Playing Dirty (A Bad Boy Sports Romance)

by Avery Wilde

  “Hi, ma’am, I’m here for Connor Callaghan,” I said.

  The woman stared at me. She blinked, looking on the verge of reptilian. Finally, she opened her great maw. “Who?”

  “Connor Callaghan,” I repeated. “He was brought in for possession of narcotics.”

  The woman laughed. “Ha, boy, you think you’re gonna chase him down and buy something? We’ve taken his bloody drugs away from him at this point! I don’t care how famous you are, he isn’t gonna be selling anything to your tight little arse for a very long time!”

  In irritation, my hands balled into fists by my side, but I didn’t let the woman see that. “No,” I said in an even tone, trying to contain my temper. “I’m his friend. I’m here to bail him out, and hopefully take him to rehab.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow at me and leaned back. “You’re kidding me,” she said. “Someone like you….some famous football bloke! Bailing out this rotter!”

  I glared at her. “He’s not a rotter,” I said. “He’s my best friend, and I don’t like you talking about him like that. He’s a good man.”

  “Good? Like when he tried to sell blow to a bunch of young uni girls?” The woman laughed again. “His bail is too high even for the likes of you.”

  I set my lips in a thin line and leaned over the counter, gritting my teeth. “Please let me speak to someone about his case. Someone higher up than you.”

  The woman sighed in exasperation. I could tell she was really winding up to say something nasty when a back door opened and a uniformed officer came out. He eyed me with curious interest. I’d seen that look before; he recognized me, but he wasn’t sure from where, and he was trying to remember before I could say anything.

  “What’s all this?” The officer strutted to the front of the room and looked down at the surly receptionist. “What are you doing?”

  “This asshole thinks he can come in here and bully me into seeing his friend,” she replied, glaring at me. “Toss him out!”

  “Wait, what? I haven’t been bullying you at all,” I said through gritted teeth. “Please just listen to me. My best friend was booked and I haven’t been allowed to see him. I want to pay his bail, get him out, and take him to a rehab facility.”

  The officer walked towards me, nodding his head. “I think I know who you are,” he said. “You’re...you’re Jay Walsh!” he added with a triumphant cry. “My kids love you!”

  “Thanks,” I said, trying to manage a polite smile. The hag behind the front desk was still glaring at me. “Can I see my mate?”

  The officer frowned. He reached down onto the woman’s desk and grabbed a sheaf of paperwork. “Who’s your pal?”

  “Connor Callaghan,” I said, feeling tired of repeating his name. “He was booked for possession of narcotics. His sister, Mary, called me from Belfast. She couldn’t come—she’s got three young kids at home, so she asked me to take care of it.”

  “I see,” the officer said. He frowned again, more deeply this time. “You know this isn’t the first time Mr. Callaghan has enjoyed a visit with us?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “This is the first I’ve heard of it,” I said stiffly. “I didn’t know what kind of things he’s been up to. His sister told me he’s had a problem for some time.”

  “And this is your best mate?” The officer was looking at me, not seeming quite so pleased this time.

  I nodded, feeling defensive. “Yeah,” I said. “We grew up together in Belfast.”

  “Not really paying a lot of attention to him, are you?” The officer looked at me with a gleam in his eye. “Not really watching what kind of stuff he gets up to, aye?”

  “He keeps things from me,” I said. I was starting to get angry. Between justifying myself to a police offer and the bitchy receptionist, I was feeling a bit stretched thin.

  “Perhaps you’re spending a bit too much time on the football and on the ladies?” The officer winked at me and had the nerve to laugh.

  I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say anything too horrible. “That’s a bit rum,” I said. “Saying I’m not a good mate because I can’t babysit Connor all the time. We’re grown men, you know.”

  “We know,” the receptionist chimed in. “We know. He’s in the back, Officer.”

  “I’d really like to see him,” I said. “Please. I can get him out of here, I’ll pay his bail in full. I promise.”

