Big Baller: Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Abbi Hemp

  “A sure thing? There’s no such thing.”

  “Not usually, but for people like me, they do come along. My guy online is always accurate. Well, mostly.”

  “Your guy online?”

  I watched as her frown deepened.

  “Look, it’s not your money, okay? I need this win.”

  “You need the win? I thought your signing bonus was huge.”

  “It was, but I spend a lot of money. This house isn’t cheap.”

  “Then why did you buy it?”

  “I’m just renting it,” I said, feeling stupid and upset.

  “You’re just renting? Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. The payments weren’t too bad at first, but I’ve had so many fines and my monthly expenses are high.”

  “You need to get rid of some of your so-called friends.”

  “Like you?” I snapped, wishing she would shut up so I could watch the game which was starting.

  “Excuse me?”

  She pulled her hand away.

  “You’re the one always bringing up my money. I’m just saying…”

  “I’ve never asked you for money or anything. In fact, Kenneth, my real friend, found a publisher that likes my idea for a romance novel about a sports journalist, and they’re going to publish it. I bet within a year I’m making more money than you.”

  Unable to help myself, I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Your publishing deal sounds fishy. What’s the company?”

  “I don’t know their name yet, but it’s real. I’ll be getting my advance check soon.”

  I shook my head, still grinning at her naivety.

  “What?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think I’m good enough of a writer?”

  “No, it’s not that at all. I bet Kenneth is just trying to impress you.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of him.”

  “I’m not jealous of him. If you want a man like him, go for it.”

  “Who said I want a man like him?”

  “You’re the one who believes this little scheme of his.”

  “How do you know it’s a scheme?”

  “Well, how many romance novels have you written before?”

  “None,” she admitted.

  “Exactly. You really think a big publisher is going to take a chance on your first novel without seeing it.”

  “Whatever. You’re just jealous. Your career is almost over, and mine is just starting.”

  The announcers on the television announced the kickoff. I glanced over at the screen.

  “Watch your fucking game,” she said. “I’m leaving.”

  “Fine,” I said, wondering why she was being such a bitch. “Call me when you calm down.”

  “I might not call you at all,” she said, walking toward the front door.

  I sat down on the couch, staring at the television as the Mustangs defended against the Cheetahs. Both were impressive teams, but the guru online had said the Mustangs would come out ahead. With the outrageous odds, I stood to end up with three million dollars if they won.

  They have to win, I thought, my knee bouncing up and down as I watched the game. I vaguely remembered Andrea stopping over and getting upset, but I pushed thoughts of her aside. I’ll call her after I win, I reasoned. It made sense. Too much was on the line to fuck around.

  TWENTY

  Tony

  As the game neared the end, I realized the mistake I’d made. Placing a bet had seemed like a good idea at the time, but losing half-a-million dollars on one game was not wise in any way.

  My heart sank as the clock ran out on the game. Fuck. Why did I listen to some anonymous stranger online? The person on one of the sports forums I posted on occasionally had told me this bet was a sure thing, but it wasn’t turning out to be that at all. Fuck!

  I sat back on the couch, hoping for a miracle. My phone rang. It was Andrea. I didn’t answer it, turning my focus back to the game. Half-a-million wasn’t all the money I had in the bank, but it would be a huge hit if I lost it, especially since I’d racked up so many fines and penalties.

  “Fuck,” I said out loud.

  The phone stopped ringing as I sat back up, moving to the edge of the couch. My heart raced as if I was on the field myself as I watched what would likely be the final play. All the Mustangs needed to do was run out the clock. If they did, I lost a huge stack of cash.

  “Come on,” I said, rubbing my hands together.

  When the Mustangs intercepted the ball, I picked up the remote control and flung it across the room at the screen, breaking it. This made me even more upset. I stood up, blood boiling, looking for something to destroy. Instead of breaking anything else, I went to my private gym downstairs.

  I walked over to a punching bag and went to town without gloves, which was dumb, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Whenever the anger took hold, my body became capable of marvelous feats. It was one of the reasons I did so well on the field, at least when I could control it.

  After the bag, I went to a pull-up bar. Maybe Coach would change his mind and let me play during the playoffs. I had to be ready for that possibility. He knew the team wouldn’t win without me playing.

  Why didn’t Andrea see the importance of my success? Her getting upset while fucking around with that Kenneth dick didn’t sit right with me. Not at all.

  Fuck her, I thought as I pulled myself up, straining with every inch. By the time I reached the top, I felt guilty for cursing her when she wasn’t around. Did she mean something to me or not? Usually exercise allowed me to clear my mind and get into the zone, but it wasn’t working.

  I let go of the bar and let myself fall to the floor. Still not satisfied, I got onto a treadmill and turned it on full speed. The faster I ran, the more blank my mind became. All my problems were washed away as I sweated and concentrated on keeping up with the machine.

  Half-an-hour later, I turned it off, almost collapsing out of exhaustion. My heart racing, I headed to a small refrigerator and got out a cool water. After taking a few big gulps, I walked around the huge room, trying to come down from the exercise-high.

