“Naw, man, I'm good with these beers. I haven't smoked since freshman year of college. 'Sides, you know we get tested all the time.”
“Oh, I feel you, playa. I got your back. Got some shit that won't leave a trace but still give you that oomph, know what I'm saying? But I gotta hit up one of my suppliers first to see about that –”
“Thanks, bro, but no thanks.”
“You sure?” Beastly pressed on, his eyes bugging out. “I mean, when I say I got everything, I mean that shit. My clients are some of the craziest motherfuckers out there. Got a dude that's asked for everything – even Krokodil.”
“Beastly, I said –”
“And I mean, even I wouldn't test that shit out, know what I mean? Paid an arm and a leg for that shit, too – and I mean he literally lost his arm and leg because of it, no bull. And this valley girl, too, real cute, innocent little thing, but she gets these little doses of arsenic from me. Buys in cash so there's no paper trail. Some dude must have really pissed this chick off–”
“Yo, King. Wanna chill in the balcony for a bit?”
Odell appeared behind me, exchanging looks with me. I nodded at him gratefully, jumping to my feet. Beastly didn't miss a beat, continuing his story to Tate's girlfriend, who was sitting next to him.
Odell and I slipped into the balcony with our beers in hand. He closed the sliding door, sealing out the pumping tunes and chatter from the party. We slumped into our seats, propping our feet up on the edge of the recliners.
“So, you wanna tell me what's going on? You've been all mopey for 2 days straight.”
I sighed, taking a sip from my bottle as I gazed out into the muted lighting of the 1AM skyline.
“I screwed up real bad and I don't know how to fix it.”
Odell took a sip of his beer, cocking one eyebrow as he waited for me to elaborate.
“I feel like I haven't screwed up this bad since – you know. Carrie and I were seeing each other for a couple of weeks. I stopped fucking with every other girl on my contact list – except Ivanka. I was tired as balls after my shoot with Rhinestone when I got a message from her. Carrie sent me a message too, and I didn't see it, messed up and told her to meet me up at my place. We made plans to go out that night, and it completely slipped my mind. Long story short, Carrie walked in on me and Ivanka.”
“Holy shit, King.” Odell lowered his bottle, his face darkening. “I don't know how I'd ever be able to keep up with all that drama in my life. How do you keep getting yourself caught up in all this shit? Can't say I feel sorry about Ivanka – that's all on you, man. But to do this to Carrie? She's a real nice girl –”
“I know,” I snapped, kneading the pulsing vein in my forehead. “I really like Carrie. Fuck if I know why, but I actually give a shit about this girl. But you don't even know how insane Ivanka is man. You think Farrah's crazy, she's not even –”
Louie slid the door open violently, his face weirdly pale and scrunched up in confusion.
“Guys, get in here. Now. You need to see this.”
When Odell and I followed Louie through the door, the living room was chillingly silent. Everyone was gathered around the sofa, even Sapphire, who crossed her arms over her tits and had her clasped over her mouth in horror. The only noise cutting through the heavy silence was the droning of the reporter from the TV.
“Breaking news – we bring our hottest story of the year – a story of greed, betrayal, and underground crime. An anonymous tipster has sounded the alarms on the one and only Kingsley Kelly of Detroit Daggers fame. Did Kingsley Kelly intentionally throw the semifinals against Kansas City in 2012? Tune in tomorrow at 10 AM EST to find out.”
Chapter Twenty-One: Carrie
This was the life.
I wiggled my toes, burying them deeper into the sand. The grainy substance caressed the spaces between my toes and the soles of my feet. I inched forward, gripping the hem of my swing bed to keep it from swaying. With the salty ocean breeze whipping my hair rhythmically against my cheeks, I marveled at the perfect picture of paradise before me.
The orange rays of the setting sun were bathed in violet, dragging the night across the clear skies. The sparkling surface of the glassy ocean was so clear it mirrored the skies overhead. Along with the therapeutic sounds of crashing waves and squawking seagulls, I could hear upbeat, peppy Caribbean music playing in the distance. Any unpleasant glare or unwanted gifts from the birds roaming the skies were deemed impossible by the pair of coconut trees holding up my airy mattress.
