Roughing the Player (Chicago Outlaws Book 2)

by Magda Alexander

  “Oh.” Her smile wobbles. “How wonderful. That’s what you wanted.”

  “Their offer was too low. So he’s going to work on them.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll get it.” Glancing down, she clasps her hands on her lap, as if she’s struggling to contain some emotion.

  “Yes, I expect he will.” Even to my own ears, I sound downright miserable.

  She lifts her head and spends time scrutinizing me. “You don’t seem pleased. What’s wrong?”

  I hold out the paper I’ve been holding in my hand. “What’s this all about?” I know damn well what it is and why she’s getting it, but I want to hear it from her lips.

  “My bonus check. I was going to drop it off at the bank, but I forgot it in my rush out the door.” Her brow knits. “Did you open my mail, Brock?”

  “It was right there on the coffee table.” Not a lie. It’s the truth. Just not the whole truth.

  “Oh. I thought I’d put it back in the envelope.” She brushes fingers across her creased brow. “My mind’s all muddled. It’s still on Bora Bora time. Guess I’ll need to deposit it on the way to work.”

  She reaches out, but I don’t give it to her. Instead, I point to the memo portion. “It says ‘For extraordinary services rendered.’ What does that mean?”

  Her face heats up. That’s when I know everything I fear is true. She’d gladly spread her legs and fucked me. All for a few measly pieces of silver. God, I’ve been such a fool.

  “You know why. I told you.” Her words sound hollow to me.

  Unable to be near her, I jump to my feet and round the table. Anything to put distance between us. “Tell me again.” I grit out.

  “After the furniture debacle, Marty asked me to move into the condo to provide cover for you. I argued against it, but he wouldn’t give in. It was supposed to be temporary. Until you got a new place.” She ends in a rush.

  “Is that all you were required to do? Move in?”

  She chews on her lip. “Yes.” Even a blind man would know she’s lying.

  “Care to try that again?”

  Her gaze bounces away from me. “No.”

  “What else did Marty ask you to do?” I’m furious, but I can’t let her see. Not until I get to the truth.

  “He asked me to babysit you.” Her voice drops to a mere whisper.

  “And how were you going to do that?”

  “Make sure you didn’t get into trouble. Parties, women. That kind of thing.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t ask you to do more? Like screw me?”

  Fire flashes in her eyes. “How dare you?”

  “Oh, I dare plenty, Ellie.” No longer able to control my temper, I stomp forward to tower over her. “Is that why you came back that night after you stormed out?”

  “No. That’s not why I did it.” Tears mist her eyes as she trembles. So fucking beautiful. So damn deceitful.

  “Liar.”

  “I never would have done such a thing.” A lone tear rolls down her cheek. Gotta give it to her. She’s good.

  “Then why?”

  “Because”—her voice quivers—“I couldn’t stay away.”

  Disgusted, I spit out. “You’re damn right you couldn’t. After all, your precious bonus depended on keeping me in line. And what better way to do that than to spread your legs and fuck me.”

  She jumps to her feet. “You’re wrong.”

  “Prove it, then. Give back the check.”

  “No. I worked hard for that money.”

  What a devious bitch she is. “You sure did, honey.” I drop the check on the table. “And I must say, you earned every penny.”

  She slaps me. “You fucking bastard.”

  That’s when Kaylee walks in the door.

  Chapter 24

  Eleanor

  EVERYTHING CRASHED AND BURNED that day. When Kaylee walked in, Brock stormed out, and he didn’t return for two days. Didn’t take a genius to know where he’d gone—the condo. He’d kept the lease so we could go there when we needed privacy. All of his furniture is still in the apartment, and many of his clothes.

  When Kaylee asks where Brock has gone, I answer her questions as truthfully as I can. “He’s a free agent now, and he’s had offers.” Not a lie. Besides the South Carolina Wolves, two other teams want him. “So he’s feeling them out.”

  That’s when she realizes he won’t be sticking around. “He’s not staying in Chicago?” Her eyes fill with tears.

  “No, honey. Ty Mathews is getting back his starting job. Your dad’s too good to play backup.”

  She bites down on her lip to keep from crying.

  When had they grown so close? All I ever saw was them sniping at each other. But maybe that was their way of showing affection.

  Two days later, I walk into the kitchen to find Brock on the couch, the remote in his hand, clicking at the TV. Kaylee and Butch stare at us with worried eyes before disappearing into her room.

  I drop the grocery bags filled with chocolate and junk food on the kitchen island. “Are you eating with us?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll make dinner then.”

  “Whatever.” His gaze doesn’t veer away from the TV.

  The monosyllabic treatment lasts through the night. Kaylee takes her food into her room, something I don’t normally allow. But tonight, I don’t have the heart to forbid her. Not with the frozen treatment going on in the living room.

  After dinner, when I’m rinsing the dishes, he says what he has to say. “I’m going to Charleston. The Wolves want to talk to me.”

