Stroker: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Teagan Kade

  “I never hurt her.”

  I slam him into the door again. “Bullshit! There’s probably a stash of shit in your lockers right now.”

  His silence tells me I’m on the money.

  “You’re high right now, aren’t you?”

  Nothing.

  “You hurt anyone I care about again and you’re done, for good. It will all be over. And Carolina there? As soon as she works out you haven’t got two dimes to rub together, that you just flushed your career and riches away, she’ll be gone too. You’ll be all alone, and I won’t shed a single fucking tear.”

  I expect him to throw a punch, at least do something, but he simply stays in position as I back away. I give Carolina the same look and collect my bag, casually making my way to my car and getting the fuck out of there. For once, my knuckles aren’t bleeding when I do it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SCARLET

  The camera zooms in tight on Jensen. He’s smiling, clearly happy over the win, but there’s a look of resignation on his face as he scans the stands.

  He’s looking for you.

  Won Ton yaps on the sofa beside me. I notice his little Victory jersey is looking awfully stretched. “Might be time to cut back on those jerky treats, hey buddy?”

  He looks sideways at me, yaps again and darts off to his bed. He’s not one for after-game festivities. I pick up the remote and switch the TV off. Neither am I. At least I know where he is directing his frustration.

  My phone sits silent on the coffee table. I almost want him to call again. It’s become reassuring if nothing else. I should pick it up, face him, but it’s gone too far now. What the hell would I say?

  I forgive you. I was wrong.

  No, maybe there’s a smattering of truth about the whole Carolina thing, but he doesn’t know how embarrassing it was to walk into that. I have every right to be angry. He’s guilty by association.

  “What do you think, Won Ton?”

  You’re asking your dog? Next you’ll be hitting up the fridge for financial advice.

  And then there’s Josh. Even if I wanted to go to a game, he’d be there. Carolina would be there. Everyone would be looking and scrutinizing me, Angela Barnet angling for the scoop, a pack of hungry pap wolves in her wake.

  It’s a good thing it’s been so busy at the hospital. There must be a fire sale on Glocks somewhere, given the rise in gunshot wounds. A guy came in the other night who’d been shot right in the balls. Boom, right through the middle of his sack. If it wasn’t for the ghostly look of concern he was wearing over his precious manhood, I would have laughed my head off.

  Manhood.

  That is something I’ve been missing. Josh was packing, but Jensen… ‘Fire hose’ doesn’t do it justice. ‘Gobstopper’ would be more accurate. And I’ve been adventurous, completely out of control sexually. It felt good to be free like that. Josh would complain nonstop about how I wouldn’t do this and that, why I couldn’t be more like Sasha Grey or Jenna Jameson. The thing is, I kind of wanted to try new things, let myself go, but the way he pestered and whined made it completely unappealing. It’s different with Jensen. There’s no pressure. The kinky stuff comes naturally. Came naturally, I correct.

  I ignore the twitch of arousal between my legs and let them unwind below me, picking up my phone and sitting up on the kitchen counter.

  Without thinking, I’ve unlocked the screen and worked my way into the call log, the pad of my thumb hovering over Jensen’s name. A day or two ago the log would have been filled with him, countless missed calls, but there’s been nothing from him in almost forty-eight hours. For whatever reason, he’s leaving me in peace.

  That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?

  My thumb starts to fall. Won Ton barks ‘Do it, do it!’, but I draw my finger away at the last second, the phone dropping to the counter like a cellular full stop. No, not now. Let him enjoy the win, have some fun.

  I look around at the apartment, completely dark but for the flicker of headlights through the window. I haven’t left this place all day. I’m going to emerge a Cullen if I keep this up, the crazy dog lady.

