Dirty Filthy Boy (Chicago Outlaws #1)

by Magda Alexander

  Some time in the middle of the night, I wake up on the sofa, my face buried in a pillow that smells like lavender and rose. My dick's throbbing so hard I'm seeing stars. Goddamn it. Nothing she has I can't get from a thousand other women. So why is my John Thomas so hung up on her? Doesn't matter. Only one way out of this mess. I pull down my pants and jerk off, all the while picturing her soft thighs, her hot pussy, her luscious tits. It takes me barely a minute to come. Wrung out, I stumble to the bathroom and clean up, cursing the cocksucker who designed her witches' brew of a scent.

  Chapter 11

  MacKenna

  ON WEDNESDAY, I dress in my most conservative outfit—a buttoned up blouse and a two-piece business suit whose skirt comes to my knees—and drive to the Outlaws' practice facility. I've requested a private room to interview Ron. This time nothing's going to stand in my way.

  He arrives in a pair of jeans and a Chicago Outlaws t-shirt, which I find a tad weird. Doesn't he have practice today? "Why aren't you wearing your uniform?"

  "Street clothes are more comfortable. Hope you don't mind." He cocks his head to one side as a tenuous smile rolls across his lips.

  Why, he's uncertain about me, about the interview. And that's the last thing I want. I need his cooperation to get the information I need. "Of course not." I clear my throat. Maybe I should apologize again. "Sorry about what happened before."

  The next grin he offers is sweetness itself. "That's okay. Ty explained it to me. Those three linesmen. They like to play jokes on every one. I should have known. You don't look like a loose woman."

  "I'm not. I come from a very conservative background." If he only knew how conservative.

  He raises a brow as if he doubts my statement.

  "Honest." I flash him the scout's honor sign.

  He laughs and waves me back. "I'm just joshing with you."

  A great big weight is lifted off my shoulders. He knows I'm nervous and is trying to make me feel comfortable. How sweet is this guy? "Great."

  I start with the easy questions before I tackle the meat of the interview. What school did he go to? Did he play ball as a kid? I tried my best to pump Mar for information, but she refused to discuss Ron, other than to say he's very bright, which doesn't help a whole bunch. I know there's a story in him somewhere. I just have to get it out.

  He keeps looking at the football primer I brought with me.

  I smile. "Pretty basic, right? But I know very little about the game. So anything's a huge help."

  "Whatever you need to know, just ask." Another big grin.

  Call it a hunch, call it intuition, but an idea blooms in my mind. I get them now and then. And they usually prove true. "Thanks but Football for Morons has got me covered, I think."

  He glances at the book. His lips move as if he's trying to sound out the words. "Yeah." He laughs again.

  "It's Football for Dummies, Ron."

  His face turns bright red as his gaze drops to the floor.

  Darn it. I've totally embarrassed him which is not my goal. Reaching out, I brush my hand against his. But then I remember he doesn't like to be touched. "It's okay. It's okay, Ron."

  "No, it's not." Still red-faced, he rises and walks toward the door.

  He's getting away. Again. But I can't allow it. Not this time. "Please don't leave. I'm not trying to make fun of you. Just trying to understand. Please sit." I push the chair toward him.

  For a couple of seconds, his breaths bellow, before he turns and walks back to the seat.

  "Tell me, please." I beg him.

  His shoulders bunch, and his face closes in. "Why? So you'll write about it in your paper?"

  "You've hidden this your whole life." I hadn't picked up one hint of his reading disability, and I'd spend hours researching him.

  When he doesn't say anything, I go on. "You can't read?"

  He shakes his head. "I don't understand the letters. They're all jumbled to me."

  "Didn't you get help in school?"

  "I attended a very small school in the California mountains. The teachers did their best, but did not know what was wrong. They didn't figure it out until I was in high school."

  "I don't understand how you did so well in school." I flip through my records. "You graduated with a B average in high school and a B+ in college."

