Gunslinger: A Sports Romance

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  Wait … maybe because it’s been never.

  I glance out of the mystery woman’s bedroom window and realize based on the age and architecture of the buildings surrounding me that I’m clear across town. I’m going to need a little extra time to make it to my morning meeting. A meeting that I called.

  Shit.

  An incoming text vibrates my phone to life. With one eye open, I scan the surrounding area for my cell. It’s in the bed, tangled in the sheets.

  Jade: The old man is waiting.

  Double shit.

  Me: Stall for me.

  Jade: Long night?

  Me: Mind your business

  Jade: I’ll give you a $100 if you can tell me her name:)

  Me: I’ll give you a $1000 if you quit.

  Jade: Give me $10,000 and you have a deal.

  Me: Just stall. I’ll fire you later.

  Jade: ☺

  My clothes are strewn all over the floor of what’s her name’s bedroom floor. I’m not really sure what that’s about since I’m not typically a rip my clothes off in the heat of passion kind of guy. That’s some soap opera shit. Mostly because passion is for pussies in love. I don’t do passion, and I damn sure don’t do love. I fuck. And that doesn’t require a whole lot of demonstrative hoo-hah. Just technique. Which I have plenty of.

  As I pick my jeans up and yank them back on, what’s her name’s body shifts and stretches as if she’s finally waking up, when I know good and damn well that she’s been awake for hours. What theatrics.

  Then regretfully, she speaks.

  “Hey good morning,” she says with a somewhat scratchy deep voice. She must be a smoker, and I must have been really drunk to miss that. I don’t like smokers. Especially when they’re sticking their tongues down my throat.

  “I added my number to the contacts in your phone. It’s under–”

  “Why?” I demand to know flatly.

  I swear that I’m not purposely trying to be an ass, okay maybe I am, but I’m annoyed that she was handling my phone while I was sleeping; and I’m even angrier that I was sloppy enough to spend the night here and not have my passcode on. I’ve got to ease up on the Jack Daniels. I’m slipping.

  “In case you want to call me.”

  “I won’t.” I say sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling my t-shirt over my head, with my back still turned to her. Just gotta find my boots, and I’m out of here.

  “You may change your mind.”

  When she sits up and the sheet falls, I turn my head and get a good look of her entire body. She’s definitely my usual type. Big perky boobs. Flat stomach. Slender hips. Extremely long legs. Plus, she knows she looks good. Confidence is always attractive, but that doesn’t change anything. We’re both grown and this was what it was.

  “I don’t do second dates,” I tell her honestly.

  She pauses for a moment. “What … Why?”

  “Not interested in more than once.”

  She served her purpose. Well … then again maybe she didn’t. The whole point was to use this chick’s body to forget another woman’s. But that shit didn’t work, because all I seem to be thinking about is the woman who is not my usual type, clear as day. Elizabeth’s petite, soft, curvy ass body in those tiny jeans. Hugging her hips and ass so sweetly. That barely there halter accentuating her rounded shoulders and those heavy tits and tight nipples. Damn.

  She points her finger at me. “I heard you were a world class jerk. In fact–”

  “Did you come?” I abruptly interrupt her, because I could give two shits what she heard about me from whatever club skanks she rolls with.

  “What–”

  “I asked if I made you come last night.”

  She turns her lips up. “Yes but–”

  “Did I disrespect you at all?”

  “No, but you–”

  “So let’s be clear. I made you come. Loud, hard and more than once if I recall. I’m pretty sure I even said goodnight; the polite motherfucker that I am. We slept, and now it’s a new day, and I have to go. If you’re going to fuck strangers that you take back to your apartment, then you’re going to have to toughen up. Not everyone is going to want to go steady afterwards.”

  What’s her name was finally stunned and silent.

  Just the way I like ‘em.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ROMAN

  “WELL LOOK WHO THE CAT drug in?” Jade quips with that smartass mouth of hers. Her delicate heart shaped lips would be sort of appealing, if I didn’t look at her like anything more than an annoying little sister and a competent assistant.

