Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (14 page)

“Is something wrong, my King?”

“King. Sit.” I helped Farrah off the ground and back onto the couch next to me, wrapping a throw blanket around her.

“But isn't that what you're here for?”

Farrah wrung her hands and legs over the other repeatedly, looking genuinely puzzled. The way she said it, so casually and earnestly, left a sharp twinge in my gut. I felt like an utter and complete asshole, which I was.

“I'm sorry, Farrah, but this needs to stop. I've been leading you on for far too long, and none of this should have ever happened in the first place.”

“What – what are you saying?”

“I'm sorry for taking advantage of the situation. This was never fair to you, and you deserve someone who's willing to give you the time and attention you deserve. I can't be in the picture anymore if you're ever hoping to find them. What I'm doing to you is fucked up, and it isn't healthy.”

“Y-you mean it's – it's really over?” Farrah blinked, her eyes welling up. For a few moments, she said nothing and stared into space with glassy eyes. Finally, she turned back to me. “Do you think – do you think we could stay friends?”

My eyebrows relaxed along with my forehead at the request. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. It was definitely sobering to see the humanity in a young woman I'd once labeled as nothing more than a mentally unhinged stalker. Farrah was a sweet, misguided, and extremely lonely young woman, and I was by far the last thing she needed. For what felt like the hundredth time this week, I'd delivered the meaningless variation of the “it's not you, it's me” speech. But for the first time this week, I was doused with shame and debilitating regret, slapped by the reality of my disgraceful actions.

Farrah rubbed away the tear rolling down her cheek, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah. Of course.” And I meant it.

“And one more thing?” Farrah retracted her lips in an anxious smile. “This might sound stupid, and you can say no, but I play in the string quartet for Kalamazoo, and we've got a concert coming up in a couple of months.”

“Nice. What do you play?”

“The viola. I've been playing since I was 11.” Farrah's smile faded. “My parents have never come to any one of my concerts, not even those in middle or high school, and it would mean a lot to me to see a friendly face in the crowd...But of course, you don't have to –”

“Let me know when, and I'll be there. I promise.”

“You will? You don't know how happy you've made me, my King –”

“King.”

“King,” Farrah corrected herself hastily. She acted like I'd just announced that Heaven was real. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Don't. It's the least I could do.”

This was nothing close to the train wreck I'd anticipated; the last one should be a cinch.

XXX

“Well, look who's finally decided to show his face again.”

Ivanka leaned against the doorway of the Gunther residence. She was all done up for me today, pearl jewelry, hair done up in a weird bun, full makeup, everything. What's more, she left her bathrobe intentionally hanging open, showing off a crotchless fishnet bodystocking. I scanned her up and down, gulping at the oiled nipples poking out of the gaping holes. The fishnet hugged the tuft of blonde hair above her exposed snatch.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Ivanka stepped aside, holding the door open for me.

I stepped through the threshold, looking around me to make sure the coast was clear.

“You sure Gunther's not here?”

“He's visiting his mom in Tampa, so he will be gone all weekend. The miserable hag is really, really sick and is about to croak any day now. I am hoping, anyway. She is ancient, almost 100, and is just useless now.” Ivanka shut the door behind her, following me into the living room. “I'm happy you've manned up and decided to come back to our usual spot. Isn't this so much better than one of your silly hick motels?”

“You didn't exactly give me a choice, did you?” I replied stonily. “You wouldn't meet me anywhere else.”

“Of course not. I have done everything I can to get where I am today, and I refuse to associate with any of the poor if I can help it. There was nothing wrong with staying here in the first place.”

“Now, that's just cold –” I started, but I bit my tongue. It might be wiser to just get this over with. “Listen, Ivanka –”

Ivanka shimmied her shoulders, her bathrobe fluttering to the ground. She walked over to the coffee table and spun around, bending over. With her fingers clasped around the edge of the table, she looked over her shoulder, swinging her perky butt from side to side. My eyes fell to the tight, fuckable cunt between her cute ass cheeks. The crotch of my pants tightened, and for a fleeting second, all I wanted to do was mount her and punch my cock through those wet little lips.

“What are you waiting for?” Ivanka reached around her, sliding the tip of her finger up and down her pussy. She moaned, lifting her greasy fingertips and inserting them into her mouth. “Mmm. This tight, juicy flower has missed your big, fat cock...”

I had to forcibly drag my head away from the insanely titillating scene as Ivanka started walking her other fingers up her cunt to play with her asshole. A flash of regret invaded my system, but it was soon overwhelmed by the thought of Carrie's face in my mind's eye. It was now or never.

“Ivanka. Stop.”

Ivanka was mortified. She pushed herself off the coffee table and whirled around to face me, the mortification turning to fury. I bent over to pick up her bathrobe. She snatched it out of my hands, putting it back on and tying the sash in a huff. It became blatantly obvious that taking rejection wasn't one of her strong suits.

“You know, King, I've had it with you,” Ivanka snarled. She curled her sexy black lips, leering at me. “You don't answer my calls, and then when you finally decide to come over, you're turning me down? Don't you try to fuck with me. I play the games around here –”

“I'm not playing any games with you, Ivanka. I came over here to tell you that we're done.”

“And if you ever – what?”

“You heard me, Ivanka.” I stood firmly in place. “This shit was fucked up to begin with, and we should have ended this before it even started. I've got too much on my plate. I'm at the height of my career, and my ass is on the line. One more slip and I'm falling and crashing straight through that ice, just like Coach said.”

“Don't give me that
skitsnack!
” Ivanka paced around the living room in messy figure 8s. She shook her head repeatedly, the hem of her robe whipping behind her. “No. No, no, it's not. This is not over until I say it's over –”

“I'm sorry, Ivanka.” I took a few steps back and began pivoting towards the door. “I'm pretty sure I've made myself clear. I'll let myself out.”

