Play Hard: Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Abbi Hemp

  He laughed.

  “Invite her over.”

  “I might. I’m playing it cool.”

  “When’s the article supposed to come out?”

  “She hasn’t told me yet,” I said.

  Two more topless women passed.

  “That’s my cue to go,” Keifer said. “Keep both your heads up.”

  I nodded my head at him then watched as he followed after the two topless women. They were fine, but I’d fucked plenty like them over the years. While it always started out good, it ended up with them clinging and asking me to fix their lives with money. Fuck that shit.

  Not into the party scene that night, I headed upstairs to my master bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I went out onto the balcony, sat down and lit up. As I took a hit, I looked down at the tattoo on my chest, the year of my birth, 1983, and a pot leaf.

  If I’d been born ten years earlier or ten years later, I’d never have been able to build up a legal weed empire so quickly. Thanks to the luck of the stars – or something – I’d come into the world at the perfect time. That or I’d just been good at spotting a trend and jumping on it.

  Another hit, another thought. By my third one, my mind was in another place. As the pot king of Colorado, I had access to the strongest oils, waxes and dabs, but I liked smoking regular herb in a special vaporizer pen. Something about the taste made me happy.

  Heidi popped back into my mind as I set the vaporizer down on the glass table next to me. I pulled my phone out of my shorts pocket and tapped the screen to find her name in my address book. After pressing send call, I put the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?” she answered quietly.

  “Hey, it’s Brent.”

  “Hi, Brent. Most of my interview subjects don’t call me back this often or this late. Everything okay? You going to come clean about Stone not being your last name?”

  I chuckled.

  “No, I was thinking about you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I meant the article. When’s the article coming out?”

  “It’s up to my editor,” she said.

  “Oh, okay. You said that already, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” she said.

  “I’m having another party tonight. You want to come over and talk?”

  “We can talk on the phone,” she said. “I’m not going back out tonight.”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “No, I’ve got my PJs on, and I’m in for the night.”

  “You’re going to have me breathing heavy if you keep describing what you have on.”

  “Okay, you wanted one of those kind of non-conversations. I should go.”

  “No, we can talk. You’re so hot, is all.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing we’re talking on the phone then.”

  “Seriously. You should be a model. You’re too cute to be a journalist?”

  “Who says I’m not a model in my spare time.”

  I smiled. “Funny.”

  “How is your party going? Shouldn’t you be playing host?”

  “I’m on my balcony watching again.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  “It’s been a long day,” I said, not sure why I was opening up to her.

  Something about her voice made me want to trust her with all my secrets.

  “You’re not stoned and relaxing?”

  “Oh, I’m stoned, but I still have a million thoughts going through my mind. I need to find a new grower if I’m going to keep ahead of the rest of the market.”

  “Growers aren’t hard to find in Colorado.”

  “No, but I need someone special. I’ve heard of a super grower, but I’ve not been able to find out where he’s working these days.” She didn’t say anything. “You still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s getting late, and I’m tired. I’ve had a hard day at work too.”

  “Sitting in a chair and typing words got you worn out, huh?”

  “Yeah, something like that. It’s more of a mental exhaustion.”

  “You should let me give you some free samples of our edibles.”

  “No thank you.”

  “Where are you right now?” I asked, changing the subject back to her.

  “I’m in my bedroom, actually.”

  “Nice. House or apartment?”

  “Who’s asking all the questions now?” she teased.

  I smiled again. “Maybe I’m a journalist in my spare time.”

  “Everyone thinks they’re a journalist on the internet.”

  “Tell me about it. You ever search for my name online?”

  “Of course,” she said then quickly added. “For my article.”

  “Well, did you see all the garbage people talk about me? It’s crazy. Before I had money, nobody cared less. Now, everyone wants to see me destroyed or become my friend. It’s maddening.”

  “Sounds bad,” she said.

  “You have a very soothing voice.”

  “Don’t go back to the phone sex conversation.”

  “I’d love to, but I respect you. I’m serious, though. You should do radio or television journalism.”

  “Yeah,” she said then took a deep breath. “Look, Brent. I appreciate the call. You have a nice voice too, but I need to go. I have a full day tomorrow.”

  “Send me your address,” I said suddenly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want to send you something.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Come on, it’s not like I’m a stalker or something.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Once you have a few million dollars, you end up spending most of your time turning women away.”

  “I bet,” she said. “Anyway, I can’t accept a gift from you if I’m writing an article about you.”

  “True. A shame, but true.”

  “Goodnight, Brent. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Goodnight.”

  I ended the call and set the phone down. As I interlaced my fingers behind my head and looked out at the partiers below, I thought about Heidi. Complex women like her intrigued me. She was hiding something from me. I became determined to find out at least a couple of her secrets.

