Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set

by Bishop, S. J.

  18

  Burke

  “Tell me I’m seeing things! Tell me this is not what it looks like!”

  “Well, what do you want me to say!? I didn’t know the paparazzi were following me!” Yvette’s voice didn’t offer a single ounce of apology.

  “Holy fucking shit! You don’t get it, do you! I’m not mad you got caught! I’m mad you did it!” I was yelling now, my voice bouncing off the walls of the player’s lounge where, thank God, only Caz and Vic were hanging out. “Did you go back to his house after? Did you fuck him?” The photo had been plastered all over Boston media, and the outlets had been playing both it and her response all day. Yvette Delacroix at a hole-in-the-wall Spanish restaurant in Madrid with her ex-boyfriend. They were caught holding hands and almost kissing over the table. I pushed the image out of my head, bile rising into the back of my throat. How could she?

  “Don’t you talk to me like that!” Yvette snarled. “You’ve no right!”

  “You fucking cheated on me, and the whole world knows it!” I hollered, blood pounding in my temples. I saw Caz shoot Vic a look, crack his knuckles, and stand up.

  “Oh, stop being so provincial,” Yvette said, her voice dripping with disdain. “You want to come across as worldly? As something other than the dumb party-boy the world thinks you are? Hah. You’re as small-minded as the rest of them.”

  “The rest of whom!?” I demanded. “Fuck you, Yvette. You’re a fucking hypocrite. I’m an inconsiderate asshole when I give your assistant a lift home, but you get caught out with you ex boyfriend and I’m provincial? It’s not provincial or small-minded to want a bit of consistency, a bit of goddamn loyalty!” I was yelling again, and Caz was now standing in front me, shaking his head. I gave him the finger and turned around, but he was back in my face a moment later.

  “Don’t you dare call me disloyal!” she said. “What do you know about loyalty?”

  I gasped. What did I know!? A helluva lot more than she did. “I know that people aren’t something you can pick up and put down whenever you feel like it!”

  “At least I care,” I shouted, waving Caz off as he tried to take my phone. “At least I care about people, and I care about how people feel.”

  “You’re such a bull-shitter,” she said. “You tell yourself that to make you feel better. Please. You think to judge me! You, who think you’re better than everyone else. That’s the real joke. You play football. You read the occasional book. You’re a good fuck. That’s it.”

  I took a deep breath. “Are. You. Fucking. Him.”

  “None of your business.”

  My rage, boiling hot a second ago, turned to ice. I felt cold. I felt hard. I felt like if someone gave me a good kick, I’d shatter.

  “Then I’m done with you,” I said. “I know who I am, and I like myself just fine. But you? You’re a bitch, Yvette. You want to go around and treat people like they don’t matter? Like those months we spent together meant nothing? You want to get back together with a guy like Luis Abasolo who treats you like trash? I’m not the one with self-esteem issues, baby. Your issues aren’t mine anymore. Have a nice life.”

  I didn’t wait to hear what she said back. I hung up the phone.

  A low whistle came from the back of the room, and I whirled on Vic, who was leaning against the pool table, his white teeth flashing in his dark face. “Sick, man. Way to shut that shit down. That was vicious.”

  “Dude, you okay?” Caz was quieter, his voice just over my shoulder.

  I ran a hand over my face. My head was pounding, and I felt like shit. Worse than shit. I felt like an idiot, and I was mad. I’d been an idiot about Yvette Delacroix, and I was mad because what she’d said was true. It was all true.

  “Bro, you should sit,” said Caz.

  I didn’t want to fucking sit. I wanted to break something. I wanted to tear something to pieces. Without thinking, I whirled and hurled my phone like it was a football after a touchdown past. With all my strength, I spiked it into the floor, where it splintered into a thousand pieces.

  “Shit!” Caz jumped back, his blue eyes flashing with surprise. Vic watched silently and said nothing.

  I stared at the phone pieces, feeling not one ounce better. Now I’d just need to get a new phone. Fuck.

  I took a deep breath, trying to control the uncomfortable upheaval of emotion, get ‘em under control and shove ‘em back down.