  I remember Josh and Jensen coming over when I first got this place. We were all fresh from college. Their deal hadn’t even come through yet. I’m not a big drinker. It takes a single shot to knock me out, but somehow we managed to make a whole bottle of Jim disappear between us that night, taking shots whenever there was a group quack in The Mighty Ducks. Characters high-fiving in Top Gun, a phone ringing in Scream, whenever Stifler swore in American Pie. It’s no wonder I don’t remember much from that period.

  Then the deal came and everything changed. Overnight Josh turned into someone who was completely unfamiliar. Gone were the movie-night drinking games to be replaced with private poker parties at his new place in the Hills. Jensen started hanging out with us less and less, became a poster boy for playing the field. I should have known then how it pained me to see him with a new girl every week. I should have known there was something more to my feelings.

  He might be telling the truth. I’d be stupid to rule it out, given the kind of stunts I’ve seen Josh pull in the past.

  You’re never going to know if you don’t talk to him.

  I wish I had an on/off switch for my brain sometimes with its stupid logic and rationalization. Why can’t I do the single thing for a while?

  I look around again, the shadows growing larger, bearing down on me. I can’t take it anymore, switch on a table lamp and feel the way my chest relaxes. I can’t be alone again tonight.

  I scoop up my phone and text Polly. I’ve been staying at her place on and off. It works given she’s barely there herself, the circus freak gone and yet another new man in her sights, or sheets. Maybe she should hook up with Jensen. The pang of jealousy that runs through me at this thought takes me by surprise, but I send it away.

  With the a-okay from her, I change out of my PJs and collect my things. I stop by the fridge on my way out. There’s a single Oreo left. I take it out, hold it in my hand. I don’t even have any candles.

  “Happy freakin’ birthday, Scarlet.”

  *

  I’m halfway to Polly’s place when she sends me another text: Heading out, sorry. Have fun on ur bday!

  I throw my phone into the passenger foot well, annoyed at being ditched on my birthday by my best friend for some random guy, but that’s Polly for you. I’m going from one empty apartment to another. I may as well be a real-estate agent.

  Polly’s family is quite well off. She’s got a killer pad right up at the top of a new development by the river. You can see Atlas Stadium from her balcony. I’ve stood on it often in recent times looking at the lights and wishing I was there.

  It’s funny. I never had the slightest interest in soccer before I met the Collins boys. Everyone in Rosie was big on football—a bit weird given the nearest NFL team was a thousand miles away. The two of them found a soccer ball around town, brought it to show-and-tell on their very first day at school. Suffice to say, they were not immediately the cool kids. Two months later and everyone was playing soccer, much to the chagrin of the football coach.

  It takes me fifteen minutes to find a place to park. It’s freezing outside, too, and I didn’t bring a jacket. I hike up the street with my arms wrapped around myself. I hit the buzzer twice before I realize she’s not up there. I have to wait another fifteen for someone to leave the building so I can slip in.

  Damn you, Polly, I mutter, stepping up to the elevator and, of course, finding it out of order. Twenty flights of stairs await.

  Hip hip hooray!

  I make the last flight suitably sweaty, struggling for breath. I hunt through my pocket for the spare key, freeze for a second thinking I’ve left it down in the car, but I find it in my back pocket, sliding it into the lock and turning.

  The lights are off as I enter, the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the apartment filled with spotty lights from the city in the distance, those of Atlas grow
ing brightest.

  He’s probably leaving the stadium with some super-hottie right now.

  Something smells funny. My nose twitches. I want to sneeze, but hold it back.

  I step in searching for the light switch, can never seem to find the damn thing. There’s something soft under my feet. I take another step forward, the floor uneven. “What the—”

  The lights come on—bam—and all is revealed.

  The normally tiled floor is littered with pink roses. They’re everywhere, a carpet of them throughout the whole apartment as I step in carefully. There are vases and vases of them on the dining room table, the hutch, kitchen bench, even hanging in bunches from the roof.

  A figure steps out from the end of the hallway, blocks my way. He’s dressed in jeans and a white tee, the biggest bunch of roses yet cradled in his arms.

  Jensen smiles. “Happy birthday, Scar.”

