Bedding the Bad Boy (Bad Boys of Football Book 1)

by Penelope Silva

  I listened to my play list to get me in the mood as we drove across town to what most would say wasn’t the best neighborhood for a single woman alone. I liked it out there. It had grit and was so full of life, very different from the world I lived in in front of the cameras. I never spoke about it much, but my childhood was nothing like the life I now led. Well, almost nothing. I can’t deny, I always had women throwing themselves at me for as long as I could remember. From my mother’s book club friends to the lady who ran the concession stands at my touch football games, they all wanted me and I knew it, even as a kid. My mom always made it a point to warn me to watch out for them. They were like vultures is what she always said. I tended to believe her too, because that’s how they came off all the time. They wanted a piece of me because fame and fortune were coming my way.

  “Here we are, sir,” Frank said as he pulled the car in front of a three-story walk-up in the center of a busy city street. “Would you like me to get her for you or would you rather I honk the horn?”

  I shook my head, snickering. I figured Isla wouldn’t appreciate being summoned by a honk outside her door, so I played it safe and walked to the door to get the pretty princess with booty myself.

  How I approached her now would determine how the rest of the evening would go. One false move and Isla would retreat, making a scene every step of the way.

  While I waited for her to open the door, my eyes scanned the neighborhood. We’d managed to dodge paparazzi. I figured they were too busy fighting for space outside the restaurant doors. I’d had my assistant, Hannah, leak the story to my Twitter fans and, as expected, the information broke the internet. People were clamoring for a glimpse of me and this Nubian beauty – as if she and I were an anomaly.

  She finally buzzed me in.

  “Really? I have to walk up the stairs to get you,” I groaned as I walked through the doors and over a basket of laundry discarded under a row of mail slots. “Nasty.”

  It had been a long time since I’d been in a building like this. The scene was still familiar. Food cooking in one apartment. Someone else watching the evening news in another apartment. Isla’s apartment was on the third floor. There was no noise coming from her place.

  I paused outside the door, expecting her to open it for me, but after a moment, she hadn’t. I knocked on the door, calling her name, “Isla, are you home?”

  “Give me a minute,” she called back. I could hear the click-clack of high heeled shoes on the wood floors.

  Good, she listened to me.

  When she opened the door, my breath caught in my throat. She looked amazing.

  “Wow!” Those were the only words I could muster after taking her in from head to toe.

  She blushed, averting her eyes from mine. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  And, in that instant, all the good thoughts I’d begun to have about her were wiped clean. She killed the moment. This was business, not pleasure for her.

  “Don’t sound so excited,” I said, taking her arm in mine.

  “I hate everything about this,” she groaned as she locked the door behind her. “I don’t know how to pretend to have a good time. I don’t have a poker face.”

  I allowed her to go in front of me, not because I was trying to be a gentleman, but because I was dying to find out what the back of her red dress looked like. As expected, it hugged every curve. Damn, she was making this night hard for me!

  As if she could sense my eyes had honed in on her perky ass and firm thighs, she snapped her head around to glare at me. “My eyes are up here.”

  I muttered, “I know where your eyes are, but I don’t care about them right now.”

  Frank stood outside the car, waiting for us. His eyes lit up when he caught sight of Isla. “Good evening, miss.”

  She greeted him, making small talk.

  He motioned for her to get into the back seat.

  “Oh, thank you. I’ve never ridden with a driver before,” she said.

  I scooted in next to her, pretending to need an ample amount of room so I’d be able to feel her warmth next to me.

  We drove in silence. We had to get our heads in the game.

  Cameras started flashing as soon as we pulled onto the street the restaurant sat on. “Ready?” I asked her.

  Her green eyes were as big as saucers. “I think I’m in way over my head,” she answered.

  “It’ll be fine. Pretend they’re not there,” I explained. “They want pictures.”

  Once we were seated, Isla took a deep breath. “They’re not going to come in here, are they?”