  “I’m going to get a workout in,” I said. If I couldn’t get rid of all the feelings, I’d go run them off.

  Six miles on the treadmill and a puddle of sweat later, I felt a bit calmer. There were a few guys in the fitness room, but they stayed clear of me. I’d just slowed my treadmill to a walk when Ryan Mcloughlin entered the training room, swaggering just a bit more than normal.

  He saluted me with a wave and went over to work with the free weights. Fuck. That was where I’d been planning on going. Whatever, I’d just keep my headphones in. I hopped off of the treadmill and grabbed a set of the thirties.

  I had my headphones in, had Rage Against the Machine on loud, but it was hard to ignore Ryan when he stepped right in front of me, his mouth moving. I put down the weights, pulled out my earbuds, and snapped at him. “What?”

  “I said,” drawled Ryan, “I had a date with that Sarah chick. You know her? The one you danced with at the club the night of the ring ceremony?”

  “Dude, he can’t remember the night of the ring ceremony. I think he put back a whole bottle of Johnny himself,” said Vic, who was eavesdropping over by the squat machine.

  “Bro, you remember her, don’t you?” said Ryan, whirling to address Vic.

  “Oh, hell yah, I do. The girl in the turquoise with that tight ass…”

  Maybe it was because I was already in a terrible mood, but I needed them to stop talking about Sarah immediately. I opened my mouth to say so, but Ryan spoke over me.

  “I tell you what – it’s as tight as it looks. And I’ve got plans for that ass, mmm.” Ryan bit his lip, his hands grabbing an imaginary waist and starting to thrust.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” I snarled. Don’t hit him. Not worth it. Don’t hit him.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” retorted Ryan, his brows raising in challenge. “You got a problem? She’s not your girl.”

  “My problem is that she’s way too good to be slumming around with you.”

  “Clearly not,” said Ryan, holding up his phone to show me Sarah’s name and number plugged into his screen.

  I saw red, and I don’t remember moving, but suddenly, Vic was between us, his hands on my shoulders, holding me back from where I’d started after Ryan.

  But Ryan wasn’t backing down. He was laughing, “Come at me, bro!” he said, slamming his hands on his chest. “You think you’re better than me? Prove it. Take a shot, Berserker. Go ahead. Right here!” He punched himself in the side of the jaw.

  “Ryan, man, you got a death wish? Back off,” hissed Vic, heaving against me as I started forward again. “B, man, calm down, man. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

  “No, Vic, let him go! Dude walks around here like his shit don’t stink. I’ve wanted to bust his face open for years.”

  “You stay the fuck away from Sarah!” I said.

  “If you want her so much, why don’t you go bang her?” Ryan taunted. “Maybe because she’s not interested? Well, guess what? She’s interested in me. Let him go, Vic. He thinks he can take me! We’ll see!”

  “You know what?” I said, straightening and stepping back so abruptly that Vic almost fell over. “You’re not worth it.”

  “The hell I’m not, Tyler. The hell I’m not worth it. I’m worth every goddamn cent. Just ask your girl, Sarah.” And he winked.

  I didn’t respond. Ask Sarah? That was exactly what I was going to do.

  19

  Sarah

  Yvette was coming back to town late tonight, which meant that I’d have to be up early the next morning and in the off
ice, catching up with emails. I had a feeling she was going to be in a terrible mood.

  Roz and I had talked everything over. I’d work for Yvette until the baby was born – hopefully, it would only take me six months to start monetizing my blog. I had a meeting with Roz’s friend set up for early next month, and hopefully, he could show me how to turn my writing and photography hobby into a full-time job.

  In the meantime, however, I still had to make money. It was only 5 o’clock, but I was in a pair of flannel boxers and a tank top, editing one of my latest posts and thinking about what I wanted to eat for dinner when someone began banging on the door.

  I started. The banging stopped for a moment and, after a split second, continued.

  Shit. Roz wasn’t home. I was by myself. I got up, calling out, “I’m coming,” and grabbing my college lacrosse stick from my closet.

  “Who is it,” I called as I approached the door.

