by B. B. Hamel
Not to mention Laney purposefully set it in Death Valley to make sure that she’ll have the most uncomfortable time on this movie as possible. In the end, Holly got what was coming to her: a shitty job on a movie that doesn’t suit her at all, and I suspect she’s not long for acting.
Brutally Dishonest begins, and it’s about what I expected. Lots of action, lots of excitement, and of course Jackson is incredible in it. The movie is just okay, it’s a big action blockbuster, but that’s exactly what we needed it to be. When the ending credits roll, the whole house claps enthusiastically, because everyone knows this thing is going to make millions.
“What did you think?” Jackson asks me as we filter out of the theater.
“It was perfect,” I say, kissing him again.
“You didn’t think it was cheesy?”
“Not at all.” I pause. “Well, a little bit, but it was supposed to be.”
He grins and kisses me again as a thick German accent calls Jackson’s name.
“Hello, Lionel,” he says, shaking the big director’s hand.
“You were wonderful, very good, just what we needed. And to do it for free, I say, you are a crazy man.”
Jackson grins. “High praise, coming from you.”
“Yes, well. You want to make more movies, you come to me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Lionel pats his back and strides off.
“Weird guy,” I say.
“Yep,” Jackson agrees, laughing.
We spend the rest of the reception shaking hands and catching up with crew we haven’t seen since the movie wrapped. We won’t see most of these people again, unless we work with them on a film or something, but it’s nice to see them all.
“We have to catch a flight tomorrow morning,” Jackson says to Paul, the lighting guy. “We’re filming some scenes on location in New Zealand.”
“Damn, man,” Paul says. “Isn’t that Middle Earth?”
“Absolutely it is,” I chime in.
“Middle Earth?” Jackson asks.
“You know, man, Lord of the Rings. Hobbits and shit.” Paul grins at him.
“Oh, yeah,” Jackson says. “Sorry, I was too busy fighting bad guys to read much.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You always say that.”
“It’s always true.”
I laugh and we move on, chatting with more people, trying to make connections. I never in a million years thought I’d be dating a real star, let alone be back with Jackson.
And true to his promise, he hasn’t left me. Not even for a second. We’ve been inseparable, and it feels like we finally picked up where we left off when we were kids. That incredible feeling is back, every single day.
“It was another masterpiece, huh?” Laney smiles at us over a glass of champagne.
“Beautiful,” I say to her, laughing.
“Made me look pretty cool which is all I ever ask,” Jackson responds.
“I hear you look pretty cool in your latest,” Laney says.
“We’re trying.” He shrugs a little bit.
“Seriously, Laney, I need to thank you again for what you did,” I say.
“I didn’t do a thing,” she says, waving her hand. “I just wrote a script and sold it. Just so happens to have worked out for you guys.”
“Still, you made that happen. We owe you one,” Jackson says.
“Nah. You made it all happen. I just wrote the thing.”
I laugh and hug her. “Come visit us,” I say. “We’d love to have you.”
“I will soon,” she says. “Right now, I just saw a cute waiter boy that’ll be very impressed by a nerdy writer like me. Excuse me, folks.” She grins and heads off. I know I’ll be seeing her again soon. I’ll never be rid of Laney, and that makes me happier than I can explain.
I have another glass of wine and I feel good as Jackson chats everyone up. I love being near him. He makes me feel so much better about myself than I ever could have imagined. Nights like this remind me how lucky I am to have him. He looks incredible in his tuxedo, like it was built just for his muscular, enormous body. He catches me looking at him and gives me that same familiar grin, the same one he’s always had, ever since I first fell in love with him all those years ago.
Slowly the reception ends and people begin to filter out. There are media people outside doing interviews, and it’s like a second late night red carpet. Lights and cameras flash as we step out into the madness.
“There’s one more thing before this night ends,” Jackson says to me. “It might embarrass you, though.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What are you going to do?”
He grins and pulls me by the hand into the middle of the madness. Once we’re there, he locks eyes with me and drops down to one knee.
“Jackson,” I say, my eyes going wide, my heart beating fast. I don’t know what’s happening, how this is happening, but there are cameras flashing like crazy and there’s a circle of people around us.
“I love you more than I can imagine,” Jackson says. “I told you I’d never leave again, and now I want to make that real. Tara, will you marry me?”
I stare at him for a second. “Yes,” I manage to say through my tears.
He laughs and slides a ring on my finger. It fits perfectly, and it’s big, shiny, shockingly shiny, too beautiful. I look at him and he stands, takes me into his arms, and kisses me.
Applause breaks out in the crowd as people cheer and take pictures. I can barely hear them though because my heart is beating so loud in my ears and Jackson is everything.
“I love you so much,” I say to him.
“I know you do.” He grins and we kiss, and I know that I’m home.
We’ll travel, make movies, have kids, have a life. We’ll be together forever, because he’ll never leave me again. I know that now, without a doubt in my mind. He won’t be going anywhere, and that’s exactly what I need.
Right here, right now, with Jackson, forever.
