Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  I groaned.

  “Would you stop it with the big brother act? You are not my brother, Florian.”

  “Our parents are in love and they've been together for over a decade. What the hell does that mean?” he snapped back at me, sounding almost like he was trying to convince himself more than he was me. I stared at his dark hair, tousled and beautiful and oh so sexy. He'd always used to dye the very tips, sport red or blue or purple hair; it drove my dad nuts. As soon as he'd graduated high school though, he'd let it go back to its natural black and it'd stayed that way.

  “It means that I don't have to tell you anything about my sex life, just like I don't want to know anything about yours.”

  “Whatever,” he snorted back at me. I tried to sneak my phone out of my pocket, so I could text Addi to come rescue me when he started talking again. “I'm going out of town next week. Can you take care of my cat?”

  Not exactly the heart pumping, coma inducing string of lust riddled words I wanted so desperately for him to spout at me.

  “Where are you going?” I asked and he snorted, yet again.

  “I thought your business wasn't my business and vice versa? Can you take care of the cat or not?” I glared at the top of his head, hating how luxurious and thick his hair was, how good it smelled.

  “Six months,” I admitted and then took a deep breath that almost perfectly synched up with one of his. “Where are you going?”

  “I've got a tattoo invitational up in Portland,” he said and just as I was about to release the breath I was holding, he added, “I'm taking Rhonda.”

  “Rhonda? The drag queen's name is Rhonda?”

  “Oh, I can assure you, this is no dude in a dress.”

  I squinched up my face and closed my eyes. Okay, yes, this was a mistake. A big one. Huge. Of gargantuan proportions. I hate you, I thought again.

  “Fine, I'll take care of your stupid cat.”

  Florian wrinkled up his brow but said nothing.

  We suffered the rest of the evening in silence and small talk until he finally sat back, rubbed his arm across his sweaty forehead and announced, “I'm done.”

  He helped me up and out of the chair and although I pretended not to care that his fingers on my arm burned like fire, I was trembling by the time I stood up. Or maybe that was because of the tattoo. I'd like to believe that instead.

  I moved to the mirror and looked down at my skin, colored with a brilliant wash of rich purples and blues, a gray-yellow moon and a white stag standing proudly before it all.

  “In some cultures, the white stag is portrayed as a symbol of transgressing the taboo.”

  My spine curled as I glanced over at him, sticking a cigarette between his lips and acting like he hadn't just thrown out a non sequitur worthy of wracking my already fragile brain.

  “I'm gonna go have a quick smoke and then I'll be back to talk about aftercare.” He raised his eyebrows at me, moved out the door and left me alone with my thoughts and a stamp on my hip that would forever remind me of the crush I was never supposed to have.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two weeks later and I was finally feeling like I had somehow cracked my Flor obsession. Three more dates with Dorian, and I hadn't seen my stepbrother once except to listen to a ten minute lecture about his cat and all of her special needs. I'd seen him dump girls over that cat. If he had one, true love in his life, it was probably her.

  “So,” Addi said, stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the fridge. “I have tickets for the Ducks game this weekend. You should invite Dorian and we should go.” I shrugged, stirring the pot of soup I'd thrown together, ridiculously proud of myself for having made a home cooked meal. Eighteen years old and my shit was much more together than most of my friends' ever would be.

  “I'm not really into sports,” I said and listened as Addi sighed. I knew a pout was coming on.

  “I agreed to go to your stuffy family dinner thing on Friday. The least you could do is go on a double date with me. I mean, Dorian and Patrick are only in town for a few more days and then it'll be a month again before we get to see them.” I listened to her whine with a smile curling my lips. She knew I wasn't particularly stubborn when it came to these sorts of thing. Some puppy dog eyes and a little pouty lip and my resistance was broken.

  “Don't act like Dorian and I are on the same level as you and Patrick, Addison. He might be moving out here, but that's because his brother's chasing you. It has nothing to do with me.”

  She slid up next to me and put her elbows on the counter, giving me a puh-freaking-lease look with her big, brown eyes.

  “He talks about you like it was love at first sight.”

