Big Baller: Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Abbi Hemp

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Coach asked me. “I told you to stay away.”

  “I needed to talk to James about something.”

  “You’re not still bringing women into the stadium at night, are you?”

  “Of course not, Coach,” I lied.

  The look on his face told me he didn’t believe me.

  “If I catch you doing it again, you’re going to get your suspension extended and not be able to play in the playoffs.”

  “You mean you’re going to let me back in early so I can play?”

  “We have a good shot of going all the way this year,” he said. “And I need you on the field. You’re the best I’ve got at the moment.”

  I grinned, feeling even better.

  “You’re the best, Coach.”

  “Don’t get all emotional on me,” he said. “You players these days.”

  After patting him on the back, I headed down the hall to talk with James anyway. When I walked in his office again, he looked up at me.

  “Uh oh. I know that look. What do you need now?”

  “Come on, James. I’m not that bad, am I?”

  “You helped my father, Tony. I’m going to help you.”

  “It wasn’t anything. Sometimes I think I have too much money.”

  “Ain’t no such thing,” he said then laughed. “What do you need?”

  “Can we switch the dinner on the field to tomorrow night? Is it too late?”

  He looked at the watch on his wrist, a gold affair from the mid-20th century, not one of those modern ones. I watched his face closely, noticing the frown. Fuck.

  “I’ll pay the catering staff for tonight and tomorrow night, but everyone can go home tonight. How does that sound.”

  “Now we’re talking,” he said, his smile easing my conscience.

  “Great. You need the money now? I don’t have my checkbook.”

  “I trust you, Tony, but cash would be best. This operation is under the table.”

  “Not a problem,” I said, nodding. “I gotta go, but thanks again. I’ll call you tomorrow night around six or so.”

  “This must be some special lady friend,” he said, leaning back with a grin on his face.

  I nodded my head slowly.

  “She’s special in a lot of ways,” I said.

  “Uh huh.”

  I waved then turned and left his office. If Coach was going to let me play during the playoffs, I had to start working out and training. A sexy and romantic late night dinner on the 50-yard line would be a great reward for a night and morning full of exercise.

  As I headed to my mansion, I decided to kick out the entourage for at least a day or two. With them gone, I would be able to think and plan out the playoffs and how to make Andrea my wife. The thought hit me like a hailstone falling from the sky on a clear day with no clouds.

  What the hell? Where did that come from? I had no answers, but the idea didn’t frighten me as it had at one time in my life when I was younger. Am I growing up? Is she the one? The woman who walked into the locker room and saw me naked? I smiled. The idea pleased me.

  THIRTEEN

  Andrea

  Tony arrived at my house in his Maserati, which looked so out of place in the neighborhood. I stood up from the porch where I’d been waiting for him and walked toward the driveway. He got out of the car and came over, meeting me half way.

  “Let me get the door for you,” he said.

  “What a gentleman,” I teased. “You going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, but you have to promise me you won’t use it in your story.”

  “I won’t,” I said quietly as I got into the vehicle.

  I need to tell him about Scott and the article he wants me to do.

  After I got in, he closed the door then walked around the front, staring at me in the passenger seat as I buckled in. Once he got behind the steering wheel, he started up the car and pulled out of my driveway.

  “About that story,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  “Don’t tell me. You want to do a hit-piece on me.”

  “I don’t, but my boss does,” I said, turning to look at his reaction.

  He nodded his head calmly, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.

  “Are you going to write it? I mean, you could really screw me over right now.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you,” I said, disappointed he would think that about me.

  “Hey, a lot of women want to sleep with me to advance their career or screw mine over for whatever reason, usually money.”

  “Boo-hoo. Poor Tony.”

  “It’s tougher being me than you might think.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m doing yet, but I thought I should tell you. Scott is a real asshole.”

  “I know who he is,” Tony said. “He’s had it out for me since I joined the team.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “Yeah. I’m not sure if he’s jealous of me or what, but he’s been attacking me on his Football Bark blog for years.”

  “You don’t read that shit, do you?”

  I laughed at his folly.

  “You never Google yourself?”

  “That’s different than reading a sports editor’s blog when they love to talk about you in a bad way.”

  “He brings up some good points sometimes.”

  I laughed even harder.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He glanced over at me and smiled, so damn charming.

  “He’s an asshole. You’re right.”

  “Damn straight. I have to work with that monster.” I paused, then added. “We’re going to the stadium? Wait a minute. I’ve heard about this…”

  “What have you heard?” he asked.

  “That you bring women here to wine, dine then fuck them in the locker room.”

  “You believe everything you read online?”

  “No, but you have a reputation.”