When the clouds swallowed up the last of the sun, I picked up my coconut and swung my legs back onto the swing bed. I dug into the fleshy lining of the coconut, scooping spoonfuls of the sweet white fruit into my mouth. As the wind rocked the swing bed gently from side to side, I snuggled up against the pyramid of bolster pillows behind me and scarfed up the coconut. The only thing on the agenda today was to enjoy myself, and I could think of nothing more liberating.
“Can I refresh that coconut for you, Ms. Toussaint?”
A beefy, topless waiter with a sarong wrapped around his waist appeared at my side. The hunk carried a 3-tiered tray over one shoulder. He was a walking buffet of sliced fruits, fluffy cakes, and double-glazed pastries, crying out for me to sink my teeth into each and every one of them.
“I'm still working on this one, but I'll take some coconut rum with pineapple juice. Oh, and you can leave those goodies with me, too.”
“Which part would you like –”
“All of it.”
“Of course.” He set the tray down next to me. “Before I fetch that drink for you, would you care for a foot rub?”
“That sounds ah-mazing. Yes, please.”
I lowered my coconut, relaxed against my pillows once more, and sealed my eyes shut. The waiter crouched down by the foot of the swing bed, taking my feet in his strong hands. He began rubbing up and down on my feet, pulling back on each toe with satisfying pops. His fingers kneading into the soles of my feet felt even better with the grains of sand still clinging onto my skin.
“I've never seen your face around here. First time?”
“Yup,” I sighed wistfully, opening my eyes again. I reached for a maple doughnut hole and popped it into my mouth. “Wish I could stay forever.”
“That's what they all say.”
“I bet.”
My eyelids were about to sag shut again when the waiter's neck snapped towards me abruptly.
“You're not supposed to be here.”
“I – wh-what?”
He tossed my feet aside and bounded to his feet, towering over me. I stared at him, my face puckering in confusion as he began prodding at my right leg with 3 of his fingers. He moved in a strange, childlike manner and was mouthing something, but all I could hear were the crashing waves and the same damn seagulls circling above us. I yanked my leg away from him, finding it more irritating than it was painful.
“What are you –”
There was a whoosh of wind next to my ears, and the waves and seagulls went silent.
“Aunt Carrie. Aunt Carrie, wake up.”
I groaned, blinking as Jackson's face appeared over mine. He looked flustered, his flushed cheeks trembling and his fingers cold. But when he saw that I was awake, his brows relaxed in relief.
“What's wrong?” I rasped. Rubbing my throat, I removed the cords of my earphones around my neck and paused the 10 hours of “Calming Ocean Sounds” I'd downloaded onto my phone.
“Kingsley is on the TV. I don't understand what they're saying about him, but I know it's bad. You have to make them stop!”
“What are you talking about, Jackson? I'm sure it's nothing –”
“Please, Aunt Carrie.” Jackson broke away from me, racing out the door. “Come on!”
I pulled myself to my feet and trotted after him.
XXX
“I didn't know you had it in you.”
Wattana lifted the skinny tube of her cigarette holder to her grandma-blue lips. She leaned
out the open window of her office, blowing out through the side of her mouth. Everything about Wattana looked oddly cheerful today, from the matching blue pantsuit to the top hat bobby pin clipped to her bangs. It looked like she, too, was suffering from the clear epidemic of cutesy miniature accessories spreading around the office, infected by its primary host, Evelyn.
But the strangest part about this seemingly twilight-zone-esque setting was that I seemed to be the source of Wattana's bizarre giddiness.
“Thank you, I guess? But I'm not sure what you mean –”
“I'm guessing you've heard the rumors about Kingsley Kelly by now?” Wattana lowered her lashes, weighed down by heavy blue mascara. That, on top of her super rich eye shadow, made her look like she'd been punched in each eye by a smurf.
