Misconduct (FSCU Pitbulls Book 1)

by Stella Marie Alden

  In a pink suit, the color of Star’s hair, he ushers me into a hotel room, where the same stylists work me again.

  “Oh my God.” He claps his hands. “You cried. I told you not to. Charlene? Get over here, girl, and fix her up.”

  Then, he flits off, like a brightly-colored butterfly.

  A few minutes later, he’s back and dragging me into the reception area where giant helium balloons in the shape of footballs float. They’re mixed with others that say Congratulations, QB and Kira. Every table is oval, covered with a tablecloth of green with yard lines. The cake, sits in the back. Bowl-shaped, it’s an exact replica, of Gillette Stadium, the Patriot’s hometown.

  Welcome to my football wedding. After we get done, the players are marched in, looking fine in their expensive suits.

  Ryan introduces me to all his team and I have to promise to get up and dance with them all. I can’t believe they all showed up.

  Jaz lets in a few invited photographers, more photos, more smiles with me and the team.

  “My face hurts.” I move my jaw and stretch my mouth. “Can we take a break?”

  My husband, one hand in a pocket, is getting a drink, looking like something out of GQ magazine, talking with one of his teammates.

  “Save me.” I escape from the cameramen and arrive at his side.

  Jaz runs up to us, still clicking. “Just a few more, honey.”

  Ryan chuckles. “Give her a drink. She’ll be better after, I promise.”

  The PR man points a finger. “Do not get sloppy.”

  “Oh my God.” I down a glass of water before taking the beer offered.

  “You have to take the good with the bad. He planned all this.”

  “I know, I know, but I need something to eat.”

  Suddenly, Jaz returns with a plate of cheese and crackers. “From the kitchen, sweetie. Promise me, I get fifteen more minutes.”

  “Only if he has to come, too.”

  Ryan grins. “Sure.”

  “You’re too willing.”

  “These pictures are helping to pay for the cost of this affair.”

  “I thought you said we could afford it?”

  “We can, just trying to be thrifty. Isn’t it you who insisted?”

  “I was out of my head, in love, at the time.”

  We take a few more shots, outside by the pool, then are ushered back inside. Dancing, disco lights, and dinner; with Jaz as my guide, I am led to every field-covered table, say hello, then am allowed to collapse. My feet sore, I throw off the heels, and when my husband comes back to the table, I grab him by the collar.

  “Don’t leave me again or I swear I’ll divorce you right here.”

  “Dance with me?”

  The DJ puts on Blake Sheldon and Ryan swirls me onto the dance floor.

  “Where’re your shoes?” He glances down.

  “I’m burning them at the stake.”

  He snickers, hand at my bare lower back. “Mmm. Has anyone told you, Mrs. Finnegan, you’re the prettiest girl at the whole reception?”

  “I do believe you may be biased, Mr. Finnegan.” I snuggle into his chest and wrap my arms around him.

  “Not so. Every man in the place has eyes, only for you.”

  “I’m the bride. They have to.”

  He swirls me around and brings me back into his arms. “You, are truly gorgeous and I can’t believe you chose me.”

  “Ditto.” My mouth finds his, cameras click, but I don’t care. This is my party and I’ll kiss my husband with all the love I feel.

  When we come up for air, his eyes shine bright. “How long before we can get out of here?”

  “As soon as everyone is drunk enough not to notice.”

  He grins. “With the open bar, it should be soon.”

  The music stops, and laughing he lifts me back and sets me at the head table. My mom stops by. “Beautiful wedding, dear. Are you happy?”

  I pat the chair next to mine, “Couldn’t be happier.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “The best.” I squeeze his hand and smile. The music is so loud he can’t hear but he must know we’re talking about him.

  “Me and Dad are heading out. Have a good time in Hawaii.”

  “We will. Thanks for everything.”

  “We didn’t do much…”

  Ryan leans over and says, “You raised the most beautiful, insightful, incredible women in the world. I figure that’s something.”

