Go Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  The money had stopped, though. That was okay. I didn’t need it nearly as much as they did.

  “Oh shoot,” Mom said. “Listen, honey, I have to go. It was great hearing from you.”

  “Tell Dad I said hello.”

  “I will. Call again later; he might be feeling better.”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  She hung up.

  I sipped my coffee, leaning back in my chair. The look Nash gave me when I turned him down flitted through my mind again. He had looked so disappointed and surprised, but also hungry for me, like he wasn’t going to give up. It honestly shook me a bit, made me wonder if he knew something I didn’t.

  One million dollars. That was life-changing money, the sort of money that could really make a difference for my parents.

  And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I wouldn’t have to go in front of the media very often. So long as they knew I existed, got a few pictures of the two of us together, maybe that would be enough. We could say that I was a private person and that I didn’t like the spotlight.

  Or maybe I could just forget about the whole thing. My parents were making it work on their own, after all. I couldn’t imagine that they would want me to go through something like this just for their sake.

  Then again, they’d gone through a lot to raise me right.

  It felt like I was at war with myself. I downed my coffee, got up, and went to get dressed.

  I had to get out of the house.

  I had to stop thinking about Nash Bell, about his cocky grin, his intense stare, his handsome face, his ripped body.

  I had to stop imagining what it would be like to have him slip a ring on my finger.

  And I definitely had to stop thinking about what it would be like on the wedding night.

  6

  Nash

  The media was such a fucking bore.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” I said. “That’s still classified.”

  She smiled at me. “Okay, Nash. Last question. How did it feel to be out there serving your country?”

  I smiled and repeated the same old bullshit. “It was my duty and my honor to fight for the United States abroad.”

  “Thanks, Nash.” We stood and shook hands. I watched as she walked off and spotted Livy heading toward me.

  It was another media interview morning. That was the tenth interview I had done in the span of a few hours, and now hopefully Livy was coming to let me have some fucking peace and quiet for a little while.

  Though that wasn’t likely. I was probably going to be shoved in front of some more cameras and told to say things about how great America was and all that shit. Which, yeah, America was the greatest fucking country in the world, and I really did want to fight for my fucking country. But I was sick of being shoved in front of cameras and told to say it.

  I missed the feeling of sand under my feet, of the sun beating down on my head. And of the constant twinge of fear and worry nagging at the back of my head.

  I had felt alive out there. In the fucking media room of our hotel, I felt like a stuffed animal regurgitating some bullshit.

  “Good job this morning,” Livy said.

  “Thanks,” I grunted. “Easy when you just keep saying the same shit over and over.”

  “Good. That’s what we want.” She paused and frowned at me. “But smile a little more. You looked morose.”

  “I looked fine.” I stretched, looking out the window. “When’s lunch?”

  “Soon.” She stood next to me. “You didn’t go out last night,”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Was it because of our conversation?”

  I sighed, shaking my head. It really didn’t have anything to do with my handlers wanting me to behave. If it were up to me, I would have gotten out there and fucked the first willing, sexy piece of ass that threw herself at me.

  But something had been stuck in my head, something had been nagging me. For some reason, as soon as I’d gotten back to the hotel, I just hadn’t felt like going to yet another club to fuck yet another vapid slut. Instead, I had ordered a whisky from room service and watched shitty TV until I had passed out early.

  Which meant I’d woken up with a much smaller hangover than usual, which was nice.

  “Nothing to do with you,” I grunted at her. “Just felt tired.”

  “Good. Stay tired.”

  I clenched my jaw. “You saying that shit makes me want to do the opposite. You know that, right?”

  She smiled wryly. “Of course, Nash. But you’re good at following orders, right?”

  “Yeah. You know I fucking am.”

  She smiled again and walked away, leaving me there to look out the window.

  Following orders. That was what I was good at. That, and killing men in a thousand different ways. I was so full of deadly training, and yet I was running around America like a fucking circus animal, getting shown off to and fussed over by dumbass media people.

  And yet all I could think about was the girl from the night before. About Selena, the cute fucking college girl, the innocent one. The first girl to turn me down in a long, long time.

  I had a phone full of women who would happily take me up on my offer. Sure, most of them would blow it in under an hour, but they’d all gladly say yes if it meant spending another night with me.

  But not Selena. She had said no and seemed to mean it. She didn’t throw herself at me, but instead was skeptical of everything I had said. True, it was all pretty crazy, and it probably made absolutely no sense to her.

  But there was something about her. Fuck. I couldn’t stop thinking about that dress and what her skin must have felt like.

  I turned back from the window and caught Livy giving me the two minutes sign. Another reporter had just walked into the room and was setting up a small camera.

  Time to go fucking smile and kiss Uncle Sam’s ass on national television.

  That was my fucking life now.

  By the time the day ended, I was tired as hell. I kicked open my hotel room door and tossed my shit onto the dresser.

