“Yeah, when Tommy Rooney’s dad was there, cause he was dealing.”
Dad grins at me as he takes a pull from his whiskey.
“The fuck do you want, Harry.”
He fidgets, that same fucking junky shuffle that hasn’t changed one damn bit since he walked out before. “I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”
“You’ve got one minute.”
“Son, it’s important.”
I roll my eyes. “Try me.”
Harry scratches the scruff on his chin. “I owe some guys some money.”
I laugh out loud, the sound mirthless and hollow sounding. “Oh, yeah, a real changed guy, pop.”
“A lot, Austin,” he says evenly. “I owe a lot of money.”
I snort, raising a brow at him. “Well, that sounds a whole lot like your problem.”
Dad’s suddenly right up in my face, the smell of stale cigarettes and rot-gut whiskey clinging to him like a second skin.
“Nah, son, that’s your problem, actually.”
I plant my hand on his chest and push him back a step, feeling my other hand clench into a fist. “I can promise you, it’s not.” I glare at him. “What do you mean by ‘a lot’.”
“Two million.”
I instantly throw my head back as I start to laugh. “Alright, a minute’s up. Thanks for the laugh.”
Dad’s not laughing when I glance back at him. He’s not smiling either, just slowly shaking his head. “I ain’t.”
“No one in the world would give a two-bit hustler like you two fucking million dollars, you’re out of your mind.”
He grins wickedly. “Some people would, if they knew my baby boy was a big-shot millionaire now.”
A shiver runs down my back as I freeze, narrowing my eyes at my father. “What the hell did you do.”
Dad pulls a crumpled pack of smokes out of his pocket and jams one in his mouth. “Had an investment opportunity,” he mumbles out, flicking his thumb across the cheap plastic lighter and bringing it to the end of the cigarette. “Real solid one.”
“Oh really.”
He blows out a plume of smoke, muttering under his breath and spitting on my fucking patio.
“Well, supposed to be.”
I swear. “Jesus fucking Christ, Harry.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Who.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well, there’s the rub of it, kid.”
“Who.”
“They go by ‘La Cosa Nostra.’”
My jaw drops as I stare at him. “The mob.”
Dad shrugs again, puffing on that fucking cigarette.
“Jesus, Harry, you’re fucking unbelievable.” I jab a finger at him. “Still your fucking problem though. Your shitty debts are on you.”
He grins a yellow-toothed grin. “Nah, kid, they’re on you.”
“Spell that out for me,” I growl.
He nods, rubbing his chin and looking away. “You know your mother loves me, right?”
I bristle, taking a step towards him with my fist raised.
“Uh-uh!” He backs up, wagging a thin, sallow finger at me as he grins. “What can I say, kid, I’m a charmer.”
“You’re a disease.”
He chuckles out a rattling, hacking laugh. “It’d break her heart, you know, if something happened to me.”
“I’m very much willing to take that chance.”
Dad stretches, doing that junky shuffle again like it’s about time for him to start looking around for a fix. “Shame if I disappeared.” He grins. “Died maybe? Disappeared? No body?” He winks at me. “Pretty hard to collect debts from a dead guy, kid.”
I can feel my blood run cold as what he’s saying starts to sink in. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
He grins toothily at me. “I’m a resourceful man Austin, you know that. If I disappeared, it’d break your mama’s heart.”
“She’d get over it.”
“And the debt?”
I go quiet.
Dad takes a last drag of his cigarette and then flicks it in the pool. “That two mil? Yeah, that don’t go away though. Those Cosa Nostra guys are good like that, thorough.” He steps towards me and points a finger at my chest. “Real family people, those Italians.”
I’m shaking my head because I don’t want to believe if, but I can already put the pieces together.
“Better get your checkbook, kid, or this whole thing lands in your lap.” He unscrews the cap to his little flask and knocks it back. “They’re sticklers for late payment-”
I’m on him in a second, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and slamming him back against the house. “Clean up your own damn mess, Harry!”
Dad just grins, even pinned to the wall like that. “Austin, Austin, Austin.” His skeletal hand comes up to pat my cheek. “I will, but my way.”
I let him go and he chuckles as he regains his footing and straightens his shirt. “Now c’mon now, boy, look at this fucking house! Look at this fucking life you’ve got! Two mil ain’t nothin’ to you.”
“You think I keep it under my fucking mattress or something?”
Dad’s eyes perk up.
“I don’t, Harry. It’s in the bank, it’s tied up in this house, and Mom’s, and funds. I can’t just pay that kind of money.”
He shrugs. “Well, sounds like we should put our thinking caps on and figure it out, huh?”
I shake my head, staring at him with rage in my face. “Why couldn’t you just stay in whatever hole you were in the last eight years?”
Dad chuckles as he tucks his flask in his pants and starts to head towards the side gate that leads back to the front of the house.
“Cause I’m a disease, boy,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”
I stand there for another ten minutes just staring at the cigarette floating limply in the pool.
Fuck.
27
Natalie
My sister picks up on the first ring.
“Two weeks?” I hold the phone away from my ear as what I’m sure are, well, two weeks’ worth of rehearsed vitriol.