  I looked around, recognizing a few of the faces seated around us. “They’re already here. Relax. Talk to me. Tell me about where you’re from.” I thought that would help calm her down, but in actuality, it looked like I’d touched a nerve.

  “I don’t want to talk about that. This whole mess has my family going out of their minds. Let’s talk about something else,” she suggested.

  Since she asked, I thought it only right to oblige her and change the subject. “Tell me about the last time you were in love.”

  Isla gasped, her eyes growing wide. “No, definitely not. Talking about your ex isn’t a conversation for a date.”

  I smiled. “So, you do see this as a date?” I teased.

  Another panicked look. What was it with this woman? Wasn’t she in the PR business?

  I never got the chance to hear her admit she actually liked me because some dumbass with a camera took the opportunity to ruin what was supposed to be a perfect night. He’d moved too soon. Way ahead of schedule.

  “Hey, Beck, what’s wrong? Did you run out of white women so you had to move on to a black?” He asked.

  I knocked him flat on his ass. The people I’d invited to capture our romantic dinner were treated with the money maker they’d waited their whole careers for -- photos of me beating one of them. I was screwed and not in a way I enjoyed.

  Chapter Five – Isla

  Iwas so angry about the nerve of the jerk in the restaurant, the rest of what happened was a blur. I knew there was a fight, but it was like I wasn’t there -- somehow removed from the action. All I could focus on was how unbelievable it was for me to be referred to as “a black”. What did that even mean? What year was it? If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear, I’d landed in the south circa forty acres and a mule and way after I had to take that shit from anyone. I wasn’t bothered by Beck’s reaction. I was touched by how quick he was to defend me. Or, maybe I was over-thinking this. Maybe he wasn’t defending me, but was defending himself. I didn’t know anymore.

  I’m so naïve! The fight had nothing to with me.

  Beck returned to the room with a bottle of expensive wine and two glasses. “Here, this will help you forget about that nonsense,” he said, handing one to me.

  I set it down on the marble coffee table. “No. I don’t want a drink. I want to ask you something.”

  He closed his eyes, obviously not in the mood to answer questions.

  “Oh, you’re going to answer my questions. You owe me that much,” I warned him.

  “I owe you? Really?” He snickered, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand. “You are the public relations manager, not my mother. I don’t owe you anything. All I was trying to do was give you a drink to take the edge off.”

  I may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but I’m damn sure Mr. Football Hero didn’t answer my question. “I’m not dumb, so don’t treat me like I am.”

  He had the nerve to look wounded by my tone. What did he expect me to do? Drop down to my knees and suck him off like some desperate football groupie? Well, that wasn’t happening. Not now. Not ever.

  “You’re really mad?” The wounded look on his face deepened. “You don’t get it, do you? I beat the guy’s ass for you! What did you think; I go around beating people for nothing?”

  I wanted to tell him off, but something wouldn’t let me. I stopped, dumbfounded by his anger.

 
“Whatever, man. I don’t time for this. Frank can take you home when you’re ready,” Beck said, averting his eyes from mine as he backed out of the room.

  What did I do?

  I stood motionless, listening to the sound of his feet bounding up the staircase and down a long hallway before he slammed a door.

  “Miss?” Frank startled me. “I’ll bring the car around.”

  I nodded. What could I say? It wasn’t like I could barge up the stairs and into the hole Super Jock stormed into to smooth things out between us. If memory served me right, there was no us to speak of, other than the fake couple he tried to create out of our acquaintance.

  I took a deep breath and rushed out of the room to catch up with Frank. “Hold off on the ride for now.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure?”

  I closed my eyes, willing myself not to lose my nerve. “No, I’m not sure, but if I intend to keep this damn job, I need to do something.” I turned and looked up at the grand staircase, noticing how unpretentious the décor was. Why I took notice, I didn’t know, but that’s where my mind wandered. My eyes floated over the paintings on the wall. Each was simple and almost normal. I was surprised. Somewhere in this mega-mansion I knew there had to be the ubiquitous scantily clad women photos hanging somewhere, but I didn’t see them off hand.

