Ace: Sports Romance Novel

by Alexa Reign

  “Please, I said I was sorry –” The man wiped the spit off his cheek. I caught sight of the blood dripping down his nose, my blood boiling.

  “Fuck you, and get a job –”

  “The hell do you know about having a job?” I sneered, helping the man to his feet. “You okay, brother?”

  “I'm fine.” The man shook me off and fixed his crooked beanie.

  “Back off, wise guy – this doesn't concern –”

  I seized the 2 smartasses by their collars and hefted them off the ground. The kids struggled, kicking their legs as their third friend gawked from the sideline. I tightened my grip, holding them up against the dumpster.

  “Here's what's gonna go down. You 3 shitheads are gonna cough up whatever you got in those wallets and apologize to the man, or I'm calling the cops –”

  “Hey, hey watch out!”

  I threw them aside and spun around just in time to see the third thug lunging at me with a switchblade. I grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted, wrestling the blade from his grasp. But just as I eased my fingers around the leather handle, the 2 shitheads behind me were back on their feet. One piggybacked me and started whomping the side of my head. The other darted off to the other side, kicking me in the back of my knees.

  I went down, wincing as the tip of the blade sliced across my palm.

  “Hey, hey! Stop!”

  Out of nowhere, this other dude comes charging from the other end of the alley. He wielded a wooden plank over his head, the tip of the board spiked with rusted nails. I took the distraction and ran with it, knocking the kid off my back with a fist over the shoulder. The kid crumpled and slid right off me.

  “Fuck this, dude – it's not worth it.” The third shithead retracted his blade, backing away from us. “Come on, dude. Let's just go.”

  The kids pulled their hoods back up and scurried off in the other direction.

  “Shit.” I got up, winding my shoulders back and cracking my neck on each side.

  “Yeah, that's what I thought! Keep running, punks!” The dude dropped his plank and turned around at us. “You fellas alright?”

  “We're good.” I glanced at the stripe of blood on my palm and smeared it on the back of my jeans. “Good looking out.”

  “Aye. And they said our generation was fucked.” The guy laughed darkly. He flicked his shaggy hair out of his eyes and pulled out the cigarette behind his ear. “Anyone got a light?”

  “Nah, man. Sorry.” I folded up what was left of the mangled sign and handed it back to the homeless dude. “Nice ink.”

  “Thanks.” He grabbed the sign from me, sliding a neck over the wolf tattoo on his neck.

  “You want something to eat? I'll get you anything you want,” I offered, but the dude had already turned his back to me.

  “Don't sweat it. He'll be alright. Birdman's a regular 'round these parts.”

  “If you say so.” I extended a hand. “Don't think I got your name.”

  “Me?” He shook my hand, his unlit cigarette wagging between his lips. “Nolan. Nolan Bridges.”

  “Name's Ace.”

  “Hold up – Ace? As in, Ace Warner?” His eyes lit up. “Yo, it really is you – couldn't even recognize you without that hair, man. Lookin' fresh.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Right on, right on. Big Jets fan – bummed me out when you announced your retirement – they was never the same without you.”

  “Those are some kind words, brother. I appreciate that.”

  “So what you up to in this neck of the city?”

  “Just looking for a place to kick it for a couple of hours, have a few beers. If you're not doing anything, I'd like to buy you a drink. My way of saying thank you for showing up when you did.”

  “Aw, that was nothing, man, but hell yeah, I'm down.”

  Nolan and I entered the joint and headed for the empty stools on the far end of the bar. We ordered ourselves some beers and kicked it off with the usual small-talk. But before my ass could even warm my seat, I froze.

  You've gotta be shitting me.

  Sitting right across the counter, sat Victoria, wedged between 2 scumbags in V-necks and a blonde chick. When she saw me, she cut herself off mid-laugh. She averted her eyes and leaned back in her seat, tilting her head towards the blonde chick's ear. Whatever it was she said prompted all 4 to get up and file towards the exit. Still looking away from me, Victoria slipped on her long brown coat, peeking my way before ducking out the door.