  “I’ve already slept with you,” I said. “This isn’t that at all. I thought we could have a romantic evening together.”

  “So you’re not going to put the moves on me?”

  “No. I like where this relationship is going.”

  He pulled into the parking lot and stopped in a spot near the stadium.

  “We had fun, but I’m not sure I would call it a relationship.”

  I had been thinking about what I had with Tony ever since we had slept together, not coming to any conclusions. Men were difficult beasts sometimes. At least the ones who attracted me.

  “Wow. Okay. No problem,” he said, taking it in stride. “I’d hate to waste a dinner.”

  “I’ll have dinner with you. I’m just not sure about anything else right now.” I smiled. “Besides, why would I want to be with a guy who treats me to dinner at the stadium concession stands.”

  “You underestimate me,” he said, grinning. “Let’s go inside.”

  After we got out of his luxury SUV, he took my hand in his and led me to the player’s entrance.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to be here at all while you’re on suspension,” I said as he opened a door.

  “It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  For some strange reason, I did more than I’d trusted any man in my life before.

  What is happening to me? Could this actually be love?

  Inside the stadium, I stopped walking and put my left hand over my mouth as it hung open. I saw a table for two set up in middle of the field.

  “You did not set this up,” I said, even more impressed with him.

  “I did.”

  We walked across the turf. Two young men dressed in white dress shirts with classy red vests stood next to the table. The moon above and a few candles on the table were the only source of illumination, making the scene even more romantic.

  He pulled a chair back. I sat down, scooting it forward as I took it all in. After sitti
ng down across from me, he turned to one of the young men.

  “We’re ready to begin,” he said simply.

  They went to a food cart nearby then brought two bowls of salad to the table. As the novelty wore off, I remembered he had done the same thing for many other women. I wondered briefly if I should go ahead and do a true story on him.

  “Uh oh,” he said. “I’ve seen that look before?”

  I looked up and innocently asked, “What?”

  “It’s your disapproving look.”

  “You know me so well, huh?”

  “Glass of wine?” he asked.

  “No, not tonight. You go ahead.”

  “I’m back to no alcohol.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Coach said I might be let back in for the playoffs.”

  “That’s big news,” I said.

  “That’s off the record.”

  “You’re supposed to say that before you give the information,” I teased, then added. “And there’s your look.”

  “What’s my look?” he asked then took a drink of water.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe your I’m-bored-with-this-woman look?”

  He grinned, his eyes lighting up.

  “That’s not it.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head then proceeded to eat his salad. I did the same. After a few minutes of silence, I spoke up, wanting to dig more information out of him.

  “Are you excited about making the playoffs?”

  “I am,” he said. “It means a lot to me. Beyond the money.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m surprised they suspended you so long.”

  “No one likes me on this team,” he admitted.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, even the Coach has it out for me.”

  “Do you think it’s their fault or is it connected to your behavior?”

  “Ouch,” he said then chuckled. “Tough hitting questions from the journalist at our romantic dinner.”

  “I’m just making conversation,” I lied.

  Over the years, I’d learned ways to get sports players to open up and reveal themselves to me. It was different with Tony because we’d slept together and were obviously physically attracted to each other.

  He pushed his salad bowl back then motioned for our main course. I wondered how many women he had treated to such a dinner – and where he took them afterwards.

  Did I really want to be involved with someone like him? Bad boy players rarely turned their lives around, always chasing their next piece of tail. Was Tony different?

  “You’re quiet tonight,” he said while cutting his steak.

  “Just a lot on my mind.”

  “Good or bad?”

  He popped a piece of meat in his mouth.

  “It’s not that simple,” I said then took a bite of my own.

  “Everything is simple when you boil it down to the basics.”

  “Must be nice to live in your world.”

  We made eye contact across the table. I saw how the romantic quality of the meal might get most women to spread their legs for such a powerful and sexy man.

  “It’s not bad,” he said. “But it’s not all good either.”

  I wanted to press him for more of the things he considered bad in his life, but I backed off, content to enjoy the meal with him as the stars in the sky shined down on us.

  We made small talk the rest of the dinner. Both of us declined desert. As the two young men cleared the table, he stood up and walked around the table to me, stretching out his hand.

  I wrapped mine in his and let him help me to my feet. Here it comes, I thought as we walked across the field to the locker room. He’s going to make a move. Am I going to stop him?

  As we reached an opening at the far end of the field, he whistled smugly. Does he assume I’m going to give it up to him again? Am I? While I wanted to fuck him, it would be better to wait while we worked out our true feelings for each other. Would he understand?

  In the locker room where I’d first met him, he stopped and turned to step in front of me. Our eyes met again. I saw how women seeing them would melt, but I held firm.

