Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (17 page)

“It's okay, Toussaint. I'm not mad.” Wattana cut me off mid-stammer. She ashed her cigarette and flicked it out the window. Walking back to her desk, she pulled the hook on top of her vintage cigarette dispenser. Dozens of cigarettes jumped out at me. “Cigarette?”

The stress smoker in me would have loved nothing more, but I couldn't help but feel like this was some sort of trap.

“No, thank you. What, uh, exactly have you figured out?”

“This whole plan of yours.” Wattana pushed the dispenser aside. She leaned back in her chair and began picking at her nails. “I have to say, it took me a little while, and I'm impressed. I see why you've been coming up with those tame, nonsense stories – you've been sitting on a bomb of a story that'll blow all the other agencies out the water.”

“I don't – I don't know what to say.”

I sat there, baffled, watching as Wattana continued to connect dots that weren't there.

“And I'm not mad that you leaked the story. It's a bold move, but one that I also believe will play out in the long run.” At this point, I figured Wattana just was just enjoying the sound of her own voice. “Leaking the story so the media gets a taste of what's to come, while you prepare for your final piece – an exposé to end all exposés, one that'll bring the fall of the one and only Kingsley Kelly.”

As I matched Wattana's eager gaze, my shoulders slumped defeatedly.

“Mrs. Wattana, I don't know where you –”

“Please, call me Tamara. I suppose I was wrong about you. This job must really mean something to you, after all.” The permanent arch on Wattana's left eyebrow climbed even higher. “You know, I can smell sweet revenge from a mile away. But I must admit, even this is a little brutal for my tastes. Kelly must have really done something to piss you off.”

The image of Kingsley on his knees with his face buried in Ivanka's chest seared across my mind. I breathed out deeply, scraping my fingers across my thighs. That lying son of a bitch had it coming it to him. Turns out he was a loose-lipped son of a bitch too, who couldn't even keep his mouth shut about the one thing that would destroy his career. Of course, I wasn't responsible for it, but basking in this fake glory wasn't all that bad. For one, look at how much effort Wattana was exerting to break through her botox to smile at me.

“In the meantime, I'll arrange for ghostwriters to pick up the slack on the rest of the articles. I want you focusing all your energy on the Kelly piece, nothing else. Your efforts will not be missed. If done well, there will be a fat bonus in it for you. This is your redemption, Toussaint. Do not disappoint me.”

Swallowing the lump itching up my throat, I rose from my chair, nodding.

“I won't.”

Chapter Twenty-Two:
Kingsley

“
Sometimes you're better off dead,

There's a gun in your hand and it's pointing at your head,

You think you're mad, too unstable,

Kicking in chairs and knocking down tables...
”

The off-key belting of a slob in a cowboy hat came in place of Neil Tennant's vocals. He gripped the mic stand and the stool behind him to keep himself from falling over as he butchered the classic. His rendition was a fucking travesty, but the dude was having more fun than any of the killjoys jeering in the audience.

I tipped back the rest of the murky cider in my mouth. The shit was sour and questionable at best, much like everything else in this shady ass bar. This place didn't even have a name – no signs, nothing. But the cider was getting me good and drunk, so I took what I could get.

As I set my glass down, I linked eyes with the sexy broad on the opposite end of the bar. The fox looked to be a couple of years older than me. She had wavy hair the color of honey, dressed in a tight pink shirt with a glittery heart on it and tiny denim shorts that flaunted her smooth, shiny legs.

I rested my elbow against the bar, fingering the edges of my bottom lip. With her head tilted to one side, she snuck me a mischievous, tight-lipped smile. She lowered her eyes, shifting her meaningful gaze towards the bathrooms.

“Want another one?”

The barkeep stepped in front of me, blocking my view. He was this big, grizzly type of fellow with a bushy neck-beard. I hopped off my stool, shaking my head as I slid a 50 across the counter.

“I'm good, thanks. Keep the change.”

He picked up the bill and examined it up close before slipping it into his front pocket. The dude narrowed his eyes, breathing so hard his beard was rustling. I gave the bartender a final salute and made my way to the fox.

Slinking her fingers around my wrist, she led me past the swinging doors.

I never found out her name, but for the sake of our next exchange, we'll call the sweet peach, “Georgia.”

Georgia nuzzled against my neck, leading me to the last stall. She wrenched the door open. Some old fuck coming out of the urinals jumped aside, shooting us a scathing look. He pulled the ends of his denim jacket, shoving past us and grumbling all the way out the door.

Man, this town sure loved their denim.

Before I even locked that door, Georgia had the top of the toilet down. She made herself comfortable and pulled me towards her. My pants were unbuttoned and yanked down to my knees with my boxers before I could count to 3. My semi sprang out to greet her. I reached behind her neck, getting a good grip under the back of her silky hair.

The faint lines around Georgia's hungry eyes deepened as she gazed up at me. As I watched this older, refined woman, most likely a mother, desperate to gobble on my balls, I hardened. Her eyes swiveled to the middle, gaping at the tip of my cock, just inches from her nose.

Georgia cupped her arms around my shaft with both hands like she was receiving the holy grail. Her neckline dipped as she moved, drooping further down her promising set of jiggly twins. I embedded my fingers deeper into her hair, rolling my knuckles along her spine encouragingly. She loosened her jaw, keeping her eyes on the prize as she allowed me to enter the warm, hot little cave of her mouth.

An exhilarating boost rushed to my head, calming the pounding aftereffects of the cider. My loud groans leaked out the stall and echoed across the dirty bathroom walls. As Georgia slobbered all over my cock, she employed a vacuuming technique wise beyond chicks my age. She circled that tongue up and down my shaft, not forgetting to tease the tip between each deep suck.

