Red Flag (FSCU Pitbulls Book 2)

by Stella Marie Alden

  The driver chuckles. “Those assholes chose the wrong family to mess with.”

  I don’t get the joke but am relieved at how relaxed these guys are in the face of organized crime.

  Suds, sits in the front passenger seat. “No worries. We’ll take it from here.”

  “But how?” I can’t quite believe it’s going to be that easy.

  Mr. Patten motions me and Star to get into the back seat with him. I got reservations but because she slides in, I have to follow.

  Star takes my hand as the vehicle pulls into traffic. “The FBI’s talking to the football commission.”

  I moan and lean back in the seat. “Shit.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “No team is going to take a chance on me once this comes out.”

  The driver glances into the mirror. “Sorry, Jackson, had to be done.”

  I nod, my eyes tearing but this is my own damn fault.

  Star squeezes my fingers. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “But it does to me. Don’t you get it? Football is all I am.”

  They drop us off at the hotel where I kiss her goodnight and leave her at the door.

  “I’m exhausted.”

  The hurt in her eyes makes everything worse but it’s what I deserve. “Find some nice guy, take over your dad’s practice, and settle down in Vermont. Okay? Please, go.”

  Tears drip down her face creating long streaks of black but I’m a heartless bastard when it comes to shit like this.

  What kind of man would I be to saddle her with a life of heartache? Sure, at first it would be fine but after a while, who wouldn’t get sick of a man who’s no good at anything but football. And what about kids? Will I be a house-husband while she works? I got nothing against those guys but that kind of life isn’t for me.

  This is no way for us to end but prolonging the inevitable will only make things worse.

  Chapter 33

  Jackson

  In my humble opinion, the drafts come too soon. Rumors are flying about organized crime in football but somehow my name is kept out of it. I suspect the billionaire might have had something to do with it. Guys like him can buy all sorts of silence.

  However, it doesn’t stop the shitload of reporters from stopping by my apartment. Coach set me up so I could be close to FSCU and Chris is working me hard. Those two think I have a chance but I’m not buying it.

  No doubt they’re trying to keep me busy.

  A lousy thread of hope clings to my heart but I sign up for classes, just in case. Maybe, by next year, this will all blow over.

  I heard from Ryan who heard it from Kira that Star’s back in therapy. Hell, I probably could use some too, except I don’t believe it’d do me any good.

  In my apartment, I sink down in an overstuffed chair, carefully avoiding the broken spring.

  Dad glares at me over his reading glasses. “Your mom and I are worried about you.”

  I shrug. “Shit happens. I fucked up.”

  “You don’t know some team won’t pick you up.”

  “Get real. Read the news. I’m smack dab in the middle of the worst conspiracy to ever hit professional football. No one’s going to touch me with a ten foot pole… a hundred foot pole, maybe a zillion.” Not wanting to talk about it, I reach for the remote and turn up the TV, carefully avoiding any sports channels.

  When my phone rings, I glance down, sigh, and hang up. It’s another unknown number. “The FBI told me not to talk to anyone until the trial is over.”

  My father frowns. “It’s not fair you can’t give your side of the story.”

  “Yeah. I guess. I didn’t do anything illegal. You believe me, right?”

  “Except the one ball you didn’t catch early on in the season.” He raises his brows knowingly and I sigh.

  “You’re the only one who knows.”

  “Son, you did your best. Could you have made better decisions? Probably. But I wouldn’t want to have been in your shoes. I’m still real proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  He walks into the kitchen, stirs a pot of chili, and sniffs. “Smells good. You make that?”

  “Uh huh.” I wander beside him, open the oven, and pull out corn bread.

  Then, I grab a couple chipped plates and put them down on the table. While we eat, Dad closes his eyes and shakes his head with a happy smile. “Damn, son. When did you start cooking?”

  “I figure I had to learn if I’m going to be dirt poor.”

  “Well, call your mother and give her the recipe. Never tasted anything quite like it. Best chili I ever had, but don’t tell her that.”