  The officer’s greedy eyes practically glowed at the mention of a bail payment in full. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Of course, my lad!” He wrapped an arm around me—an awkward maneuver, since he was about a head shorter than I was—and led me back through a heavy door of iron.

  The inside of the temporary lock-up was damp and cheerless. The stone floor had been scrubbed to nearly an inch of its life and the walls were painted a dank, dull green. I could smell sweat and sewage and desperation, and I winced as the officer led me down a dark hallway.

  “Your mate’s back here,” the officer said. “Call when you need me.”

  He took a massive ring of keys from his belt and unlocked a door that looked like an iron grate, sliding to the side. It was so dark in the cell that my eyes had trouble adjusting. Finally, I saw a small form curled up on a metal bench.

  “Connor?” I blinked. “Is that you?”

  “Hey, Jay,” Connor said in a dull voice. He stretched, sat up, then stood and walked closer. Even in the dull light I could tell that he looked awful. His brown hair was lank and his grey eyes looked glassy and dilated.

  “What happened to you, mate?” I ruffled his hair and tried to pull him close, but Connor resisted. “What the fuck did you do?”

  He laughed dryly, then sat down with a clang on the metal bench, and I lowered myself to his height. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I got caught with blow, again. Do you even care, Jay?”

  “Of course I care, don’t be a prick,” I said. “You’re my best mate, and we’re getting you out of here. Into a good rehab program. And I’m taking care of it, no question.”

  Connor let out a heavy sigh. I knew he wanted to fight me on this—he always wanted to fight me on matters of money. He was wearing his own clothes, but they were stained and torn. I wondered if he’d been pissing all of his money away on coke, but didn’t want to ask.

  “This isn’t right, mate,” Connor said. “You can’t just storm in here and tell me you’re going to fix me up all proper! That doesn’t make a lick of sense.” He leaned with his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “Not for me, at least. Save your money for those pretty lasses around you, or for your bleeding rich football friends. You don’t care about me, Jay. Just admit it.”

  He looked at me with clear bitterness in his eyes, and I rolled my eyes. “What I don’t care for is this stupid pity party,” I said. “You can’t sit here in the dark and feel sorry for yourself. You have to get up and fix this. I’m going to help you, okay?”

  “It’s too late,” Connor said. He sniffed. There was dried blood crusted underneath his nostrils, and without asking, I knew my last prediction had come true. “The only thing I want is some more of that bloody white powder. I’m not gonna have a good life like you do, mate. It’s the gutter for me.”

  I looked at Connor with my eyebrows raised. “Stop it,” I said. “You’re being a real dickhead right now. If you think I’m giving up on you, you have no idea who I really am. I’m your best mate, and I’m here to make sure you get the help you need. I know this sounds corny, but it’s the truth. I care about you, man. I’m not gonna let you rot off and die somewhere.”

  Connor looked away. Talking about emotions wasn’t a strong point for either one of us, but I knew that my words had hit home. He buried his face in his hands.

  “It’s too late, mate,” Connor said in a muffled voice. “It’s too late for me.”

  I stood up and sighed before banging on the iron bars for the policeman. “Officer!” I called loudly. “Officer!”

  Connor looked up at me, his face twisted with
disgust. “Yeah, run away,” he said with a sneer. “Run away back to your regular life, filled with fun and football and pussy. You don’t need me. You don’t need me at all.”

  The cop strolled back in front of Connor’s cell. He gazed at me. “Ready to come out?”

  “Only when my mate comes out, too,” I said firmly. “I’m staying here until he agrees to leave with me.”

  Connor looked at me with disbelief and shock on his face.

  “I’m paying his full bail,” I continued. “And while we wait for the court date, I’m taking him directly to the best private rehab facility in Manchester.”

  The officer blinked. “Blimey,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d see the day. A famous football star coming in to bail out his childhood friend. People are gonna love that story!”

