BULL: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  They had done me other favors over the years. They erased some bad things I’d done in my younger years, such as spending some time in jail for fighting and shit like that. They also erased my dad from the media so that he wouldn’t become a public part of my story. My mom never gave interviews, and we barely spoke to each other, which was perfect for me. Between her and the mob, the media didn’t know shit about the real Bull Dixon.

  But I was still deep in with the mob. I didn’t owe them money, but we had an understanding. If they wanted to destroy me, they could easily do it at any moment. And so I gave them my business, bought their whores and took my rich friends to their casinos and shit like that. Sometimes they did me other favors, and I always made sure to pay in cash for that.

  But they had me, all because of my fucking old man.

  “Look, I just wanted to say that things seem good. There shouldn’t be any blowback from it.”

  “Good,” I grunted. “Glad to hear it.”

  “There’s just one thing.”

  I paused, suddenly nervous. “What?”

  “About that girl you mentioned. Did you know she’s a journalist?”

  I stared at the ground, surprised. Charley hadn’t mentioned that to me. When I’d asked about her job on the way home after the cliff, she gave me some vague answer about being a writer, but she didn’t go on.

  “I did,” I told him, not sure why.

  “Good. So you know she’s some low-level writer for NSPN.”

  “I knew,” I said. “She’s cool.”

  There was a pause on his end. “Okay,” he said finally. “Then we’re all good, Bull.”

  “Tell your bosses I said thanks. Tickets will be in the mail for this year.”

  “That’s always appreciated.”

  Rafa hung up, and I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

  Charley was a fucking sports journalist. I couldn’t believe I had been so fucking stupid enough to let her into my life. I didn’t know a thing about the girl, and yet I’d told her some intimate details.

  Nothing bad had happened about that just yet, but she had seen some things she definitely shouldn’t have. She knew about my father, and she likely knew about the mafia, or at least she’d heard rumors about it at my apartment.

  I shook my head, conflicted and fucking angry. Charley was a sports journalist. Charley was the fucking enemy.

  I’d spent my whole career, really my whole life, avoiding journalists like her. They were vultures that destroyed careers, and everyone fucking knew it. I’d worked hard to keep my bad past out of the press, and I worked hard not to let those bastards get to know the real me. Oh, they got the villain they so desperately wanted, but they didn’t really know shit.

  I felt fucking betrayed. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I couldn’t just let this thing go.

  I’d handle it myself. I’d lied to Rafa because I knew he’d do something to Charley, maybe scare her or some shit like that, if they found out I hadn’t known about the journalism thing. The girl had misled me, but I wasn’t about to throw her to the fucking mob because of it.

  I began walking toward my car, my head spinning, trying to come up with a plan.

  9

  Charlotte

  Six at night rolled around, and I got back to my apartment, tired as hell.

  Another crappy, regional sports article had been finished and sent out, which meant I had plenty of time to waste. I wasn’t going to have to work from home tonight like I did so many other nights. I scrolled through Facebook, idly wishing I had everyone else’s life, even though I knew their lives weren’t as exciting as they pretended. Everyone put their best foot forward on social media.

  I wondered for a second if there could be a Facebook for the boring moments. People would update their status with things like, “Just took out the trash #yolo” or maybe, “Toast for breakfast? Nah, Captain Crunch time.”

  I had an idea of how to kill time. I got out my laptop and then typed “Bull Dixon family” into Google.

  Nothing much came up. There were a few references to his mother in some interviews, but basically there was nothing. Frowning, I began to search harder. I tried every combination of “Bull” and “father” and “family” that I could think of, plus a few random “cousin” searches as well, but nothing came up. I tried Bull’s real name, Trent, but even that was a total dead end.

  After fifteen minutes of searching, I gave up. It was completely shocking how little there was about Bull’s actual life online. There were plenty of rumor blogs and trashy magazines writing about him killing hookers and other crazy things, but there was nothing about the actual man.

  And then I had an idea. I searched “Bull Dixon charity” and finally hit pay dirt.

  The third result was the website of a charity called “Gambling is Bull.” Cheeky name aside, it looked like a legitimate charity, and apparently they gave out a lot of money to various gambling rehabs.

  I went to the part of the website that listed their founders and board members, and sure enough, there he was: Trent Dixon, founder.

  I was surprised, but I shouldn’t have been. He had no reason to lie to me about something like that. What surprised me more, though, was that there was no mention of this charity on any of the blogs or in the media at all. As far as I could tell, it was hiding right in plain sight. That, or nobody really cared about it at all.

  I leaned back on my couch and imagined that night again, Bull’s mouth between my legs, the way he simply took me when he wanted me, and the way I couldn’t resist him. I should have gotten up and left, but of course I hadn’t been able to.

  I knew I was powerless. I knew it the second I agreed to see him again.

  As I sat there picturing the way Bull had worked me, getting wet all over again, I heard my door buzz. I got up and hit the intercom. “Yes?”