  I admit that I look like shit.

  I need a shower and a shot of something in my coffee, but I don’t have time for all of that before I meet with the old man. Joseph’s going to want to be assured that I have things handled.

  “Is that how you greet the man who’s paying your rent?” I kid with Jade.

  “You pay my salary, not my rent,” She says as she hands me a fresh cup of black coffee.

  “Potato, potahto.”

  The door to the conference room shoots open and two mounds of muscle who closely resemble each other barge into the room.

  “The King brothers are here!” The younger, louder one named Cutter yells out like the town crier.

  “Knucklehead.” I respond giving him a strong hug and handshake combination.

  I give a simple head nod to the other brother Camden, as he takes a seat in one of the large conference chairs by the window. His body language speaks volumes. He’s all about business today and is trying to exude an air of dominance in the room. He’s getting mentally prepared for Joseph, my father, someone who is not one of his favorite people right now.

  “Boys.” Jade greets them with a smirk.

  “Hey.” They both reply in unison. “Wassup Jade.”

  The King brothers and I work for my father and the company, which he founded, Masterson & Associates (us being the associates). We are for lack of a better word “fixers.” We spend our days getting spoiled celebrities out of trouble, and that’s a messier job than you would imagine. Not slick and glamorous like that chick on the television show Scandal makes it look.

  Jade works as a sort of an all-purpose assistant for the three of us, which basically means that she keeps us on point and runs interference between the three of us and my father a lot. When I met her, we were teenagers, and she was getting beat up on a regular basis by her low-life ex who was addicted to pain killers and using her to fund his habit. She loved him, but thankfully she loved herself more, and didn’t go back to him after I beat the hell out of his high ass. I don’t have a lot of patience for addicts, probably because of my mommy issues, but that’s another story for another day. Jade and I have been friends ever since. In fact, she is probably one of my only true friends. Her and the Kings.

  “You look like shit on a stick,” Cutter says to me while laughing heartily.

  “What did you tell him?” I ask Jade in an effort to purposely ignore Cutter’s observation. “Where did he go?”

  “Where did who go?” The cool as ice voice asks from the doorway.

  With my back towards the all too familiar voice, I walk around to the buffet table to grab a handful of M&Ms out of a plain and slightly dented silver candy dish.

  “Morning Joseph,” I say half-heartedly to my father as a I loosely shake a few of my favorite candies in my fist then pop them into my mouth one by one.

  “Morning? It’s damn near the afternoon. Why are you late Roman? I believe you called this meeting.”

  Standing tall with a stern look in his eyes, even at my age my father still intimidates me. His salt and pepper hair and impeccably tailored three piece suit makes him appear quite formidable, and of course I’ve seen first hand the rage that simmers behind that cool exterior of his. Jade quietly leaves the room as she always does when we have meetings, unless the old man requests her to stay.

  “Had some stuff come up,” I say coolly.r />
  “Stuff.” He repeats flatly as if he’s annoyed. I’m used to his disapproval though. Joseph hates the fact that no matter how successful he is and how much money he makes, that I still sound like everyone from the old neighborhood. Full of excuses he says. Our old neighborhood and the people in it is a place he would very much like to forget. Me not so much. No matter how much money I make, I always want to remember where I come from. Unlike Joseph, I’ve never been ashamed of it.

  Camden keeps a close but quiet eye on the old man as he smoothes his tie and takes a seat at the conference table.

  “I called the meeting to discuss the MTV event, Johnson’s DUI, and to also assure all of you that things went smoothly at the club last weekend. We’ve got Henson right where we want him,” I say.

  “And where’s that?” Camden asks sarcastically.

  I really wished what’s her name had taken care of my Elizabeth problem, because I’m so fucking wound up by it, that I’m seriously considering beating the crap out of Camden just for being a smart ass. I don’t need his attitude right now.