  Makes sense. “Okay.” I’m vibrating like a tuning fork from his nearness, from his heat, from his scent. I want to reach out, go back to the way things were, but I can’t do that. Not after the hurtful words he hurled at me.

  “When I return, I’ll be moving to the condo.”

  My breath hitches. I don’t want him to go. Maybe if I give a little, he’ll meet me halfway. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Brock.”

  He crushes me to him, grinds his mouth against mine, grinds something else as well. The part of him that’s hard as stone. Coming up for air, he looks at me. There’s no tenderness in his gaze. Anger blazes there instead. Anger and lust. “Damn you, Ellie.” He lifts me by my ass, and I straddle his hips.

  He carries me to our room and tears off my clothes.

  Standing in front of him, naked and trembling, I whisper, “Brock.”

  He strips off his shirt, kicks out of his jeans, hauls me to him once more. “Don’t talk. That’s not what I need from you.”

  Sex. That’s that he wants.

  Fine. I want that too.

  He picks me up and drops me on the bed. Eager for what’s coming, I spread my legs.

  He grabs my ass and pulls me toward him. In a lust-fueled frenzy, his mouth ravishes my pussy—licking me, biting me. He thrusts his fingers into my core, one, two, more. I don’t stop him. He can do whatever he wants to me. Because I know this is the last time for us. He continues to torture me, bringing me to the brink and then receding, teasing me, not in a good way. I want to cum, but he won’t let me.

  When he rises over me, I protest, “Wait, I want—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you want.” He strokes the head of his penis against my opening. He doesn’t have to. I’m more than ready for what he wants. Satisfied I’m wet and aching for him, he thrusts into me. So hard. So goddamn big, I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. The bed squeaks violently beneath us as he pounds into me, taking everything he wants, everything I ache to give. I clamp my hands on his arms, wrap my legs around his while sweat pours off him. He works his cock in and out of me while, mindless with passion, I thrash on the bed. When the crisis hits, I come screaming his name. He’s not far behind. Once he reaches his climax, he tucks me into his side. The one bit of tenderness this night.

  When I wake the next day he’s gone. But then I didn’t expect any different.

  Over the next few days, I don’
t wonder what’s going on. I know. Marty’s negotiating with the South Carolina Wolves, and Brock’s in Charleston. The few days turn into a week. At the end of the second, the big announcement comes. The Wolves have signed Brock to their team. Of course, he didn’t come cheap. Not that I had any doubts. Marty’s a great negotiator. He got Brock a $140 million five-year contract and a $20 million signing bonus, making him one of the highest paid quarterbacks in the league.

  The day the news hit, I walk into the house to find Brock there, big as life, waiting for me.

  “Brock’s here,” Kaylee announces as if I’ve suddenly gone blind. “I’ll go, err, finish my homework in my room.” As sensitive as she is, she’s always given us the privacy we need.

  God knows we need it today. Once she’s no longer within hearing distance, I ask, “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  He doesn’t look fine. Just the opposite, he appears exhausted. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and his lids are rimmed in red. But then he’s got cause to be tired. Contract negotiations are beyond nerve-wracking.

  “You heard about the Wolves signing me?”

  I dig my nails into my palm, so hard they’re bound to mark me. “Yes, of course. It’s all over the agency.” Never mind the sports news. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” He should be happy. Ecstatic even. After all, this is everything he wants. The starting quarterback position and a lucrative paycheck. And yet. He’s not. “While I was down there, I found a house near the Wolves’ training facility. It’s in a gated community to keep the gawkers out.”

  “That’s good.” I knew this was coming. And yet, it hurts so much.

  “I also arranged to have my things packed and moved out of the condo.”

  “All right.” Nothing more I can say, especially when my heart’s breaking.

  “So basically.” He avoids looking at me. “I just came back for Butch. I’ll just grab him and be out of your lives.”

  That statement burns right through me. More than I thought it would. But what did I expect? We’d agreed to a temporary marriage. With him moving to a new city, this is as good a time as any to end things. The problem is, I thought we could make a go of it. That our marriage could grow into something permanent. But I was just fooling myself. He’s not interested in anything serious. If he were, he would not have jumped to the wrong conclusion when he saw my bonus check. If he loved me. If he cared about me, he would have allowed me to explain. But that’s never going to happen. “So this is goodbye then.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” His hard stare drills into me, tearing into my heart, making me bleed.

  “I didn’t want things to end this way. I thought we’d at least stay friends.”

  He jams his hands into his front pockets. “We’ve never been friends, Ellie. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Yeah. I did. Okay. He’s made it clear where we stand, but he must deal with one thing. “What about Kaylee? She’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll be in touch. Or rather my attorney will. We’ll need to arrange something.”

  Something? How dare he be this cavalier about our daughter? Especially after she’s come to care for him. But I can’t discuss this right now. Not when my heart’s breaking. “Fine.”