  I snorted, and then somehow, that reminded me of Florian, and I was shaking my head. Love at first sight? I definitely didn't feel much when I met Dorian for the first time, but I was trying to see if it would grow as I got to know him. He was sweet, responsible, and good-looking. Oh, and I wasn't related to him. These days, that seemed like a pretty big bonus in my book.

  “Come on, Abigail, live a little,” she groaned, turning around and leaning back far enough that her hair brushed against the tiles on the countertop. “I know you don't like football; I don't like it either. But you're the one that wanted to be a Duck, remember? Besides, much as I hate to admit it, the Ducks are just … I mean, it's amazing what these guys can do. Not to mention there are some real cuties on the team this year.” She elbowed me and I elbowed her back until we'd both devolved into twelve year olds, screeching and tossing various cleaning supplies at one another.

  “Alright!” I shrieked as the toilet brush skidded across the floor near my feet. I held up my hands as Addison backed up and looked inside the box marked Cleaning Crap. “Alright, fine.”

  “And you'll invite Dorian?” she said again, staring straight at me, like her eyes could punch right through my stoic expression and straight to my face. But only Flor could really do that to me, the jerk. “And stop thinking about your stepbrother.”

  “I am not thinking about my stepbrother,” I said, reaching a hand down to touch my hip. While my tattoo was mostly healed, it was still dry and needed fairly regular attention with a bottle of lotion. Each time I touched it, my mind was whisked away to that day, to Florian's fingers untying my bikini bottoms. Grr. I shook my head to clear it, only further confirming what Addison already knew: I was obsessed.

  But I was making a clean break. It would work eventually, like I was going through detox or something. Imagine that, detox to clear the brain of one's brother and his perfectly sculpted abs. Ugh.

  I grabbed the spoon and stirred my soup, scooping up a small mouthful to test. It was hot, but good. All it needed was a little more pepper.

  “Whatever,” Addison said with a sigh, straightening out her black and white striped dress shirt. She was always so fashionable and I was always so … all over the place. I had a nose ring, a tattoo on my hip and a red tank top that was too short, exposing the ring in my belly button. Addison said I looked hot, that I had a good body, but she was straighter than the I-5 and I didn't believe her. “So what time's this dinner thing?” she asked, scooting onto a stool at the breakfast bar and reaching out to grab a stalk of celery. She stuck it in her mouth, leaves and all, and chewed loudly, eyes focused on the ceiling in thought. “Is Satan's Spawn going to be attending?”

  “Don't call him that,” I said as I opened the oven and bent down to check the French bread. It was one of those 'buy and bake' things, not homemade; if only I was as good as my stepmother. “River's really nice. It's not her fault her son is a complete asshole.” Okay, so maybe it was a little bit her fault, but she'd always been – if not exactly a mother to me – nice, like a favorite auntie or something. I didn't blame her for not stepping in and taking the mother role completely; my father wouldn't let her. While they did their best to raise Flor and me as their own children, their whole 'my kid, my problem' routine often extended to good times as well as bad. Some people might not have a
greed with the way Florian and I had been raised, but it had worked for us, for our family. Our family. Ech. I really needed to get him out of my brain permanently. “If you're going to call him anything, it can just be Satan, okay?” I stood up and closed the oven, smiling at Addison over my right shoulder. She dropped her eyes to mine, fluffed her curly hair and shook her head.

  “Sure thing, Abs. Just promise me, if he's there, don't play his games with him.”

  “Games?” I asked, looking up and out the window. Across the street a guy was painting a mural in the alley between two large brick buildings. I hadn't had the time to examine it yet, but from here it looked like a bunch of naked women running through a field of organic vegetables – don't ask how I knew that they were organic, this was Eugene, Oregon; of course they were organic. “What are you talking about?”

  Addison sighed and slapped the counter with her piece of celery, making me jump.

  “You know exactly what I'm talking about,” she said, pointing aggressively at me with the offending vegetable. Her brown eyes were narrowed and glinting, so I knew I better pay careful attention. “He purposely picks at you, Abigail, and you rise to the occasion. He knows you have a thing for him, and he likes it.” Addi's words were meant to warn me, but instead they just sent a little thrill down my spine. I stirred the chicken noodle soup with extra force. “Ignore him, and if you can't ignore him, then answer with yes, no, or fuck off.”