“Viv-”
“You’re married for two fucking weeks and this is the first conversation we have?”
“Hi Vivian,” I say dryly, sitting back on the Venice Pier bench. “How are you today?”
“Mad,” she says petulantly, but I can almost hear her grinning through the phone.
“So…”
She trails off and I smile. “You have questions.”
“Uh, some, yes. Nat, Austin Taylor?”
“Yeah…”
“How does that even happen? And what the hell happened with Vince?”
“Vince died of syphilis related complications,” I say without batting an eye.
My sister snorts, but then her tone changes. “Shit, Nat, I didn’t know.” Her voice softens. “What happened?”
“Banging his secretary, on his desk.”
“Eeew.” Viv makes a retching sound. “What a fucking cliché.”
“Let me guess, Loraine didn’t tell you that part.”
“She mentioned you doing ‘something rash’, but yeah, no. Of course not.” Her voice takes on a stuffy tone. “Natalie, don’t you know it isn’t proper to leave your fiancé when he’s diddling about?”
We both crack into giggles.
“Sorry I didn’t call you, it’s been a busy few weeks.”
“Oh I bet it has,” Viv says with a slight intonation at the end.
“Meaning?”
“Uh, meaning you somehow married the hottest guy on the planet and I’m amazed you’ve got time to make a phone call with all the banging you’ve been doing.”
“Vivian!”
My cheeks go beet-red as I bury my face in my hand.
“Look, it’s not like that.”
“Well, that’s a travesty then,” Viv says with snort. “But seriously, how did that even happen?”
I shrug, even though she’s not in the room with me. “I just didn’t w
ant to be some plaything for some rich guy.”
Viv snorts another laugh. “Nat, there are way worse rich guys to be playthings for than Austin Taylor. Oh, God, remember Marnie Summers from Choate?”
I grimace. “I heard.”
“That guy is seventy years old, Nat. I mean gross. And now look who you landed.”
I roll my eyes. “Christ, Viv, it’s not about landing someone, no matter what Mom says.”
“Says the girl who just married the hottest millionaire in the country.”
“I didn’t-”
I bite my tongue, squeezing eyes shut as I resist the urge to tell her.
“You didn’t what?”
I can’t tell her. I want to, but I can’t. Because I love my sister dearly, but she couldn’t keep a secret to save her damn life.
“Nothing, it’s just not like that.”
She laughs. “Oh, what is it then, Nat. True love? You a huge football fan now?”
“I watch football,” I say indignantly. Indignant, even though it’s a boldface lie.
“Oh yeah? What position does Austin play?”
I wrinkle my nose, wracking my brain. “Uh, thrower.”
“You are the shittiest liar.”
I sigh. “Look, I just didn’t want this to be my life. I never wanted to be a fucking accessory like I was with Vince.”
“Well, Vince was a weeny, so I’m with you there.”
“I don’t want to be some damn plaything for some rich guy, Viv.”
“So take charge, dude. Make him your plaything. And Nat,” she laughs. “You’re married to the hottest man in pro sports, please tell you’ve at least tried that.”
I make a face. “Eww, no.”
“You’re an idiot.”
I groan. “Spare me, I’ve already heard the whole thing from other players’ wives about how I need to ‘keep him in line’ or ‘keep him occupied’ or whatever.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Viv sighs into the phone. “Nat, he’s hot, he’s ready, and you need this. So why not? It’s not like it means anything.”
“Viv, I’m married to hi-”
“Nat,” she says, cutting me short. “Save the bullshit for Mom, okay? I don’t know what your angle is, or what the deal is, but I can smell it a mile away.”
“Viv, I don’t know what-”
“Fiiiine, keep your stupid secrets.”
She says something muffled over the phone before her voice comes back. “Look, I’ve got this function to go to. But listen - I’m betting your ‘true love’ marriage has an end date, and until then, just enjoy it, okay?”
“Thanks for picking up.”
“If you ever wait two weeks to call me after eloping again, I will legit kill you, okay?”
“I swear.”
“No regrets, Nat,” she says, before the line goes quiet.
28
Natalie
I’m driving back to his house with a purpose - a girl with a damn mission.
Because Viv is right, why not enjoy it? I am with the hottest man in pro sports, at least for the next six months. Why on earth would I not let what we keep fighting just happen? Why the hell would I not use the situation for what I have zero doubts could be the hottest sex of my life?
Giving in to what I have to admit I want doesn’t make me anything or mean anything. Because this whole thing doesn’t mean anything.
It’s an arrangement - my secret marriage. But even secret marriages can have very real, very necessary, very much denied-myself-for-entirely-too-long sex.
And it proves something to myself - it proves that I can take charge, that I can own the situation, and the direction of my life, and make it work for me.
Because this is about me, and I’m about to sleep with the last man on earth I should.
* * *
The front door to the house slams behind me. It’s quiet, and I let my purse drop to the ground as I walk with purpose through the house.
Where is he.
I’m on the prowl, and I want this.
No regrets, I say to myself as I poke my head into the empty living room, repeating it twice more as I move into the kitchen.
“You’re home.”