  “Ready to sign the shittiest ass deal ever and sign over the club like we agreed,” I say.

  The tension is practically bouncing off the walls of our small conference room. Camden’s mood sucks, Cutter is potentially a loose cannon, and I’m not in the mood for anybody’s shit. I hope that Camden can see that without me having to spell it out all across his face. We used to wail on each other for fun when we were kids, but we’re not those boys anymore. We’re grown ass men.

  Camden smirks. “You mean the agreement to sign the club over to Joseph here?”

  My father rises smoothly to his feet. “Is there something you want to say to me Camden King?”

  I watch Cutter shift in his seat a little. He’ll go ape shit if he thinks his brother is being threatened, although that doesn’t bother Joseph in the least. He knows I won’t let that happen. Regardless of my issues with the old man, he is my father as well as the boss. I won’t let tempers get out of hand.

  “I just need it to be crystal clear who and what we’re doing all this work for.” Camden says.

  “You work for me. You have always worked for me. I AM this business, and if you don’t want to work for me any longer, all you have to do is say the word. I have no interest in employing unhappy people.”

  I have considered the fact that there is a small possibility that Camden and Cutter are speaking directly with someone at a competing agency behind my father’s back. Not many can be trusted in this game, and not everyone can get things done like we can. We rarely fail at what we do, and that’s a big commodity in this game. I can see how another agency might assume that the boss’s son isn’t going to go anywhere, but that perhaps the King brothers could be convinced to leave Masterson & Associates. I just hope that isn’t the case. I have no interest in finding out that two of my oldest (and only) high school friends would be so willing to stab me in the back. I think I’d rather live in ignorance.

  “Is that right Joseph? You care about my happiness? About my brother’s happiness?” Camden is leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him. I feel like I’m missing something. I know Joseph gets under his skin sometimes, but now I’m starting to wonder if something else is going on between them.

  Joseph squints his eyes at both brothers. “I care as much as I should care about an employee.”

  Cutter’s fists are clenching. He’s going to blow if I don’t diffuse the situation.

  “I’m meeting with Henson in a few hours.” I interject. “I need to run if I’m going to look half decent before I get there. We’ll talk about the awards show and the DUI later. You’re fine with the contract details right Joseph?”

  There’s a moment of silence in the room as each man is considering what they are going to say or possibly do next. Joseph smoothes his tie again and turns his head to look at me. I know him. He’s giving me the Masterson once over. Observing my body language. Trying to assess if there’s anything I’m hiding. I know it well, because I do the same thing to men everyday. Sometimes it’s so fucking clear where I get my trust issues from. I’m not hiding anything though. I just want him to get the hell out of the room before somebody blows.

  “The details are fine. Of course if you can negotiate less, then do so, but make it look believable. It can’t look like a shake down. We’re not mafia or gangsters. We’re businessmen.”

  I know all of this already. He’s drilled the art of our brand of business negotiation into my head a hundred times, but I still nod my head to him in understanding and respect.

  “Got it.”

  Then I walk over to the safe and get my gun. A five year old Beretta that’s never failed me yet. While I’m checking the chamber for bullets, Joseph walks up behind me.

  “I need to speak with you briefly about family business.”

  “All right.”

  I give Camden and Cutter a look that asks them to leave the room, and frankly I’m relieved because that means that I don’t have to give Camden my “what the fuck” speech, because I don’t feel like giving it, and I sure as shit don’t feel like arguing with him. I already get it. What reason would a fixer like Joseph need to own several Philadelphia nightclubs? And why is it our job to make these deals happen for him? He hasn’t been paying us extra.

  So yes I get it. Camden feels like we’re getting dicked over and so do I. I’m just not sulking and pouting over it like a twelve-year-old kid. My father can run his business however he wants. It’s up to us whether or not we are going to put up with the terms. That’s why when the right opportunity presents itself, I’m going to stop working for him. Stop doing this shit period. I’m not stupid. I know that Joseph never has any intentions of passing the business on to me. All I am is a well-paid, glorified henchman. Muscle. The enforcer. Plus I think the crazy old man intends on living forever.