  “It’s Burke.”

  I blinked. Burke? What was he doing here? Why didn’t he call? I set my lacrosse stick down and opened the door.

  Burke stood outside my apartment, taking up the entire frame of the door. He was dressed to work out, in loose black shorts and a sleeveless white t-shirt that showed off his incredible muscles and Tree of Life tattoo.

  “Hi,” I said. My body betrayed me; my heart beat just a little bit harder. “What are you doing here?”

  “Can I come in?” Burke looked terrifying. His face was hard and implacable, almost angry, and his hand where it rested on the doorjamb was balled into a fist.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “You don’t really look like someone I should let into my apartment.” I meant it as a joke to try to cover up the obvious reaction I was having to him, but Burke took me seriously. He straightened, rolled his massive shoulders, cracked his neck, and tried to relax his jaw.

  “Sure, come in,” I said. “Can I get you some water?” He looked like he’d come from a workout. He smelled like it, too. Not that I minded. He smelled like deodorant and that tangy, grassy smell of sweat. He smelled manly. I wanted to press up against him and lick the column of his neck. Stop it, Sarah! Did pregnancy hormones make you horny? What was wrong with me? Ugh. This was why I’d told myself that I was going to stay away from Burke. I shouldn’t have let him in.

  “Water would be great, thanks.”

  I’d never heard a “thanks” sound so angry before. I decided to ignore it and went to grab him a glass. Rather than sit in the living room, Burke followed me into my small kitchen, crowding the space. He sat down at the tiny breakfast table, taking one of the two wooden chairs, which creaked ominously under his weight. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor, obviously brooding.

  I filled up the water glass, set it down, and said, “Okay. What’s going on?”

  When Burke looked up, I could see the anger sparking in his eyes. “What the fuck are you thinking, going out on a date with Ryan Mcloughlin?”

  Whoa. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. I expected him to want to talk about Yvette… I’ve never been good when people snap at me. I tend to snap back and couldn’t help the sharp, “What’s it to you!?”

  But Burke shook his head, his hands opening and closing in fists. “You can’t be that stupid, Sarah. You’ve got to know that Ryan is only after one thing!”

  Oh. He did not just call me stupid. “Hold up!” I said. “First of all, you’ve no right to barge in here and demand to know about my love life. Second of all, who says I’m not only after one thing…”

  “Damnit, Sarah, you’re going to be a mother…”

  “Third of all! Where do you get off coming in all angry like this is somehow an affront to you! I don’t owe you anything!” My voice rose on that last one, rose because he actually did have every right to come in here concerned – only he didn’t know it. And I wasn’t telling him.

  But Burke’s jaw was set, his eyes blazed, demanding answers, and I don’t know why – maybe I felt a little guilty – but I found myself explaining. “I didn’t go on a date with Ryan. I met up with him while jogging, and he asked me for my number. I gave it to him. That’s it. Nothing happened.” Burke’s shoulders relaxed just a little.

  “But!” I said, my voice rising. “Even if something had happened – it’s none of your business!”

  Burke stood suddenly, knocking the chair backward, and walked out of my kitchen. My apartment was small, and there weren’t that many places for him to go. He paced to one side of my living room and then to the other. He paced into my room and then back into the living room.

  I took a deep breath, getting control of my anger. This had nothing to do with me, I realized. This was about Yvette. Burke wasn’t mad about Ryan. He was mad about Luis – and me going out with Ryan was probably a convenient outlet for his anger at Yvette for going out with Luis. Burke didn’t need my anger. He needed a friend right now.

  “Here,” I said, opening the fridge and grabbing out a beer. “This isn’t about Ryan, is it?”

  Burke frowned at me but took the beer, cracking the top off on the counter in a practiced move that would have made my landlord wince. He downed half of the beer in one gulp. I watched his throat work, more mesmerized at the muscular column than I wanted to be. Come on, Sarah, get it together!

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked. I knew I should stick to my resolve from a few weeks ago. I was the new Sarah – the Sarah that wasn’t going to care about anybody else. She was going to care about herself. But whether I wanted to or not, I did care about Burke, and he was obviously upset.

