Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Teagan Kade

  “Josh?” I make it a loud whisper. Still no reply.

  I hit the top of the stairs and hear his voice again, muted, but it sounds different.

  I approach his door, lean against it. He’s moaning in his sleep, but there’s another sound I can’t quite place.

  Let him sleep. Deal with it in the morning.

  I strip off my jeans and blouse, opening the door and moving into the darkness of his room. There are no windows in here. It’s pitch black the way Josh likes it and precisely why I don’t like to spend too much time at his place.

  The moan comes again, low, the sheets shifting. Whatever he’s dreaming about, it must be damn good.

  I don’t speak as I pad across the carpet, the cold sending a dimpled layer of goosebumps rising to the surface of my skin.

  When I’m close enough, I take hold of the sheets and pull them back, sliding in. Josh is on his back, head whipping to the side as he groans again, almost in agony. I get a whiff of alcohol, but it’s nowhere near as overpowering as before. There’s another smell, familiar, but one I can’t quite put my finger on.

  I run my hand across his chest, and that’s when I feel it—hair. It’s too thick to be Josh’s, in too much abundance. I run my hand lower and it hits something hard and round.

  What the hell?

  “Josh?” I stammer.

  “Josh?” comes another voice, female.

  He sits up like he’s just been given a lightning-bolt enema, something else lifting towards the base on the bed. It’s at precisely that moment I realize what’s going on.

  “Scarlet?” whimpers Josh, and I hear the fear in his voice, the surprise. I run my hand across the bedhead and hit the light. Even before my finger presses the switch I know the horror that awaits.

  It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, but when they do it is a nightmare of such magnitude I literally cannot breathe, lungs seized tight.

  Josh sits up, naked, his cock hard and glistening in the light. I’ve seen that sight before, but it’s what’s between his legs that scares me the most.

  It’s that Latino girl I’ve seen hanging around the players. She’s naked too, her caramel skin striking against Josh’s, her nipples tight berries. She wipes her mouth as she looks at me, dabbing at the corner of her lips.

  I realize now what I can smell—sex.

  She shakes the shock off fast. “You must be Scarlet,” she says. “I’m Carolina.” I notice she’s pierced below, a diamante heart where her belly button should be and one of those loopy poetic quotes tattooed down her side.

  I back off the bed and stand, covering myself even though I’m still in my bra and panties. Never in my life have I been so humiliated. Angela was right.

  You knew it. You knew all along.

  I start to back towards the door. “I, I—”

  “Scarlet, wait.” Josh tries to get off the bed but gets his foot tangled in the sheets, half-hobbling, swearing, reaching out for me like I’m a life boat adrift. “I can explain, please.”

  “Josh, I—” I don’t know what to say. The shock is still washing over me. If I came in and they were doing it, that would be one thing. But letting her, her go down on him, an act so private, so intimate… That’s unforgivable.

  This Carolina reclines on the bed, hand on her chin. “You should stay, honey.”

  I can’t even make myself mad at her I’m so fixated on Josh as he scrambles towards me, the sheets bunched up in his hands in some vain attempt to cover his erection, the erection that was in her mouth only moments ago.

  I turn and run through the door, almost tripping on my clothes and swinging back to gather them up.

  “Scarlet!” yells Josh. “Wait!”

  It’s too much. This was the last thing I needed tonight. And this one? Out of all the girls, he chose someone like her, a hussy, a wannabee WAG?

  I hit the bottom of the stairs and head for the front door, but Josh is faster. He rushes past me and closes it, standing in front and blocking my path.

  I stop, keep my distance. I cry hard, don’t even try to stop it now, and the whole thing made that much more humiliating because I know she is still upstairs listening, probably loving every damn second of this mess, waiting for her moment to make Josh her own with her mouth, her dirty hole, do things I won’t.

  I never swear, but Josh has pushed me too far. “Fuck you,” I stammer, blinking briny tears from my eyes, lashes stuck together in clumps below. My lips quiver, body shaking on the spot.

