Go Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  Owen

  I could still hear the roar of the crowd in my ears and feel the soft leather ball on my fingertips. I looked down at my knee and felt a jolt of pain as I flexed it outward.

  “Good fuckin’ game, man.”

  I looked up from the bench. Raylon grinned at me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Good shit. When you hit that gap in the third quarter? You fucking steamrolled their linebacker.”

  I grinned back. “Hit him like a fucking truck.”

  “Hell yeah. Knocked that asshole out.”

  We shook hands and he walked off.

  The second game of the season had gone really, really well for me. We’d won, though just barely. I scored the winning touchdown in the fourth quarter by bursting through the line and breaking out a big run for the score.

  It was right after that play that I noticed my knee. Sharp pain and swelling had begun tearing me up, but I’d kept that to myself. I’d noticed Taylor watching me, but I didn’t let myself look back at her. I didn’t want her to see the pain I was hiding, because I knew she would.

  I didn’t want to get taken out of that game. I was playing too well. It was too early in my season to be pulled because of an injury, and I couldn’t give up the opportunity to prove myself.

  The next time I was on the field, though, I could tell that I was moving slower. I was hitting a little softer, and I was a little more tentative when I burst into open field. I was a step slower, but I wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed.

  We still won. It didn’t matter. And as I sat there on the bench after Raylon walked off to congratulate the other guys, I flexed my leg again, wincing at the pain.

  The locker room after a big win was always a shit show of reporters and excited people. I wasn’t all into the show. I just wanted to shower off and relive those moments on the field when I really felt alive, when I felt like nothing could bring me down, nothing could stop me. I was perfect on the football field.

  Even though my body was betraying me.

  I got up and walked to the showers, keeping the pain off my face. I rinsed off, taking my sweet time. I waited for the sound of excited people to slowly fade away before I finally came out, wrapped in a towel.

  Taylor was waiting for me near my locker.

  “Owen,” she said.

  “Taylor. Are you supposed to be in here?”

  She shrugged. “Nobody cares. Got something you want to tell me?”

  “Nope,” I said. “But I do have something I want to show you.”

  I went to take off my towel. She just sighed and shook her head.

  “I’m serious. You’re really going to pretend like nothing happened?”

  I shook my head. “Not sure what you mean.”

  “I saw your knee bend on that score. You planted weird just as you hit the open field, right after you ran over that big linebacker. I saw your face, and I saw how you were after. It hurt, Owen.”

  I shook my head and couldn’t help but grin. The damn girl was fucking observant. Nobody else had seen that, or at least nobody else had said anything about it. Of course it was only Taylor who would come right out and call me on it.

  That was something I liked about her. She was no-bullshit, up-front and straightforward. Sure, she played like she didn’t want me, but that was different. She was trying to protect both of us.

  “All right,” I said. “It hurts.”

  “Let me see.”

  I sat down on the bench and showed her. She took my leg, bending it slightly. “Does that hurt?”

  “Yeah,” I grunted.

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head, bending my leg some more. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep the pain from my face.

  “This might be bad, Owen.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Owen, I’m serious.”

  “I know you are.”

  “You should have stepped out.”

  “I couldn’t leave that game. You know that.”

  “You scored. You could have taken a rest.”

  “I needed to prove myself. The whole fucking country is watching me right now, talking about whether I’m overrated or not. I want to prove that I’m not.”

  She bit her lip, shaking her head. “I know you’re not.”

  “This damn fucking knee might mean I am.”

  “I get how you’re feeling, but I’m your trainer. You have to trust me.”

  “What’s done is done. What now?”

  “Now you rest it. I need to tell Coach.”

  “No,” I said forcefully. “You can’t tell him.”

  “Owen.”

  “Listen to me. I’ll do whatever you ask. I’ll stay off it when I’m not practicing. I’ll ice it and work it every day. But you can’t tell Coach.”

  “This is my job, you know.”

  “I know. You keep reminding me.”

  She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not like that.”

  “I get it.”

  “Your well-being is my job. You get that, right? I’m making these decisions for you.”

  “If you want to make a decision that’s best for me, then don’t tell coach.”

  I could tell she was torn. On the one hand, she had a damn good point. If I was injured, Coach needed to know so that he could start making backup plans.

  But if she told him, he might make an early call and bench me. That could be disastrous. If the next guy in line stepped up and played well, I might not see the field at all for the rest of the season. It could fucking destroy me. I’d seen it happen plenty of times. The game was built on luck as much as skill, and getting injured so soon was bad luck.

  But I’d also seen plenty of guys push through an injury like mine. There was no reason for me to back down if I didn’t think I was really messed up.

  “I don’t know, Owen. If you’re really hurt, this could genuinely end your career.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but so could benching myself.”

  “I’m worried.” She sat down on the bench next to me.

  “I know, but I understand the risk.”

  “What happens if I don’t tell Coach but you’re really hurt?”