  “I, I—” I stammer. Holy hell, I’m mute.

  He places the roses down. “Speechless, huh?”

  I hate surprises, but I’ve got to admit, this is something special—a textbook rom-com maneuver.

  I try to talk again, but the signals from my brain refuse to make it to my mouth. I nod instead trying to wipe the look of shock off my face.

  He starts to step forward, hands out in surrender. “I know you don’t like surprises, but Polly gave me the heads up, and I simply couldn’t let you spend your birthday alone.”

  Finally, my voice shows up. “You should be at Atlas, celebrating.”

  He looks hopeful. “You watched the game?”

  “Of course.”

  He’s getting closer and closer. “I missed you out there. No, scrap that. I miss you completely.”

  I’m being tugged towards him.

  What, a couple of roses—a couple hundred—and he thinks I’m going to flip back into lovey-dovey mode? “I don’t know, Jensen…”

  He places his hands on my shoulders, looks into my eyes. “Let’s talk, open and honest. Can you at least give me that?”

  I nod, relenting. “Okay.”

  We sit in the living room, the floral scent of the roses overwhelming. He sits opposite me, the coffee table and five vases between us. He pushes them aside, leaning forward. “A little over the top?”

  I put my handbag down, looking at my baggy jeans and favorite sweatshirt. “I’m hardly dressed for such extravagance.”

  “You look perfect, more than perfect.”

  “I’m immune to your flattery by now.”

  “Are you?” he smirks.

  “You really went all out. I’ll give you that, but…” I actually don’t know how to verbalize what is keeping us apart.

  “The thing with Carolina?”

  I swallow. “Yes.”

  “I’m going to tell you this with complete honesty, Scar, because you deserve it.”

  I tighten. Here we go.

  “It was a lie. Josh and I had a run-in just now and he confessed everything.”

  “Josh?”

  “He was with Carolina. They approached me in the parking lot.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was telling the truth before and I’m telling it now. They set me up.”

  “But why? If he’s with Carolina, why would he want to break us up?”

  “Competition, I imagine. He can’t stand the idea that I won you, if you call it that. He’s jealous I got the girl.”

  “I don’t know, Jensen.”

  He leans forward further, eyes wide. He’s restraining himself from pleading. “Like I said, Josh had a spare key to my place. He took my phone during training and sent that text, made sure Carolina would be waiting. It was a setup and you got sucked right into it. I’m sorry you got screwed around like that, but know I would never cheat on you, not in a million fucking years. I’ve done many things in the past I’m not proud of, but when we’re together, I don’t know, it’s like lightning. I’m alive. I can’t lose that now. I can’t lose you.”

  “Josh confronted you just to say this, to rub it in your face?”

  Jensen stands, hands on his hips. He seems frustrated with talk of his brother. “No, you know what he wanted? Money, for him and Carolina.”

  I’m a little surprised. That’s the last thing Josh needs. “Money?”

  “He’s on the hard stuff, Scar. He’s gambling, doing all kinds of drugs, deep in the shit with shadowy fucking figures and he wanted me to help him out, lend him twenty grand.”

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “How’d he take that?”

  “Not well. I threatened to go to Coach, the press if he didn’t leave us alone.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Tried to blackmail me, said he had a tape with Carolina and I in it, but it was a bluff. They’ve got nothing. When they saw I wasn’t going to buy their shit, they just stood there. I made it really fucking clear I wanted nothing to do with him from now on. He’ll leave us alone.”

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “I know my brother. It’s different this time.”

  There’s a sudden, swelling compulsion to fall into his arms, but I stay seated, still cautious. “This is a real mess. I mean, I knew it always would be, but I can’t be the one who comes between you and your brother. You’re family. You’re blood.”

  Jensen comes around the side of the table and sits beside me, taking my hands in his. I can feel the heat his body is giving off, the post-game energy exudes after a win… or sex. “He’s not family any more. He said some things, really crossed the line this time. I cannot forgive him.”