  “Charlotte Williams?”

  I didn’t know the voice.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

  “Delivery.”

  I frowned. I wasn’t expecting anything. “Okay. Come on up.” I buzzed him inside. After a minute of waiting, he knocked at the door, and I pulled it open. It was a UPS man holding a box.

  “Sign here.”

  I signed the little electronic device. He hit a button and then handed me the package.

  “Have a good one,” he said.

  “You too.”

  I looked down at the box, mystified. I shut the door and carried it over to my couch, not sure what the hell it was. I’d never gotten a random package like this before. I put it down on the ground and tore it open. Inside was a card on top of packing peanuts.

  The card was completely plain white. I opened it, and inside was a message written in messy handwriting.

  “Here’s a little something to remind you of the other night. Enjoy. Bull.”

  What the hell did Bull send me? My heart beating fast in my chest, I dug through the peanuts. My hands gripped something rubbery, maybe made of silicone, something long and thick, like a baton or something, but with weird ridges. Frowning, I pulled it out.

  And nearly screamed.

  It was a big, thick dildo. I dropped it instantly and looked around the room, blushing like crazy. I knew I was alone, but suddenly I felt like people were staring at me or something silly.

  That freaking asshole. I couldn’t believe Bull had the nerve to mail me a dildo like this out of the blue. What kind of person even did that?

  Curious and angry, I quickly glanced at the thing. There at the bottom was a stamp: Bull Toys.

  I cocked my head to one side. Did Bull own a sex toy line?

  Quickly, I shoved it back into the box, burying it under the peanuts, and put the card on the coffee table. I did a quick search, curious.

  According to the first result, Bull didn’t own a sex toy company.

  According to the first result, a sex toy company made toys based on Bull’s actual anatomy.

  A shiver ran down my spine, and I
gaped at the box. That dildo was an actual replica of Bull’s cock.

  Holy shit. It was his actual cock.

  And it was absolutely freaking huge.

  Tentatively, I reached into the box and felt the dildo again, but I didn’t pull it out. It was thick, long, and soft. I bit my lip, imagining Bull pressing it deep between my legs.

  And quickly shook my head.

  This was so crazy. What kind of man would send someone a replica of his cock?

  An absolute asshole; that was what kind of man.

  I shivered, strangely excited but so absolutely angry. That arrogant bastard.

  I was going to take him down, and he was going to deserve it.

  10

  Bull

  I grinned to myself, thinking about the little present I’d sent to Charley the day before.

  I could only imagine the look on her face when she got the box. She was probably confused at first, but that confusion definitely turned into shock. I bet she Googled the dildo and was dripping wet when she found out that it was anatomically correct.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I stepped out into the hospital’s hallway, the floors all sterile and shiny, everything slightly drab and depressing. I’d hate to be fucking stuck in a place like this with all the awful fluorescent lights and the constant noise all around me. I was in the hospital for a good reason, but I still hated hospitals.

  Always had, ever since my father died. It wasn’t a fun thing to visit him in the hospital, especially toward the end. The man had been a wreck, and he hadn’t been trying to save himself at all. He’d been resigned to his fate, and as much as I had hated him, I’d had to respect that.

  I wasn’t the type to resign myself to anything of course. I was a fucking fighter. But I understood that there was dignity in it sometimes.

  As I took a few steps down the hall and smiled at a nurse, my phone started buzzing. I glanced down at my pocket and then pulled it out.

  My heart skipped a beat when I saw the number. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Bull.”

  A big grin spread across my face. “Charley. I was wondering when you’d call.”

  “I was debating if I would or not.”

  “Sounds like you made the right choice.”

  “I doubt it.” She paused, and I waited, loving this moment. “I got your present, if you can call it that.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I think you’re an ass.”

  “Of course you do. But what about the toy itself?”

  “I think it was pretty average.”

  I laughed, loving this. “We both know that’s a lie, darling.”

  “I didn’t call you to discuss your, uh, anatomy, Bull.”

  “Why did you call?”

  There was another pause. This was probably so difficult for her.

  “I want you to take it back.”

  I laughed again, grinning at nobody. What a bullshit excuse to get me on the phone. It was so blatant, and we both knew it. She just wanted to call me again to see if I’d take her out. Maybe she was doing it for some fucking article she was writing about me, or maybe she was doing it because she genuinely wanted to.

  I didn’t care either way. I couldn’t help myself with this girl. I knew I should back off, considering she was the fucking enemy, but after I’d gotten a taste of that pussy, I found myself needing more. It wasn’t a matter of wanting or not wanting; it was pure animal desire.

  I fucking desired her, and I got what I wanted.

  Plus, the sex toy had another meaning, aside from showing her what she could have between her legs. It was meant to say, I know you think you’re toying with me, but I can play that game, too.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “It was a present. I don’t take presents back.”

  “It’s a dildo,” she said softly.

  “Are you in public right now?”