  I rolled my eyes. Ten minutes ago, I’d been the horrible friend who never paid attention, and now he was back to praising me. People could be so goddamned fickle.

  “Come on,” I said to Connor, dragging him to his feet. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  There was a lot of paperwork to sign and other red tape to deal with, and over eight hours later, we were finally out of the lock-up and standing in front of Promising Light Rehab Facility, outside of Manchester. It was a sleek, new building with white stucco on the front and big wooden doors.

  Connor looked at me nervously. He nudged the ground with his toe. “I dunno about this, mate.”

  I was only half paying attention to him by this point. I knew it sounded paranoid, but I felt like someone was looking at us, and all the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I glanced around, then turned to Connor.

  “Do you feel like someone’s watching us?” I asked.

  “If they are, they’d be in for an eyeful.” He wiggled his butt. “Hello, ladies!”

  “Stop,” I said, grabbing his arm. “I’m serious.”

  “Relax, famous boy,” Connor said. “They’re probably just security cameras. This is a rehab center, after all.” His face grew solemn. “I mean, they’re gonna be keeping an eye on me once I get in.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I promised Connor. “I’ll come visit every weekend. How does that sound?”

  Connor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Whatever you say, man,” he said. He actually smiled at me—it was the first real smile I’d seen all day—and hefted his bag over his shoulder before walking through the doors. I followed him into the lobby, and a kindly-faced nurse came through to show him to the patient sign-in room.

  I waited in the general lobby for a few minutes, in case Connor came out and said he couldn’t go through with it, but as I watched through the glass, I saw him fill out the intake forms and set his bag down. Another nurse came up and started taking his vitals, and finally, he turned back towards the big glass sliding door with a reluctant thumbs-up.

  I smiled, waved, and then left, and just as I was walking back to my Mercedes, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text message from an unfamiliar number. I frowned.

  ‘Jay, it’s Lizzy. Sneaked your number out of Kate’s phone. I think she’s going on a date with her stupid ex! Are you guys not seeing each other anymore? Please tell me that’s not true…’

  I frowned. What? By ‘ex’, did Lizzy mean that annoying guy from the States who Kate had mentioned a while back? He was the only ex I’d heard of, anyway. Kate had told me that he was a disrespectful prick who’d refused to take her needs seriously…so why the hell would she be going on a date with him? And more to the point, what on earth was the guy even doing all the way over here in England?

  I set off towards my car at a fast pace. I needed to find out what was going on, and I needed to get my ass down to wherever Kate was, pronto. I wasn’t going to let some ex of hers come in and steamroll me, and I definitely wasn’t going to risk losing her to him.

  Maybe she didn’t know it yet, but I was falling for her.

  Hard.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kate

  I took Josh to Bengali Paradise, a gaudy Indian restaurant around the corner from Lizzy’s apartment. I’d remembered that he liked Indian food, and even though he’d asked about the local cuisine, I didn’t think he would be impressed. He’d never liked ‘plain’ food, and I knew that was what he’d consider most of the places I’d been so far. Besides, I didn’t want to taint the memory of the places I’d visited with Jay by taking Josh there.

  “This is nice,” Josh said as we headed inside.

  A waiter led us over to a corner booth draped with multi-colored scarves. A heavy perfume of incense hung in the air and I almost felt like choking on it as I slid down into my side of the booth. The lighting inside the restaurant was dim, and I had to admit, as much as he annoyed me, Josh looked fairly handsome. Well, he always had looked nice, in that bad-boy way. But tonight he’d really cleaned up: fresh button-down shirt and dark slacks. He’d even brushed his hair. He winked at me.

  “Don’t even start,” I said, holding up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it, whatever rubbish you’re going to say.”

  Josh laughed. “Kate, really. Rubbish? You’ve been here for two weeks and you’re already picking up on local slang?” He snorted. “You know what people say about Madonna, right? She’s from Detroit. She’s not really British. It won’t make people like you, Kate. That’s something you’re going to have to work on before you come back.”