  I nodded. Addi might be half joking, but she was right, I couldn't play into Flor's hands. He did like to torment me, and I couldn't let him. I reached a hand down and touched the spot where my tattoo was, fingers resting against the soft cotton of my pj pants.

  I'd turned over a new leaf, made a resolution, and I was sticking to it.

  Florian brought Rhonda to our family dinner.

  Yeah, that's right, the drag queen. He brought the freaking drag queen to our family dinner.

  “Oh my, Florian,” his mom, River, said, kissing both his cheeks and leaning back to smile fondly over at Rhonda. River's dark hair was piled on her head in a messy bun and she looked ridiculously chic in her cream silk skirt and white blouse. I'd come straight here after my last class of the day and hadn't bothered to change, didn't know I'd needed to. We had family dinner every Friday evening and Flor only showed up about once a month, if that. “If I recall correctly, this is the first time you've ever brought a girl home to us.”

  Crap.

  I reached up to check my hair and found it a flyaway, tangled mess of brown curls and colored extensions. Addi had convinced me to wear them, clipping each purple, blue and green curl into my hair with a smile. She said I looked like a real Eugenian hipster badass punk bitch, whatever the hell that means. I felt so inadequate suddenly, standing there in torn jeans and a black tank top. I just knew my hot pink bra straps were sticking out. Today had been laundry day and it'd been the only clean one I had in my dresser. Normally I was on top of this kind of stuff, but it'd been a hectic week. My forensic chemistry class was killing me.

  Flor glanced up and over his mother's head, smirking at me with his stupid lip rings decorating those perfectly full lips of his. He winked at me, and I curled my hands into fists by my sides. I'd been about two seconds from excusing myself to the bathroom to cry and now I wanted to kill him.

  Addi reached down and gripped my wrist.

  “Keep it cool, Abi. Satan lives on the negative emotions of others.”

  “You're wrong,” I growled quietly back at her, my eyes never leaving my stepbrother's. “He's not Satan, he's an incubus. He probably feeds off of all the skanks he brings home.” I knew I was being a brat, and a little sexist, too. If the girls Flor brought home were 'skanks', then so was he. A scumbag. A whore. A … a … I sighed and tried to bite back my anger.

  Rhonda was smiling, holding onto Flor's arm with her bubblegum pink nails. Her big blonde hair was fluffy and perfect, styled like some sort of beauty queen, and her mouth was full and slathered in red lipstick. I noticed that, despite her over the top makeup, her buxom body was swathed in a pale green dress the color of lichen, earthy but flattering. It was totally at odds with her face and earrings, her sharp brows and sultry smile. Trying to make a good impression on her boyfriend's parents? His parents. My parents. See, that was the problem. I could never go and meet Flor's parents because well, they were mine, too.

  Everything felt so hopeless that I just wanted to scream.

  River took Rhonda's arm, promising to give her a tour of the house and pulled her away, towards the dining room.

  “How ya doin' dope?” Flor asked, moving up to stand in front of Addi and me. He tucked his fingers into his tight jeans, his bright eyes cutting me into a million pieces and his smell … Jesus. I wanted nothing more than to reach out, curl my fingers in the black fabric of his hoodie and pull him close, smell his sweet, spicy scent, have him kiss my hair.

  “Don't call her that, asswipe,” Addi said, in full defensive mode. Flor raised his pierced brow at her, shrugged and nodded his chin at me.

  “How's that tattoo? Mind if I take a look at it?” One hand slid out of his pockets and curled around the waistband of my jeans, pulling me close before I could protest. My breath slid from my mouth in a hiss and I could practically hear Addi scowling behind me. “I like the color in your hair, Abs,” he said, reaching down to unbutton my pants.

  Holy crap.

  My hormones spun into overdrive, heating me up, making me hurt. I wanted him so bad, could practically feel Flor filling me up, taking me right here, against the wall and not giving a shit who saw. Rhonda could go fuck herself.