  EIGHT

  Brent

  Born to Be Wild

  While I didn’t need an excuse to go and see Heidi, I thought she might find it funny if I brought her my birth certificate to prove Stone was actually my surname. My real plan was to get her to trust me enough to invite me over to her place. Seeing her house or apartment would tell me a lot about her.

  I called her up, hoping she answered and wasn’t busy.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Heidi. It’s Brent.”

  “Yeah, I saw your name on the phone.”

  “Ah, so I’m important enough to be in your contact list.”

  “I guess. What’s up?”

  “Well, I have a surprise for you. If you’re off work, I figured I would stop by and give it to you. Do you have normal working hours as a journalist?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s not really a good time.”

  “Come on. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She paused. I waited to clinch the deal.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll meet you somewhere.”

  “Nope. This is something you need to see where you live.”

  “You’re pushy.”

  “The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”

  “Okay. I’ll text you the address. But you can’t stay long. Give me half an hour.”

  “Sure,” I said with a smile on my face. “See you soon.”

  I ended the call before she changed her mind. With at least half-an-hour to kill, I had Keifer drive me to the warehouse to the grow operation.

  When he pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a dust-covered black Suburban near the entrance.

  “Who’s that?” I asked from the back seat of the stretch SUV.
/>
  “I have no idea, but I’m about to find out.”

  He parked then opened the door and hopped out. I watched through the side window as he approached the other SUV. Three men in suits got out.

  Fuck, I thought. Another robbery?

  I reached under the seat and grabbed the Mossberger shotgun just in case a gunfight erupted. While I was protected by bullet proof glass and metal shielding, I wasn’t about to let Keifer get torn down in front of me while I watched.

  The three men surrounded him. I got out, pumped the shotgun to get their attention and walked over. Keifer stepped back toward me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Everything okay?”

  “We’re from the DEA, Mr. Stone.”

  “I’m following all the state laws,” I said. “Are you seriously going to bust me?”

  “No, no,” the lead man said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “We’re here to talk.”

  I shook his hand. Weak-ass grip like most government men.

  “Talk about what?” I asked, resting the shotgun on my shoulder.

  “Our boss wants to have a discussion with you.”

  “About what?”

  “That’s for him to say.”

  “Who’s him?”

  “Again, that’s for him to say.”

  “You’re not giving me a lot of information to work with,” I said, tilting my head back. “What’s this really about?”

  “It’s not bad, Mr. Stone. Take this number.” He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card. “Call him soon. It will be worth the trouble.”

  I took the card and stuffed it into my back jeans pocket without looking at it.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “No, sir. Call him.”

  As they walked back to their Suburban and piled in, I stepped over to Keifer.

  “What did they tell you?” I asked.

  “About the same as what they told you.”

  “Fucking weird,” I said as the SUV pulled away.

  My phone buzzed. I looked down and saw an address near downtown Denver with the message, “Be there at six.”

  “Let’s make this quick,” I said. “Then I need to go downtown.”

  He nodded, not questioning me at all.

  * * *

  An hour later, Keifer parked on the street in front of her apartment building.

  “You sure you want to be messing with a woman who lives in a place like this?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine. Wait out here for a bit, okay?”

  “Sure thing, boss man. Not like I had plans.”

  “Quit with the dramatics.”

  I opened the back door and climbed out. My head tilted back as I looked up at the five-story brick apartment building that looked like it had been built in the 1950s if not earlier. After checking the address on my phone to make sure I had the right place, I went inside.

  The smell hit me as soon as I opened the front door to the lobby, which wasn’t even locked. What the hell am I doing here? I thought as I climbed the stairs to the second floor. An image of her long, curly red hair answered my question as it flashed in my mind.

  In front of her apartment, I stopped and knocked on the door.

  “Hold on,” she called on the other side.

  I heard someone moving furniture.

  When she opened the door, I became mesmerized immediately. Beyond her good looks, something hid behind her eyes. I had to know more about her.

  “Come in,” she said, stepping aside.

  I glanced around the bare living room, an old couch the only furniture visible.

  “You just move in?” I asked.

  She shut the door.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Journalists really don’t make a lot of money, do they?”

  “Not the writers. You want something to drink?”

  “No,” I said while watching a roach scurry across the floor.

  Without blinking an eye, she stepped forward and stomped on it.

  “You can run away now,” she said.

  “What do I care about a roach? You need help with an exterminator or something?”

  “I’m fine. You said you have something for me?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said with a grin as I reached into the inside pocket of my suit jacket.

  I pulled out a copy of my birth certificate and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Proof my last name is Stone.”