  We both grow quiet for a moment. They’ve always been so inseparable. I can’t imagine them apart.

  My head’s starting to hurt. I let go of his hands. “This is a lot to take in.”

  “Stay. Enjoy your birthday. Be with me.”

  My eyes are hot. Why am I so damned emotional over all this? I pick up my handbag and stand, heading for the hallway. “I’ve got to go, Jensen.”

  “You just got here.”

  “I can’t be with you right now. I don’t know why. I just can’t.”

  He blocks my path in the hallway, hand on the wall. “Please.”

  I wipe away tears. “Let me through.”

  He places his hand on my chest. My heart beats rapidly against it. “I’ll be at the stadium tomorrow night, alone, 10pm. I’ll have Gerry leave the gate near the players’ area unlocked. If you want to be with me, come. If you don’t, I won’t bother you again. You have my word. I’ve said all I can, told you everything. There’s no more I can do.”

  “You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

  He looks at the wall, eyes wet. I’ve never seen him cry, not even when he snapped his leg against Dallas. “I have to, Scar, because you’re killing me.” He hits his chest. “Right here. It fucking hurts and I can’t take any more.”

  I swing underneath his arm, getting out of there before I break down completely, just like I did in that hospital elevator. It seems my life is a series of the same scenes played over and over. “I’ve got to…”

  I leave, rushing down the stairs and the tears flowing greater with every step. He doesn’t follow me. There’s nothing he can say.

  The ball’s in my possession.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  JENSEN

  The team’s headed to the coast for well-earned R&R, but I simply can’t do it. I don’t imagine Josh will show either.

  Instead, I spend the following day working out at home. I can’t stop. Thoughts come and I get back on the floor—pull-ups, planks, anything to forgot about her until tonight.

  She will come.

  Will she? I wouldn’t gamble on it. The way she left Polly’s apartment… It’s her decision. I’ve made my case. Job done. But I’m nervous, so completely fucking frazzled. This doesn’t happen to me. I’m confident in my own abilities. I know myself inside and out. I am in control, but not here, not this time and that is what makes it so hard.
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  I run another set of reps—flags, wall walks, X-ups, the fucking hardest shit in the bodyweight book until I’m close to passing out, core tight, rock-fucking-hard.

  “She’ll come,” I tell myself, sweat dripping from my forehead. “She will come.”

  *

  For the first time I’m terrified standing in the middle of the field at Atlas. There’s a light rain falling from melancholy clouds overhead, but I can’t imagine that will keep her away. I hope it doesn’t. It’s up to her now.

  Only the auxiliary lights are on around the perimeter of the stadium. The field is barely lit, but I want this to feel intimate, not like a grand finale.

  It’s five to ten. I pace, cross my arms, unfold my arms. I look at the sky, my feet, the entrance, over and over praying for her to materialize.

  The giant clock reads 10 p.m. My heart sinks. What if she doesn’t come? I promised I would stay away. I have to honor that.

  The rain picks up, the air charged, the earthy smell of wet turf rising.

  Five past. How long should I stay?

  I take my cell out at ten past, scroll to her contact, but I can’t do it. I cannot force her.

  And then I see her. She’s running across the field. She was never the best runner, her room filled with those yellow consolation ribbons saying ‘Good try!’ and ‘Well done! Sport was never Scarlet’s thing, but she always gave it everything she had.

  She stops before me bent over, panting. “Traffic.”

  I pull her into me, squeeze her tight against my chest. “Does this mean…?”

  She holds me away, hands on my sides. “Yes.”

  “The stuff with Carolina, with Josh?”

  “I believe you, Jensen. Deep down, I always have.”

  I pull her close again. “God, you had me worried.”

  She blinks, gaze moving from my lips to my eyes. “Together?”

  “Together,” I repeat, locking her in a kiss, our mouths lightly joining and then coupling in full.