Big Time: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by KB Winters

  “How’s Kenzie?” he asked after a long moment, his voice calmer.

  “She’s still hanging in there.” I thought back to my visit with her the other day. “The doctors had to put her in a medically induced coma because she had an infection that wasn’t clearing up. They put her on some pretty heavy meds and she’s been getting better, but it’s slow.”

  “Damn. I was hoping by now she’d be awake at least…”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “I’d like to see her. Once all this goes away, I guess.”

  “I’m sure she would like that. I saw the stuffed animal you bought for her. I know she’ll love it. Right now it stays at the foot of her bed.”

  “Good.” He sounded miserable.

  My heart twinged. “Langston, can I come and see you?”

  “Probably not a good idea, pretty girl. I don’t want to drag you through this mess.”

  It stung that he was rejecting my offer to help, and I choked down the disappointment. “All right. Well, you have my number now. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  We ended the call after a moment of awkward silence. I stared at the phone in my hand for a minute after disconnecting. I hated that he was in pain and feeling all alone. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted from—or, with—Langston, but it made my heart ache to see anyone feeling that low.

  But, for the time being, it didn’t appear that there was anything I could do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Langston

  “All right, you done with your call?” Carter asked, his tone sharp and snappy.

  He was pissed at me since the story broke. He insisted I should’ve called him as soon as it happened, and that he might’ve had a chance at keeping the whole thing from going viral.

  Yeah. Right.

  Welcome to the internet, Carter.

  Nothing stays quiet for long.

  I raked my hands through my hair. It was still damp from the long shower I’d taken after a hard workout I’d put myself through, forcing my body through the physical pain and agony, to take the sting off the ache in my chest.

  “I’m done,” I replied, my tone deflated.

  Carter grit his teeth and took a seat behind the large desk that sat in the office inside my home. I hadn’t left it since the wee hours of the morning after the entire world went nuts over the photographs of me outside Jefe’s. I hardly ever used the desk, and Carter often took to the high backed leather chair as naturally as though we were in his office.

  “Who was it?” he asked.

  I sighed and straightened to a sitting position on the long couch along the opposite wall from the desk. “The activity director at Harvest House. She wanted to know why I haven’t been there the last few days.”

  Carter rolled his eyes. “What? Does she not read?”

  Defensiveness flared in my chest but I kept my mouth shut.

  “If they want to turn you over to the court, I’m sure our legal team can explain why you haven’t been there. I mean for fuck’s sake, if you were to show up, you’d be leading a damned swarm of gossip hounds behind you like some modern day Pied Piper! It would be a disaster for them, just as much as it would be for you.”

  “That’s what I told her. She’s not going to call the courts.”

  “Good.”

  My shoulders rolled forward as I clamped my hands together. “So, where are we at?”

  Carter leaned back in the chair and folded his hands. “Barker and Beckett are working on settlements. This little fiasco of yours is going to cost a pretty penny.”

  I nodded. That was obvious. The blonde chick had threatened to go to the cops and file assault charges, even though it had been caught on half a dozen camera phones. However, depending on the angle, it could be misinterpreted as deliberate. Of course the gossip rags were saying I ripped her dress to get the camera off of me and cited my low profile over the past weeks. It was all horse shit, but it would be tough to find an unbiased judge. Settlements were cleaner—more expensive, but cleaner.

  “I don’t care how much it costs, Carter. I just want this over so I can get back to my normal life.”

  Carter eyed me. “You mean with pre-season right around the corner?”

  I cocked my head. “Yeah, of course that’s what I fucking mean. What else would I be talking about?”

  Carter snapped upright, the chair lurching, and he lifted a glossy folder from the desk. “Well…it seems to me there are some things going on that I haven’t been told about.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Carter opened the folder and pulled out a packet of papers. My stomach dropped out the bottom. “Where did you get that?” I snarled.

  Carter set the packet back on the desk and leveled me with a hard stare. “In the kitchen, Langston. It wasn’t like you had it hidden.”

  “Damn it, Carter.” I surged to my feet and stalked across the wide room to snatch the papers from the desk.

  I hadn’t told anyone about my plan yet. Not even Cassie.

  The packet of papers in my hand was the beginning phase of the process to become a foster parent.

  “What the hell is going on with you, Langston?”

  “This,” —I smacked the papers in my hand— “this is my personal shit. You shouldn’t have even seen this. I didn’t plan on having an army of PR blowhards infesting my house.”

  Carter didn’t flinch at my cruel taunt. He was my business manager. My brand manager. He handled my endorsement deals, the lawyers and other business deals. He wasn’t a PR spin doctor. But at the moment, he was the first available.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I growled. “No social worker is going to give me a second glance after this latest shit. You know…fuck, I try to get ahead, do something good instead of make a mess and then this happens…” I paused and shook my head. “It’s un-fucking-believable.”

  “So this is real?” Carter said, his expression morphing into a look of disbelief.

