.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Tabitha grumbled, fighting a smile.

“So, Tab,” said Thumper, munching on a giant Toblerone bar. “What was Ms. C like?”

“Brooks was probably the most popular girl in high school – she basically ruled the place.”

“I wasn't
the
most popular girl –”

“Stop fake-humbling,” Tabitha went on. “She was at her prime during our senior year. She was captain of the cheerleading squad and crowned Prom Queen, too.”

“Wow, I did not get that vibe from you,” Courtney joined in. “The cheerleaders at my school are a bunch of bimbo bitches.”

“Well, I was a theater geek myself, but the cheerleaders at Bay Valley were friendly enough,” Tabitha mused. “Brooks wasn't just some cheerleader, though – the year she became captain, she led her squad to the finals of this big-time national cheer competition.”

“Damn, Ms. C!”

“Alright, guys, calm down, I had a lot of help –”

When the front door swung open, the whole room went silent.

A thin, but well-built teenager with slicked-back, jet-black hair walked into the studio. My eyes and mouth rounded. The kid was dressed in a collared shirt, khaki slacks, and a bottle-green blazer with an emblem stitched onto the breast pocket. The sea of backwards caps, hoodies, tanks, and baggy sweatpants parted for him. Around him, the girls nudged one another, jutting their heads in his direction and making eyes at him.

“You lost, bro?” Jerome offered unhelpfully from the side of the room. “You're a long ways away from the Upper East –”

“Can it, Jerome.” I glared at Jerome over my shoulder and stepped forward. “Can I help you?”

The kid stuffed his hand into his blazer and pulled out one of my flyer tabs.

“This is 39 Kensington Street, isn't it?”

“Yup, you're at the right place – ”

“What's your name?” Tabitha called out to him.

“Aiden.” He squared his shoulders. “Aiden Chen.”

“Well, it's great to meet you, Aiden, but we're just about finishing up here today. You're more than welcome to join us next week. We meet on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and every other Saturday.”

“Cool.” Aiden nodded, turning to leave.

“But can he dance?”

“Yeah, dude, show us what you got.”

“Okay, come on, guys,” I intervened. “There's no pressure here – we'll see –”

To my astonishment, Aiden did a smooth 180. He took off his blazer, rolled up his sleeves, and plugged his phone into the speakers. Even under the weight of 20 stares, he remained unfazed. He scrolled through his phone with a blank face. I held my breath, observing his every move as he set down his phone. Just by the way swaggered to the front of the room, I could tell this was going to be good.

When that bass dropped, all chit-chat ceased.

Aiden puffed out his chest and kicked his right leg, starting out with a bang. Each shoulder rotation, thrust of his hands, and his legs was sharp, hard-hitting, and in sync to the beat. He was a natural – honestly, he was beyond that. The kids behind me bounced up and down, roaring their approval. And when Aiden bent over backwards, his contorting shoulders popping out of their sockets as he slid from side to side, the roars turned to full-out shrieks and stomping feet. He snapped back upright, his soles and the tips of his loafers skimming the floors as he glided across the floor.

And just like that, he decided he'd had enough. He unplugged his phone and swung his blazer his shoulder. His face was as stoic as ever.

“I'll see you on Monday.”

“Great! We start at 7:30 – be sure to have a snack before you get here, but we usually get dinner together after.”

Aiden walked right past us, raising a thumbs up in acknowledgment, before disappearing back out the door.

“Whoa,” Thumper breathed. He was still goggling at the swinging door.

“
Dios mio,
that was unbelievable. That dude is so hot,” Elina swooned behind me.

“Tell me about it,” Maria agreed, biting her lip. “And that butt, too. Mm-mm-mm.”

“Okay, girls, settle down,” I snorted, shaking my head. “Let's start packing up.”

The kids and I gathered our things and filed out of the studio, saying our goodbyes by the door.

“So, you still up for sushi?” I asked Tabitha, jiggling the door handle to make sure it was locked properly. “There's this new place by Columbus Circle. It's around a 35-minute drive, but I hear it's worth it.”

“I'd say 'hell yeah,' but I think your ride is here.”

“My ride?”

I dropped the keys into my purse and turned to the street. My crumpled forehead slowly smoothed. A distinctive yellow Lamborghini was parked right by the curb.

“Sorry, I didn't know he was coming to pick me up today.”

“No worries. Rain check,” said Tabitha lightly, swinging her empty suitcase as she started down the stairs. “I'll be in town for a while, anyway.”

“Okay. I'll call you later.”

I hurried up to the Lambo and slid into the passenger seat.

“Hey, honey. This is a nice surp –”

“Where is he?” he demanded. The cold, accusatory tone in his voice wiped the smile right off my face. “Did he slip out the back door, or something?”

“What? Who –”

Xavier's intense, blue-gray eyes bored into mine. The L-shaped vein right above his left collarbone was protruding. I could almost feel the disdain oozing out of his pores.

“That thug with the tatted up arms, always wearing that white tank – you know, that creep that's always hanging around here –”

“What, you mean Julio?” I scrunched up my face and smacked the back of my head against the headrest. “The plumbing guy? You know that pipe in the back burst last week – you know what, I don't even want to get into this with you –”

“I'm just saying, I don't like the look of him –”

“You don't like anyone with a dick between their legs.” I stowed my duffel bag in front of my seat and strapped on my seatbelt. “Oh, and we had a great time at the studio today, thanks for asking.”