  At that he looks up. "I can remember anything I hear. In grade school, my mom read the textbooks to me. In high school, a team of volunteers recorded my lessons. They earned their community volunteer credits that way. To preserve my anonymity the students were not told who they were reading for."

  But somehow Marigold found out.

  "What about tests?"

  His glance darts to the floor again. I wish he'd look up. I'm truly not looking to shame him. "I would fake take the tests, so I wouldn't arouse suspicion. Later, my teachers administered them orally."

  "And no one figured it out."

  "No." He shakes his head.

  "Memorizing all that material, that's quite a hard thing to do."

  "I don't forget. I have a perfect aural memory."

  "That's amazing. Truly. And you've kept this secret all these years?"

  "Yes."

  What he's managed to accomplish boggles my mind. School's hard enough when you can read, but to do it without being able to study the material? I don't know how he did it, but I aim to find out and write his story. I won't do it, though, unless he approves the piece. "Aren't you tired of keeping this secret all these years? Sooner or later, it will leak out. Wouldn't it be better if you revealed it now? I can work with you so you can tell your story the way the way you'd like it to be told."

  His head jerks up at that. "Why should I do that?"

  "Well, for one thing, someone's bound to discover your secret. And it might come out in a way that would embarrass or hurt you. For another, you can help others like you, Ron. I guarantee you there are kids out there who think themselves failures because they can't read. But it you talk about how you overcame your disability and point to the fact that you're a starting wide receiver for the Chicago Outlaws, you'll give kids hope for the future."

  "I don't know."

  "How about I write up the article and let you read it?"

  At that inane statement, he raises his head and cocks up his left brow.

  My face heats up. Stupid much, MacKenna? "Sorry. I'll read it to you. If you don't like what I write, I'll take out anything you want." This is not something I'd normally do. A journalist is supposed to report the truth. But I don't want to do it at his expense. "Deal?" I stick out my hand.

  For a long time, he looks at it and then his huge hand engulfs mine. "Deal."

  "Great!" I beam him a wide smile. "I'll come by Friday with the article. If that's okay."

  "Sure." He nods.

  I can see he's not quite convinced. No matter. I intend to write the most brilliant piece I've ever written, one sure to knock his socks off.

  By dawn on Friday, I'm exhausted and bleary-eyed from the hours I've spent writing and polishing Ron's piece. The last thing I need is Ron's okay before I turn it in. So early morning, I call the Outlaws' camp and make an appointment to meet him. They assure me he can squeeze in a few minutes. No sooner do I hang up with the Outlaws PR office than Mar calls. A broken water pipe at her school has given her a rare day off. Am I available for lunch? I jump at the chance to get together. I need to tell her about my one night stand with Ty. Because if I don't, I may very well explode. Since her place is on the way to the football training facility, I offer to pick her up. She can sit in the car while I meet with Ron, and then we can head out to a restaurant where we can talk.

  At the Outlaws' camp, I read the article to Ron. It's rock solid journalism if I say so myself. One sure to get a lot of reads. Not only does it cover the football angle, but the human side as well. He clarifies a couple of things I got wrong, and I gladly make the revisions. He may have appeared reluctant on Wednesday, but now he seems pleased with the piece. Maybe it's
because he won't have to hide this great big secret anymore.

  On my way to my car, I spot Ty on the edge of the field. My heart scrunches at the sight of him. Unlike the first time I met him, he's not wearing his uniform but dressed in a fisherman's sweater and jeans. Why isn't he playing? Did he get hurt in practice? Although I'm aching to know, I can't very well approach him. Doubt he'd give me the time of day after the way I brushed him off. Besides, I don't want him to see me. It would hurt too much. I duck my head into the hood of my coat and tear down the perimeter of the field. I'm so lost in my misery I don't look where I'm going and run dab smack into a hard chest.

  Cheeks flushing with heat, I jump back, and my hoodie slides off. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

  Two hands grab my arms to steady me. "MacKenna?"

  I glance up to find Oliver Lyons staring at me. Cousin to a neighboring family back home, he'd spent a summer at their farm. I'd fallen so hard for the gorgeous college-bound guy, I'd spent hours and hours daydreaming about him.

