Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (13 page)

“Let Mr. Kelly know Carrie will be out in a minute.”

“Right away.” Evelyn singsonged before withdrawing her big fat head. She shut the door and dawdled away in her puke-green heels.

“I guess you've managed to hook him sooner than I thought. Not surprising, but at least it's with an unmarried sap this time around.” Wattana leaned forward, taking another long sip from her teacup. “Either you amp up Presley's DUI story, or you get me what I want from Kelly. No more bullshit excuses, or I'm pulling you from the job. Do we understand each other?”

“Uh-huh.” I managed weakly, my chest tightening.

“Good. You're dismissed.”

I spun around, pulling a face as I silently mocked Wattana's Maleficent shade all the way to Conference Room B.

When I opened the door, I was greeted with bursts of flashes and the annoying cacophony of camera phone shutter sounds. Kingsley was lifting Sloane and Toddrick in each of his arms effortlessly, posing for Fleur's camera. An actual line of my blubbering star-struck colleagues had formed behind them, waiting for a quick selfie with the athlete.

“Oh, hey, Carrie!” Kingsley lowered himself to the ground, allowing Sloane and Toddrick to disembark.

He strutted towards me, looking fine as all hell in his tailored 2-piece. The fitted sleeves and shoulders of his royal-blue blazer hugged his hulking biceps, slenderizing his frame. His ironed slacks added even more height to his 6'2” stature.

Dozens of eyes from those snubbed in line veered my way.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, hello to you, too. Just saying, you could work on your greeting etiquette.” Kingsley rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. “Wanna have lunch? My treat.”

“I would, but, um, I'm kind of in a time crunch here.” By now, most of my colleagues had given up and wandered back to work. “I've got less than an hour of lunch left and I've gotta pick up my dry-cleaning which is all the way –”

“I got you covered, girl,” Sloane chipped in from behind her bottle of nasty kale coconut water. Toddrick, who stood next to her, wiggled his eyebrows at us. “Toddrick and I are going out for some gelato. We could totally swing by your dry-cleaner's for you.”

“You're the best, Sloane. I'll be sure to get you and your dad some good seats for our next game.” Kingsley flashed them a thumbs up. “That goes for you too, Toddrick. I didn't forget about you.”

“What, did you all become best friends in the 5 minutes you were here?” I fought the smile forming on my lips. I handed my dry-cleaning stub to Sloane and turned to Kingsley. “Alright, you win. Let's go.”

“Atta girl.”

XXX

Whizzing cars and the carefree laughter of construction workers and teenagers ran free in the open air space. The rays of the midday sun dappled the uncut tufts of grass and dirt under our feet. With Kingsley in his fancy suit and me in my corporate attire, we were wildly overdressed, but I felt right at home.

I leaned over my paper plate and took a giant bite out of my creamy, super savory lobster roll.

“God, that's good.” I praised the roll between chews, swiping my mouth clean with a napkin. “I can feel all this cream going straight to my ass, and I love it.”

“Glad you're enjoying yourself.” Kingsley held the last bite of his roll in his fist and dug into his foam cup for some equally amazing clam chowder. “I hope you weren't expecting anything too fancy, but I wanted to take you to one of my all-time favorite spots in Michigan. I used to come here with my parents all the time.”

“Fancy's nice, but I'm really digging this place.”

I glanced over to my right. The lobster truck was a rather outdated model, with the words, “Uncle Rob's Lobster Rolls,” in peeling neon-yellow wording written across the red vehicle. An older man sporting a whiskery, paling beard and matching hat and apron manned the truck by himself. His reddish eyes and tough skin told of his exhaustion, but he regarded every one of his customers with a warm smile and a heartwarming anecdote.

The seemingly regular patrons of the lobster truck all seemed familiar with Kingsley and were well over seeing stars in their eyes. Other than a couple of heys and nods, Kingsley was pretty much left alone. I imagined it was a refreshing change of pace for him to be able to just have lunch, free of disruptions.