  “Do you have any sense of propriety?” Addi said, grabbing his arm and keeping him from his task of unzipping me. “We're standing in your parents' house with your freaking girlfriend. Hands off, you dick.”

  Good thing I had Addison there because my mind just flat out refused to work right in Florian's presence. I pretended to be mad at him, fixing my jeans and stepping back, but my hands were shaking as I did it. I was so turned on, it wasn't right. And just before family dinner, too. Fun. I could sit across from my dad with a throbbing pulse cursing me from between my thighs.

  “What's the matter, Addi? I can't check my little sister's tattoo? I don't see anything wrong with that.” His face was perfectly stoic as he said that, still and calm like he really meant the words that were coming out of his mouth. “It's not like there is or could ever be anything between us.” That sentence tore from his lips in a rush, completely at odds with how he'd just sounded.

  Both Addi and I watched in stunned silence as he suddenly stormed off towards the dining room, leaving the two of us gaping at one another.

  “What was that?” Addi asked, turning to look at me with both brows raised. I had no clue, no freaking clue. I shrugged at my friend and we followed after Flor, finding him standing in the recently redone kitchen that my stepmother was so proud of. Marble countertops, Shaker cabinets, built-in appliances like a fridge that I still could never find when I was going through the cabinets. I thought it was sterile and impersonal, but River loved it, so I pretended to love it, too.

  “It's so nice to finally meet one of Florian's girlfriends,” my dad said while Rhonda smiled away and watched Florian from across the room with a glint in her eye, like she was fully aware that she'd managed to do the impossible by catching a guy like him. I slumped against the cabinets while my dad and River chattered and touched Rhonda's arms, encouraging her to eat one of the fifty freaking hors d'oeuvres that my stepmother always made. Trays and platters and bowls lay in perfect order on the white marble, filled with things I couldn't even pronounce.

  Flor glanced over at me and I caught his eye, wondering what the hell was going through that thick skull of his tonight. He brought a girl home and yet he was acting like it was no big deal. He wasn't even talking to her. I watched as Addi made her way over to the counter and started picking at something that looked like a miniature croissant.

  “What do you
think?” Flor asked, slumping against the cabinets next to me. Close but not close enough to touch, just like he'd done after that fateful kiss. Before that, it had never been a big deal. He'd bump shoulders with me, grab my arm in the hall at school, smile at me. He never smiled anymore, not unless that smile was more of a smirk or a cocky grin.

  “About what?” I asked, looking away and pretending I didn't hear my dad and stepmom chittering away like birds. Flor sighed.

  “About Rhonda. Do you like her?”

  “I've met her twice,” I said sulkily. “For like two seconds each. I mean, unless you count the day you did my tattoo for me and stepped out to fuck her. Then it's three times.”

  “Don't be like that, Abigail,” Flor said, and I noticed that he sounded tired. Worn-out. Oh well, that was his problem, not mine. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and slapped them against his palm. My dad's eyes wandered over and locked on, narrowing almost imperceptibly. My father was, almost ironically, a pulmonologist. In plain English, that's basically a lung doctor. Flor's smoking had always infuriated him, made worse by the fact that there was nothing he could do about it but lecture, pretty much incessantly.

  “Take it outside, Florian,” my dad warned, eyes flicking over to me and then, as if he'd seen something terrifying like, oh I don't know, a bloody wound or a black widow spider crawling on my shoulder, his eyes widened. “Abigail.”

  Uh oh.

  I glanced down and found … that my tank top had ridden up, revealing a narrow strip of skin between the black cotton and the blue denim. My tattoo was showing.

  “Oh, Art,” Flor said, sliding a cigarette between his smirking lips. He tucked his pack away and then snapped his fingers, reaching over and lifting up my tank top. His hot fingers grazed my bare flesh, drawing a moan to my lips that I had to struggle to bite back. “Abi didn't tell you that I inked her up a few weeks back?” Flor's index finger swiped around my tattoo, circling it, infusing me with more heat, more desire, more longing that I really didn't need.