  Looks like someone may have been trying to avoid me just as much as I was trying to avoid them.

  Chapter Eight: Victoria

  “Stop squirming, you dirty little slut.”

  I softened at once, my arms going limp. They were suspended in midair, my sore wrists tied to the sides of the headboard. The masked head looming over me looked hazy from the red bulb shining directly on top of him. All I could see were the hints of grays from the eye slits of the mask. His clenched teeth glinted at me through the zipper opening.

  “Please.” A bead of sweat rolled down the side of my face. “Don't – don't hurt me – I'll – I'll do anything you want –”

  “Shut up, whore.”

  He swooped one hand around my jaw, smushing my cheeks together. I groaned, my cheeks smarting with pain. Even with the black latex, I could see his mouth pulling back in a chilling grin.

  “You're going to sit here and take whatever you've got coming to you –”

  “But what – what are you going to do to me?”

  “You're just going to have to wait and see, aren't you, you filthy skank?”

  He climbed onto the bed, looming over me. My stomach fluttered. Oil oozed down his dark pecs and the thin fuzz on his chiseled stomach, staining the white sheets.

  “And don't you forget – you deserve every little bit of this...”

  He stuck out his tongue and dove between my legs.

  “Mmm.” He sniffed loudly, the tip of his nose pressing up against my clit. “You smell real sweet for such a dirty whore...”

  And that was the last contact he made with my clit.

  He swirled his tongue in messy circles over my pussy lips, attacking the fold of my left thigh more than half the time. The other half I spent consciously keeping myself from cringing as his cold zipper scratched against me. It wasn't long before it became apparent that his sloppy spit was the only thing keeping me lubricated down there.

  “Mmph.”

  Crap. There it was again – Ace's stupid face, swimming its way back into my thoughts. Not now...

  “Feels good, dunnit?”

  “Mm-mm...”

  Of all the gin joints in all the towns of New York City, Ace had to walk into that one. I hadn't even planned on going out for the night, but Rosaline managed to talk me into going out with these 2 cousins she met at the country club. Hoping to get my mind off Ace for the night, I grudgingly agreed. The overgrown frat boys insisted on pre-gaming at some shady dive bar called The Whistling Ox, and well, the rest was history.

  I couldn't think of a way to slip the letters into casual conversation. How was I supposed to tell Ace I'd been knowingly holding onto his mail for almost 2 weeks now? Especially after what happened at Oneiro. Should I even tell him about the letter? What if this all nothing but a sick prank? The last thing the man needed was to be led on by some lowlife's idea of a joke.

  The timing of all of this was just absurd.

  “Yeah, you like that, don't you? What do you say to me?”

  “Ah-apple pie.”

  “Huh?” His head bobbed up from between my legs. Drool dribbled down the soggy latex.

  “Apple pie,” I repeated, sitting up on the bed.

  He unzipped his mask from the back, his springy dark hair popping up in tufts. With a puzzled wrinkle between his eyebrows, he freed me from my handkerchief restraints. I pecked him on the cheek and rolled off the bed.

  “Wait, you're leaving?”

  “This was fun, but I just remembered there's som
ewhere I've gotta be.”

  I picked up my clothes from the floor, throwing on each article on the way to the door.

  “What, right now?”

  “Yup. Sorry.” I grabbed my purse and ruffled the back of my hair, reaching for the doorknob. “I'll see you around, Danny.”

  “I'm Dale – Danny's my cousin –”

  The door slammed shut behind me.

  Chapter Nine: Ace

  As I gazed at the ant-sized cars and bright streetlights 39 floors below, the door squeaked open.

  “Sorry. I didn't think anyone was in here.”

  I looked behind me, releasing the smoke out the side of my mouth. Victoria wavered in the doorway, tightening the sash of her white kimono robe. Her long, damp hair was gathered around one side of her neck.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Sure. It's not like I own the place.”

  The door swung shut behind her. Victoria walked past the lounge chairs and the piano-shaped pool and jacuzzi, and onto the stone walkway. She crossed the stone path, the LED strips on the corners of the slabs lighting up each step of the way.

  “I didn't know you smoked.”