“Yes, it was all over the –”
“It's okay. You can drop the act. I've figured it out.” Wattana took another drag from her cigarette, still simpering. “All the news agencies cited an anonymous source, with one revealing that said source was a young, disgruntled woman. It was you, wasn't it?”
My jaw plunged along with my gut.
“What – of course not – what are you –”
“It's okay, Toussaint. I'm not mad.” Wattana cut me off mid-stammer. She ashed her cigarette and flicked it out the window. Walking back to her desk, she pulled the hook on top of her vintage cigarette dispenser. Dozens of cigarettes jumped out at me. “Cigarette?”
The stress smoker in me would have loved nothing more, but I couldn't help but feel like this was some sort of trap.
“No, thank you. What, uh, exactly have you figured out?”
“This whole plan of yours.” Wattana pushed the dispenser aside. She leaned back in her chair and began picking at her nails. “I have to say, it took me a little while, and I'm impressed. I see why you've been coming up with those tame, nonsense stories – you've been sitting on a bomb of a story that'll blow all the other agencies out the water.”
“I don't – I don't know what to say.”
I sat there, baffled, watching as Wattana continued to connect dots that weren't there.
“And I'm not mad that you leaked the story. It's a bold move, but one that I also believe will play out in the long run.” At this point, I figured Wattana just was just enjoying the sound of her own voice. “Leaking the story so the media gets a taste of what's to come, while you prepare for your final piece – an exposé to end all exposés, one that'll bring the fall of the one and only Kingsley Kelly.”
As I matched Wattana's eager gaze, my shoulders slumped defeatedly.
“Mrs. Wattana, I don't know where you –”
“Please, call me Tamara. I suppose I was wrong about you. This job must really mean something to you, after all.” The permanent arch on Wattana's left eyebrow climbed even higher. “You know, I can smell sweet revenge from a mile away. But I must admit, even this is a little brutal for my tastes. Kelly must have really done something to piss you off.”
The image of Kingsley on his knees with his face buried in Ivanka's chest seared across my mind. I breathed out deeply, scraping my fingers across my thighs. That lying son of a bitch had it coming it to him. Turns out he was a loose-lipped son of a bitch too, who couldn't even keep his mouth shut about the one thing that would destroy his career. Of course, I wasn't responsible for it, but basking in this fake glory wasn't all that bad. For one, look at how much effort Wattana was exerting to break through her botox to smile at me.
“In the meantime, I'll arrange for ghostwriters to pick up the slack on the rest of the articles. I want you focusing all your energy on the Kelly piece, nothing else. Your efforts will not be missed. If done well, there will be a fat bonus in it for you. This is your redemption, Toussaint. Do not disappoint me.”
Swallowing the lump itching up my throat, I rose from my chair, nodding.
“I won't.”
Chapter Twenty-Two: Kingsley
“Sometimes you're better off dead,
There's a gun in your hand and it's pointing at your head,
You think you're mad, too unstable,
Kicking in chairs and knocking down tables...”
The off-key belting of a slob in a cowboy hat came in place of Neil Tennant's vocals. He gripped the mic stand and the stool behind him to keep himself from falling over as he butchered the classic. His rendition was a fucking travesty, but the dude was having more fun than any of the killjoys jeering in the audience.
I tipped back the rest of the murky cider in my mouth. The shit was sour and questionable at best, much like everything else in this shady ass bar. This place didn't even have a name – no signs, nothing. But the cider was getting me good and drunk, so I took what I could get.
As I set my glass down, I linked eyes with the sexy broad on the opposite end of the bar. The fox looked to be a couple of years older than me. She had wavy hair the color of honey, dressed in a tight pink shirt with a glittery heart on it and tiny denim shorts that flaunted her smooth, shiny legs.
I rested my elbow against the bar, fingering the edges of my bottom lip. With her head tilted to one side, she snuck me a mischievous, tight-lipped smile. She lowered her eyes, shifting her meaningful gaze towards the bathrooms.