  Smiling, I lean back in the rickety spool back chair and grin for the first time in days. I found one other thing, other than football, I may be good at.

  A week or so later, I travel to the drafts with the new agent Coach helped me find. I’m not sure what’s going to happen to Chris for recommending Shannon. He swears he was only trying to help me out of a jam and I believe him.

  When I get a call inviting me to the green room, I almost decline. What if, after all the hype, no one picks me and I’m left sitting there with egg on my face? I’m not sure I can handle that.

  Ryan: Coming?

  Me: Not sure

  Ryan: Pussy

  Me: What if?

  Ryan: C U there

  I send him a thumbs up emoji.

  Shit, I’m going to need a suit. I love my Mom and Dad but they don’t have a clue what I’m going to need and hell, I’m not putting one more cent on a credit card.

  CJ: Congrats

  Me: Can’t go

  CJ: WTF not

  Me: Broke

  CJ: I’ll make some calls.

  Apparently, I’m big news and there’s plenty of people willing to foot my bill to New Orleans. I’m worried if they’re all legit but with the FBI hanging around, I have to assume anyone who contacts me is fully vetted.

  I wish like hell I could call Star and ask her to be with me but I’ve dragged her name through the mud enough. We haven’t spoken since Vegas. I thought time would make the hole in my fucking heart heal but the cancer keeps growing.

  A driver meets me at the airport. “Luggage?”

  “Just my knapsack.”

  He shakes his head. “How the hell y’all gonna walk the carpet in that?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. Can you get me into the hotel some back way?”

  “Nope. Security’s tight. Streets are already packed and it isn’t even noon. You should’ve been here last night. What kept you?” He opens the limo door and I jump into the back, stretching my long legs.

  “Long story.”

  “Is it true, you got mixed up with gangsters?” He glances into the rearview mirror, backs up, and eases out of the parking spot while I stare out the window.

  “Yeah. My cousin has diabetes and lost his insurance. I got into debt and over my head trying to help him out.” I figure I’ll be saying those words a lot in the next couple days.

  “Sheeet. That ain’t right.” The dark face scowls. “He okay now? Your cousin?”

  “Uh-huh. All good.”

  “Y’all making the draft, dat’s real good then.”

  We chat about what team I would like to be on as we enter the French Quarter, where I’m staying. The doorman lets me in while people crowd around. Many cheer but a few boo and that hurts.

  I tip the driver with my last five dollars. “Thanks.”

  The Sports Channel gave me a credit card but I won’t use it. From here on out, I only spend cash.

  I show my ID at the front desk and the concierge makes a call. A few handshakes later, I’m in my room, trying on designer suits. Then, I’m getting a haircut, my beard trimmed tight to my face, and I swear to God, a manicure.

  The guy staring back at me in the mirror is a complete stranger but he looks acceptable.

  “Can you give me your cards?” I can’t tip the team who turned me into a model but someday I hope to, if I
get chosen.

  The hairdresser with blue hair reminds me of Star and my throat gets tight. Damn. I wish I could share this moment with her. I wonder where she is, who’s she’s with as I sit on the bed, waiting.

  A producer, John someone, walks into my room. “Ready to walk the carpet?”

  “No.” I shake his outstretched hand.

  “Smile a lot and wave.”

  “What about, you know, the whole FBI thing? Some people out there are saying I ruined football.”

  “You know what they say about publicity…”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Any publicity is good. Take my advice. People are always going to talk trash. You’re going have to learn to ignore it.”

  It’s easier said than done. For the hundredth time today, I go back in time and wonder, if I could’ve done something differently but can’t think of a damn thing. When a guy is broke, his options are limited.

  Sweating profusely, I’m put into yet another limo which stops in front of a red carpet leading into the stadium. Cameras flash and policeman hold back crowds behind barriers. The atmosphere is somewhere between a riot, New Year’s Eve in Time’s Square, and Mardi Gras.

  “Hi y’all.” I wave, smile, and stop when the producer shoots out a palm.