I freeze at the sound of his voice behind me. I turn, feeling my pulse beating a million miles an hour, running my hands over my jeans as I turn to face him.
He’s just come out of the gym - sweaty, shirtless, panting.
Perfect.
I can feel the raw need, and the hormones, the primal urge inside me roar like a jungle cat.
I want him.
I want him to take me.
I want him to make me feel.
“Nat?”
I stride towards him as he wrinkles his brow at me, bringing the water bottle in his hand up to his mouth. I smack it aside, knocking it from his hand. And before he can even react, I’m throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him as hard as I can.
Wasn’t expecting that, now was he.
But he reacts instantly, his arms wrapping tightly around me, his hands sliding down over my ass, and his tongue sliding against my own.
“You better know you’re playing with fire here, princess,” he growls, pulling away from my lips, his eyes blazing into mine.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I husk back, sliding my hands up into his hair and yanking him back to my lips.
He’s kissing me hotly, pushing me back until I feel the cool steel of the refrigerator at my back. We’re panting, gasping and moaning into each other’s mouth as he pulls away, tearing at my shirt.
He suddenly grabs my hands and brings them up above my head, pinning them there with one hand as he lets the other trail down across my heaving chest. “I’m not going to hold back this time, princess,” he growls into my ear, his hand sliding around my bare torso and pulling at my bra. He sucks my earlobe between his lips, nipping at the skin there with his teeth and making me cry out.
“I’m not going to stop myself this time.” His honeyed leather voice rasps in my ear, sending shivers through my body and sending desire pooling hot between my legs.
I lean into his neck, raking my teeth across his skin. “I don’t want you to.”
He growls as he kisses me hotly, before dropping my hands and pulling off my bra. I slide my fingers into his hair, closing my eyes and letting my head hang back as his mouth moves lower over the rise of my breast.
I can feel his cock, pulsing thick and hot against my leg through his gym shorts. I drop my hands to his waist, sliding them inside and feeling him groan as I wrap my small hands around that thick muscle between his legs. His lips fasten around my nipple, his hands moving down to pull at the button and zipper of my jeans as I stroke him and arch my hips towards him.
His hands slide down to my ass, and I suddenly gasp as he lifts me up. My legs go around his waist as he spins us around, his mouth still hot on my neck.
The first level surface we hit is the island in the center of the kitchen. Austin clears it with a sweep of his arm, sending glass, and fruit, and a vase of flowers shattering across the floor. He rests me on the edge of the counter, draping me across it as he moves between my legs to crush his lips to mine.
It’s a blur as I somehow get my jeans and my panties down my legs, and then I’m panting as I watch him drop his shorts - his chiseled, inked body glistening rock hard in all the perfect places.
Yeah, this is what I want.
This is what I need.
Raw, hot, and mindless, with no strings attached - something animalistic and primal to make me feel.
He drops down, pushing my legs apart as his velvet tongue drags hotly across my slit. I moan, draping back across the counter as he slings my legs over his shoulders and cups my ass, swirling his tongue across my clit. I’m gasping, clawing at the butcher-block wood beneath me as his tongue drives me higher and higher. I arch my back, crying out his name as his wicked tongue gets me right to the edge.
He’s pulling away, grinnin
g smugly at the look of disappointment on my face. But then he’s there - bare and raw against me as his hand strokes his gorgeous cock.
I moan as he teases my opening, the thick head dragging through my wetness and teasing over my clit before I realize we’re not using a condom.
I look up at his face, but he seems to read my thoughts plainly as he brings his mouth down to mine, kissing me hotly.
“I’m clean,” he whispers into my mouth before he kisses me again. “Got checked the day before I met you actually.” His eyes flash into mine, his breath hot across my lips. “Are you…?”
I nod. “I’m on the pill.”
He hesitates a second longer before I wrap my legs around his muscled waist, slip my hand into his hair, and yank his mouth to mine.
“Please fuck me.”
He drives in with one, clean stroke, and I cry out into his shoulder. He’s so thick, and so deep inside me, his cock filling and stretching me so damn perfectly that I see stars. He groans into my neck, his cock pulsing deep inside of me as I claw at his back.
He pulls almost all the way out before driving back in, his hands sliding over my soft skin and holding me tight as he does the whole thing all over again. The feel of his hands on my hips, his lips dragging across the small of my neck, his muscles rolling like coiled steel under my fingers has me panting for him. I’m rocking my hips to meet his thrusts, urging him harder and faster and deeper with my legs around his waist.
And this is exactly what I wanted.
When I come, I’m screaming into his skin, leaving lines across his back and teeth marks in his neck as the world blurs around me. He roars out my name, his hands holding me tight as he drives in to the hilt and pulses hot inside of me.
And he’s not even done. He picks me up, my legs tightening around his waist as he carries me through the house, upstairs, and into his bedroom - still so thick and so hard, still buried inside of me.
In his bed, we take our time. In his bed, there’s less urgency, and more learning about each other and the way that we move together. I lose track of how many times my mind goes blank with sweet, blissful orgasm - riding him, under him, clawing at the sheets and screaming into my arm as he takes me from behind.
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 69