  He has his hands out trying to calm me down, but what does he expect? That I’m just going to up and forgive him? Not for this betrayal. It’s not possible, no matter how much he begs and grovels. Words can’t fix this.

  “Why?” I don’t even know why I’m asking it. “Why, Josh? Why are you doing this?”

  He runs his hand through his hair, huffing, his free hand opening and closing rhythmically as if grasping for a solution. His cock’s deflated, a saggy sock of flesh hanging against his thigh. “Baby.” He’s bringing out the big guns now. “I know how this looks, but it’s not what you think.”

  I wipe watery snot from mouth. “No? I think it’s exactly what I think.” I can’t believe he’d try to deny it. “Are you saying there’s not a strange girl, naked, in your bed, our bed who wasn’t just…” I can’t even say it.

  He takes a step closer. I take one back.

  “Look,” he says, trying to be the voice of reason, “training’s been rough. I needed to blow off some steam.”

  I clench my arms tighter around myself. “Is that what you call it? I deserve a better excuse than that, Josh.”

  “Baby,” he pleads again, stepping closer and then back, scared I might lash out, “it’s a lot of stress. I need to go wild every once and while. No big deal.”

  I take a step forward, the anger rising, my confidence lifted momentarily. “No big deal?” I laugh. “You’re sleeping with someone else. You’re cheating on me, just like the reporter said.”

  A new terror slips into his eyes. “Reporter?”

  I ignore it. “Does she mean anything to you, Josh? Are you in love with her?”

  “No,” he shakes his head, turning sideways as I come forward again, covering himself protectively, “they don’t mean anything to me, baby. You have to believe me. It’s only a bit of fun.”

  He realizes what he’s said and starts hitting himself in the head. “Fuck! Fuck!”

  I lower my eyes, can’t even look at him anymore. “How many, Josh?”

  “Baby…”

  “Tell me, honestly, how many?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He’s growing frustrated, irritated, turning in a second with that Jekyll and Hyde routine I know so well now. “Fuck, Scarlet, can you give me a break for once? So I sleep around. So fucking what? We fuck, what, once a month now? That’s not good enough. I’ve got needs.”

  I cannot believe what I’m hearing. “Are you kidding me, Josh?”

  He remains firm. “No.”

  “You think you can do better?”

  “Maybe I can.”

  So this is it. “Okay. Why don’t you try it out then?” The tears have dried, my skin stiff and acrid.

  He keeps his eyes pinned on mine. “Maybe I will, find myself some real hot ass instead of a moany, whiney bitch like you.”

  That’s it. I walk past him and this time he doesn’t try to stop me. “Goodbye, Josh,” I tell him, throat burning as I open the door.

  I turn, one final look, and take in his sad, deflated dick. “You know what, Josh?”

  He doesn’t reply, but stands there with hands on his hips exactly like he did when Jensen scored that goal.

  “You might be all Mr. Playmaker on the field, but you never made me come, not once.”

  He watches me, but I can see it’s a bullseye right into that over-inflated ego balloon he calls a head.

  I turn and slam the door behind me, hurrying to my car and backing out of there as fast as possible. I notice a set of black skid
marks running up the street. Guess I’m not the only one who wanted to get out of here in a hurry tonight.

  I shift into first and drive away, one eye on the front door of Josh’s place. It remains closed. It’s not until I hit the highway, still sitting there in my bra and panties, the tears come again, great hulking sobs wracking my body and causing the wheel to shake in my hands. I don’t even know why I’m crying, why I’m letting him make me feel this way, like I’m worthless, second rate.

  I think of him and immediately I think of her—on top of him, sucking him off, begging him to do her in the ass, her stupid damn tattoo and piercings and… God, I’m crying so hard the road’s nothing but a blurry mess before me, watery blobs of black and white.

  I pull into a rest stop and slump over the wheel, let my tears fall to the tops of my thighs and roll down into the upholstery.

