Play Hard: Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Abbi Hemp

  “Oh, baby,” she said. “It truly does keep getting better.”

  “Let’s go down to the pool,” I said, not wanting to wait any longer.

  “What? Why?”

  She tilted her head to the side slightly.

  “I want to see you dive again.”

  “Tonight? Right now?”

  I nodded.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, we just did it, and I’m tired, and…”

  “Come on,” I said. “Just one dive. It will be refreshing.”

  “Okay,” she relented. “You’re acting so weird.”

  “I’m just happy.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

  I bobbed up and down in the water, looking up as she stood on the end of the diving board. She looked marvelous, but I loved her mind even more.

  “Dive!” I shouted.

  She smiled then executed a perfect jump off the diving board, hitting the water with a slight splash. I pulled the ring out of my swim trunks pocket as she swam to the surface.

  I swam over where she came up.

  “There? Are you happy now, crazy man?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “Would you make me the happiest man on the planet tonight and agree to be my wife?”

  A smile spread across her face as she threw her arms over my shoulders as we treaded water in front of each other.

  “I’ll need a verbal answer,” I said.

  “Yes, silly. Yes!”

  She kissed me then swam away to the edge of the pool. I followed. Both of us got out, the smell of chlorine thick in the air. I dropped to one knee and held out the ring.

  The rest of the world faded away as she held out her hand. I slipped the ring on her finger then stood to kiss her again, our wet, naked bodies pressed against each other.

  “After everything we’ve been through, I saw we take a pre-wedding honeymoon this summer.”

  “I can finish my novel anywhere,” she said. “And I’d go anywhere with you.”

  “Anywhere it is, then.”

  We kissed again. Her saying yes beat the feeling of winning a championship game by far.

  FORTY

  Tony

  Fifteen Months Later

  Her first romance novel, Touchdown, broke into the top thousand books on Amazon. The next one did even better. A year later, she had released a half-dozen books. Hanky Panky, the latest, had broken into the top hundred. I was sure she loved interacting with the readers more than the money.

  At least she was happy. As for me, I stayed on the team. My comeback year was the biggest of my entire career. I scored more points, won more games, and got into less trouble than any other professional player in the entire country. Even better, I still hadn’t placed a single bet on anything.

  I looked across the patio as she laid in a lawn chair. Her bulging belly made me smile. Six months after our wedding, she told me she was pregnant with twins. The news made me feel better than if I had won thirty of more championship games in a row. Nothing compared to fatherhood.

  She looked up and noticed me watching.

  “What?”

  “Are they here yet?” I teased.

  For the last six months, I’d been asking her if it was time. To my surprise, she nodded her head. I sat up, trying not to panic.

  “You’re sure? Oh, shit. Where’s the bag. Do you have the bag? The bag is in the car, right? I forgot to get gas. There’s only a half-tank, we’re not going to make it.”

  She smiled up at me.

  “Calm down. Breathe deeply.”

  “Shit. I’m freaking out. You should be the one freaking out, right? Should we both freak out?”

  “Let’s go with neither,” she said and held out her arm. “Help me up?”

  “Sure. Yeah. I got this.”

  I helped her to her feet. Five minutes later, she had waddled to the Escalade parked in the driveway. After getting her in the front seat, I ran around the front to slide in behind the steering wheel.

  “Keys,” I said, patting my pockets. “Where are the keys?”

  “Here, baby.”

  I turned and saw them dangling from between her fingers.

  “You’re awesome,” I said.

  “Remember to breath. Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be telling me that?”

  “You’re calm. That’s good. We’ll make it.”

  My sentence construction skills were limited as I started up the SUV and carefully backed out of the driveway of our shared home.

  “You’ll need to drive a bit faster,” she said. “The contractions are getting closer together.”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to process all the information coming at me.

  She placed her hand on thigh and squeezed. Instantly, I calmed down. We’re going to do this, I thought to myself, taking a deep breath.

  “We still don’t have names,” she said, her breathing a bit more labored.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, glancing over at her.

  “Keep your eyes on the road. I’m fine. This isn’t easy on me.”

  I made it to the hospital in record time. After pulling up to the emergency room entrance, I parked and jumped out of the car. She struggled to get out.

  “Here,” I said, grabbing a wheelchair.

  She sat down. I wheeled her toward the entrance.

  “You can’t park there,” a security guard said.

  “She’s going into labor. Tow it if you have to tow it.”

  “Hey, aren’t you Tony Carlotti?”

  “Yeah, he is, and I’m his wife who’s in labor.”

  “Go in, go in,” the guard said. “I’ll watch your Escalade.”

  “Thanks, man,” I said.

  “No, thank you for two championships in a row. You the shit, man.”

  I smiled.

  “Thanks. We have to go.”

  “Yeah, yeah, go, go,” he said.