  My mom blushes and Dad blusters. “Thank you, Ryan. Very nice of you to say.”

  Then, they’re off along with some others. The music gets louder, the crowd gets rowdier as players let off steam.

  Sighing, I lean back in my chair and tap my feet.

  Chapter 40

  Ryan

  I thought nothing would be better than getting drafted into the Patriots dream team. Surely, winning the Superbowl had to be tops. Not so.

  Getting married to my college sweetheart is the greatest high in the world. All professionally made up, she has no idea that she’s so totally fucking gorgeous and I’m the envy of every man in the room. They may have married movies stars and beauty queens but they can’t hold a candle to my Kira.

  Jaz told me he would signal when we can go. I can’t wait to make love as husband and wife. It’s stupid, I know, but somehow, it’s going to be different. I tuck a lock of red hair behind her ear, she turns and grins.

  Other than a plate of cheese and crackers, I don’t think she’s eaten a thing.

  I motion over a waiter and ask him to find her a meal which he does. While our friends party and stop at the main table to say hi, I feed her every time she opens her mouth to chat.

  It’s hysterical the way she chews, glares, and swallows. Then, she continues as if nothing weird happened until my brother stops by. For his benefit, I shovel a huge piece of stadium into her mouth and she has to spit it out.

  “Nice one.” He holds out his hand to shake but I take him into a hug.

  Slapping his back, I grin. “Thanks.”

  “Congratulations. You did it. You have everything you wanted.” His hand sweeps across the room.

  “Yeah, I think so, too”

  “I honestly never believed you would make it, not even when you were in the top five of the drafts.”

  “Why not?”

  “You never seemed serious about anything… those limericks, the winks…”

  I shrug and grin. He never understood me, never will, and that’s okay. He’s my brother and I love him.

  “How’s life?” I change the subject

  “Good, good. My business is growing.”

  I note his girlfriend is flirting with a running back. “Serious about her?”

  “I guess not.” He grins. “Listen, I got to go. This is for you.” He hands me a framed photo with us as kids.

  It was from a good day. A tackle box at our feet, fishing poles in hands, my older bro had an arm around my shoulder. My throat gets tight, so I just nod and wave. On the way out, he manages to pry his girl from other dude who has her on the dance floor.

  Kira glances down. “You were so cute.”

  “Still am.” I rise, not giving a shit if it’s too early or not. I want my wife.

  “Come with me.” I grab her hand and we dance real close.

  Once no one is looking, I pull her across the floor, out the door, and into a small room with the words ‘Staff only.’

  I kick a mop bucket aside which leaves just enough room for us to stand inside and shut the door.

  A little tipsy, she giggles. “Seriously?”

  “I couldn’t be more.” I kiss her, tasting champagne and vanilla frosting.

  “This dress. Not sure how we’ll manage.” She turns around so I can get at the zipper.

  My finger at the top of her butt cheeks, I find the zipper and slide it down to her thighs. She slips off the sleeves and steps out, bare chested and just this white garter belt thing.

  My hand slides betwe
en her thighs and I push aside her panties. Damn, she’s already wet for me and hell, my cock is cramming against my tux pants. She undoes my fly, pulls out my cock, and turns her sweet butt toward me.

  I want her to cum first, so she can pulse over me as I step in as close as I can. I wrap my arms around her, one hand finds a tit, the other lowers to her clit. It doesn’t take long for her to throw her head back, stiffen, and shudder. Then, I plunge into her, both hands on her hips.

  She leans forward, puts her palms on the wall, and braces. I fuck my wife until she whimpers and when she cums again, my balls grow tight, my spine tingles, and I plunge into her sweetness spewing my seed deep into her.

  Once more I grind, loving those last aftershocks of pleasure we share. I pull out and wipe my fluids off her inner thighs while she smiles at me still far off in that dazed post-fuck heaven. I lift her dress, she tucks in her arms, and slowly I zip the fabric over her incredible buns. Her face is full of sexuality. Swollen, thick lips meet mine while her smoky eyes with thick dark lashes lift.