BULL: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
Prologue: Charlotte
He was one violent bastard.
He’d injured more players than anyone else in the history of football. That was why they called him Bull. Every game, all he wanted to do was destroy every man around him, and he could. Bull saw red, and that made him only want to see it more. Blood and destruction, that was how Bull played linebacker for the Chicago Bears.
He was a nasty man, one of the most brutal players to ever step on the football field. He was tall and covered in tattoos, and he loved to flaunt his famous . . . package. His nose had been broken and reset plenty of times, and his perpetual five o’clock shadow gave him that sexy careless look. As much as I hated to admit it, Bull was handsome, so damn handsome.
But he loved to party. Bull played hard and lived even harder, and there were rumors all over the NFL about the sort of things Bull was involved with. All night parties, gambling, women, drugs, and so much more, Bull was known to do it all.
I wanted to prove it. Everyone knew what was going on with Bull, but nobody had the courage to confront him and really prove it. Bull was a disgrace to the league, and I hated him more than anything else.
Which was how I first met him in person. I had gaped at his muscular body, his cocky swagger, but most of all, I had been shocked by how incredibly charming and handsome he was.
Bull was a big man, and he could take whatever he wanted. He lived his life that way, never slowing down.
I wanted to be the one to finally make him come to a stop. I was a new reporter writing for the NSPN website, which was the largest sports network in the world. Since I was a woman, it was hard to get some respect in the sports journalism industry.
But I had a plan. I knew a guy who knew a guy, and I was going to get proof that Bull was exactly the kind of bastard I thought he was. I wanted to prove to the world that Trent “Bull” Dixon didn’t deserve to wear the Chicago jersey, much less to play on any professional field.
I was s
o full of promise. I really believed in myself. With a guy like Bull, how hard could it possibly be to get a little proof?
I was going to write the article that finally took down Bull Dixon. Or at least that was what I thought.
I couldn’t have known how he’d make me feel. As soon as he turned those intense green eyes in my direction and smiled at me, I felt something jolt through my stomach.
Bull had me melting before I even understood what was happening.
He was dangerous, deadly, dark, and handsome. He was a gambler, a drinker, a player, and an asshole. Bull was everything I hated and so much more.
So it was pretty damn surprising when I found myself wanting to feel his muscles against my body. His lips pressed against my ear as he whispered, “You know why they really call me bull? It’s because I’m fucking hung like one. Go ahead and find out, girl.”
That was Bull Dixon. As soon as I got close to him, I knew my article was all but finished.
But that didn’t mean Bull was going to be finished with me.
1
Charlotte
My dad named me Charlotte, but he called me Charley. My mom liked to joke that he wanted a boy so badly that he was going to pretend I was one.
He always laughed and played it off, but my dad was an old-school football coach, and there had to be some part of him that wished he could have had a boy who could actually play the game.
Football wasn’t my thing when I was younger. I was more interested in girly things, Barbies and Disney movies and Lisa Frank stickers. That sort of thing. I thought football was for idiots and boring old people, at least until I hit high school.
I remembered the day my father first took me to a Bears game. I was sixteen, and the last thing I wanted to do was sit in the freezing cold to watch a sport I hated.
Except that day, wrapped in layers of coats, I fell in love. I suddenly understood why people cared about football so much.
It wasn’t just a sport. It was a way of life. When you were in that stadium with a bunch of people screaming and chanting and you lost yourself in the excitement and the moment, it was obvious why football was important.
Football was skill and athletics and emotion and everything else. Football was a tiny little slice of life shoved into a sport.
I couldn’t get enough. I wasn’t going to play it, of course, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get involved.
And so I got into journalism. I watched the games, followed the drafts, read the articles, and basically became absolutely football obsessed.
When I got into Notre Dame’s journalism program, my dad practically glowed with joy.
Notre Dame was four years of hard work. I had fun and watched plenty of college games, but I always had my eyes on the prize.
And the prize was a position as a staff writer for NSPN, the biggest sports network in the world.
I wanted to write for the big leagues. I didn’t want to waste my time on some local paper, so I busted my ass and graduated at the top of my class.
Somehow, I landed an internship. I worked hard, wrote articles, made friends, and finally was noticed. I was given a provisional position as a junior copywriter, which was basically the first step on the long journey to full-time staff writer.
Right around the time I got promoted, I met Ryan Bruce. Not long after I met Ryan, I saw Bull Dixon for the very first time.
I’d never forget that moment. That was the night that changed my life forever, and that showed me there might be more to Bull Dixon than I could have ever imagined.
My heart was pounding as I walked down the street, my heels clacking on the hard sidewalk.
I felt incredibly nervous, and I kept looking around as if I were going to spot some crazy people stalking me or something. I felt totally uncomfortable in the inappropriately short dress I was wearing, and I could only imagine my father’s response. He’d just grunt and frown with disapproval, which is so much worse than him saying something.
I had no other choice, though. My normally conservative outfits weren’t going to do any good for my mission. I needed to blend in, and the only way to blend in at an NFL party was to dress to the nines.