  “I don't.” I let the smoke drift out of my nose. “But Brooklyn did. I found her stash about a month after we started living together. She used to hide around the house, smoking a stick here and there whenever she got stressed out. Thought I'd give it a try, see what all the fuss is about.”

  “And how's that working out for ya?” She sat down on the last step of the grill deck, flattening her robe over her folded legs.

  “11-year-old me would have been fucking stoked to see me looking so cool right now. Other than that, it's not doing much for me.”

  When Victoria laughed, little wrinkles formed on her forehead, and the heavy arcs of her brows straightened, wriggling like little windshields. The corners of my mouth twitched. I'd never seen anything like it. It was cute.

  “Want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She reached into her robe and pulled out a fat blunt. Her green eyes twinkled. In the dim glow of the recessed floor lighting, they looked as green as the juniper bonsai tree next to the staircase.

  I tossed her my lighter.

  “Thanks.”

  She held the flame against the tip of the blunt, her cheeks swelling in and out. We looked over to our left, gazing down at the dwindling 3AM traffic. She took 2 long drags, whacking her chest lightly as she passed me the blunt.

  I sat down next to her, taking up the other half of the bottom step.

  “I gotta say, I'm surprised to see you here.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You bolted when I saw you at The Whistling Ox.” I shrugged, exhaling deeply as I passed the blunt back to her.

  “Bolted? There was no bolting,” Victoria stammered, her spine snapping upright. “We were just about to leave. I was on a double-date with my cousin – I didn't want to be rude. And I saw you with your buddy, so I thought it'd be best not to intrude.”

  “A date, huh?” I jutted out my lower lip and nodded at her, fighting my grin.

  “Yup.”

  “A quick hello would've taken you less than 5 seconds, but that's cool.”

  Victoria leaned against the wall on the side of the stairs with a definitive wave.

  “Well, hello, then.”

  I snorted.

  “So, shall we get it out of the way?” Victoria straightened up in her seat, drumming her fingers on her lap.

  “Get what out of the way?” I stroked my beard, my smile hidden behind my hand.

  “We're all adults here.” Victoria folded and unfolded her hands in her lap, her blunt pinched between 2 fingers. She was clearly getting antsy. She took a deep breath, looking up at me. “Oneiro?”

  “Nice facilities. Fine golf course. 5/5.” When I saw the unamused look on her face, I grinned, relenting. “Alright, alright. So we got a little too friendly with each other. But, hey, we are working together, so let's just say we've skipped the ice-breaker stage.”

  “Good. Just want to make sure we're on the same page.” Victoria nodded, her shoulders relaxing. “That was a freak coincidence, and we'll leave it at that – so things don't get weird at work.”

  “Done.” I gave her a thumbs-up. “So which one was your cousin? That blonde girl I saw you with last night?”

  “Yup, that's Rosaline.”

  “DiCarlo?” I raised an eyebrow. “You mean that chick who went ballistic in the lobby when her friends showed up late to her party? They had to call security to escort her out of the building – I didn't know she was still living here. Thought for sure it had to be some 16-year-old brat; blew my mind to find out she was turning 30.”

  “Ah, yeah, I heard about that.” Victoria rubbed the back of her neck. “If I recall correctly, it might have been because they got her the wrong color fondant for her birthday cake. Grandma and Grandpa were furious – I think they had to shell out something like 30 grand for the damages.”

  I whistled, shaking my head.

  “I mean, she's not all bad,” said Victoria hurriedly. She paused, taking another drag on her blunt. “Rosaline can be really sweet when she wants to be. It's not like she grew up under what's traditionally considered 'normal' circumstances. Her sister's 15 years younger, so she was an only child for most of her childhood. Her parents kept her sheltered – she was home-schooled up until high school, then she was sent to this ritzy private school in Midtown.”

  She passed me the blunt.

  “She was bullied all throughout her freshman year before she eventually found her way – puberty hit late for her, but the wait paid off. A few months after college, her parents' yacht sunk when this rogue storm hit the Carribbean. Cailie was 6. They were sent to live with our grandparents after that. Not condoning her behavior, I'm just saying – we've all got baggage.”