  A limerick comes to mind so, of course I say it out loud.

  “I once met a girl by the pool

  She thought me no more than a fool

  I gave her much strife

  Then made her my wife…”

  “Shit…”

  “What?” Her brows raise.

  “I can’t think of the last line.”

  “I can.” Grinning wide, she recites, the devil in her beautiful gaze. “But she still thinks my poems are uncool.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really. C’mon. Let’s go to our room. You can try again until you get it right.”

  The End

  From the Author!

  Wow! What a journey, right? I love these Pitbulls and there’s so much more to come!

  Want to read more of Jackson and Star’s story?

  Click right here so you don’t forget.

  If you want to find out how CJ met his wife, read on…

  I love hearing from you! Don’t be a stranger.

  Love and kisses,

  Stella

  BUSTED PLAY

  There's no way in hell she's tough

  enough to get me in shape.

  Chapter 1

  Melanie

  I knock on my own damn door feeling more freaked out with each passing second. “C’mon, Des. Let me in. I know you’re in there.”

  Some girl giggles and a knot tightens in my gut. Who the hell is she? At first, when my key didn’t fit, I figured it was just a mistake but now a sinking feeling takes hold and my heart braces for the worst.

  My voice cracks as I shout, “You can’t do this. All my stuff is in there.”

  Behind the apartment door, my boyfriend whispers for the girl to shut-up.

  My knees weaken and I slide down the wall. Not only have I wasted the best years of my life but I’ve got no place to sleep tonight. This can’t be happening.

  I suppose I could get a lawyer if I could afford one, which I can’t. “Des, open up or I’m calling the cops. This is your last chance.”

  Janice, my sweet elderly neighbor, pops into the hall and hands me her cell phone. “Here ya go, sweetie, I’ve already got them on the line.”

  “Hello?” I explain to the police how my boyfriend has locked me out and I’ve got no place to go.

  Their brilliant solution is to file a complaint in the morning. Dammit. As a parting shot, I kick at the door. Then on the way out, I take Des’ mail and toss it in the trash.

  Knowing where he likes to park his car, I take my useless apartment key and scrape it against the length of his Camry. Then, just for good measure, I puncture all four tires with my tiny, but sharp Leatherman.

  That cheating bastard. Everything I own is in my apartment. And what about that giggler? Probably some other country bumpkin he picked up, no doubt with more money than me.

  How could he do this? We’re in love, dammit. At least I was. Maybe lately things haven’t been that great but every relationship has its ups and downs.

  Right?

  Shit girl, you need to face reality.

  Sex has been almost nonexistent for the last few months. He’s been too tired, too busy, or had an infection. My God, I am so, so stupid. For heaven’s sake, even when he lost his job, I stood by him and made his car payments.

  Frantic, I call his cell but it goes right to voicemail. Then I text him and get no response there, either. Shit, this nightmare is really happening. My chest tightens and stupid tears flow down my face as I stand alone on the sidewalk in Bushwick.

  Down at the corner bodega, people are picking up food for their evening meals and noise comes from the local bar. Happy, normal people pass me by, giving me sympathetic looks.

  Oh yeah. Pathetic loser here. Feel free to stare.

  I could find a place to hole up but that’ll cost a fortune. Shit. I’ll be damned if I’ll impose on my friends. I guess there’s nothing else to be done.

  After blowing my nose and wiping my eyes, I call the nearest homeless shelter, Gracie’s Place.

  Rather than hail a cab, I walk the two miles. I’m going to need every cent I’ve got. Thankfully, it’s surprisingly warm and as my sneakers pound the sidewalk, I try to find some positives. First off, I got a couple hundred bucks in the bank and no debt on my cards. My father told me to never share accounts unless there was a wedding. If I hadn’t listened, my jerk of a boyfriend would’ve stolen those as well. It could be a whole lot worse.