  I sat down on the bed, collapsing back onto the comforter. This was the point in the night when I normally found the closest bar and tried to pick some girl up, but the only thing I really wanted was something to drink and to eat.

  And Selena. The damn girl kept plaguing my mind, wouldn’t leave me alone. What pissed me off most was that she had listened when I’d told her to dress nice. I adjusted myself in bed, sitting with my back against the headboard, and shut my eyes.

  I pictured what it would be like to get her back in my room. I’d slip her dress off her shoulders and kiss her smooth, pale skin softly.

  I reached down my jeans, tugging them off and grabbing my thick, hard cock as I began to picture Selena down on her knees in front of me. Her dress would be half off, exposing her breasts, as she began to suck my cock. I’d grunt at her, tell her how fucking sexy it looked when she put my dick between her lips, make her keep sucking me nice and hard.

  She’d look up at me like I kept imagining, both coy and fucking sexy all at once. She’d suck my cock with abandon, not shy at all once she got a little dick in her mouth.

  And then I’d lift her up and throw her down, bending her over the bed. I’d push her dress up and slowly push my fingers deep inside her soaking wet pussy. She wouldn’t wear panties, because she knew what she was coming over for.

  She was coming to get fucked by me. And I’d make her beg for it first, make her moan my name with my fingers. I knew how to take care of a woman, how to make her fucking come over and over. I’d work her body, slap her ass, and whisper dirty shit in her ear.

  And finally I’d slowly press my cock deep between her legs. Her tight fucking pussy would grip my cock as I began to fuck her.

  I pictured all of this while jerking myself off. I hadn’t gotten off the night before, and so my cock was hard as fuck just thinking about Selena. I couldn’t
believe it, but it drove me mad just thinking about fucking my fake wife. I’d fuck that pussy rough from behind, listen to her moan, make her scream my name.

  I’d reach around her legs and rub her clit and whisper in her ear. I’d make her mine, fuck her rough, make her come. And just as she had a big, fat fucking orgasm on my thick cock, I’d whisper in her ear, tell her how she was mine now. How I owned her pussy. My fake wife, my dirty slut.

  Fuck. Thinking about Selena drove me fucking crazy. I jerked myself off until I came thinking about Selena’s tits, covering her perky fucking tits in my cum.

  I sat back, taking deep breaths. I hadn’t jerked off in a while, hadn’t needed to. I stood up and walked into the bathroom, cleaning myself off. What the fuck was wrong with me? I couldn’t believe I was sitting inside jerking myself off instead of getting out there and finding some pussy to occupy my mind.

  I left the bathroom, shaking my head, and grabbed the phone. I called up room service and ordered a steak and a whisky.

  Fuck it. This was my last night in Philly, and I was on thin ice with the fucking publishers. I’d lay low for the night and get back to my old self tomorrow. Besides, it wasn’t like I didn’t have an unlimited supply of whisky and steak in this fancy hotel, all billed to the publishing company.

  I kicked back up on the bed and turned on the TV, looking for some half-decent sports to watch. After a few minutes, I heard a knock at my door.

  I got up, pulling my pants back on. “Coming,” I grunted, and walked to the door.

  I pulled it open. “That was fast,” I said, but it wasn’t room service.

  “Am I too late?” Selena asked me.

  I grinned hugely at her. My eyes roamed her body, and I felt a thrill run through my chest.

  “No,” I said. “You’re right on time.”

  7

  Selena

  I didn’t know what the heck I was doing as I walked down the hotel’s hallway.

  I nervously tugged at my skirt, biting my lip, as I approached room number 234. I stared at the door and had the sudden, violent urge to run away, very, very fast.

  I couldn’t believe I was seriously there. I couldn’t believe I was inches away from knocking, moments away from getting involved with a dangerous, attractive stranger.

  And he was a stranger, despite having seen him on television and online for months. I didn’t know a thing about him, and really I had only skimmed his book for the most basic information. Maybe all the tabloid stuff was a lie and he was actually a really good guy. Or maybe I was going to be thrown into something I couldn’t understand with a man I was afraid I couldn’t resist.

  But as much as I hated it, I needed the money. He definitely could pay me, considering how famous he was and how many books he was selling. And one million dollars was going to go a long way for my family, really ease their burden as much as possible.

  I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to get involved with Nash, or lie to the media, or lie to my parents. But I knew that if I could just stick it out for the rest of his book tour, then I could give my parents the money and they’d understand. I knew they’d understand.

  They had to understand.

  As I stood there staring at the door, the war inside me continued to rage. But really, I had come this far. All I had to do was knock on the door and go inside, and I was sure that Nash would do the rest.

  I reached up and knocked.

  My heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t believe I was there, that I was really knocking. Part of me still thought that it was some complicated ploy to get me into bed.

  The door swung open. “That was fast,” he said, and then stopped and looked at me.

  “Am I too late?” I asked him.