  I wheeled Andrea further inside. She lost her cool, her breathing increasing as we neared the elevators.

  “You need to hurry up, Tony. This is happening now. There’s two human beings about to pop out of me. Move!”

  I smashed the up button of the elevator and waited, tapping my foot and rolling her forward and back slightly.

  “You got this, baby,” I said. “Remember the breathing.”

  “I’m breathing. I need the drugs, and I need them now!”

  The elevator doors slid open. I pushed her in and pressed the button for the fifth floor, the maternity ward.

  “Fuck. I forgot to hit the It’s Happening button on the app to let them know we’re coming.”

  “Hit it now,” she said.

  I grabbed my phone and tapped the stork icon.

  “There. That was simple.”

  “Hurry!” she screamed again.

  “We’re almost…”

  A bell dinged and the doors slid open. I pushed her out into a hallway, looking to the left and right for a nurse’s station. When I saw one, I rushed over.

  “She’s having her baby,” I said.

  “We just got your notification,” a nurse said, walking around her desk. “Let’s get her into a room and prepped. The doctor will be here shortly.”

  “I need the drugs!” she yelled again.

  “We got this,” I said to her while squeezing her shoulder.

  “Drugs,” she said simply.

  The nurse opened a door. I wheeled Andrea in. A few minutes later, she was on the bed, drugs hitting her bloodstream to help with the immense pain. I stood by her side. She squeezed my hand tightly, but I didn’t care as the doctor came into the room.

  “You need a mask on,” he said, nodding his head toward me.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, looking around the room.

  I wasn’t about to wrestle my hand from Andrea’s grasp.

  “Here you go,” a nurse said as she handed me one.

  I managed to get it on with one hand as the doctor did his job. Most of the time, I kept my attention on Andrea’s face. Even in
the pain of labor, she looked beautiful to me. Or maybe her beauty came from the fact she was about to become the mother of my first two children.

  She grunted, breathing heavily, and squeezed my hand even tighter.

  “We got this,” I said. “Breath.”

  “There’s no we in childbirth!” she said loudly between breaths.

  “Push,” the doctor said. “Concentrate.”

  The miracle of birth unfolded in front of me. It was truly the most miraculous sight ever. Nothing compared to the emotions running through my mind as not one but two baby boys were delivered. They were both healthy if not a bit small. I loved them all the same.

  ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

  An hour later, as Andrea held both our baby boys, I smiled down at her.

  “We still need to come up with names.”

  “We are not going to call either of them Touchdown.”

  “Hey, I was just joking,” I said. “Okay, not really, but I understand. It would suck if Touchdown grew up to hate sports.”

  “So…I was thinking something simple and traditional, like Samuel and Timothy, Sam and Tim.”

  I glanced down at them, so sweet, fresh and innocent.

  “That works for me,” I said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. They have a nice ring to them.”

  “I love you, Tony.”

  As I stared down at her smiling face, so full of joy, I knew words were meaningless, but I said them anyway.

  “I love you, Andrea, and our whole family.”

  She smiled.

  “We’re a family now. I’m so glad I walked in on you, Tony.”

  “So am I, Andrea. So am I.”

  I bent to kiss her softly on the lips.

  While I wasn’t a betting man anymore, if I had to wager on us making, the odds would suck because the chances were so high of us being together until we grew gray and old. I placed my hand on her arm. The playoff ring that gleamed didn’t compare to the satisfaction and happiness of starting a family.

  “This scene better not make it one of your novels,” I teased.

  “All names will be changed to protect the innocent. Trust me.”

  I trusted her more than any other person on the entire planet.

  Stoned

  ONE

  Heidi

  First Interview

  The smell of expensive leather and wealth hit me as I sat next to Brent Stone in the back of a stretch SUV. I thought about my next question while we headed back from a tour of his new multi-acre grow operation outside of Denver, Colorado.

  “Is your surname really Stone?” I asked.

  He turned to me with a cocksure grin.

  “You’re starting with that?”

  I scribbled “cocky” in my notebook.

  “It’s what everyone wants to know.”

  “Everyone, huh? You too?”

  His sparkling blue eyes were weapons of mass seduction according to what I’d read about him while doing research, but I found it difficult to look away from them.

  “I could care less, to be honest.”

  He’s hot as hell, but definitely not my type.

  “It’s my real last name,” he said.

  “Brent Stone, one of the first multi-millionaires to come out of the legalization of marijuana in Colorado. A nice coincidence for branding purposes.”

  “There are no coincidences in life,” he said gruffly.

  The SUV suddenly accelerated. Brent pressed a button to talk with the driver.

  “What’s up, Keifer?”

  “We’re being followed,” his right hand man’s voice said.

  “Fuck,” Brent growled.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you going to cancel the interview again?”

  “No, but we may have some problems.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Problems?”