“This – this is because of that bitch from The Daily Dirt, isn't it?” Ivanka demanded, cutting me off in the foyer. “And don't lie to me – I saw the way you were looking at her at Abasi's party.”

“Ivanka, you need to move –”

“If you go through with this, I'm telling Sam you made a move on me.” Ivanka's eyes bugged out madly. She wasn't blinking, but the demented grin on her face was getting wider. “No, better yet, I'll call the cops and have them haul you in for rape! The media will have a field day with this.”

The blood in my veins iced over.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You're fucking insane and you've got no proof –”

“Oh, but think of all the athletes and celebrities who have fallen from grace from mere allegations.” Ivanka was getting visibly giddy, and her eyes were twinkling. “How your career will fall into shambles...No more contracts, no more respect from your peers or the public –”

“But it's never happened – I've never raped you. This has always been consensual –”

“Like I told you, King.” Ivanka walked towards me, lowering her voice to a whisper. She fingered the sides of my face, her eyes fixed on my mouth. “Do not fuck with me. I am smarter than you, and I am always one step ahead of you. I know more than you think I know. You're not getting rid of me that easy.”

And with that, Ivanka grasped my chin and pulled me towards her. She pressed her lips up against mine daintily, smearing her dark lipstick all over my mouth. Before I could fall into that trap, I pushed her away and yanked the door open.

“You're fucking crazy, Ivanka. I want nothing to do with this shit. I'm out.”

“Think about what I said, King! You walk away from me now, but you'll be back!”

Chapter Seventeen:
Kingsley

“Hey, Kingsley! Hey, look at me!”

I turned to my left. Jackson was standing in front of the 40-ft tall animatronic T-rex, waving at me. When he'd gotten my attention, the kid straightened his back. He bent forward with claw hands to his chest and one foot off the ground, mimicking the stalking position of the giant robot behind him.

“Real neat, buddy.”

Jackson grinned at me before running back to Carrie's side. Carrie held her hands behind her, leaning forward to read the information board for the Dilophosaurus exhibit. She looked fucking gorgeous in a flowing white dress that embraced every curve of her body.

“You having fun, Jackson?” Carrie reached into her purse and took out a water bottle, handing it to him. “You're all sweaty from running around all day. Time for a recharge.”

There was something endearing about the way Carrie spoke to Jackson. She was the polar opposite of Jamie, who I often saw baby-talking a clearly irked Jackson. Carrie never seemed to patronize the kid, talking to him like she did with me or anyone else around her – like an equal.

“Thanks, Aunt Carrie.” Jackson chugged that bottle of water. “Too bad Mommy has to work today. I think she'll have so much fun here!”

Jackson faltered, rubbing his chin.

“But maybe not, Mommy doesn't like it when I talk about dinosaurs too much.”

“Your mom doesn't like a lot of things, but she loves you, and that's what matters.” Carrie squeezed his shoulder, taking the empty bottle from him and tossing it into the trash. “Why don't you go ahead and explore some more? We're right behind you.”

“Okay!”

Jackson ran off to the Triceratops exhibit. His fearless attempt to stick his head into the dinosaur's mouth was foiled by 2 teenage park attendants. The teenagers coaxed him down while Jackson stared wide-eyed at them, looking like they were accusing him of burning down a church.

“Thank you so much for this.” Carrie reached over to squeeze my hand briefly, quickly letting go when the attendants turned around at us. “But you really didn't have to rent out this whole place. This must have cost you a pretty penny.”

“Don't worry about it. I wanted Jackson to have the full experience – no lines, no brats shoving him out of the way – just us.”

“You better stop with all of this. You're gonna start spoiling him, so tone it down a little. And stop snatching the bill out of my hand at dinner and let me pick up the tab for once.”

“Consider it toned down.”

I'll tone it down the day after tomorrow; I'd already set down the deposit for the best table at The Saffron Hut, a Michelin star restaurant on Crystal Mountain.

Maybe I'd been going a little overboard, but I was a little rusty when it came to winning a girl over. Not to brag (or maybe a little), but none of this had ever been necessary since I got drafted to the Detroit Daggers. Chicks literally lined up in front of my hotel room at press conferences and meet-and-greets on the regular. But this week, I'd been showering Carrie with some of the best tricks from my playbook. We thought it would be best to keep everything under wraps for now, and to accomplish that, we'd been spending time at my beach house and the smaller towns bordering the countryside, away from the public eye.

“Good. You can stop trying to impress us now. You've got your prize.” Carrie gazed up at me with a small, playful smile. “Kidding.”

“I'm glad you're finally comfortable enough to get corny with me.”

“Me? Corny? Why, I –” Carrie stuffed her hand back into her dinging purse. She took one look at it and put it away bitterly. “Sorry. I know I bitched at you about being on your phone. I put it on silent.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it's just Wattana de Vil. She's rejected every single one of my article proposals the last 2 weeks, and it's stressing me out like no other. It's gotten so bad she's passed off the last 3 articles to goddamn ghostwriters. I don't know why she hasn't booted me off the project yet at this point, but I'm not asking.”

“Ah. Makes sense. I was wondering what the deal was with the sudden influx of click-bait articles – first, Turner's drunken dance at Burning Man 2007... Oh, and that one about Halstrom's racist tirade against Native Americans in '62. None of that sounded like you.”

“Believe me, this was never what I'd signed up for. I had to cancel my interview with Val and tell him my boss wasn't interested in doing a piece on him. He was so disappointed.” Carrie shook her head sadly, but I was pretty chipper about their meeting falling through. “I'm just worried the team's not going to want me around anymore; I've still got about a month left on the project.”