  "Oliver!" The dirty blonde hair he'd worn long is now cropped into a stylish, businessman's cut, but his amazing eyes still blaze electric blue. Dressed in a dark blue business suit that frames his tall, powerful body to a T, he's still as gorgeous as ever. Unable to help myself, I embrace him.

  After he returns my hug, he steps back to gaze at me. "Look at you. You're all grown up. What are you doing in Chicago?"

  "I attended college here and then got a job at The Windy City Chronicle. As a reporter."

  "You always loved to write." He smiles, and those dimples I loved so much pop up on his cheeks.

  "Yeah." The summer he visited I wrote about him in my journal all the time. "So what have you been doing?" Last time I saw him, he'd been headed for the University of Chicago. But that's the only thing I know about him. His cousins' family sold their farm that fall and moved away, so I'd lost track of them and him.

  He cocks his head to the side. "You don't know?"

  I blink. "No. Should I?"

  He gestures toward the field. "I own the team."

  I gulp. "The Chicago Outlaws?"

  "Yes."

  I knew he came from my money. Lots of money. But I didn't know he was super rich. "Wow."

  A woman standing a couple of feet away calls out, "Mr. Lyons, we have to go or you'll be late."

  An entourage surrounds him—several men dressed in expensive-looking suits and a woman, probably his assistant. Business types by the look of them.

  A frown of annoyance rolls over Oliver's brow, as if he resents the interruption. "Listen. I have a meeting I can't get out of, but I'd love to catch up."

  I clutch my notebook to me, resembling the schoolgirl I once was. "That would be nice."

  His smile tells me he's pleased by my response.

  Sensing more than seeing someone roll up behind me, I turn to see who it is. "Marigold. Hi." I'm surprised to see her since she'd decided to stay in the car.

  Her glance ping pongs between Oliver and me. "Sorry to interrupt, but it got cold in the car. I thought I'd grab the keys so I could turn on the heat."

  "I'm so sorry it took so long. Here." I fish out the keys from my purse and hand them to her.

  "Thanks."

  She turns to leave, but before she can get away, I stop her. "Mar, wait. Let me introduce you to Oliver Lyons. He's an old friend. Oliver this is Marigold Thompson."

  She nods, unsmiling. "Nice to meet you."

  So does he. "Pleasure."

  "Oliver owns the team."

  She folds her arms across her middle, and shoots a scathing glare at Oliver. "Yes, I know."

  Wow. What's that all about?

  "Meeting's starting, Mr. Lyons," Oliver's assistant says, tapping her wristwatch.

  "You better go, Oliver."

  His lips firm as he turns to his entourage. "Go on. I'll be right there." As soon as they're gone from sight, he asks, "Are you free tomorrow?"

  "What?" I ask.

  He repeats the question. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

  "She's busy," Marigold spits out. "Saturday's movie night." We'd made plans to go see the new Benedict Cumberbatch movie.

  "Yeah, we are."

  "Surely, you can skip that. Whatever movie you've chosen will still be there next week."

  "Well." I glance at Marigold. Her cocked brow does not seem the least bit encouraging.

  "The Outlaws are holding a charity function. I don't know if you're into old music, but Tony Landon will be there."

  Mar's hostility dissolves like spun sugar at a carnival. She loves all kinds of music but her absolute favorite is the swing era. Tony Landon, a throwback to that time, just happens to be one of her favorite artists. "I love him."

  "Your friend can come too if she wants." Oliver tosses out, both including and dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

  Attending his team's charity function is not a good idea. His players are bound to attend, which means Ty will be there. What if I run into him? No. This is not going to work.

  But just as I make that decision, Mar's cinnamon gaze pleads with me. "Please, MacKenna."

  A wrinkle pops up on Oliver's brow while his glance darts between Mar and me.

  I blow out a sigh. "Okay, fine." It's dinner and a concert, four hours max. Surely I can avoid running into Ty for that long.