  “I’m not just someone to screw, you know. We need to talk about our relationship.”

  “That’s not all I want,” he said.

  Looking into his hazel eyes, I believed him with all my heart and soul.

  “What do you want?” I asked, studying his face carefully.

  “To be happy again. You make me feel good to be alive.”

  Our bodies pressed together and our lips met. I pulled back, my heart beating so quickly.

  “I need to go,” I said.

  “Really?” he snapped, shaking his head. “I went through a lot to put this night together, especially since you couldn’t do it last night.”

  “And you expect me to suck your dick now or something?”

  His anger fueled mine.

  “No, but come on, this is romantic as hell.”

  “It was before,” I said, staring him down.

  “Why do you have to play like this?”

  “I’m not playing. I need to know where we stand with each other before we move forward.”

  He turned his head and yelled, “Fuck!”

  I stepped back, never having seen his temper up close before. When he slammed his fist onto the metal door of a locker, I jumped back in surprise. Before I had a chance to say anything, I saw Coach Tom walk into the room, followed by Keith Alderman.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” the former asked.

  Keith stood next to him, shaking his head with a grin perched on his face.

  “Nothing, Coach,” Tony said. “We were just leaving.”

  “I thought I told you not to come to the stadium until I said it was okay.”

  “I know, Coach, but…”

  “But nothing,” he yelled then turned to me. “And who might you be? Some damn football groupie?”

  “I’m a reporter for the Denver Post,” I said proudly.

  “Get the hell out of here!” he yelled, pointing to the door. “What the hell are you doing bringing her in here, Tony? I’ll talk to you about this later.”

  I slinked toward the door we’d entered. Tony jogged over and put his hand on the small of my back.

  “It’s okay,” he said in a consoling voice.

  “It’s not okay,” I snapped, moving my body so his hand fell away.

  Keith laughed behind us. Tony turned to lunge at him, but I took his hand and dragged him into the hallway.

  “Take me home,” I said furiously.

  He did. I was silent the whole way.

  FOURTEEN

  Andrea

  The next day, he called me three times before I finally answered.

  “What?” I asked. “I’m at work.”

  “I want to make up for last night.”

  “Yeah? How? Take me to your favorite strip club?”

  “Ow,” he said. “You’re still mad?”

  “A little bit. I’m not just a piece of meat.”

  “No, you’re not. I told you that you’re special.”

  “Words are easy. Actions are hard.”

  “Let me take you to dinner again tonight.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m super busy.”

  That wasn’t a lie. Scott had me working on five stupid stories plus the one on Tony.

  “We can talk.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. About us.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that story your boss wants you to run. What if I let you do it?”

  “Let me do it?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I sighed.

  “Fine. We can have dinner and talk.”

  “Sweet,” he said. “I’ll pick you up around six at your house. That work?”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Would you please stop blowing up my phone now?”

  He laughed.


  “My mission is accomplished, so yes.”

  “Talk to you later, Tony.”

  “Bye.”

  I ended the call then sat back in my office chair to stare up at the ceiling. My spirits boosted, I stood and walked over to Scott’s desk in the far corner. He glanced up at me and quickly closed the browser window as I stopped next to him.

  He looked up at me, annoyed.

  “What’s up, Andrea?”

  “About that story on Tony Carlotti…”

  “Is it done yet?” he interrupted.

  “Not yet, but it’s going well. You need to give me a bit of time.”

  “As long as it tears that smug bastard down a notch or two, it’s fine.”

  “What do you have against him?” I asked.

  He tilted his head as he stared at me.

  “Why are you protecting him?”

  “You think I’m protecting him?”

  “You’ve been dragging your feet on this story long enough.”

  “I do a good job, and that takes time.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “It’s not like many people even read the newspaper anymore.”

  You’re the problem with journalism, I thought but kept my mouth shut.

  “I’ll have it for you soon,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it for now, I guess. Don’t sneak up on me anymore, either.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know what I mean. Walking up on me like you did.”

  “Okay,” I said, not wanting to start a fight with him.

  I returned to my desk and read the story on Tony I’d written so far. It lacked depth and any sense of objectivism, but it wouldn’t do too much damage to his career. I printed off a copy to show to him later that evening. Was Tony a better man than I realized? I was ready to find out.

  ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

  Right at six o’clock, he picked me up in the Maserati again. I hated to admit it to myself, but I’d come to enjoy riding around in his luxury vehicles. They made me feel important, which scared me.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going this time?” I asked after climbing in the passenger seat.

  “Maybe,” he said, grinning at me. “What’s that?”

  “The story I wrote. I tried to make it bad enough so I don’t get in trouble with Scott, but not bad enough that you hate me.”