  Feeling a little better, I pause at the old wooden door, take a deep breath, and enter the lobby.

  “Hi. Can I help you?” The receptionist at the front desk looks a lot like me, a tall, twenty-something blond with blue eyes.

  I tell her my whole screwed-up story and then she takes me up a flight of stairs. There’s a dorm-like room where six other women are already settled, a couple asleep.

  “You’ll need to interview with Grace tomorrow, okay?” She points to a cot.

  Like I can say no? I’m so damn grateful that I just take a step forward and hug this stranger. When I let go, she shows me a drawer full of tshirts which she explains are rejects from the Salvation Army.

  Then, in the bathroom, I wash out my underwear and hang them on a peg behind the door. My coat and the rest of my stuff, I put under the bed.

  Finally, I get into bed and stare at the ceiling for hours trying to sort it all out.

  When had I first sensed things were off?

  I’d been in the city for just a few months when I met Des. He was so sophisticated, so New York, so wonderful. He was everything I wanted to be and when he asked me to move in with him, I was thrilled.

  Lately though, I haven’t been able to do anything right. We weren’t exactly fighting, we’ve just drifted apart. I figured after four years, some of the magic had worn away and maybe he wasn’t feeling so good about himself because he lost his job.

  Despite the pillow over my head, and counting down from one hundred, I can’t exorcise him from my brain. I must’ve slept a little however, because a woman stirs, waking me. Grabbing my cell phone, I moan at the ungodly hour. Whatever. I might as well get up. While she takes a two-minute shower, I wait at the bathroom door.

  “New?”

  I nod as the dark woman wrapped in a towel stops to stare like I’m some new species of cockroach.

  She points to a closet. “One towel. Shampoo and body wash are shared by all. Make it quick because we all got to get to work. Okay?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she heads back to the bedroom while whipping off the towel to dry her hair.

  After I shower and dress, I stop at the receptionist’s area to give them my work number just in case. My cell phone’s about to run out of juice. At a corner bodega, I grab a coffee and egg sandwich, eating it standing up in front of the register. Then glad for my warm coat and gloves, I walk to work as the sun peeks over the high-rises in nearby Manhattan.

  I keep reminding myself, it’s not all
bad. At least I still got a job.

  Chapter 2

  CJ Quinn

  Fuck this knee.

  The doctors told me it would be good as new and yet after a couple weeks, I’m not convinced. Dammit all. If I don’t get back on the field soon, there’s no way my contract is going to get renewed. I need to get a whole lot better, a whole lot faster.

  Stan, my manager-trainer is at the front desk, arguing about insurance. I told him I needed better care than this God-forsaken hole-in-the-wall but he insists it’s the best place in the city.

  And that young woman who just came in the door? She better not be my physical therapist. She’s obviously slept in those clothes, her hair is wet, and there’s dark circles under her eyes. That’s hardly the professional that I need to get me back in the game.

  She shakes hands with Stan and puts her long blond hair into a pony tail.

  Then staring down at a tablet, heads my way. Under that coat, she’s probably shapely but it’s hard to tell. One thing’s for sure, those cute features, pouty lips, and thick lashes are better suited for a model.

  I’m not blind. I like the way her jeans hug her tight ass and I’m sure I’d enjoy her in bed but that’s not what I’m looking for. There’s no way in hell she’s tough enough to get me in shape.

  “Hello Mr. Quinn.” She holds out her hand as if she thinks I’m going to shake it.

  When I stare into the space behind her head, she drops her arm back down, cheeks red. I don’t mean to be rude but this isn’t going to work out.

  Stan hasn’t left yet so I jump off the table, grab my cane, and pull him aside. “What the fuck! I told you I wanted to be one hundred percent before next season. What the hell is that?” I point to the girl. “I need a real physical therapist, not a fucking Barbie.”

  He eyes me like I’m a piece of shit. “You’re lucky to have her. Lucky to have anything at all. You screwed up big time.”