  In the green room, Ryan saves me a seat. No longer team mates, we clasp forearms in silence. He looks cool as a cucumber, but then, he always does. Copying him, I lean back in the chair, open my legs, and cross my arms.

  “You clean up good.” He eyes my light blue suit and manicured hands.

  When he snickers, I punch him in the arm and sniff. “What the hell is that?”

  “Gawd. I have no idea. Could be aftershave, hairspray, who the fuck knows?”

  Then, all kidding is over and the draft starts.

  Ryan’s name is called, I hug him, and watch him take the stage. Kira joins him and even from inside the room, I can hear the crowd go nuts outside.

  Hell, my eyes tear for his happiness as he kisses her in front of everyone. What I wouldn’t give to have my little lady by my side but I blew it.

  One by one, the guys leave the room until there’s just me and one other huge black dude from Chicago.

  My phone rings and it’s the owner of the LA Rams. “Welcome to the team.”

  Holy fuck. The breath goes out of me and for a second I can’t speak. “Thank you.” It comes out hoarse.

  “They’re going to call your name in a second. Congratulations.”

  Stunned, I hang up the phone, walk out the door, down a long hall and onto the podium. Bright lights blind me and it takes a moment to adjust.

  Then, I’m expected to speak.

  “I, uh.” My mind blanks out and the producer looks a bit panicked as he rolls his hands at me like he could jumpstart my brain.

  I lean into the mic and take a deep breath. “I want to thank the NFL commission, Coach CJ Quinn, Chris, my trainer, and my Mom and Dad. I’m going to do my damned best to be worthy of this team.”

  After, I’m interviewed by ESPN, the guy who hosts Monday Night Football, and a whole lot of others whose names I can’t recall. The owner of the Rams is there, smiling real big for the cameras and saying how he wanted to send a message to those who would mess with other college kids. How I was a victim.

  I never saw it from his perspective but I guess some guys did take advantage of me. When I get a chance, I check my phone and there’s hundreds of texts but only one that matters.

  Star: Congrats. I still love you.

  Chapter 34

  Star

  If it weren’t for Kira, I would’ve skipped today. For me, it’s not the end, just another step in a long road. My final graduation won’t be for four more years, if I’m lucky. I had my fling, my pink hair, my fall-in-love. From now on, it’s back to my plain ‘ol life, planned out for me since I was in high school.

  Ryan Finnegan runs into the stadium and the whole assembly cheers. Mr. Popularity throws Kira a kiss, my tears well, and I wipe them away. God, what I wouldn’t give to have Jackson here but he’s in Los Angeles with no free time to text or talk.

  My eyelids drop as the speaker yammers on about our futures, our plans, and how society needs to change. After he finishes, zombie-like, I stand, take my diploma, and move the tassel. I force a smile for the camera, and sit. The president says a few words, a preacher says a prayer, and we’re done.

  Thank God.

  I march out with my classmates, my days at FSCU at an end. While everyone is bubbling over with happiness, tears drip down my face. I can’t even hug my best friend because she’s all wrapped up in Ryan.

  Dad is here somewhere. He said Mom wasn’t feeling well and my sister was too busy with the farm to come. When someone taps my shoulder, I turn, expecting to see him or share another sad goodbye with a classmate.

  What? Am I dreaming?

  My mouth drops open and joy fills my soul as Jackson’s arms wrap around me. He pulls me into his solid frame, I inhale his scent, and I’m made whole. Then, he covers his mouth with mine, grabs my hair, and kisses me as if no one was watching.

  Gasping for air and laughing, his eyes twinkle. “Congratulations, darlin’.”

  Tears of joy run down my cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?

  “I wasn’t sure I could come until the last minute.”

  A crowd starts to gather around us, wanting their pictures taken with the famous star. My dad shows up, too. A little surprised to see Jackson, he holds out his hand and I introduce them.

  My lover puts his arm around me, sending a strong signal to my dad. “I made a reservation for dinner, is that good?”

  I nod, and glance nervously at my dad who says, “Glad you thought of it.”