  “I’ll cover for you. I’ll say that you didn’t know.”

  “They won’t buy it.”

  “I’ll try anyway.”

  She leaned back, tipping her head toward the ceiling. I watched the line of her throat and her hair spilling down along her shoulders. She groaned.

  “I want to help you, but I also don’t want to fuck both of us.”

  “I’d rather just fuck you.”

  She tipped her head toward me, making a face. “Cut it out.”

  I crossed my arms. “No joke. I’m wearing only a towel right now, you know.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “We’re in an empty locker room.”

  “That someone can walk into at any second.”

  “Good point. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re not helping.”

  “I don’t want to help. I just want to make it hard.”

  “You’re not talking about my choice, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  She sat up. “Listen. I’m going to trust you. If you think you’re good, then you’re good. But you have to stay off it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I can do that.”

  “I’m serious. As soon as you’re home, get on the couch and don’t move. Ice it, twenty on and twenty off, for an hour. Take a break for an hour, and then do it again. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I smiled at her. “You’re fucking sexy when you make commands.”

  “And you’re a frustrating ass.”

  “A talented, attractive frustrating ass, you mean.”

  “No. I just mean an ass.”

  We were both smiling, and I knew things were okay. She spoke like she was pissed, but that little grin on her
face said otherwise. It felt good that she trusted me with this decision, better than I’d thought it would.

  I moved toward her, and she didn’t move away. The night in the hot tub came back to me, and I knew she was thinking about it too.

  But just then, my phone rang.

  I glanced down at it and went completely still when I saw the name on the screen.

  “Is everything okay?” Taylor asked.

  “Yeah,” I grunted. “I need to take this.”

  “Oh. Uh, sure.”

  I grabbed my phone and quickly walked away. I hated to do this, but it wasn’t the kind of call I could just ignore, even if I had been inches away from kissing her again.

  Once it was out of earshot of Taylor, I answered the call. “Yes?”

  “Hello, Owen. How are you tonight?”

  “What do you want, Tony?”

  “That’s not how you’re supposed to greet an old friend.”

  I clenched my jaw. Tony was an old friend like athlete’s foot was a fun time.

  Tony was my past. I had been hoping I could get through the next few weeks without hearing from him, but that was too much to ask. Frankly, it was surprising that he had gone so long without trying to get something from me.

  “You’re not an old friend.”

  “You break my heart, Owen.”

  “What do you want, Tony? I’m busy.”

  “I want what I always want.”

  “I’m not doing that anymore.”

  He laughed. “You’re not? I didn’t hear anything about that.”

  “I’m in the pros now. I can’t be messing around with betting. If I got caught, I could lose my job. I’d be useless to you.”

  “You’re useless if you’re not fucking betting,” he said.

  Tony was a made man in the mafia. I’d known him for a long time, ever since he and his people gave me a loan to get me through school.

  Those were dark days. I’d just been accepted into school, but I’d had no money. The university was covering most things, but I still needed side cash to feed myself and to get through the day. My grandmother was broke and couldn’t help, and I had no time to get a real job.

  I was a stupid, reckless young man. I knew some guys, I made some calls, and I took a mob loan.

  The problem was, it was never just money. When you took a mob loan, they fucking owned you, especially if you were an important person. As soon as you touched their cash, they had that over you forever.

  Tony had come to me time and time again throughout my college career. I couldn’t pay them back right away, so they made me do them favors. Eventually, they made me throw a game, and I knew I was screwed as soon as I did it.

  I thought I’d be done with them, but of course I wasn’t. They wanted me to place bets with them, to flow my NFL money through them. I’d been avoiding them ever since I got signed, but I knew it was only a matter of time before Tony tracked me down and got his hooks into me again.

  This was the sort of shit that I wanted to keep from Taylor. This was exactly what I was ashamed of most. I’d done some things in my youth, but getting involved with the mafia was by far the stupidest shit I’d ever done. They fucking owned me, and I hated being owned more than anything else.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Your money, you dumb twat. Place a fucking bet before I get annoyed. You know how this goes.”

  I stared back toward Taylor. What would she do if she found out that I was a fucking crook? She’d probably give up on me. Taylor was a good person. She wouldn’t bother with a man who was involved with the mob, especially one who bet on his own sport.

  “Two thousand on next week’s game. The Eagles to win.”

  “Make that five.”

  I sighed. “Fine. Five.”

  “Okay then. I’ll take that bet.” I could hear the smile on that smarmy bastard’s face. “Good luck, kid.”

  “Fuck you, Tony.” I hung up the phone and leaned against the cold wall.

  What the hell was I doing? Maybe I’d win and I’d be one step closer to getting away from them, but we were favored to lose, and with my knee bothering me, I wasn’t sure I was going to be much of an asset. We were playing the New English Patriots, and they were one of the best teams ever.

  There was no guarantee that we’d win, and yet I had just bet five grand on the damn game. Tony must have been confident if he was willing to take the bet at all.