  Burke shrugged but didn’t leave. Instead, he headed over to my couch and dropped onto it. Part of me winced. The couch was white, and he was sweaty – but now was not the time to get anxious. If I needed to, I could send him a cleaning bill for the cushions. Wouldn’t that be nice of me?

  “Maybe it is me,” said Burke after a moment. He looked up at me, his ice blue eyes burning into mine. “I pick the wrong women.”

  I shrugged. “Who’s to say what women are right or wrong?”

  “Experience, I would think,” said Burke. “I thought Yvette was perfect. I thought she was what I wanted.”

  “What did she say when you asked her about Luis?”

  Burke snorted. “Called me provincial.”

  “I mean, it is very French to have lovers,” I said, trying to give the situation perspective. From the look on Burke’s face, I wasn’t helping. I tried again. “It’s Yvette. I don’t think it was personal.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. She said some pretty damn personal things.”

  “Like what?”

  But Burke shook his head. Whatever Yvette had said to him had cut him deeply. That wasn’t a surprise. Yvette was astute, and if she was being attacked, she would attack back without mercy. I’d seen her go at Luis a time or two. Those two were perfect for each other in the worst ways.

  “Well,” I said. “We do that, don’t we? Hurt others when we’re hurting.”

  Burke’s jaw was clenched. “Some do, I guess,” he said.

  “Have you ever had your heart broken before?” I asked. I tried to smile at him but found I couldn’t. I was thinking of my own heartbreak.

  “Of course,” he said. But he didn’t elaborate.

  “It sucks. Especially if you loved the person.”

  “I didn’t love Yvette.”

  He didn’t? “You didn’t?” I must have sounded as surprised as I felt because he shrugged.

  “I think I loved the idea of Yvette. And when Yvette tries, she can be incredibly…” he waved a hand and shrugged.

  “Perfect?” I suggested.

  “She’s smart, sophisticated, savvy, sexy…” Burke sighed and rubbed at his brows. “And totally insensitive. Self-centered as they come.”

  “I don’t know…” I said, thinking about Andrew.

  “How can you not know?” asked Burke, his blue eyes widening. “You’ve worked with her
for three years!”

  “Well, she pays me to think about her,” I said. “So it’s different!” I guess I’m just used to understanding people. I try not to get angry.

  Burke just shook his head.

  “If you’re not upset about Yvette, what’s wrong?” I asked. He was clearly miserable, his emotions so strong they nearly filled the air. I found myself moving to sit next to him. I needed to touch him, to let him know that he could talk to me. I rested my hand on his bare knee, and he looked up at me, electricity sparking in his gaze. My pulse leapt.

  “What’s wrong?” he repeated. His voice was a low rumble in his throat, and his eyes were tracing my lip. Did he realize it? My breath caught in my throat, and my mouth went a little dry. “God, Sarah.” His voice was a whisper, his eyes intent on my mouth, his face moving closer to mine.

  My heart began hammering, hard. I felt my lashes fluttering, my eyes closing, and my mouth tilting upward automatically.

  His kiss was soft at first, questioning. His lips brushed mine – so different from last time. Last time had been rough, raw, drunken lust. This time? His lips firmed, his mouth sliding over mine and deepening the kiss. My wits left me then, and I became a body of sensation, melting into him as his strong arms wrapped around and held me closer. One hand cradled the back of my head as he kissed and kissed and kissed me. His kisses were long, slow, and skilled. We broke to breathe and then dived back in, harder this time, our passion rising in a tidal wave.

  “God, Sarah,” Burke groaned against my mouth. And then gentle was over. The kiss turned fierce and intense, and I whimpered at the sudden change and clung to him as a storm of emotions surged through me, weakening me until I melted bonelessly against him. My hands were in his hair, twirling the tail of his braid about my fist and holding him to me as closely as he crushed me to him. He shifted, and then suddenly he was beneath me and I was astride him, my knees digging into the couch cushions, the hard, hot, thick length of him jutting up from his gym shorts and pressing into me where I writhed against him.