  Frank cleared his throat behind me. “Miss Johnson?”

  I turned to face him.

  “He’s in the room at the end of the hall,” Frank said.

  I swallowed hard.

  “That’s his office. He goes in there when he’s…” he paused.

  “Angry?” I asked.

  Frank nodded. “When he needs to think, I suppose.”

  I exhaled slowly to calm my nerves, knowing my next move would decide my near-future. I wanted this job long before I had it. I worked hard to get this job. I deserved it. The last thing I ever expected was to end up the subject of a major fire storm because of it. The most I expected was to have to keep some football player’s behind out of jail, not end up having to pretend I was in love with a smug lady’s man with a penchant for sleazy skanks who wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it bit them on their perky little asses.

  “Here goes… everything,” I said before making my slow ascent up the stairs and down the hallway to meet the supposed love of my life.

  I knocked tentatively.

  “Not now,” Beck grumbled from the other side of the door.

  “Then, when?” I answered, trying to sound playful.

  After enough time had passed for me to regret chasing after him, he opened the door.

  My breath hitched. My eyes floated from his broad, muscular chest up to a smug grin on his face. He followed up with what will go down in history as the worst possible thing he could have said to me. “I knew you’d be back. They always come back. I’m hard to resist.”

  The burning sensation in my hand took over as soon as my open palm made contact with his face.

  “You hit me?” He chuckled as he spoke. “Well, that’s not how I usually get down, but if that’s what the lady wants, then--”

  “Shut up!” My voice shook. “Don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself speak? Hasn’t anyone ever gotten sick of your foul mouth?”

  A wounded look flashed across his face again. Then, it was replaced by the grin, I thought, I’d never be able to resist.

  “What did I miss? You came up here looking for me and now you’re mad?” He asked, seeming confused by my actions.

  As angry as I was at him for getting me into the mess, I couldn’t behave angrily, especially with him looking the way he did. There was something about a brooding, sexy ass man. I couldn’t resist it. Bad boys were poison. Beck was poison, but he was also sexy as hell. I could see every bulging muscle on his body even as he stood in a somewhat relaxed state. He couldn’t help but look good and that wasn’t doing me any good.

  “Are you going to let me in or would you rather I beg you?” I asked as I brushed past him close enough to hear a small gasp escape his lips.

  How do you like me now?

  “So, you’re ready, then? It’s about time,” he said, but the bravado in his voice didn’t match the hint of surprise in his eyes. I’d gotten to him and he didn’t like it. He was used to being in control.

  “I’m going to need a ring,” I announced as I took it upon myself to sit in the over-sized leather captain’s chair behind his massive mahogany desk, topped with a surprising amount of family photos.

  The sexy beast does have a heart.

  He cleared his throat. “Alright, if that’s where you want to do this, cool,” he said, a devilish grin on his face.

  “Did you hear what I said?” I asked, pointing to my ring finger -- my noticeably empty ring finger.

  He blushed for a second.

  I would have missed it had I blinked, but truth be told, I didn’t think I’d blinked once since he’d opened the door for me. Did he realize how freaking hot he looked in his fitted black pants and matching blazer? Or the fact, his dark hair always looked perfect in a slightly imperfect way with his dark locks giving the impression he’d just stepped out of the shower? That only added to his heat factor. Visions of myself lathering his rock hard body took over my thoughts.

  Girl, get it together! This is business, not pleasure. Well, it’s not supposed to be a pleasurable experience anyway.

  He looked at me with hooded lids, long enough to make me feel self-conscious about it. It’d been a long time since a man made me tingle by looking at me. All I could think about was, what it’d feel like to have his body close to mine.

  “If it’s a ring you want, it’s a ring you’ll get. Call my assistant. She’ll pick one up for you,” he said as if it was a normal part of his routine. Nothing about this situation was normal.