Which meant high heels and a short, tight dress. I’d gotten my hair done, but I drew the line at going overboard on the makeup. I wanted to blend in, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself.
I wasn’t going to this party to make friends or to have fun. I was going to this party to get some dirt on that asshole Bull Dixon.
I’d gotten the invite from Ryan. We met on the set of the NSPN morning show; I got him some coffee, and he complimented me on my shoes. We quickly got to chatting, and we became actual friends. He was the kicker for the Chicago Bears, and so he was my first insider contact among the players.
I felt bad thinking about Ryan that way. I had a feeling he had a crush on me, otherwise I couldn’t understand why he was being so nice. He didn’t know that I was writing an article on Bull, or else I was sure he wouldn’t have invited me to this party.
But he had, and I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. I may never get to go to another one of these parties, and I just had to see it for myself.
Bull’s parties were legendary. Everyone knew Bull Dixon was throwing the best, most over-the-top parties in the whole league, but nobody seemed to care. For the family-friendly image the NFL worked so hard to cultivate, Bull Dixon was allowed to get away with some pretty bad stuff.
These were rumors, but I had a feeling they were true. He once slept with the wife of his team’s coach. He once stayed out for four days, doing drugs, only to get arrested trying to rob a liquor store for fun. He once went to Mexico and missed a game because he wanted to try authentic tequila. People said he slept with a new woman every night, and he never called a girl back.
He was a total pig. I’d seen him interviewed, and Bull Dixon was about as cocky as they came. He loved to grin at the camera and make lewd jokes just to see how far he could push the stations.
But Bull was also the best. He had the most sacks four years in a row, plus the best defensive stats possible. The man was a machine and a legend, and he got away with whatever he wanted.
I could feel myself getting heated as I stopped at the entrance to the building. I was in the middle of downtown Chicago, and I’d walked by this building a hundred times before but had never had a reason to really look at it. I took out my phone and texted Ryan to let him know I was here.
I quickly checked my purse again. I’d gone to this cheesy little store on the edge of the city that sold magic supplies and “spy” devices. I’d managed to find a camera that looked exactly like a lipstick tube. I pulled it out, checked to make sure it was on and ready, and then quickly put it away.
Ryan came down not too long later. He grinned at me as he walked over to me and kissed me on the cheek. He was cute in a boyish way. He was a few inches taller than me, thin but muscular, with short brown hair and simple brown eyes. He was quick to smile and was a nice enough guy.
“Damn,” he said, laughing. “Have I ever seen you in anything but a sweater and jeans?”
“Nope,” I said. “Now let’s go inside before I freeze my butt off.”
He laughed and led the way. The building was incredibly modern and beautiful on the inside. The security guard at the front desk nodded at us as we walked past him, and I guessed he recognized Ryan’s face. He was a good kicker, though he wasn’t really well known outside Chicago.
“You ready for this?” he asked me.
“Of course,” I said. He hit the elevator call button.
“I should warn you. Bull’s parties are wild.”
“I’ve heard,” I said. “How can that be that bad, though?”
“Well,” he said, shaking his head, “Bull has a knack for throwing parties. Just be warned. You can’t talk about anything you see up there.”
“I wouldn’t,” I said.
“Seriously, Charley, you can’t. I know you’re a journal
ist, so I’m taking a risk bringing you to this thing. I’ll be fucked sideways if anything leaks.”
“I won’t,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. I felt horrible for lying to him, but I had no other choice.
He smiled, bashful. “Good. Sorry. I had to say that.”
“I understand. You have a career you need to protect.”
“Not just that. It’s just, you don’t know Bull.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Are you afraid of what he’ll do to you?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I mean yes, but that’s not it. Bull’s a good guy. He gets a lot of shit in the media, but you don’t really know him.”
“He’s almost more famous for partying than he is for playing ball,” I said. “I can’t see how he’s such a good guy.”
“You’ll see. Come on.” The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside.
I felt a stab of nervousness as the elevator shot up into the sky. I couldn’t believe I was really doing this. I was a nobody in the business, barely a step above an intern, and here I was getting an insider’s view into one of Bull’s notorious parties. As far as I could tell, no other journalist had ever been invited in.
The elevator stopped at the very top floor. “Prepare yourself,” Ryan said. I reached out and took his arm, knowing he’d like that.
The doors slid open. Music blasted us both in the face, and my breath caught in my chest.
The whole top floor was Bull’s apartment. The elevator opened directly into what looked like his living room.
And the place was packed. Instantly I recognized a few faces, other players and at least one coach. There were servers walking around with trays of alcohol and appetizers, and beautiful women in sexy dresses were standing all over the place, some chatting with the guys and some just looking bored.
“Come on,” Ryan said. “Let’s get a drink.”
I nodded but was too busy gaping around me. The place was packed, and there must have been a hundred people at least. Ryan greeted a few people as we moved into the crowd, winding our way past couches, where I could have sworn I saw a famous quarterback snort a line of coke. Ryan stopped at the bar, and we had to wait a minute for the line to die down.