  All the while, thoughts of Andrea returned. I walked over to a shelf and glanced at my phone. Zero calls and messages. My life had been going fine before she came into it. I would be able to get back to that without her. I didn’t need any woman, let alone her.

  The adrenaline and endorphin rush gradually faded as I showered all the sweat from my body in the walk-in shower connected to the basement gym. As the cool water ran over my body, I stared at my feet. Even they reminded me of her.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I had no answers for my questions. After drying off and wrapping a towel around my waist, I turned my phone off and headed upstairs to sleep. In the morning, I would get up and plan my next move. If they didn’t want me playing football, maybe I could get a job on television. I had the right look.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Andrea

  When Tony didn’t answer my calls for whatever reason, I took my laptop into the kitchen. Sitting at the table, I wrote as if my life depended on it. As I reached a sex scene, I slowed down, unsure if I would be able to pull it off without the words sounding flat and mechanical.

  I closed my eyes and thought of Tony, his powerful body and that massive cock. The memories of the orgasms he’d given me all rushed back to me at once. I became conscious of the way my nipples brushed against the fabric of my tight, green tee-shirt.

  A tingling ran from my breasts to between my legs as images and thoughts of a sexual nature assaulted my senses via memory. The mere mention of Tony and his prowess at making love made me wet. I remembered the way he penetrated me, so hard and skillful.

  Ready to begin, I opened my eyes and positioned my fingers over the keyboard. Words flowed as the scene trapped in my head made it to the page. I described his flat, chiseled stomach with abs straight out of a magaz
ine. My heroine made love to my ideal image of a man.

  With each word, desires grew, heightened in intensity. The rest of the world faded away as my fingers flew over the keys, creating a scene one sentence after another. As a first draft, I didn’t stop to think or wonder about the grammar or anything else.

  All that mattered in the moment inspired by the muse of sex-filled prose was getting the images down. My book would need a ton of work, but I became caught up in the excitement of creation. Even a scene of a sexual nature mattered to me. Every single word.

  Just as my rhythm appeared and the words flowed, my phone rang, breaking me out of my trance. Ugh, I sighed then glanced at the phone, hoping it was Tony. I saw Kenneth’s name with no photo attached to his number. I thought about ignoring him too, but I answered.

  “Hey, Kenneth.”

  “Hey, Andrea. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  “Actually, I was just working on the novel.”

  “Oh no! I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, hating his insecurities. “What’s up?”

  “I’m heading out to dinner, and I wondered if you wanted to join me.”

  “Maybe some other time,” I said, really wanting to get back to my novel.

  “I have the paperwork and your Money Order.”

  “Okay, but I don’t have a lot of time. Where do you want to meet?”

  “How about the Jersey Sub Shop downtown. That work?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you there in about half-an-hour.”

  “I can pick you up,” he said.

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll meet you there. I have other plans tonight too.”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “I’ll see you there in thirty.”

  I ended the call and stared at the screen of my laptop. The words were a blur. Why wouldn’t Tony answer my calls? Was he done with me forever? Did I even care? He was just a dumb jock. Kenneth understood me as a writer and artist.

  After a moment or two sorting through all the questions in my mind, I stood and went to throw on a baggy sweatshirt to go get a late-night sub with Kenneth. He didn’t need to see me at my best. If I dressed down, he might finally get the hint that we were just friends.

  If it wasn’t for the money from the publisher, I would have refused to go out so late to see him. My paychecks from the newspaper were small. Even a modest advance would help me considerably. Part of me wondered if Tony was right about him, but I pushed those thoughts aside.

  Kenneth wouldn’t lie to me about something so important. If he didn’t have the advance money, I’d know he was pulling my leg and would leave. On the other hand, if he followed through, having a bite to eat with him in public wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t like Tony and I were married.

  The thought of marriage had been on my mind lately, but the more I considered everything, the more I realized Tony might not make a suitable husband. Being good at fucking wasn’t enough to vow to spend the rest of my life with someone. I wanted more.

  As I drove downtown to meet with Kenneth, I dreamed about life as a writer. Without having to go into the newsroom and deal with assholes like Scott, my life would be so much easier. If Tony didn’t believe in my talents, fuck him. I was done with men holding me back in life.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Andrea

  I stood next to the restrooms with my cell pressed against my ear, hoping Tony answered. Come on, I thought. Why did I need to hear his voice so bad? It went straight to voicemail, which meant he had turned the phone off or rejected my call. Had he already found another woman?

  Here goes nothing, I thought then walked over to a booth on the far side of the restaurant where Kenneth sat. He looked up and smiled as I approached. Good old Kenneth. Why can’t Tony have his manners? Or maybe Kenneth with Tony’s body? I giggled as I sat down across from him.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked. “My hair sticking up?”

  He patted the thinning hair on the top of his head.

  “No, it’s not you,” I said.