  “Great. My limo driver will meet us out front.”

  My brows raise. “Limo?”

  Chuckling, he pulls my hair. “Relax. I got my first paycheck. I wanted to spend some of it on you.”

  On the way out of the stadium he signs some autographs and poses for over a dozen selfies before raising his hands. “Sorry guys, I need to take my fiancé out to dinner.”

  In the black towncar, my two men hit it off like old pals. Apparently, my dad has recently become quite a football fan.

  Other than him asking Jackson about his degree, dinner goes without a hitch.

  When we drop Dad at his hotel, I give him a big hug. “Thanks for coming, Dad. It means a lot.”

  “Your mother wanted to come, too.” He makes a little nod, emphasizing I should believe him but I can’t join him in his fantasy world any longer.

  “That would’ve been nice.” I kiss his cheek and say goodnight.

  My guy puts his arm around my waist and squeezes. “Your father loves you very much.”

  “I know.”

  Unlike Jackson, my dad’s love comes with too many strings attached. At some point, I’m going to have to cut them, but not today.

  I climb into the limo, keeping constant contact with Jackson, as if fearing at any second, I’ll wake up and he’ll be gone.

  He must feel it too because when he pulls me onto his lap, his kisses say I miss you, I want you, and I need you.

  I dig my fingernails into his scalp, suck his tongue, and moan.

  Under my butt cheek, his desire hardens and his hand slides up my shirt.

  I push it away, face flushed, and whisper, “Not here.”

  “Mmm. Forgot myself.” He nibbles my earlobe, tonguing the small gold hoop.

  At his hotel, we dash to the elevator, and take the first empty one to the top floor. He swipes his card and we enter a huge room with a dozen roses in a crystal vase in a living area.

  I open my mouth to thank him but he pins me to the wall, his pelvis pushing up. He separates my knees with his, thrusts his tongue into my mouth, and cups my breasts with both hands.

  I want his shirt off but he’s got the lead. I lift my arms, my dress comes off, followed by my undies. He lifts me, places me on the bed, and crawl
s up my body kissing every inch of me along the way.

  He pauses at my breasts, sucking on one, pinching the other. My nipples, already hard, grow tight and my clit clenches. Holy shit. I may cum.

  Writhing under his magic, I manage to loosen his tie and get a few small buttons undone. Chuckling, he stops what he’s doing, pulls the loop over his head, and tugs off his shirt.

  Skin to skin, we rub our chests together. The friction on my sensitive tips ignites my fire and I lift my chin to his mouth. Our bodies writhe and our passion grows. My hands reach down his amazing muscled back and slide to the front.

  I struggle to release him and curse.

  Without ending his kiss, he unbuckles, unzips, and frees himself. Then, he kicks off his shoes and gets naked.

  At the bottom of the bed, he kneels, spreads me wide, and hisses out his breath while I look between my knees.

  His eyes are dark and wanting as he stares at my quivering lower lips. A rough fingertip circles my opening, gathers liquid, and slides over my nub.

  I cry out.

  He leans in, sucks me to the brink of heaven, and stops.

  My body’s strung tight, wanting.

  “Please.” I arch up as he slides up my body.

  Brows creased, he bites his lower lip, and places his tip to my blossoming need. The hardness under the silky skin increases my heartrate. Hell, I’m practically hyperventilating.

  “Jacks-”

  He thrusts into me, our cores meet, and explode into orgasmic nirvana. He pulls out fully, and crashes in. I’m so high, I grip the bedcovers and open wider to receive him. He’s got the ball, he’s in control, and he’s rushing toward his goal line.

  Flying high, trembling in ecstasy, I capture his thighs with my ankles, grab his butt, and wrap my arms around his waist.

  “Fuck, Star, oh Fuck.” He shouts, his swollen cock stiffens, and he finishes deep in the end zone.

  I can’t stop shaking as he falls onto my chest, heart banging to the same crazy beat as mine. We lie there for the longest time while he touches my hair, the back of my neck, and the tops of my shoulder.