  It’s done.

  It’s over.

  Somewhere in there, among all the anger and sadness and self-loathing, Oprah-Walters perches herself by my ear and whispers, You’re free, honey. You’re free.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JENSEN

  Coach leans against the lockers. If the ugly stick exists, poor guy copped the brunt of it. He smiles, two teeth gold, two silver. Rumor is they got knocked out after he slept with a teammate’s wife when he was in Manchester FC. He’s never confirmed or denied it, though I’ve always felt for the girl. I can’t stand the guy personally, but I’m not here to make friends and sing Kumbaya. I’m here to fucking well win.

  “You’re pretty proud of yourselves, huh? Good game and all. Couple of shots down at the club,” Coach preaches, arms crossed over his gut.

  I look around. There is some mutual agreement amongst the team that yes, we did play well against the Silverbacks. We did win, after all… thanks to me.

  “Bullshit!” he shouts, sending more than one player lifting from the bench. “I saw so many fifty-fives out there I’m surprised most of you know what a fucking ball is. Two lost spot-kicks? My ninety-year-old mother can play better soccer than that.”

  He searches the room. Everyone tightens. The last thing you want is to be singled out and sent to the bench next game, not here in the big league where every second on the grass counts. The only player who doesn’t look concerned is Josh. In fact, he’s been looking rather distant all day.

  Coach finds his mark. “Lewis.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “What the fuck was with that bicycle kick bullshit? You think you’re in the circus?”

  “No, Coach.”

  “You’re damn fucking right you’re not!” comes the bellowing reply. “Too busy playing the five-fingered flute to actually put in the hours and improve your game. Don’t think I’m not watching. When you’re on the field, I’m watching. When you’re sitting on the sofa and playing X-Cock or Playstiffy or whatever the fuck it is, I’m watching. When you’re taking a dump, I’m watching. I. Am. Fucking. Everywhere. You feel me?”

  I can’t help but laugh. He’s onto me in a second.

  “You got something to laugh about, Collins? I thought I made it clear Josh was to take that position, but no, you decided to swoop in, leave the left open, take the glory. It’s that kind of dick-pulling play that’s going to wind you in trouble, my lad.”

  I throw my hands up, keep my smile tight. “I just do what I do. Can’t help it I’m the best.”

  I see Josh look away.

  Coach rolls his eyes. “Jesus wept. Now off to the gym, all of you. You look fit as Fleet Street hookers.”

  I let the others take the machines. I’m more into bodyweight routines—dips, rows, pull-ups, calisthenics, just like our old man. Pops back in the day? Not a girl on God’s green who wouldn’t have gone there. Weights, pulleys? All for the fucking posers.

  I run an extra set of reps, feel the burn in my thighs and arms from the squats and rows, my core activated and tight, ready for more. Kind of gets my dick hard.

  Josh drops down off the bars, reaches for his towel. I make my way over, the sound of metal-on-metal making it seem like we’re stuck in the middle of a foundry.

  I sling my towel over my shoulder. “Don’t think I’m letting you off for the other night.”

  Josh flexes, lifts one pec and then the other. “Letting me off?”

  “I heard it all through the door. Made my goddamn stomach turn. You better hope and fucking pray I don’t tell Scarlet about your little run in with Miss La-Vida-Loca.”

  Josh kicks at the mat with his foot, laughing with his head down. When he brings it up he doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest by my threat. “She already knows.”

  “That you’re cheating on her?”

  “That I’m seeing other people.”

  I tighten at the news, surprised my brother’s suddenly being so candid about the whole thing. “You’re telling me you broke up with her?”

  He smiles, smug. “I did.”

  “You sure it wasn’t the other way around?”

  “What do you want me to tell you, man? It’s over.”

  “Just like that?”

  He speaks slowly. “Just like that.”