  I frowned. My producers had always told me that I had a very natural, relatable personality, and the ratings for my show had always been good—apparently, women in various demographics across the country liked me. I didn’t exactly see why, but I didn’t think that an extended vacation across the pond would do much to change that. As far as I was concerned, the most important step to getting people to like you was easy—don’t be an asshole.

  That wasn’t hard, was it?

  “Sure, Josh,” I said, trying to keep the conversation light. “So tell me, what have you been up to?”

  Josh sighed. He stretched his arms over his head and folded them behind his neck. It was a very ‘alpha male’ gesture, and I had to look away so I wouldn’t roll my eyes right at him. He had that devil-may-care attitude that drew women to him like moths to a flame, and while it had once worked on me, it wouldn’t ever again.

  “Missing you,” he said with a grin. “Mourning you, desperately hoping you’ll return.”

  Before I could protest, Josh winked at me. “I’m kidding,” he said. “I’ve been doing well. Focusing on me, going to the gym, writing a lot. I’m thinking about taking some creative writing classes in the fall, what do you think?”

  I blinked at him. “That sounds nice,” I said politely, taking a sip of my water.

  A server appeared, clad in a turban and bright-colored vest. “Hello,” he said, leaning down over the table and setting a dish full of garlic naan in front of Josh. “Have you dined with us before?”

  I smiled, closed my menu and handed it over. “Yes, I have. It’s great. Anyway, can I please get the butter chicken?” I said. “And a side of palak chaat. Thank you.”

  The server smiled back and bowed to me before turning to Josh. Josh was staring at me with an incredulous look on his face. “Don’t be rude, Kate,” he said, although I failed to see how I’d been rude.

  Turning to the server, Josh plastered a big smile on his face. “I haven’t been here before,” he said with a grin. “Don’t you think that’s important?”

  The server rolled his eyes. “Certainly, sir,” he said. “We at Bengali Paradise hope to offer you a delicious experience that isn’t just about food. We specialize in Bengali dishes, but we also offer cuisine with a South Asian flair. Have you had a change to look through the menu?”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. One of the worst things about Josh was his ability to make everyone work for his tips. He wasn’t content until a waiter was bending over backwards in order to serve him. I hated this; Josh even made a habit of asking cabbies to pull his br
iefcase out of the trunk, even though it could easily fit on his lap for a short trip. When I’d criticized this habit of his before, he’d faced me and said solemnly: “Kate, I’m paying them, aren’t I? I want them to earn their money.”

  It was atrocious. Josh and the server bantered for a few more minutes. Josh asked for recommendations, the server delivered, Josh pretended to have a hard time deciding. Finally, he looked at the waiter.

  “Say, do you think you could make me half a plate of each of those? Just charge me for the most expensive,” he said with a grin. “I want to try both.”

  The server, clearly exasperated, took Josh’s menu and dashed off towards the kitchen.

  “You are such a prick sometimes,” I hissed. “I can’t believe you.”

  Josh pouted at me. “Come on, he’s just a waiter,” he said derisively. “He loves helping people, didn’t you see?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know, I honestly thought we could be friends after that whole speech you made earlier, but you really are just an insufferable ass.”

  He held his hands up in defeat. ”Sorry, sorry. I guess I’m just nervous. You’re right; I’m being an ass.”

  Despite how uncomfortable he made me at the start of dinner, I was surprised to wind up enjoying myself. We ordered a bottle of wine, and by the end of my first glass, we were swapping stories about the TV network we worked at. I found myself almost homesick, almost missing my show. Without a doubt, I missed being at home in the States, but I didn’t think I was quite ready to go home. Even with things with Jay being up in the air, I just didn’t know.

  “What are you thinking about?” Josh asked, eyeing me as he finished his glass of wine. “Something important, no doubt.”

  I laughed politely. The waiter returned with our food and I glared at Josh, half expecting him to act out of turn, but he was perfectly polite.