“I'm definitely bringing Jamie and Jackson back here this weekend. There's a park just a block away, too, so we'll make a day out of it.”

“What kind of 5-year-old likes lobster and sugar-free cereal?” Kingsley laughed.

“That's Jackson for you.” I smiled fondly at the thought of his googly eyes and his chubby little face. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for talking to your sponsors about adding the new line of sugar-free cereals. You don't know how much that meant to him.”

“No biggie,” Kingsley brushed it off. “That kid's got a future brighter than ours combined. I've got a lot of time for Jackson. I've never met a kid like him – I mean, have you met other kids? What a bunch of little assholes.”

Right as he'd said that, an 11-year-old girl came prancing past our picnic table. Her bouncing pigtails slowed to a stop along with the rest of her twiggy limbs. She stuck out her tongue and showed off the yellow polish on her middle finger before carrying on.

“Not you, sweetheart, 'cause you're obviously just a big ball of sunshine!” Kingsley called out after her sarcastically. He turned towards me, finishing off his roll. “Case in point.”

“Oh, real nice. I hope you're proud of yourself.”

Kingsley looked proud of himself indeed, leaning against the back of his bench.

“So, tell me, what's going on with you and Val?”

“Um, nothing? What do you mean?”

“I saw you exchanging numbers after practice on Monday.”

“Yeah, we were. I need to do my one-on-one with him, remember?” I rocked back in my seat, sizing him up with an impish grin on my face. “Don't tell me the great Kingsley Kelly's actually jealous.”

“Me? Jealous? Now you're just talking crazy.” Kingsley shifted his weight to his other leg, the bench groaning under him. “So what stunt is that clown trying to pull now?”

“If by stunt, you mean selflessly donating thousands of dollars to 3 different charities just last week, and by clown, you mean generous and heartfelt individual, you've got it.”

“Please, that guy's a phony.” Kingsley snickered, crushing the empty can of root beer in his hand. “I'll bet you it was his first time stepping foot in one of those charities after you came along.”

“Hmm. Must be hard to be so cynical all the time.”

“No cynicism here, just facts.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“So when can I see you again?” Kingsley weaved his fingers together and stared at me expectantly.

“Tomorrow?” I answered slowly, wrinkling my forehead at the strange question. “I'll be at the clubhouse in the afternoon.”

“No, I mean, just you and me.”

“We've had our one-on-one, remember? The one we squandered away 'cause you were absurdly late. Oh, not to mention you ditching me before you even finished your meatballs.”

“Wow, you're making this harder than it should be. What, you never been asked out on a date before?”

“You're not serious, are you?” I sucked in my lips, sighing. “If this is your idea of a joke, it's in really poor taste –”

“Why would you think this is a joke?” Kingsley asked seriously, his eyes narrowing. “I don't know what you think I'm trying to gain from this.”

“Okay, I get it. I guess I can't avoid...whatever's going on between us anymore.” I fumbled with my fingers skittishly, only looking up at him briefly each time between words. “Look, I need to be realistic here. I like plans and having things set in stone, and it's just in my nature to think ahead, so don't get weirded out about it or anything. Jackson means everything to me. He's never had a stable male figure in his life, and he's really taken a shine to you. It wouldn't be fair to him if you just disappeared –”

“Hey, I get it. I get where you're coming from.” Kingsley leaned forward, stroking my fingers lightly with his thumb. “I care about Jackson, too. Whatever happens between you and I isn't going to affect how I feel about the kid. We can do this at your pace – I won't show up unannounced anymore, and you tell me when I can see you or Jackson. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

As I studied the look of ostensible sincerity on Kingsley's face, I felt a suspicious stir in my gut. I was conflicted. There was no point denying it – I wasn't just hopelessly attracted to Kingsley Kelly, I was actually feeling something for the guy. At the same time, Jamie's words and my own plethora of uncertainties nagged my thoughts.

I pulled my hand away from him, folding my hands on my lap.