He sighed, his face softening.

“Alright, babe, I'm sorry –”

“Please, Xavier. Just drive.”

Xavier twisted the key in the ignition huffily. He gripped the steering wheel and turned back to the rear deck, grumbling under his breath. As the car backed out of the parking spot, I peered out my side of the window, stroking my bare neck.

Chapter Six:
Ace

2016

“Pack it up boys – that's a wrap!”

All movement on the field decelerated at once. While some started to fold up and put away the training equipment, others took off their helmets and cooled off by squirting water bottles over their heads. I took off my own helmet, tucking it under one arm as I started stacking up the orange sideline markers.

“Yo Hardwick, you ever get with that stripper bridesmaid – what's her name – Fantasia?” Baldwin kicked off the shit-talking as he loaded up a wagon.

“Hell yeah. She came over last night.” Hardwick's chest swelled as he looked around at the guys. “She's a little bigger than I'm used to, so the positions are sorta limited, but dang, that mouth – she really knows how to get Hardwick a hard-dick if you know what I mean.”

“How long have you been sitting on that gem?” Whitaker joined in to the conversation, snickering as he coiled up the leash of the power sled.

“Couple of days, but you gotta admit, that was pretty good,” said Hardwick, grinning. “Warner sure knows how to throw a party – that was the most fun I've had since my college days.”

“Looks like Warner had more fun than you did – the party was so good he went AWOL,” Whitaker quipped.

“Last I saw him, he was going up to the Red Room on the second floor with that stripper bride and that bridesmaid – the one that looks like she could be Amber Rose's long lost sister.” Hardwick whistled, nodding emphatically. “Those were 2 dimes right there, you lucky bastard.”

“Damn, son. Both of them? Didn't I see you coming out of the bathroom with one of the cocktail waitresses when I got there?” Whitaker peered at me over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling. “I gotta say, that brings up some good memories – haven't messed around like that in years.”

“Are you telling me you ain't never stepped out on Genevieve?” Armstrong walked over to us, lugging a full wagon behind him. “Never had one of your fans suck a little chrome off your tailpipe?”

“Nah. Officially retired from all of that. I got all I need at home.”

Whitaker's statement earned a wave of good-natured jeers and “Get-outta-heres” from those around him.

“Yeah, but if you guys wanna hear a story about a wild night,” Armstrong spoke up once the jeers died down. “More like a wild weekend – when I was in Tampa last summer, I raged so hard I woke up with 4 naked bitches around me, on a boat to Cancun.”

I resisted the urge to cough “Bullshit” as I tossed the markers into Hardwick's wagon. I've had the displeasure of knowing the dude for over a decade. Armstrong was a prick then, and he was a prick now.

Though he was on the junior varsity team with me, he never got along with the rest of the team. It was hard to find common ground with a dude who spent his free time picking on nerdy freshmen kids and one-upped you like his life depended on it. Granted, this was 12 years ago, and he'd done a little growing up since then. We've never given each other any trouble – in fact, we hit up the same parties and events together, but have never hung out one-on-one. I don't think the guys even knew that Armstrong and I went to the same high school.

“You all need church,” said Whitaker. He hung a towel around his neck. “When was the last time any of you went to a party without any strippers? I don't know, with some balloons, cake.”

“Cake?” Baldwin screwed up his nose. “Ah, you mean like one of those giant cakes with a naked lady hiding inside them.”

“No, no naked ladies, just – yeah, forget it.”

“Real talk, though,” said Hardwick. “I can't believe Warner's still around after that stunt he pulled. I thought for sure that was it for you. What are you, jerkin' Dubois' gherkin?”

Frankly, I agreed with Hardwick. I had no idea what I was still doing here, but I still had that meeting with Dubois coming up on Friday. Maybe he wanted to do it personally – shit, I don't know. But I wasn't taking any chances, and by some miracle, I got to practice on time for the last 2 days. It felt like I was trying to hold up a bowling ball on my neck all day, but I sucked it up and just rolled with it.

“You and me both. Sorry, I didn't mean to ghost you guys like that –”

“Doesn't matter,” Baldwin cut me off, slapping Whitaker on the shoulder. “My man here handled that shit on his own. Dodged those fuckers like they was the Po-Po –”

“It wasn't all that,” Whitaker held up his hands with a toothy shit-eating grin on his face. “I just got lucky –”

“Humble motherfucker, too. But on the real, we wouldn't have won that game without you. It's been on the news all week.”

I tried to ignore the hardcore brown-nosing around me, but my shoulders went stiff. Screw Whitaker and screw these assholes. These fools were always real quick to jump on bandwagons, but Baldwin loved being the stagecoach.

We started hauling the gear back to the equipment room. I lagged behind, grabbing a bottle of water from one of the towel boys. All the gear I was wearing seemed to weigh double from being drenched in sweat. Standing right under the sweltering glare of the sun wasn't helping my pounding head none, either.

“Oh, shit, before I forget, you'll never guess who I saw at the Devereux Plaza last week!” said Baldwin, his bushy brows shooting upwards as he looked back at us. “I got out of my car, and Leibowitz comes walking up to me, asking me for my keys! Would you believe that? He's a goddamned valet!”

Leibowitz was a real loss. Not only was I real tight with him, he was one of the finest linemen this team had ever seen. That was, until he was outed by TMZ as a cross-dresser. I always suspected Armstrong, who was laughing the loudest out of the bunch, had something to do with it.