  I knew eventually this would happen, but now? It doesn’t make a lot of sense, not that these things ever do. Possibility blooms before me, but I squash it down. Easy. “If I find out you hurt her…”

  He laughs again, toothy, drawing up his towel and holding it behind his neck. “Hurt her? What about me?”

  “You?”

  “You think she’s so fantastic, don’t you? That sunshine spills out of her ass, but I’m telling you, she wasn’t worth it in the end. I wasted a lot of time when I could have been living it up like you, my little brother.”

  I’ve had just about enough of this conversation. “I’m going to talk to her.”

  Josh starts to walk away. “Do that. Tell her I’ve moved on to greener pastures.”

  Prick.

  Like you’re any better.

  Coach pulls up beside me. “Everything good between you two, Collins?”

  I put on a smile. “Rosy, Coach. Just rosy.”

  *

  I don’t know why I wait to get in touch with Scarlet, but every time I reach for my cell or think about heading out, I pull back. I can’t work it out. The path is clear now. It shouldn’t be so hard.

  Days pass. Another game, another win, but I’m distracted. I scan the stands, but Scarlet’s MIA. I finally find my balls and call her, but it goes straight to voicemail. She obviously doesn’t want to be disturbed, which is exactly when you should go to her.

  By the weekend I’m getting concerned. I call her friend Polly, but even she knows nothing, didn’t even know her and Josh had broken up, surprise, surprise.

  I think and dream about her twenty-four seven. She’s a special kind of torture, always there tugging at my head and cock, the thought of her too much to take. I want to tell her she is fucking gorgeous. I want to sink my cock inside her and never take it out.

  Go to her! my head shouts. So, finally, I do.

  *

  I remember the day Josh and I helped her move into this apartment. Back then it was far from the best neighborhood in the city, a veritable gangster’s paradise. Now? Hipster heaven. Every well-trimmed man and his miniature dog want a piece of the action, no less than three tiny cafes opening up downstairs complete with fancy organic coffee and ‘raw’ cakes, whatever that means. The only thing I like raw is fucking.

  I knock on her door and wait, a lazy sun setting at my back and turning the door’s latest coat of white into a soft peach.

  I get a sudden pang of panic, turn to walk away as the door opens.

  She stands there in a black tank top and khaki shorts. Her platinum hair’s messy, a sort of bird’s nest-cum-tumbleweed. Her eyes are bloodshot, ringed red like she hasn’t slept in days. She’s not wearing any makeup, not that she ever does. She probably think she looks terrible, but I’ve never seen anything hotter in my entire fucking life.

  I a
ctually stand there gawking, searching for what to say. “You look…”

  She turns, hair falling over the side of her face. “Like a mess.”

  “Beautiful, actually.”

  She peeks back through the curtain of hair. “You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”

  I put my hand on my heart. “It’s the truth. Scout’s honor,” and it is. Scarlet has always had a natural beauty most girls would kill for, but she never uses it, never flaunts herself like the women I’m used to. It’s part of the reason I’ve always found her so attractive—the shy, sweet girl next door stuck in the body of a supermodel.

  “Josh told you then.”

  I nod. “He did.”

  “Look, you didn’t have to come around. I’m fine, really.”

  I hold the bag in my hand up. “But have you eaten?”

  She looks at the bag quizzically. “What’s that?”

  “Chinese, made with the kind of oil you could run your lawnmower with, packed full of MSG and probably ten different diseases, but it’s the best in the city, take my word for it.”

  She smiles, and damn it’s beautiful. I want to take her face in my hands, kiss her, make her mine, make her forget I even have a brother, but not yet. No, this is one time I’ve got to play with care, get into the right position before I make my move. It has to be perfect, clean. “Let me in. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  She seems reluctant at first, but I keep smiling. It’s not hard to do.

  She breaks. “Fine. Come in, but be warned, the place is a disaster.”

  “You should see mine. CSI would have a field day.”

  I close the door behind myself and place the takeout on the table while she gathers plates from the kitchen, her pug springing up from her bed and attempting to climb my leg.