  “I’m on my lunch break,” she said.

  “Where do you work anyway?”

  Another pause. “I just write for this stupid blog. But I can’t exactly talk about that toy, now can I? I’m at work.”

  “It’s not a toy, darling. It’s a replicate of my fucking cock. It’s certainly not to be taken lightly.”

  “I don’t think anyone could take it,” she muttered.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Can you just come get it? I don’t want that thing inside my apartment.”

  “Please. I have no doubt that you already pressed that big cock deep between your legs while thinking about my lips against your neck. I can’t take back a used dildo.”

  “It’s not used,” she protested.

  “Then again,” I went on, “I would be willing to watch you give it a try. How about that? If you can fit the whole thing inside you, then I’ll take it home with me.”

  “I don’t think so. I can just trash it, you know.”

  “I know,” I answered. “And yet you decided to call me instead. That’s interesting.”

  “You left me your number,” she pointed out.

  “I did, because I knew you’d call.”

  I could tell she was getting frustrated. “I guess this was a mistake then.”

  “Wait,” I said. “How about I take you out again tonight. Afterward, I’ll come upstairs and get rid of your little dildo problem.”

  “Big dildo problem,” she corrected.

  “That’s right. Huge dildo.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I can do that.”

  “Good. Dress sexy again.”

  “Quit telling me how to dress.”

  “I’m just warning you.”

  “Fine. What time?”

  “I’ll get you at nine.”

  “See you then.”

  “Bye, Charley.” I hung the phone up, smiling to myself.

  That had been exactly what I’d wanted. I knew as soon as she saw that dildo that she wouldn’t be able to help herself. She was going to call me either because she wanted to feel the real thing or because she wanted to give me shit for it.

  I loved that about her. She wasn’t going to take an insult lying down, even if it was just an insult to her dignity. She wasn’t the type of girl to be okay with a dildo getting randomly shipped to her house, though I couldn’t imagine most girls would be.

  Still, there was something about Charley. It wasn’t just her body, though that was a huge fucking bonus.

  There was something innocent about her. Sure, she was using her womanly wiles or some shit to try to get a scoop on me, which wasn’t cool, but when it was just the two of us and we were talking, I knew she wasn’t faking that embarrassment. Every dirty thing I said made her blush, and every blush just made my cock harder.

  I grinned to myself and walked down the hall, feeling good. I saw the doors to the pediatric ward up ahead and took a deep breath, steadying myself. I banished the thought of Charley from my mind.

  I had something important to do this afternoon. Calvin was already in there, waiting for me. The team’s PR group set this thing up, but it wasn’t mandatory. I volunteered for this shit, at least once a month.

  I opened the doors. The kids were all gathered around Calvin as he signed autographs for the sick cancer patients.

  “Who wants to get tackled by Bull?” I bellowed.

  The kids screamed and laughed and came running over to me. I picked one up, a kid named Trevor who I knew wasn’t too sick to be handled. Calvin grinned at me, looking a little relieved.

  Visiting kids with cancer was fucking hard. Nobody wanted to see sick kids. It didn’t make me feel good or some shit like that. It was painful and unpleasant. But when you were a famous football player, it made their goddamn year when you came and spent a few hours with them. That was more than worth whatever unpleasantness I may have felt. The kids were suffering, so I could handle a little discomfort if it might help them.

  It was a good thing to do. I answered their questions, signed autographs, and
basically just fooled around with them until the nurses kicked us out.

  But yeah, I was an asshole. I’d sent that journalist girl a dildo of my own cock because I thought it was fucking funny.

  I also visited sick kids, because I thought it was a good thing to do.

  But I was a fucking bad guy. So everyone else told me.

  I didn’t feel so bad when the kids were laughing.

  11

  Charlotte

  I had no clue where Bull was taking me, but I had a feeling it was going to be memorable. Bull didn’t seem like a man to go in for half measures, not if our last two days were any indication.

  I slipped into a tight green dress, looking at myself in the mirror. He wanted me to dress sexy, and I didn’t want to disappoint. I had strange butterflies in my stomach that I kept trying to send away, but that only made them worse.

  I was supposed to be a professional, damn it. Maybe this whole undercover thing was unprofessional and sketchy, but I was doing it and I had to do it right. I couldn’t let myself get so wrapped up in all of this.

  And yet I couldn’t help myself. It was already happening whether I wanted it to or not.

  After I got the dildo, I debated whether I’d call him. I had some good stuff for the article already, and I knew that if I wrote what I had, I would definitely catch my boss’s attention. He was a grumpy bastard, but he knew a good story when he saw it.

  I had a good story already. I had the mob, I had dead hookers, and I had a gambler father. I didn’t know how the fact checkers would feel about me being the primary source, but it was going to have to do.

  But I just kept getting the feeling that I was missing something. Bull had a charity and people seemed to speak so highly of him. I didn’t know why he was involved with the mob, or really much about his past aside from all the public information about his playing history.