I forced my hand inside the top of her shirt, pulling back and stretching out her neckline. Her right tit popped out in full view, a perfectly round handful with a dark, chocolate tip nipple. I pinched that bud between 2 fingers and beat the rest into her malleable, all-natural titty.

Georgia was unstoppable, eating my dick like she hadn't had young cock in a decade. Her makeup was shining with sweat and her neck starting to get damp under my grasp. With one hand firmly jerking me off as she spoiled my cock with her flexible tongue, her other fingers traveled up the space between my balls and asshole.

I leaned the back of my head against the door of the stall, gasping as the energy seeped out of my legs.

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna nut down the back of your throat...”

Georgia cranked her head back, her lips sliding off my cock with a loud smack.

“That's exactly what I'm aiming for, young man...”

Her sexy southern drawl prolonged the smile on my lips.

I grabbed the base of my cock, steering it back into Georgia's waiting mouth. She felt between her thighs as she sucked away, rubbing her clit through the denim of her shorts. The thick seam of her crotch seemed to be causing extra friction between her fingers and clit. That was another riveting sight. I switched from one scene to another, observing as she milked me with her mouth and rubbed herself so violently that a pool was soaking through that denim.

Suddenly, a deafening bang struck the door behind me. I jerked my head forward, away from the pummeling fist on the other end of the door. Georgia squealed, pulling away from me and shrinking up against the back of the toilet.

“Hey, Kelly! You sell-out, two-timing piece of shit! Come out – come out here and face a real man, you slimy – slimy bastard!”

The stranger on the other end seemed to be an older gentleman. He had a deep, gravelly voice labored by decades of tobacco use and irresponsible drinking. From the gap under the stall, I could see the tipsy stance of his inverted footing. He hobbled forward, sticking the oil-splattered tips of his work boots into the gap under the stall.

“Why don't you take a hike, pal –”

“Oh, no!” She slapped a hand onto her cheek, shaking her head. “That's my boyfriend, Tommy!”

I pulled up my pants and smoothed my clothes, signaling for her to do the same.

This was just my luck. Honestly, at this point, I couldn't be blamed for this. It wasn't my responsibility to ask every chick that came on to me whether or not they were single. If they wanted it known, they'd have made it clear on their part. All that mattered to me was that they were DTF.

“I said come out here and face me like a man, you yellow-bellied son of a –”

I unlatched the lock and thrust the door open with the bottom of my palm. The door swung forward, smacking the dude on the forehead. Tommy stumbled backwards, throwing his hands onto the wall to keep himself from slipping. I glanced to my right. 2 thugs guarded the doorway, the sleeves of their dirty flannel shirts rolled up their elbows. Georgia clung to the back of my shirt, cowering out of sight behind me.

“You fuck jerky –” Tommy rubbed the bump emerging on his forehead, pausing when he spotted Georgia behind me. He lunged forward, his eyes widening manically. “You fucking slut. You mackin' on my girl –”

I should have probably kept my mouth shut. But given my fresh blue balls and the bootleg cider coursing through my system, I was bolder than I should have been. Georgia screeched as she let go of me. She shouldered past the 2 thugs and booked it.

“She did a little more than mack on me, buddy.” I smirked, arching an eyebrow at him. “Your girl's got a nice set of lips on her. Sweet tits, too. Real keeper.”

“Why, I oughta knock that smug smile off your face, you little –”

When Tommy swung his fist forward, I ducked out of the way just in time to hear his knuckles crack against the sharp edge of the stall. I got to my feet and tackled him from behind, pinning his arms behind his back and between his immobilized legs.

“Brody! Ruger! What the hell are you numbnuts waiting for? Get 'im!”

The 2 thugs buffering at the door finally sprung into action. But before they could gain in on me, Odell appeared at the doorway like a majestic Hawaiian Jesus. The thugs looked back at me and Odell, both dwarfing them in bulk and a full head each. Making the wise move, they floored it, leaving Tommy to his lonesome.

Tommy scrambled to his feet like the floor was covered with banana peels. All I did was hold him down for a couple of seconds, but his ass looked like it had already taken a beating. The sides of his clenched jaw were dripping with sweat, and his thinning hair was all out of whack, revealing bald spots. He took one last look at us before turning on his heel and limping out of there.

“Thanks, man. How'd you know I'd be here?”

“Figured you'd be laying low somewhere in Twin Acres. Drove around and saw your car parked a couple blocks from here, but I overheard a couple of pissed off truckers talking about someone seeing you around these parts. Wound up here.”

“And you couldn't have wound up here at a better time –”

“Not here,” Odell barked, noting the small crowd gathering outside the bathroom door.

We hung our heads and slipped past the crowd, heading out the back door.

“Again, I gotta say thanks for –”

The moment I stepped foot on the dirt, Odell seized me by the collar and threw me up against the brick wall.

“Bro, what are you –”

Odell slammed me against the wall again for emphasis, shutting me up. The back of my head banged against the brick tiles, sending a numbing shock through my head. I groaned, tightening my shoulders as I looked back at the fire glinting in his eyes.

“If my name gets even gets mentioned once, I'm gonna fucking end you –”

“Whoa, chill, Odell. Your name never came up –”

“Who the fuck did you talk to?” Odell demanded, his fists clenching even harder around my collar.

“Look, I'm sorry. I fucked up. I told Carrie, and I was drunk –”

Odell let go of me and took a step back, his chest swelling and deflating.

“I stood by and watched you self-destruct for years, and I did everything I possibly could to talk you out of every bullshit problem you get yourself into. If you wanna go around acting foolish and end up a sad, bitter old man with no one to come home to, you be my guest. You ain't never gonna man the fuck up, and you're damn near 30. Now that's not my problem. But don't you ever drag me or my family into this, messing things up for everyone else who already got it good.”

My eye started to twitch; I knew where this was headed.