  “Yes! Damn it. Why does everyone think I’m such a fuckup that I can’t do anything right? You know that quote, unquote bar fight wasn’t because I was drunk off my ass and getting all up in some random club girl. You believe me, right?”

  Carter considered me for a long moment, and with each passing second, the heat of rage simmered a little higher in my chest. “Langston, I think—”

  “Get out.”

  Carter looked as though I’d physically struck a blow with my command. “Langston—”

  “Get out! You’re fired, Carter. I never want to see your sorry ass around here again. And you know what, while you’re heading out, tell the rest of those assholes to get out too. I’m done with this shit.”

  Carter rolled his eyes. “What? You’re going to manage yourself?”

  “Why not? At least I fucking believe in myself. You and the rest of those bozos out there probably think I did all this shit the media makes up. I pounded the shit out of that mother fucker at the club because he was getting aggressive with the girl I was with. I was helping her.”

  Carter leaned in, still seated behind my desk. With a calm tone, he asked, “Then why didn’t she come to the hearing and testify before the judge?”

  “Fuck if I know! I didn’t get her number or take her out. I don’t even know her last name. She probably didn’t want to get involved and piss this ex-boyfriend off even more. It wasn’t like I was going to be her bodyguard or something. We fucked, one night, then I never saw her again.”

  I stormed across the room to the massive fireplace and braced my hands against the wood beam that served as the mantle. “I’m not saying that I’m this amazing guy. Hell, I’m a straight-up asshole most of the time. I trash talk, chase pussy, get drunk, say the wrong things at press releases. All that shit. I’m not saying I’m some saint. But damn! I don’t deserve this. Not now…not when I was trying to straighten that shit out.”

  The room fell eerily silent and as the wild thoughts ravaged my mind, I
nearly forgot that Carter was still in the room, until he cleared his throat, “Langston, in all of my years working in PR and brand management, I’ve never had more shit to deal with than in the last few years since taking you on as a client. But I’ve never once trashed you to the media or leaked dirt as some anonymous bullshit source. You may not like the way I speak to you, but you cannot say that I haven’t been loyal or that I haven’t done the best job I could to keep your reputation in tact through the shit you’ve been through—or put yourself through—over the years.”

  I whipped around and crossed my arms. “That might be true, but that’s called doing your job, Carter. So don’t expect me to give you some damned medal. I don’t want someone like you representing me to the public anymore. Not if you can’t get on board with the direction I’m going. What would be the point? It would be like bashing your head against a brick wall and you’ve known me long enough to know that this wall doesn’t crumble.”

  Carter looked at me for a minute and then his expression changed. He held up a finger. “All right. Fair enough. Sit down and tell me about this plan,” he said, gesturing at the papers I’d left on the edge of the desk.

  My blood was still pumping through my veins like molten lava, but I calmed myself down long enough to walk back to the desk and grab the papers. I sagged into the seat opposite Carter and started to tell him about Kenzie. I told him about the shooting and what her social worker had told me in regards to her not being able to return to her foster family.

  “She doesn’t have anywhere to go, other than some bullshit long-term care place where she’ll be bored out of her damn mind in between treatments and therapies,” I explained. “She deserves a good home, with all the best in life, especially after what she’s been through. So, I thought, why not me? I have this big ass house, with no one but me wandering around, and hell, I’m not even here half the time. I could bring in a live-in nurse to help her while she recovers.”

  Carter—to his credit—listened intently, without interrupting. He waited until I finished before dropping his folded hands to the top of the desk. “I think it’s noble, Langston. I really do. But I’m not sure it’s all that practical. Like you said, you’re not even home half the time. You’re on the road with the team and even when you’re here in Bitsberg, you log a lot of time at the practice facility and then game nights here at home. Those are always long days.”

  “I get that,” I agreed, pausing to scrub a hand over the stubble that had grown out along my jaw. “But lots of the guys have kids. They find ways to make it work. Why couldn’t I?”

  “They have wives—or, in most cases, ex-wives—or girlfriends that do most of the care.”

  I snorted. “Yeah right. They have hordes of nannies to take the little brats off their hands while they go shopping and get manicures and bang the pool guy.”

  Carter rolled his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. “First of all, if you’re serious about this, you’re gonna need to refrain from referring to all children as brats.”

  “You know what I meant,” I growled.

  “I do. But the social workers and family court officers won’t.”

  “All right, fine. So…what, you’re approving this plan now? You’re gonna coach me?” I arched a brow at him. Five minutes ago he was openly mocking my plan, but now he was on my side. Or was he just trying to save his own ass from getting fired and losing his most valuable client-slash-cash-cow?

  Carter sighed. “Listen, I’m gonna level with you, I think it’s a long shot, but if this is what you want, and you want to try and move things in this—this new positive direction, I think it’s worth a try. I’ll be in your corner if you’ll have me.”

  I nodded. “All right.”

