Monster Baller: A Single Dad Sports Romance (Bitsberg Knights Duet Book 1)

by KB Winters

  Missy left her office, staring down at the phone in her hand.

  “Hey, Missy,” I called, flagging her down. She stopped and looked up, quickly pocketing the device in the front of her slacks. “Why did you send Chance’s PR person over to my line? I thought you were handling all the media hoopla for this?”

  “Oh, well, she was asking about setting up some photoshoot with the girls, and I figured you knew their schedule better than I did. Was there a problem?”

  “Wait… you want to do the photos? I thought you wanted to keep this all under the radar?”

  She shrugged. “I figured if we could raise some money for Aria’s care, maybe set some aside for a scholarship or something…”

  “Did you know that Chance is paying her medical bills?”

  Missy blinked twice. She obviously hadn’t.

  “I don’t get him…”

  “Him paying her expenses is a problem?” Missy asked, baffled by my irritation.

  “I don’t know. It just smacks of him trying to paint himself as some white knight to the media. Don’t you think?”

  Missy shook her head. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But honestly, it shouldn’t really matter. In a month, he’ll be gone. If he can do some good while he’s here, I think we should let him.”

  I nodded, stuffing down my own emotions. There was no point in getting all worked up. It would only bring more attention to the situation. I didn’t need anyone else knowing what was going on between Chance and me. I couldn’t make this personal.

  “You’re right. I’m going to go ask him what he wants to do. Any idea where they went? They were supposed to be journaling.”

  Knowing Chance, they were all at some ice cream shop.

  “They went to the gym a few minutes ago.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hurried to the gym and pushed through one of the double doors to find Chance on the court with all the girls, clearly squared off against the boys in some kind of battle of the sexes. He was wearing a pink cowboy hat that had a long, brunette wig attached to it. It was a leftover prop from a play the kids had put on a few months ago.

  He glanced up as the metal door clanged shut behind me. “The girls were done journaling,” he shouted. “Thought we’d show these guys up.”

  Matt, the boy’s leader, smirked as he led his posse to a slam dunk while Chance was distracted. The girls all shouted at Chance to get his head back in the game, and I couldn’t help but smile as they jeered at him.

  I took a seat on the bleachers and wrapped my arms around myself.

  The game was a rough and tough battle, but in the end, the girls—and Chance—walked away with the winning numbers. As the girls peppered the boys with trash talk, Chance jogged off the court and came over to me. He lifted the hat off his head, letting the fake hair dangle in the air. “Ashley said I had to wear it if I was gonna be on the girl’s team.”

  I smirked. “I think she was probably just testing you.”

  He dropped it back on his head. “Probably. What do you think? Hot or not?”

  I shook my head, still smiling up at him. “Definitely not.”

  He picked it up and set it on my head instead before leaning in and adding, “If I remember correctly, this should be yours, cowgirl.”

  My cheeks warmed. Before I could come up with a clever retort, he popped off the bench and went to egg on the boys into giving them another game.

  I watched him high five the girls, observing the way each and every one of them had stars in their eyes as they jumped around him.

  Who was Chance Beauman? The Beau-Monster?

  And, more importantly, could I trust him?

  16

  Chance

  Lacey left somewhere in the middle of the second game of basketball. When it was over—another smashing victory for me and the girls—I went to find her. She was in her office, the door shut, and when I cracked it open, she pointed out that she was on the phone. I mouthed sorry and then shut the door again.

  My phone rang as I waited, and I grinned from ear to ear when my quarterback’s name showed up on the Caller ID.

  “What’s up, man?” I answered.

  “Careful, Beauman. Coach’s got me running drills these days. I can make your life hell,” Tom Brandon, the star quarterback of the Knights, replied, the smile evident in his tone.

  “Don’t you always?” I teased lightly.

  Giving each other shit was kinda our thing. Our own twisted way of showing each other love. We’d come onto the team the same year and had been the driving force behind the last two years of kicking ass and making a run for the playoffs two years in a row. The upcoming year was ours. We were going all the way to the big game. Non-negotiable.

  “Hey, I got a little shindig going down tonight. You need to show up and meet the fresh meat.”

  I glanced at Lacey’s still-closed door. I wanted to hang around, maybe help the girls with the cards for Aria, and then go with her to drop them off.

  And if one thing led to another, it would lead back to her apartment and more mind-blowing sex. Who was I to say no to that?

  “I don’t know, man. I’ve got this community service thing.”

  Tom groaned. “Come on, man. You ain’t gonna be there all night. I’m not starting the party till nine. We’re throwing down at Jefe’s, you know, that new Mexican joint that just opened over on 56th.”

  “I’ll see what I can do—”

  “No, you’ll be there. This isn’t optional, man. You know how much we need this team to be tight this season. This is our year. We’ve worked our fuckin’ asses off for this.”

  I laughed. “And me missing a night of nachos and beer is gonna mess that up? C’mon, Brandon. Get real.”

  “I told them you’d be there. They all wanna meet you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. Nine. Ish.”

  “Nine, mothafucker.”

  I laughed again. “Later, bro.”