“Want another one?”
The barkeep stepped in front of me, blocking my view. He was this big, grizzly type of fellow with a bushy neck-beard. I hopped off my stool, shaking my head as I slid a 50 across the counter.
“I'm good, thanks. Keep the change.”
He picked up the bill and examined it up close before slipping it into his front pocket. The dude narrowed his eyes, breathing so hard his beard was rustling. I gave the bartender a final salute and made my way to the fox.
Slinking her fingers around my wrist, she led me past the swinging doors.
I never found out her name, but for the sake of our next exchange, we'll call the sweet peach, “Georgia.”
Georgia nuzzled against my neck, leading me to the last stall. She wrenched the door open. Some old fuck coming out of the urinals jumped aside, shooting us a scathing look. He pulled the ends of his denim jacket, shoving past us and grumbling all the way out the door.
Man, this town sure loved their denim.
Before I even locked that door, Georgia had the top of the toilet down. She made herself comfortable and pulled me towards her. My pants were unbuttoned and yanked down to my knees with my boxers before I could count to 3. My semi sprang out to greet her. I reached behind her neck, getting a good grip under the back of her silky hair.
The faint lines around Georgia's hungry eyes deepened as she gazed up at me. As I watched this older, refined woman, most likely a mother, desperate to gobble on my balls, I hardened. Her eyes swiveled to the middle, gaping at the tip of my cock, just inches from her nose.
Georgia cupped her arms around my shaft with both hands like she was receiving the holy grail. Her neckline dipped as she moved, drooping further down her promising set of jiggly twins. I embedded my fingers deeper into her hair, rolling my knuckles along her spine encouragingly. She loosened her jaw, keeping her eyes on the prize as she allowed me to enter the warm, hot little cave of her mouth.
An exhilarating boost rushed to my head, calming the pounding aftereffects of the cider. My loud groans leaked out the stall and echoed across the dirty bathroom walls. As Georgia slobbered all over my cock, she employed a vacuuming technique wise beyond chicks my age. She circled that tongue up and down my shaft, not forgetting to tease the tip between each deep suck.
I forced my hand inside the top of her shirt, pulling back and stretching out her neckline. Her right tit popped out in full view, a perfectly round handful with a dark, chocolate tip nipple. I pinched that bud between 2 fingers and beat the rest into her malleable, all-natural titty.
Georgia was unstoppable, eating my dick like she hadn't had young cock in a decade. Her makeup was shining with sweat and her neck starting to get damp under my grasp. With one hand firmly jerking me o
ff as she spoiled my cock with her flexible tongue, her other fingers traveled up the space between my balls and asshole.
I leaned the back of my head against the door of the stall, gasping as the energy seeped out of my legs.
“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna nut down the back of your throat...”
Georgia cranked her head back, her lips sliding off my cock with a loud smack.
“That's exactly what I'm aiming for, young man...”
Her sexy southern drawl prolonged the smile on my lips.
I grabbed the base of my cock, steering it back into Georgia's waiting mouth. She felt between her thighs as she sucked away, rubbing her clit through the denim of her shorts. The thick seam of her crotch seemed to be causing extra friction between her fingers and clit. That was another riveting sight. I switched from one scene to another, observing as she milked me with her mouth and rubbed herself so violently that a pool was soaking through that denim.
Suddenly, a deafening bang struck the door behind me. I jerked my head forward, away from the pummeling fist on the other end of the door. Georgia squealed, pulling away from me and shrinking up against the back of the toilet.
“Hey, Kelly! You sell-out, two-timing piece of shit! Come out – come out here and face a real man, you slimy – slimy bastard!”
The stranger on the other end seemed to be an older gentleman. He had a deep, gravelly voice labored by decades of tobacco use and irresponsible drinking. From the gap under the stall, I could see the tipsy stance of his inverted footing. He hobbled forward, sticking the oil-splattered tips of his work boots into the gap under the stall.
“Why don't you take a hike, pal –”
Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 12