  “Your cousin is coming to live with Juliette and me for a while.”

  “What cousin?” Joseph doesn’t keep in touch with his only brother and my mother has no siblings.

  “Juliette’s niece. The one you buried up to her eyeballs in dirt when she was just a little girl.”

  This conversation was boring me to tears. Everything always comes back to Juliette. His sun, moon, and stars. It’s nothing personal against her. I like her … but enough already.

  “And?”

  “She’s in trouble. I don’t know the details because her parents refused to tell Juliette everything, but Juliette is worried sick.”

  “She’s pregnant?”

  “Not that type of trouble. Our type of trouble. I need you to find out what kind exactly, and then I need you to handle it. Nothing messy Roman. Just handle it. Come by the restaurant early tonight, and I’ll introduce you to her.”

  This is just fucking great. Another non-paying side job for Joseph.

  Babysitting my little cousin.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ROMAN

  WHEN I ARRIVE TO THE WORN metal door of Club Lotus, I double check the streets making sure that Henson doesn’t have anyone watching the front of the club. This negotiation will only work if I catch him off guard. I make sure that my sidearm is securely concealed under my jacket, that I have the contract in my hands, and my phone is on vibrate. The door is open and so I immediately walk straight into the big jelly belly of security.

  “What do you want?”

  “Where’s Henson?” I ask the four hundred pound, bald-headed man giving me the screw face.

  “He wasn’t expecting you.”

  “He’ll want to talk to me. I’ll be at the bar pouring myself a shot of something.”

  Club Lotus looks like a bomb was set off inside. That’s what happens when hundreds of people panic in a closed area. Expensive sound equipment is ruined. Chairs are broken. Tables are on their sides. The floor is littered with glass, napkins, and random things like shoes and lighters. Doesn’t anybody clean up in here? It’s been
over seven damn days.

  I’m reminded of last week when I was sitting in this same corner and spotted Elizabeth as she entered the club. I’d been watching the door all night, because I was waiting for the women I hired to take their positions and begin our very much-orchestrated disruption. I’m not easily distracted from work, especially when it comes to tits and ass, but this was no normal woman.

  She didn’t belong here.

  She didn’t seem polished or pretentious, as most of the women here, although she was definitely classy. It was also obvious that she wasn’t on the hunt for some dick for the night, like many of the overworked and high-strung young career women who frequented the club. She was new, it was clearly her first time, and it irked me a little that her friend left her by herself. Men have radar when it comes to that type of shit. I could already see a half dozen men plotting on her spectacular ass by the time she took the dance floor. Did I mention that I am an ass man?

  And then when she closed her eyes and started swaying those hips of hers to the rhythm of the music, I nearly lost my shit. I thought to myself, that if I wasn’t on a job, how I’d walk up behind her and slide my hand down the front of her jeans inside her panties. Or maybe she wasn’t wearing any panties? Hell, that would be even better. I’d rub her out right on the dance floor and just wish a motherfucker would say something about it. She’d begin to moan out a plea for me to stop or to not stop right as she climaxed, but that’s when I’d turn her around and put my mouth over hers to swallow that orgasm for her and keep it only between us.

  I had been way deep inside my fantasy when I noticed some punk kid come up behind her on the dance floor. Dancing behind her ass a little too closely for my taste. It was almost as if he was in my head and was beginning to act out all the things I wanted to do to her myself. I swallowed another shot of Jack and gritted my teeth when he placed his palm on the side of her waist. The deep seated anger that I’ve been able to carefully keep in check and bring forward only on command was threatening to rise up. That new thing snaking in my chest was constricting my airways. Challenging me to do something about the kid. I tightened my fists as I silently dared the little man-child to touch her just one more time. If he did I was going to have to come out of the shadows and wring his fucking neck.