  “Do you want to go order something?”

  “I’m okay for now. Did you bring the contract?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, turning to the bench beside him.

  He lifted a leather shoulder bag and set it on the table. I watched as he opened the flap and pulled out a plain Manilla folder.

  “I’m so excited,” I said.

  It wasn’t a lie. The idea of a publishing contract made me forget about everything else on my mind.

  “Here you go.” He passed the envelope to me. “The four-thousand-dollar advance is in there too. That should give you some time to dedicate to writing.”

  “It’s not quit-my-job money, but it will help.”

  I opened the envelope and pulled out three pages of paper stapled together.

  “This is the contract?” I asked, dropping the envelope and looking at the papers.

  “That’s it,” he said. “You don’t need to sign tonight. I trust you with the money.”

  “I’d like to have someone look at it if you don’t mind.”

  I glanced over at him. He looked away nervously.

  “Not a problem.”

  “Great,” I said, glancing at it a moment before setting it down to see what else was in the envelope.

  I pulled out a pile of Money Orders – eight of them for five-hundred-dollars each.

  “Why didn’t they just write a check?” I asked.

  “It’s a long story, but it’s all on the up and up.”

  We made eye contact briefly before he looked away.

  “Are you expecting someone else?”

  “No, why?”

  “You keep looking toward the door.”

  “Oh.” He laughed. “I don’t want to stare. You’re so beautiful.”

  “Aww, thanks Kenneth. You’re such a sweet friend.”

  “That’s what I want to talk about now.”

  He reached across the table and took my hands in his, which were clammy. I looked down at them then back to his face.

  “I know this is supposed to be a business meeting, but I can’t hold my feelings for you back anymore.”

  I swallowed as he squeezed my hands tighter.

  “I’m so in love with you, Andrea. I have been since I laid eyes on you.”

  “Look, Kenneth.” I pulled my hands back and scooted to the edge of the bench. “You’re a great guy, but sometimes people just like different things.”

  “It’s that fucking jock, isn’t it?” he snapped, his attitude changing in a flash.

  Ugh. Why do I attract all these men who can’t control their temper?

  “No, Kenneth. I’m not looking to be in a relationship with anyone right now.”

  I stuffed the Money Orders and contract into the envelope as he stared at me, his brow furrowed and his bottom lip quivering.

  “I’m leaving now, but we’ll talk soon, okay?”

  As soon as I stood, he got to his feet and rushed over. I regretted coming to see him so late at night, even if we were in public. He put his right arm around my waist and pressed his crotch against me.

  “What are you doing?” I said, struggling to get away.

  “Kiss me!” he said.

  His head darted forward. I turned my head, causing his lips to hit my cheek instead of their intended target. I pushed his chest, separating us.

  “What the hell, Kenneth? You think because you do me a favor you can act like this?”

  “You’ve done it with the football player, why not me?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I glanced around the empty restaurant. Even the man behind the counter seem unconcerned.

  “Are you telling me you didn’t fuck him already? I could tell the difference when you came to work.”

  “You’re creeping me out, Kenneth. I’m leaving now.”

  I spun around and headed toward the door at a fast clip.

  “Hold on,” h
e said, grabbing my shoulder.

  Aw, hell no, I thought, spinning around again.

  I slapped him across the face, daring him to come at me. While I wasn’t in the same shape I’d been in college, I still worked out and would have no trouble teaching the skinny geek a lesson.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” he asked, rubbing his red cheek.

  “You don’t fucking grab me like that. You understand?”

  “Everything okay?” the older man wearing a blue uniform asked as he leaned against the front counter.

  “We’re fine,” Kenneth yelled then turned to me. “Right? I’d hate for something to happen to your book contract.”

  “I don’t need this fucking money, Kenneth. You know what?” I held out the envelope. “Take it. I don’t need anything from you.”

  The expression on his face changed from anger to fear in a flash, confusing me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a weak voice. “You keep it. I’m an asshole. It’s just…You’re so…And I…”

  None of his incomplete sentences made sense, but I got the gist of his message. He was in love with me, but I wasn’t in love with him. Unrequited love was the worst, but I couldn’t lead him on.

  “I’m leaving now,” I said firmly. “We’ll talk about this incident later, okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said then sniffed. “I’m so sorry, Andrea…”

  “Goodnight, Kenneth.”

  Still clutching the envelope in my right hand, I turned and walked out of the restaurant. Back in my car, I sat behind the steering wheel and took a deep breath before starting up the engine. Screw Tony, Kenneth, Scott and all the other assholes in my life.

  On the drive to my house, I swore I was through with all men until I finished my novel. The sooner I could quit my job at the newspaper the better. I did not want to depend on a corporation or a man like Tony who might lose his temper and take it out on me.

  I would take care of myself like any strong, modern woman. The closer I got to my empty home, the more I realized isolation wasn’t the solution. Love mattered. Even if Tony and Kenneth were both not matches, someone right for me would come along eventually.