  I clicked off the call and stuffed the phone into my back pocket. I could always meet up with Lacey later… swing by her place with a bottle of wine and a cheesecake. Romantic girly stuff.

  Yeah, that would work. Romance.

  I peeked in her window once more. This time she had her chair spun around, but I could see the cord from her desk’s phone stretched over the edge. She was still on the phone.

  With a sigh, I abandoned my efforts and said goodbye to the remaining girls at the center on my way out the door.

  A few hours—and more than a few drinks—later, I stumbled my way out of the Mexican eatery with Tom on one side and some hot blonde Tom had claimed as his for the night, on the other. We were laughing about some dumb joke that I couldn’t even remember by the time we made it to the sidewalk out front. All of a sudden, a sea of flashes went off and people started yelling at us.

  “What do you think of the Knights’ chances this season?”

  “Get into any fights tonight, Beauman?”

  “Yeah, any bodies in there?”

  “Fuck off,” Tom growled.

  I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to respond. I’d been hounded by these vultures enough over the years to know it was better not to say anything. Even when remaining silent took every ounce of strength I had inside.

  “Come on, we’re just playing. We know Beauman is a changed man. Ponying up for a little girl’s medical bills and all.”

  At the mention of Aria, I snapped. I hurtled in the direction of the paparazzi who’d said it and sneered at him. “Leave her out of this.”

  The man snapped a picture, momentarily blinding me. In that split second, I tripped over an uneven patch on the sidewalk and lurched forward, accidentally clinging onto the blonde beside me for balance.

  In a perfect storm of events, the strap on her dress caught on my finger and a scream cut through the chaos. I turned back, a moment too late, and realized I’d inadvertently torn her dress, exposing her bare boob to the entire crowd on the sidewalk.


  “Fuck!” I barked.

  Tom jumped into action to save the girl and I righted myself, stepping in to shield her from the cameras.

  The buzz and chatter on the street went crazy, phones came out, people jeering and laughing.

  “Beauman, that’s no way to get a lady back to your hotel room!” one of the phone- wielding scum bags shouted, laughing as though it were all a shared joke.

  “Fuck, I’m so sorry—” I said to the blonde.

  She was holding her dress against her chest to keep from exposing herself again. Tom waved me off. “I got this. Just go before this gets even more fucked up.”

  “Sorry,” I said again, though the word was drowned out in the noise.

  I shoved past the herd of paparazzi, pushing against anyone who got in my way. A photog stepped in front of me and I barked at him to get the fuck out of my face. He snapped a picture in response. Blinded by the flash, I reached out and tossed him aside.

  “What the fuck, Beauman? You just broke my camera!”

  More jeers and shouts followed, but I got free and took off at a slow run, careful not to zig-zag too much since my head felt as if a hammer was pounding against my brain like a Chinese gong.

  Amid the chaos, there was only one thing on my mind—Lacey.

  I wound up on her doorstep an hour later, my head still pounding, and a sick feeling settling in my gut. She opened the door after my second knock, her eyes wide and alarmed. “Chance? What are you doing here? It’s almost one in the morning.”

  “Shit.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—things got crazy.”

  She considered me with a narrowed glance. “Where were you?”

  “Out at a club.”

  She gave a knowing nod as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Why are you here?”

  The frostiness in her voice surprised me. “I wanted to see you.”

  “You’ll see me tomorrow, Chance. I’m going back to bed.”

  I stopped the door before she could slam it in my face. Her eyes went wide. From fear? Shit. What the hell did she think I was going to do?

  “Lace, please.”

  “Please, what? I don’t even know why you’re here right now.” She stopped long enough to glance past me, down the hallway to her neighbor’s door. “Oh, hell. Come in.”

  With a tug on the front of my shirt, she pulled me inside and shut the door behind me. “You show up on my doorstep at one in the morning, stinking like booze and cigarettes and God only knows what else, and say it’s just because you want to see me? I’m not some late night, booty call piece of ass, Chance Beauman!”

  Her statement hit me like a slap in the face. I reared back, shaking my head. “No, no, no. That’s not what I—”

  Her hand flew up, stopping me short. “Save it. You can crash on the couch if you need a place to sleep. That’s it. Goodness knows I don’t want you driving. A DUI wouldn’t exactly bolster your new Mother Teresa campaign.”

  “What are you talking about? What campaign?”

  “Your PR rep called me today. Laura something-or-other. She wants to set up a photoshoot with Aria and the rest of the girls and use it to run alongside the piece where you’re paying all of Aria’s medical bills.”

  I scrubbed my hands down my face. “Fuck…”

  “I just feel like a complete idiot. I thought you were actually enjoying your time at Harvest House. I had no idea it was just some PR stunt to make you look like Prince Charming right before pre-season kickoff.”

  I snorted. “Well, even if it was, that all got blown to hell tonight.”

  “What are you talking about?” she snapped.

  I hesitated, the ugly truth rolling around in my mind. I didn’t want to tell her but knew she’d see the clips online whether I told her or not. Might as well fess up. With a sigh, I recounted the night, “I went out with the team, got a little drunk, and ended up tearing the top off a girl in front of a horde of paparazzi while trying to get away. Shit, by this time tomorrow, that girl’s tits are gonna be more famous than me.”