“That's sweet and all, but it's just one of a slew of reasons why this –” I pointed to him and me. “–just isn't feasible. This was fun, but I'm not going to be able to keep this up any longer. I could care less what other people do, but personally, I'm old-fashioned, and I'm just not looking to be another random ho. Especially not looking forward to getting caught up with all the complicated, not to mention, married women –”

“When'd you find out about Ivanka?” Kingsley asked quietly. He drew his arms to his sides, his lips paling.

“I saw you looking at one of the pictures she sent you when we were at Bellevue's.”

“I see. Well, you're right.” Kingsley swallowed, re-moisturizing his lips. “It's complicated, but regardless of what you think, I'm not just trying to get my dick wet here. I'm serious about this, Carrie. And I'll prove it to you. Just consider it done.”

“Consider what done?”

Kingsley checked his phone and got up, leaning over to peck me on my swiftly reddening cheek.

“I gotta run. Have a good day at work, and I'll see you later.”

With no more vague words left to spare, Kingsley was gone.

Chapter Sixteen:
Kingsley

I surveyed the posh-as-shit living room wordlessly as the sound of rattling cupboards and clinking dishware drifted in from the kitchen.

Never would you have thought a junior at college lived in this place. A massive screen and dope home theater system was erected in the center of the living room. Gold chandeliers with tiers of hanging crystals and gems dangled from the high ceilings of each room. And to my right, the row of floor-to-ceiling windows and balcony overlooked Lake Michigan and the vibrant 8PM skyline of the city.

But if you ventured into the master's room by chance like I did when I was looking for the bathroom, that's where any semblance of normalcy ended.

Signed posters and homemade pictures of me accumulated over the years covered the walls. An entire display case was dedicated to an elaborate collection of memorabilia featuring yours truly. Then there was the adult football-shaped bed with sheets that depicted an anime style, kinky-haired princess in a fluffy ball gown, leaning in to give me a kiss. The lump on the bed was of a body pillow of me, carefully tucked under the covers. And last but not least was the life-sized cardboard cutout of me from 2012 guarding the bed. The room was as impressive as it was bat-shit terrifying. Needless to say, I tiptoed right back out of there, deciding it would be best not to bring it up.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, my King.”

My jaw dropped open. Farrah wandered back into the living room, only this time, she was sans clothes. She sauntered towards me in nothing but a silky white apron and a gold g-string. Her nipples poked out of the thin material, and the curves of her heavy, ample tits were visible through the sides of her apron, swaying with her every move. I'd almost missed the tray of craft beer she was carrying, complete with a mixed snack platter.

“Please, just King, or Kingsley.” I adjusted the mink throw pillow behind me and inched forward on the sofa. “Thanks for this. You didn't have to go through all that trouble.”

“We've got sour cherry beer, some goat cheese, mascarpone, sausages, and some chips with sour cream dip.” Farrah laid the tray down on the black glass coffee table. “Sorry, I know this isn't much, but I had no idea you were coming here!”

“This is plenty. It's great, thanks.” I took a sip of the beer and popped a triangle of goat cheese in my mouth to be polite. “It doesn't look like you've got a roommate. You live out here alone?”

“Well, I had a roommate,” said Farrah tentatively, choosing her words. She raised her shoulders in an attempt to keep from shivering under the air vent. “But it...it didn't work out. And to answer your question, yes, I live here alone.”

“Where are your folks at?”

“They live out in the Hamptons, but I think they're supposed to be in Germany right now for some kind of expo. I don't know really, I've called them twice in the last 2 weeks and they haven't returned my calls. But they'll call back eventually, they always do. Well, most of the time, anyway.”

“I see.” I detected the hurt tremble in Farrah's voice. “Listen, Farrah, I –”

Farrah slunk off the couch and dropped to her knees. She crawled towards me, halting at my feet. But when she nudged my legs apart and started reaching to the straps of her apron, I grabbed her wrist delicately.