  Carter and I had fought over my career—and often questionable life choices—before, and had always found a way back to the same side of the fence. And at the moment, I could use all the allies I could get.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cassie

  A knock woke me from a fitful sleep. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table, blinking a few times to clear the fuzzy edges from my vision. It was nearly eleven thirty. Not absurdly late, but still well past the time that most people would drop by. Even Park who was most definitely a creature of the night.

  I grabbed the pair of glasses I wore after taking off my contact lenses for the night, and smashed them on my face, before wrapping myself in my old terry cloth robe. It was thin and threadbare but it was a staple in my lounge wear collection regardless. Some things were too comfortable to get rid of.

  Out in the living room, I flicked on a lamp and went to check the security hole in the front door. Langston was standing on the other side, hands in his pockets, a worried look tugging at the edges of his face. I tied the robe a little tighter around my middle before pulling the door open. Langston’s eyes swept over me, not missing an inch, and my cheeks warmed. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about him—or rather, how I should feel about him—but there was one inescapable truth when he looked at me, it was pure intoxication.

  “Langston?”

  He offered a weak smile. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” I stepped back and waved my hand, beckoning him inside.

  He walked into the room and I was struck by the difference in his movements. His shoulders were broad as ever, but rounded at the edges, not thrust back and down, like a strutting peacock. Bags and dark circles framed his eyes and his hair looked as though he’d raked his hands through it half a dozen times—or he just woke up.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, closing the door and locking it again. It was an automatic gesture. No one was going to break in and get past Langston. He was a walking, breathing security system.

  He paced the floor of the living room, pausing to glance out the crack in the curtains, before crossing back to me, his expression tight and worried. He stopped in front of me and shoved his hands back in his pockets. “Can we talk?”

  I nodded, worry rising inside me like a dark cloud. What was going on?

  Langston went to the couch and I took the seat beside him. He took my hands in his and we stared down at our interlocked fingers for a long time. I smiled softly at the way his hands morphed mine. When I looked up, his eyes locked with mine. “First, I want to say that I’m sorry for being such an asshole.”

  A titter of a laugh passed my lips. “You’re not.”

  “Yes. I was. I had no business showing up here the other day, in the middle of the night, smelling like I’d just taken a bath inside a friggin’ tequila bottle.”

  “It’s all right, Langston. Really.”

  “The reason I came here, that night, was because I knew that the whole thing was going to go viral, just like every other mistake in my whole fucking life,” irritation pulled his voice tight, making it sound strangled. He paused, regrouping for a moment, before continuing, “As soon as I got away from all the photographers and the noise, the first thing in my head was you. I was afraid—hell, I was terrified—about the way you’d react or what you’d think when you saw the videos from that night. I came here to explain it, in person, before it hit the internet and went crazy.”

  I nodded, even more unsure where he was headed with the conversation. “I get it. I’ve seen the video half a dozen times and I believe you. About what happened. It was just a mistake.”

  Langston stared at me for a moment, a strange look on his face, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to say next. “I seriously don’t know how I found you, pretty girl.”

  I smiled but couldn’t find the words to reply. There was something dark and intense in his eyes that made it hard to think straight. I wanted to set aside everything else and get lost in him, back in our own little space where it was just me and him and the rest of the world didn’t matter.

  Langston released one of my hands and traced his fingers down the side of my face. “I’ve never felt like this before, Cass. It’s always been about me, my own one-man show. Other than
my mom and my brother, I never cared about anyone else before. At least, not like this.”

  “I feel like I should say that I’m sorry too.”

  “What for?”

  “For questioning your motives for helping Kenzie. For saying you were trying to use Harvest House—or Kenzie—for your own gain. That was really ugly of me.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” Langston said, offering a sideways smile. “I’m pretty used to that kinda thing.”

  I raised my hand to the side of his face. “You shouldn’t have to be. Cat’s outta the bag, Langston. I know the truth about you…you’re a good guy.”

  He chuckled softly. “Damn. There goes my evil plan.”

  I ran my thumb over the scruff on his jaw. A shiver went through me, wondering what it would feel like to have that roughness brush the skin between my thighs. Langston’s eyes met mine and everything stopped. I couldn’t hear the ticking clock on the wall, the low rumble of late night traffic outside, or the night breeze coming in through the open kitchen window. All I could hear was the sound of my own hitched breath and my slamming heart beating in my chest.

  “Cassie, I’m falling in love with you and it scares the fuck outta me,” Langston said, his voice thick but barely above a whisper.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m scared too.”

  His eyes swept down my face, lingering on my lips for a moment before he pulled me to him and kissed me. All of the tangled emotions of our confessions charged through the kiss, turning it into a sparking live wire of electric currents shooting between us. My robe fell open as our bodies smashed together, and Langston wasted no time in fishing his hand through the open fabric and finding my hard nipples, aching for his touch. He palmed my breasts before dipping his head between them, licking and sucking at each of them. I arched back, moaning softly as the sweet, hot pleasure surged through me, sending waves of heat to my achy pussy.