  We agree on a time. I don't want Oliver to see where I live. So rather than have him pick me up, I tell him I'll meet him at the hotel where the event's being held. Mar and I can either drive or cab it over there.

  He pulls a gold card holder from his suit's inner pocket and writes something on the back before handing it to me. "Here's my card. If you change your mind about me picking you up, call me. That's my personal cell number."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ty walking in our direction, but he's so deep in discussion with the man next to him, he doesn't notice me. I need to get away before he does.

  "Thanks, Oliver. See you tomorrow."

  Ty's head snaps up. As his gaze zeroes in on Oliver and me, his brows scrunch together and he frowns.

  Time to get the heck out of Dodge before he storms over here. I stick the card in my purse's outside pocket, grab Mar, and haul buns back to my car. I don't stop running until we've reached my car. "Get in, Mar." I tug at the driver door's handle, but the damn thing won't cooperate.

  "What's the hurry?"

  "I'll tell you later. Just get in the damn car."

  "Okay. Okay." She has no trouble opening her door. It's only mine that's stuck.

  Afraid Ty might be coming after me, I redouble my efforts. The darn thing finally pops open. I jump in and jab the key into the ignition. Thankfully, the engine comes to life. Car's wheels squealing, I peel out of the parking lot. I don't bother looking back. Too afraid of what I'll see.

  "What is wrong with you?" Mar's clutching the dashboard and hanging on for dear life while giving me a wide-eyed look.

  "Tell you later."

  As I race toward the exit, I finally glance in the rearview mirror. Thankfully, I don't spot Ty. Still, I don't breathe easy until I reach the main road. My nerves are shot, though. I need to stop somewhere before I land us in a ditch.

  Luckily, I find a diner a mile down the road. After we're seated at a booth, I wait until the waitress takes our order, before spilling the beans.

  "I slept with Ty Mathews."

  Mar's eyes bug out. "What? How—when did this happen?"

  "Monday. I was scheduled to interview him in the morning. But he stood me up. He showed up at the newspaper, full of apologies. Of course, my boss ate it up. The Chicago Outlaws' quarterback in his newspaper is not a sight he gets to see every day. When Ty asked me out to lunch, I couldn't turn him down. Mr. Bartlett practically ordered me to go. Then he invited me to cover the Outlaws' appearance at a Boys & Girls Club. You can guess what my boss had to say about that."

  "Wow. So what happened?"

  "Well, at the Boys & Girls Club I talked to some of the players, Ron
, Mr. Bunchinsky."

  "Mad Dog."

  "Yeah. He's actually pretty sweet."

  "Sweet? MacKenna, he eats quarterbacks for breakfast. He's the number one tackle in the NFL."

  "Well, he was super nice to the kids there. But when I talked to Ryan Taylor, Ty went ballistic. He hauled me out of the club and dragged me to his house where one thing led to another, and we ummm did it."

  "He didn't force you, did he? Because if he did, I don't care what or who he is, he's going to have to deal with me."

  That would be a sight to see. She's a will of the wisp five two, weighing in at a hundred pounds and Ty's six five with hard muscle to spare. "No. He didn't hurt me. It was . . . good." Truth to tell, the sex had been incredible. No wonder women lined up for a chance to go to bed with him.

  The waitress interrupts with our food. A veggie burger for Mar, a chicken salad for me.

  "Well, in that case. Way to go!" Marigold high fives me. "Who knew you had it in you. So, spill and don't spare any details."

  My hook up with Ty is way too personal to share. So I'm not telling her what happened even if she's my best friend. Not sure if she'd even believe me. The memory of me scratching his back and asking for more doesn't jive with the prim and proper MacKenna Mar knows.

  "Mar. Don't you understand? I had a one-night stand with the most notorious player in town."

  "And?"

  "It was amazing, okay? He did things . . ." I'm probably turning beet red. Me and my darn redhead complexion.

  "What things?"

  "I'm not telling. It's embarrassing enough as it is."

  Her brow scrunches. "Why?"

  "Don't you get it? I slept with him." My voice rises a little and the two women next to us turn to stare at us.