  “The banks won’t touch my money because of federal drug laws, and I’m carrying about two million in cash with us.” He nodded his head to a safe near the front. “Someone is going to try to take it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I craned my next to look out the back. “Who are they?”

  “The cartel or local bandits, probably,” he said calmly as he reached under the seat and pulled out a pump-action shotgun.

  “Nice Mossberg,” I noted, my blood flowing more quickly as my heart raced.

  He cocked it.

  “You know your weapons,” he said.

  Before I could try to cover my mistake at blurting out knowledge I probably wouldn’t have as a reporter for High Times, the SUV shook as a pickup truck hit us from the back.

  “Roll your window down,” he shouted to me.

  I hit the button and watched the tinted window lower as the truck behind us – which looked like it had been stolen from the Mad Max movie set – roared and pulled alongside the SUV.

  “Get down,” Brent said, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me down.

  With my face in his lap, I heard the Mossberg fire. Tires squealed.

  “Let go,” I said in an irritated tone as I struggled to get up.

  The SUV sped forward as Brent moved his hand.

  “Sorry, I had to defend my money.”

  “Don’t ever put your hands on my like that again,” I said.

  “Settle down, Ace. I saved your life. These thugs carry guns too, illegal ones that do real damage.”

  I glared at him, ready to break cover and go off on him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked with concern in his voice.

  After a deep breath, I said, “Yeah. How often do you have to deal with stuff like that?”

  “Pretty often these days. I usually have a security team, but I lost a dozen men to a competitor last week. Guards are in high-demand, and they’re taking advantage of us entrepreneurs.”

  “Is that how you see yourself?” I asked.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? We can reschedule the interview.”

  “No, not again. I finally have you, and I don’t intend on letting you get away until I have what I need.”

  “Yeah?” He focused those brilliant blue eye-beams onto me. “What does a beautiful woman like you need?”

  “To get enough information about the real you to do a half-way decent article.”

  “That’s so boring,” he said.

  “Well, some of us don’t enjoy gunfights on the highway.”

  As he stared at me, I wondered about the real Brent Stone. He had a tough exterior, but I wanted to know more about what made him tick.

  “Again, my apologies. It should make for a hell of an opening to your article.”

  “I guess. Are you going to call the police or just leave them back there?”

  “Keifer called them already. That’s procedure. The way the cartels operate, the truck and people will be gone before anyone arrives. They’re good at guerilla tactics.”

  “Seems you are too.”

  He leaned back stretching those impossibly long legs and crossing one over the other. The brand new blue jeans didn’t fit the millionaire stereotype, but if I’d learned anything about Brent Stone, he was as far from stereotypical as you could get.

  “Yeah, I guess I have to be. It’s a dog eat dog world. You should know that because you’re in the media.”

  I smiled, trying not to break cover.

  “Anyway, we should be okay from here to the warehouse. Keep firing away with your questions.”

  “Funny,” I said, looking down to the notebook in my lap. “What’s next for Brent Stone?”

  With the softball question, I hoped to get him to drop some of his defenses and open up. He turned to me with a grin.

  “Whatever I want.”

  I nodded, the memory of his hand on my neck and my head in his lap making it difficult to think clearly.

  “Fair enough. Do you plan to lobby the government to change existing federal marijuana laws?”

  “Good question,” he said. “I have a lot of money.
And as you’ve seen, a lot of people want it. In my mind, Congress is almost as bad as the cartels.”

  I scribbled his quote on the notebook to keep up appearances.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said.

  Oh no, I thought. “Go ahead.”

  “How does a beautiful woman like you end up wearing an ugly suit all day?”

  While his attempt at a compliment made part of me feel good, I could easily see through the line he probably used on countless women.

  “How could a rich man like you end up working as a security guard?”

  “Touché.” He grinned again, his flawless teeth battling his blue eyes for my attention. “Are you going to ask me a question for each one I ask you?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  Wind blew in through the open window next to me, rustling my long red hair.

  “Then we’re going to be talking all night, I guess.”

  “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, for the important questions.”

  “We’re almost to the office,” Keifer said through the intercom, breaking up some of the tension in the air.

  “Do you have any other questions? I have a lot to do today.”

  “That’s all for now,” I said. “Can I contact you if I need something else?”

  “You can contact me for anything you want.”

  He sat up and leaned over, pressing the button to roll up the window. My heart beat faster as his hard, muscled arm brushed against my chest.

  “Excuse me,” he said, sitting back up after the window was up all the way. “I couldn’t stand to see the wind messing up your hair anymore.”

  I smiled. “My curls always manage to bounce right back into place.”

  “You’ve got the whole package.”

  “You hitting on me, Mr. Stone?”

  “Will that help you write a better article about me? Or are you a real journalist?”

  Why would he ask that? Does he know something?”