  “I believed you.”

  “I know, but it gave me an excuse to come see where you live.”

  “And now you’re ready to run away, right?”

  I waved a hand through the air, disregarding her worry.

  “Have you eaten yet? We could go get some dinner?”

  “Not tonight,” she said. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  “You work from here?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I had a strange visitor at my grow operation today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, the DEA stopped by, but they wouldn’t tell my why.”

  Her face twitched slightly at the news.

  “I’m doing everything above board,” I said. “My operation is entirely legal in Colorado.”

  “That’s what you said. Has the DEA visited you before?”

  “There you go with all the questions again.”

  “I am a journalist.”

  “Yeah. I guess that’s why I stopped by,” I lied. “Make sure you don’t write a hit piece on me.”

  “You think I’m writing a hit piece?”

  “I’m not sure, and that’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, I’m not writing a bad article on you. I promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” I said, stepping toward her.

  She didn’t back away as our eyes met. Her hazel pupils appeared magical, like they belonged in a fairy tale of one kind or another. I took another step forward, wanting to kiss her so bad.

  “You should go,” she said, turning her head. “I have work to do.”

  “Okay,” I said, wondering if I should press forward and kiss her.

  “I’ll call you soon if I have any more questions.”

  “Call me anyway,” I said.

  “Yeah. Maybe. Let me know if the DEA is poking around again.”

  “You should do a story on them,” I joked.

  “Yeah, I should.”

  She walked to the front door and opened it. I walked over and stopped to put my hand on her arm. We made eye contact again.

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  I smiled, acting unconcerned.

  “You too.”

  Outside in the hallway, I heard the door shut behind me. I headed toward the stairs, wanting even more to know her – everything about her. From her favorite color to her comfort food to her preferred sexual positions, I wanted to devour her like a book, movie, or fine glass of wine. I had to make her mine.

  NINE

  Heidi

  Better Plants Matter

  The morning after Brent asked to see my apartment, I went to see Ron Glass. While I didn’t approve of his old school attitude when it came to the Drug Enforcement Agency, he might know about who went to see Brent Stone without me knowing about it.

  While the pot millionaire wasn’t a dummy, I hoped he had bought that I lived in the rundown dump downtown we rented to maintain my cover. He knew my first name and now my address. I had to act quickly if I wanted to catch him doing wrong.

  Even with the attack from the one of the cartels, I wasn’t sure if his legal weed guy was an act or if he had actually built a pot empire from the ground up in a few years. Either way, I would get to the bottom of the situation. I always did.

  Outside Ron’s office, I stopped and took a deep breath, preparing myself for the mind games he would likely play. He never failed to remind everyone he had twenty years at the DEA under his belt. Something about him hit
me the wrong way.

  I knocked on his door.

  “Yeah?” he called from the inside.

  I turned the handle and opened the door partially.

  “Got a minute?”

  “For you? Anytime, sweetheart.”

  Internally, I groaned, but I didn’t make any waves for the sexist remark.

  I walked in, shutting the door behind me.

  “What can I do you for?”

  “Just a quick question,” I said, not sitting.

  He raised his eyebrows as he glanced up at me from behind his desk. I hated the Burt Reynolds moustache under his knobby nose because it always freaked me out and reminded me of male porn stars from the eighties.

  “Shoot, cupcake.”

  “Did you talk to Brent Stone today?”

  “Who?”

  “The pot billionaire.”

  “Oh, yeah, him.” He shook his head. “I haven’t. Why?”

  “Keller assigned me to look into him, but I’m not finding anything. I thought you might know something about him. A small lead or anything would help.”

  I kept quiet about knowing DEA agents had shown up at Brent’s grow operation.

  “Nothing comes to mind, dear. Maybe we could get a drink later and talk more? A shot or two would clear the cobwebs out of my noggin.”

  He smiled like a pervert in a seedy adult movie theater.

  “Maybe some time,” I lied. “I’m busy with some stuff, but thanks.”

  “Suit yourself. You know how to get ahold of me if you change your mind.”

  I nodded, not smiling. As one of the few female agents in Colorado, I had to always project a serious attitude, especially around people like Ron Glass.

  “Thanks again.”

  As I turned and stepped toward the door, I could feel his eyes staring at my ass. My plain, black suit pants failed to hide the fact I had curves, but I hated when men like him stared. Brent Stone on the other hand. The thought of his ogling turned me on, surprising me.

  When I got back to my cubicle with the other junior agents, I sat down and rolled my chair closer to my desk. Unsure of what to look into next, I tapped the spacebar of my laptop and waited for it to wake up. Before I had a chance to type in my password, my cell phone rang.