  “Excuse me, but if you expect me to play the part, you’re going to have to play along too. I’m going to need a ring from you, not your assistant,” I said, unsure of why it was so important to me all of a sudden. I wasn’t that kind of woman. I didn’t care about materialistic things. I could get my own. In time. Eventually.

  “What are you saying? You want me to buy you a ring?” He laughed. “Okay. We’ll do that tomorrow -- after we wake up.”

  What a slick jerk he was! What made him sure I’d spend the night with him?

  “I’m not spending the night with you. I don’t need you to buy me a ring. That’s not what this is about. If I’m your fiancée, I should have a ring on my finger. That’s kind of a big deal in the media. They like the pomp and circumstance. They want and expect opulence,” I explained. “I don’t care if it’s fake, but we’re going to need something on my finger before they start questioning if our engagement is real.”

  He nodded.

  I swallowed hard. What was I saying? I was volunteering to wear a fake engagement ring? After my recent breakup, I thought, I’d never wind up in that position again. Now, I was begging to be put in an awkward position. What was wrong with me?

  He smiled. “There’s nothing fake about me or what I do. I’m all real, baby. We’ll go out and get a ring tomorrow. A nice one. I’ll have my assistant drop some hints online so there will be plenty of cameras around to snap pictures of us -- the happy couple.”

  His willingness to comply, floored me. I’d forgotten why I’d come after him in the first place.

  “Did you have something else you wanted to say?” He asked, seeming to know I didn’t come up here to harp about a ring.

  “I… I…” I made the mistake of looking up at him. That nanosecond was enough to tie my tongue.

  His eyelids hooded over his beautiful gray eyes. He was putting on the charm. Working me. I bit my trembling lip. Why did he make me so nervous? That’s not who I am. I’m a confident black woman. A fierce, black woman. How could I let this man -- a jock no less -- mess with my head? I didn’t know him. What I knew of him, didn’t interest me. It was a turn-off for me. But, something about him drew me
to him. His confidence? His swagger? I didn’t know and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like that it made my brain turn into mush and my body temperature rise.

  “I’m waiting. I usually don’t do that. You must be special.” He knelt down in front of me, placing his hands on my legs, below my hemline. “Tell me.”

  My throat went dry. What was he trying to do to me?

  He leaned forward, pushing his hands up onto my thighs underneath my dress. “Tell me,” he whispered.

  “What… Why?” I sounded like I’d swallowed a frog. I tried to clear my throat, but I couldn’t get any moisture to rise in it.

  He hummed, low in his throat, leaning closer to me.

  “We have to make it real. I mean, make it appear real,” I said with a voice barely above a whisper.

  He smiled, brushing his scruffy chin on my bare leg. “Oh, this is real. I guarantee you.”

  I believed him. He didn’t have to tell me twice. This man meant business. It would have been hopeless to fight it.

  “This might be the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” I muttered under my breath.

  He snickered. “It’s about to get a whole lot crazier.”

  I inhaled, surprised by his boldness.

  His lips grazed my leg as he pulled my body toward his. I didn’t resist. I wanted it more than I thought I should. Soon, his hands smoothed up and down my back, sending a rush of heat throughout my body. I melted into his firm embrace as he stood up. I could feel every ounce of the passion behind his sure movements.

  Beck continued with the same confidence he had in all things. He knew what to do and when to do it. I lavished on it, soaking it all in, letting his ministrations send wild sensations throughout my body.

  When I was nearly breathless, my body relaxed against his, he released me as swiftly as he’d grasped me in the first place. He leaned back, heat evident in his eyes, lips parted, studying me.

  I blushed a deep shade of red.

  “Stand up,” he ordered.

  I didn’t hesitate, even with my knees quaking. I stood up as he leaned back a hair more and let his eyes follow the contours of my curves. His eyes lingered for a moment on my thighs, then, my hips, stopping at my full breasts.