  He grinned hugely. “No. You’re right on time.” He moved aside. “Come on in.”

  I walked into his hotel room, not sure what I expected. Inside it was relatively neat and clean, though for some reason I expected him to have stuff thrown all over the place.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “I have food and drink coming, if you’re interested.”

  “Thanks,” I said, sitting down at the table next to his bed.

  “Not much, but it does the trick.” He sat down across from me.

  “What?”

  “The hotel room. Publisher went cheap with it for some reason.”

  “Oh,” I said, looking around. “It’s nice.”

  He laughed. “You’re nervous.”

  I looked at him again, biting my lip. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt and jeans, an outfit I was much more familiar with. I could see tattoos snaking up his arms along his muscular biceps. His piercing green eyes were smiling at me, staring directly at me, and his mouth was pulled up into a delicious and maddening grin.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I said.

  “You’re here to marry me.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

  “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised you showed up.”

  “I’m a little surprised, too.”

  He leaned forward on his elbows. “So tell me, Selena, why did you show up?”

  For a second I was lost in his eyes, his lips. I quickly shook my head. “Money. I’m here for the money.”

  “One million. Like we agreed.”

  “Can you really pay?”

  He laughed and stood up, walking over to his nightstand. He grabbed his phone and began tapping at the screen. He turned and showed it to me.

  It was a bank account. Clearly listed in the savings was over a million dollars.

  “Why the heck do you have this much money in the bank?” I asked, shocked.

  “Where else would I keep it?” he grunted.

  “Investments. Property. I don’t know, but I do know you shouldn’t just have that kind of cash sitting around.”

  He laughed again. “I told you, I don’t give a shit about the money. But that’s enough proof that I can pay, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

  He tossed his phone onto the bed and sat back down. “So, should we talk terms?”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding.

  “First, you can’t tell anyone the truth. Not your best friend, not your parents, not some stranger on the internet. Understood?”

  “Okay,” I said, nodding.

  “Next, you have to maintain the illusion as faithfully as possible. That means we sleep in the same room, maybe we kiss for the cameras, hold hands, all that shit.”

  “No sex,” I said quickly.

  He smirked. “No sex,” he agreed. “Contractually, at least.”

  “This is all business, Nash.”

  “Of course. All business.” He leaned back in his chair, appraising me. “Think you can handle this so far?”

  I nodded, my heart beating fast. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Last condition. You get paid if and only if we make it through the entire book tour without getting caught. If someone figures out the truth, then you don’t get paid. If you tell someone on the last night, you don’t get paid. Understood?”

  I nodded. “Sounds fair.”

  “Okay then. That’s it for me.” He smiled. “Anything you want to add?”

  “Just one thing. No sex,” I said. “I can handle the fake relationship stuff, the kissing and hand holding and all that, but when the doors are closed, we’re just business associates.”

  “No sex,” he agreed. “I’m not interested in forcing you to fuck me if you don’t want to.”

  “One last thing,” I said. “I need you to make me understand why you want this marriage thing, because right now I think you might be an insane person.”

  He laughed, leaning back. “If you think I’m insane, why are you here?”

  “Like I said, I’m here for the money.”

  “Fair enough.” He paused for a second, thinking. “Simple, really. I told you some of it already. The publisher has me by the balls, and I’m not a fan of that.”

  “So h
ow does marrying me help?”

  “Because I need to get my shit together and play by their rules. That’s going to be your job.”

  I stared at him. “So I’m your babysitter?”

  He laughed. “Not exactly. I have enough of those. No. Your job is exactly what I described, no more or less.”

  I sighed. “You think that if you’re married, you’ll somehow stop acting like an ass.”

  “Something like that, sure,” he said, laughing again.

  I wanted to say something else, but there was a knock at the door. Nash stood up and opened it. The room service guy brought in a tray and placed it at the end of the bed, not sparing me a second glance. Nash tipped him and then closed the door behind him as he left.

  “Hungry?” he asked. There was steak and whisky on the cart.

  “No, thanks.”

  “I suggest you eat,” he said. “Because when we’re done here, we’re getting on a plane.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  “You and me, babe, we’re flying to Vegas.”

  “Why?” I asked, surprised. “When?”

  He picked up his glass of whisky and shot it back. “As soon as I’m finished with this steak.”

  “But I don’t have any clothes or anything like that.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll buy you new things.”

  I frowned. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “You’re about to be my wife,” he said. “I have to be able to buy you presents.”

  “But why Vegas?”

  He laughed, sitting down with the steak in front of him and digging in. “You didn’t think we were getting married at the Philadelphia courthouse, did you?”

  “I didn’t think about it,” I admitted.

  “No, we’re getting married in Vegas, baby.” He grinned hugely at me. “We’re doing this right, so get ready for a wild ride.”

  I sat back, letting the shock roll over me. I hadn’t prepared myself to leave that night, but he had a point.