  To her credit—and my shock—Lacey didn’t even flinch. She stared at me for a long moment and then spoke, her words smooth and calculated, “I appreciate that you want to help Aria, but I don’t want her dragged into this mess. Or any of the other kids at Harvest House. I think it would be best if you separated yourself from the situation.”

  “What does that even mean? I’m court mandated to be there,” I spat.

  Lacey narrowed her glare again. “I realize that. I’ll see if Missy can give you paperwork to do. Maybe you can sign some t-shirts and we’ll sell them online. Whatever it takes to keep you occupied until your hours have been logged. I don’t want Harvest House dragged through the shit storm that your little night of fun is going to kick up tomorrow.”

  “Lacey, it was an accident!”

  “An accident? How do you accidentally drink yourself to oblivion?” She huffed. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. You should know better than most how badly things can get in the media.” She rubbed her eyes and I noticed for the first time that she wasn’t wearing any make-up. She didn’t normally wear a lot, but she looked even more beautiful without it. I also took a quick glance at the rest of her, noting what she wore to bed—a pair of shorts with a matching robe that was thin enough to show she wasn’t wearing anything underneath and had probably just tossed it on to answer the door.

  She caught me staring at her nipples and groaned. “Couch or get out.”

  “Why are you so pissed at me?”

  Only then did her expression soften. She raked her hands through her bedhead hair and sighed, sounding utterly exhausted. “I’m not, Chance. Believe it or not, I’m pissed at myself.”

  “Because of me?”

  She stared at me for a long beat, long enough to answer my question without a word.

  “Why?”

  “Because I should have known better.”

  With that, she turned and went down the hallway that led to her bedroom. A few seconds later, the door clicked closed and I sat there in silence.

  17

  Lacey

  As expected, the media was having a field day with Chance’s night out. It hit my social media feed and had been shared and liked all over the internet by the time my alarm clock went off at five-thirty. Several news outlets were reporting that both the blonde woman whose top had been torn off, and the cameraman that Chance had violently shoved were planning lawsuits against the football star.

  It was a category five shit storm. To be sure.

  I rolled out of bed, abandoning the noise of my phone, to hit the shower. I paused in the hallway, my ears perking for any sign that Chance had taken me up on my offer and crashed on my couch. Silence resounded back to me. I tiptoed to the entry of the hall and peered around the corner. The couch was empty and there were no other sounds in the apartment.

  After re-locking the front door, I took a shower and hurried to get ready. I needed to get to Harvest House and speak with Missy on how to handle Chance going forward. My only concern was for the kids that would be affected if the paparazzi and other media outlets started loitering at the entrance of the center. They didn’t need to be put through that. And I certainly didn’t want anyone getting access to Aria’s hospital room and turning the defenseless girl into front page news.

  I’d go bat-shit crazy on their asses if they tried.

  Tien called while I was in the middle of gulping down my coffee. I answered, my voice thick and groggy from a lack of quality sleep. “Hey, Tien.”

  “Holy shit! “What is going on with Chance?”

  I sighed and sagged back against the counter. “Hell if I know.”

  “I mean this clip with him tearing the girls top off is all over the fuckin’ place!”

  “I know. He came over last night and told me about it.”

  “He did? Like right after?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Tien paused. “No reason. Just seems weird he wou
ld show up at your place. Unless… Lace!”

  Shit.

  “You boned him!” she yelped, her excitement loud and clear.

  I groaned. “I thought we decided I couldn’t technically do that.”

  “When did this happen? How many times? Where? And, oh my gawd, why haven’t I heard about it till now?”

  I eyed my coffee cup. Could I switch over to wine now? Or, better yet, tequila.

  “Tien, focus, the point is not what happened. It’s about the girls and how this damn fiasco is going to play out. I’m gonna put Chance on desk duty until this blows over or his hours are up. Whichever comes first.”

  “Damn. So you don’t wanna jump his bones again?”

  “No! It was a mistake the first time. And a train wreck of an idea the second”—I silently added third, fourth, and fifth time in my head—“time. I’m over it.”

  “Pity.”

  “Is it? You think it would look good for Harvest House if their activity director was publicly linked to him right now? I’m just lucky we never got caught on camera. I mean this shit is insane!”

  Tien grumbled her agreement, though it didn’t seem entirely sincere. She always had stars in her eyes, though. Secretly, I had a theory that the whole reason she got into fitness modeling was so she could run in some B-list circles and work her way up the Hollywood food chain.

  To her, Chance was probably just a walking bank account with a dick. A big one at that.

  I gulped down the rest of my coffee. “Listen, Tien, I gotta get to work. I’m going to see Aria afterward if you want to swing by. Then we can grab dinner out. And drinks… I have a feeling this day is gonna need a truckful of margaritas.”

  Tien laughed and told me she’d meet me at the hospital before clicking off the call.

  I watched the clock all afternoon, waiting for Chance to show up, but he never did. No call. Email. Nothing. Missy stopped in at my office to ask what we should do about his no show, and I told her I thought it’d be best to give it a day.