  The problem was, I didn’t have five grand, not yet at least. I was still paying off old debts with every extra dime I got and didn’t have any cash on hand. If we lost and I actually owed the mob that much money, I was going to have to figure some shit out.

  But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t let that distract me.

  I walked back into the other room, but Taylor was already gone.

  “Damn,” I said to myself as I sat back down on the bench.

  All I really wanted was to bend Taylor over and fuck her rough and deep. I wanted her tight little pussy to grip my cock and make me forget all about my fucking problems. Instead, I was alone in the locker room, trying to figure my fucking shit out, and failing.

  Maybe this bet was going to be the motivation I needed to get healthy and to win that fucking game.

  11

  Taylor

  I couldn’t let myself be alone with Owen.

  That was a problem, of course. My whole job was about being alone with Owen. I saw him every day, and I touched his body every day. I couldn’t suddenly try to put distance between the two of us. There was no distance.

  What the heck was I doing? Owen didn’t really give a damn about me. He seemed like he did, but when it came down to it, phone calls were more important. I had been inches away from kissing him, and he suddenly had to walk away to take a call.

  I shouldn’t have been upset about it. That was some pretty childish crap, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be beyond all of this and to not care, but I did. Owen made me feel that way, made me really care.

  His knee was a problem. His attitude was a problem. And now I was in this with him no matter what. Even if I wanted to back out, it was too late. I’d look bad whether I told my boss or not, so I was going to trust Owen.

  I believed him when he said it wouldn’t be a problem, or at least that he thought it wouldn’t. Who actually knew whether his knee would blow out the next game or if he’d have a long, comfortable career. There was no predicting that sort of thing, especially in a violent, chaotic sport like football.

  Sunday morning came and went. I had nothing special to do, so I spent the morning and the afternoon doing chores around my apartment that I’d been putting off. I finally got the laundry done, did every single dish that I’d been putting off, and even vacuumed. I wanted to clean the bathroom, but by the time three in the afternoon rolled around, I was pretty tired.

  As I collapsed onto the couch to admire my clean and sparkling apartment, my phone buzzed. I grabbed it and opened a text without thinking about it.

  “Been thinking about you all day.”

  It was from Owen. I shook my head. “I hope you’re thinking about me while icing your knee.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you while stroking my big, hard cock. With ice on my knee.”

  I sighed and couldn’t help but smile. My heart began to beat faster. “Real professional.”

  “I’m not professional and you know it. Come over.”

  “I can’t come over.”

  “I need you.”

  “You’re fine. Just keep off your feet.”

  “No. I mean I need you to help stretch me out. I’ve been feeling tense.”

  “I don’t think that’s what you really want.”

  “Come find out.”

  I bit my lip and tossed my phone away. Maybe if I threw it aside, I’d forget about Owen and his body.

  I did want to check on him. I didn’t trust that he was doing exactly what I had told him to. I was afraid the idiot was walking around
all day or something like that. Worse, I was afraid he was working out and pushing his body way too far.

  That was my excuse, anyway, as I grabbed my phone again. “Fine. I’ll come check on you. But nothing more than some light therapy.”

  “Whatever you want to call it, I’m down. I’ll send a car.”

  “Fine. See you soon.”

  I felt nervous as I got up and quickly got changed. I put on my work clothes, deciding against a casual look. I didn’t want him to think that this was something it wasn’t, even though it so clearly was. As much as I wanted to pretend like I had no ulterior motive, I couldn’t.

  I wanted him to do the things he said he’d do. I wanted to feel him, really feel him. I wanted to give in to Owen Rack and let him take me. I knew what he could do. I’d touched his body and heard him talk. I’d seen the muscles and the strength. I knew the kind of man Owen Rack was.

  And yet I walked down my apartment steps and went outside to wait for the car he was sending.

  It was dumb. It was irresponsible. But I got into the back and went over anyway.

  Because I couldn’t help myself. When it came down to it, when it came to Owen Rack, I was helpless.

  He lived in a beautiful apartment complex near the stadium. The car dropped me off and I went inside. The doorman was expecting me, and he called the elevator for me. I got inside and realized that I’d never actually seen a real doorman before in my entire life.

  I got off at his floor and headed down the hall. For such a big building, there were only a few doors in the hallway. Owen’s apartment was at the very end. I stopped outside his door and knocked.

  He answered, grinning at me. “Wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

  “I wasn’t either.”

  “Come on it.” He moved aside and I walked into his place.

  His apartment was gorgeous. It was all hardwood floors, clean, modern lines, and tasteful decorations. We walked into his main living room, with a connected, large, updated kitchen and another hallway that I assume led back to the bathroom and the bedroom.

  “Home sweet home,” he said, sitting down on the couch. I was happy to see an ice pack on the coffee table.

  “It’s really nice,” I said.

  “I can’t take credit. It was like this when I moved in.”