  “That we do.” I crushed the blunt under my heel and flicked the roach over the edge of the railing. “And how do you fit into all of that?”

  “Ma had a falling out with her parents growing up. She was more of a...free spirit, if you will. Wanted to pursue her art career, which was something Grandma and Grandpa weren't too thrilled with, but she did it, anyway. Changed her name, bought a caravan, had me. We traveled around the country for years to promote her art – I used to hate switching schools all the time, but I got used to it.”

  “Sweet. Must've been cool, living on the road.”

  “It was. Every time we had to move camp, Ma would wake me up with strawberry funnel cake and tell me we were going on a new adventure.” Victoria smiled reminiscently, fingering the green-and-brown threads of the bamboos on her robe. “I've only seen the DiCarlos a handful of times – a few Christmases and Rosaline's 14th birthday party, but Ma never came with. She's only started rekindling her relationship with her parents about a year ago, and she thought it'd be a good idea if I did the same with Rosaline. Rosaline's been nice enough to let me stay with her so I'm closer to work. That way I can save up and get a place of my own, hopefully sometime soon. The rent in this city is insane.”

  “Cool. Well, let me know when you're looking. I've got a buddy who's a real estate agent. Maybe he can hook you up with something within your price range.”

  “Thanks – that would really help me out.” Victoria pulled down the ends of her robe, crossing her legs. I peeled my eyes off the sliver of her leg showing from the opening of her bathrobe. “Okay, so I'm sure we can agree we've got enough to start up a Wikipedia page about me now. What's your story?”

  “Nothing as eventful as yours. Mom bailed, so my dad raised me. Always loved football. Played on the high school team. Got a scholarship to Austin, got drafted by the Jets, retired, and now I'm at ASBC.”

  “That's it? That's all you're giving me?”

  “That's all I've got to give.” I rose to my feet. “Alright, I think I'm gonna turn in. Good talk.”

  “Wait. Before you leave – what are you doing tomorrow
night?”

  “Nothing yet.” I grinned. “What's up? You asking me out?”

  “No, just dinner. There's actually something else I need to talk to you about. It's going to take some time for me to explain, so um, why don't you come over to my place? Rosaline's going to some gala, so I've got the place to myself. I'll cook.”

  “Sure. That'd be nice. I could really use a home-cooked meal.”

  “Good. I'll see you at 7. Sleep tight.”

  “Night.”

  Chapter Ten: Victoria

  “Hey, was your great-grandfather a fighter pilot in World War II?”

  “Hmm?” I checked the mussels, peeled shrimp, and squid rings floating around in the pot and gave it a stir. “No, but my Great-Grandma Valentina was.”

  “Oh,” said Ace sheepishly, dropping the picture frame back onto the fireplace mantel. “Handsome woman.”

  “Ma used to talk about her all the time. She was in the Soviet Air Force. My great-grandfather and her immigrated to the United States when the war was over. She was tough as nails; kept all 6 of her sons in line while her husband was away at work.” I sprinkled in a dash more cumin and switched off the stove. “Food's ready.”

  Ace brought over the dishes while I set up the table. We pulled up our seats, sitting across from each other on the kitchen counter. The fragrant steam from the chili and garlic bread wafted in our faces, fogging up my glasses.

  “Help yourself. I hope you don't mind eating at the counter.” I cleared off the steam on my lenses and gestured at the 10-ft walnut dining table. “Rosaline likes to keep that table reserved for her bi-weekly dinner parties and when our grandparents come over.”

  “Not at all.” Ace ladled up a full bowl and dunked his bread into his chili. “Wow, that's pretty damn good. Where'd you learn to cook?”

  “Glad you like it. It's nothing, really – just some tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, a little garlic. I cook when I can – learned everything I knew from Ma.” I beamed at him proudly, helping myself to some bread. “No matter how full her schedule was, she'd always find the time to cook for me. She'd get up extra early and go out to the market and come back with fresh ingredients, and we'd make my lunch together in our tiny kitchen before I'd have to go to school.”