  Kaylee flies around the corner. So much for thinking she wasn’t eavesdropping. “You can’t go,” she screams at Brock while tears stream down her face. “You can’t leave us.”

  “Kaylee, please.” Don’t know how much of her grief I can take without breaking down and doing the same.

  “It’s not right,” she confronts Brock. “You’re supposed to stay. You’re supposed to be my dad.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.” His voice is raw with emotion. Saying goodbye to me was easy, but his daughter? This is hard for him. As well it should be.

  “Why, Mom?” she cries out to me.

  “I’ll explain it to you later, honey.”

  Her gaze ping-pongs between Brock and me as her face crumbles. “It’s not fair. I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know you were my dad. You made me like you. How can you walk away?”

  I give up the struggle to keep from crying. Somehow I have to make this stop. Toughening up my voice. I say, “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Kaylee.” I turn to Brock. “You better go.”

  “Right.” There are tears in his eyes. “Come here, Butch.”

  But Butch, bless his heart, plops down next to Kaylee. She drops to the floor and wraps her arms around him.

  “Butch,” Brock says once more but his heart’s not in it. Not when his daughter is crying her eyes out. He gives Butch one last pained glance, walks over and pats his head, pats Kaylee’s as well. “Take care of each other.” And then he turns and, without once glancing back, walks out of our lives.

  Chapter 25

  Brock

  I CAN’T LOOK BACK. Much as I want to, it would hurt too much.

  I climb into the SUV and start the car before pulling away from the one true home I’ve known. It was mine for a little while. Should have known it wouldn’t last. Nothing ever has.

  With Charleston a half day’s ride away, I could make it in one go. But after six hours of driving, exhaustion sets in. I need to bunk down for the night before I fall asleep at the wheel. The no-frills motel in Lexington has a surprisingly comfortable bed. As a football player, I’m used to sleeping in strange rooms. It should be easy enough to nod off. Except I don’t.

  Instead, I spend the night fighting against the urge to go back to Chicago and begging Ellie to move to the South with me. When dawn comes, I climb bleary-eyed into the SUV and point the car toward Charleston. I do have some pride after all.

  When I find myself drifting off, I know I need coffee, so I stop at a diner to grab some grub and caffeine. All fueled up, I get on the road again. The heat’s brutal. The further south I drive, the hotter it becomes. So I crank up the AC sky high. As the miles pile up, my mind wanders to the might have beens. What if Ellie was riding shotgun with me? What if Kaylee and Butch were in the back and we were singing ‘Who Let the Dogs Out’? Fuck it. I can’t do that. I’ve never played make-believe. Crappy as my life is, I have to deal with it.

  I fire up the radio to silence my mind. Some loser comes on, wailing in his beer about the gal who got away. Can’t have that. I tune to another station. Same thing, except this time the schmuck lost not only his woman, but his truck and his dog. What the fuck is it with country songs? Don’t they have anything else to sing about? Giving up, I shut off the damn radio and turn to say something to Butch, only to realize he’s not there.

  Hours later, I pull into my new driveway, drained of emotion, exhausted to boot. With no furniture and no food in the house, it’s a lousy homecoming. But as it turns out, I’m wrong. At least about the food. A fruit basket sits on the front porch. As I reach for it, my phone rings. My realtor’s number pops up.

  “Mr. Parker?”

  “Yeah.” I grumble out.

  “You home yet, Sugar?” That’s not just for me. She calls everybody Sugar.

  I could correct her. Tell her this isn’t home. Not without Ellie, Kaylee and Butch. But what good would that do? “Just got here,” I say, jamming the key in the lock.

  “Great. How’s everything?”

  Everything looks peachy keen, I’m tempted to say. But I don’t. Too snarky. “So far, so good.”

  “Wonderful. Did you get the fruit basket I sent?” She must have been born with that chirpiness in her voice.

  Be nice, for fuck’s sake. It’s not her fault, your life is messed up. “Yes. Thank you.” She’d timed the delivery perfectly, but then I’d told her when I meant to arrive.

  “Super. Do you need help finding a place to stay until your furniture gets here?”

  “No. I’m fine for tonight. A new bed should be here tomorrow. The rest should arrive in a week or so.”

  “Okay, Sugar. Let me know if you run into any problems, you hear? Remember our motto, ‘We’re not sa
tisfied unless you’re satisfied.’”

  How could I forget? It’s on the damn card attached to the gift basket. “I will. Thanks again.”

  I barely have a chance to drop the fruit basket on the kitchen counter when the front door rings. No clue who it could be. Except for Marty and the Wolves, nobody knows I’m here. I hope it’s not another basket. There’s only so much fruit I can eat. The stained-glass window on the door reveals a curvy blonde, holding a casserole dish, on my porch.

  When I swing open the door, her smile’s so bright it almost blinds me. “Hi.”

  “Hello.” No fucking idea who she is.

  “Thought I’d welcome you to the neighborhood, Brock.” Flawless hair, impeccable makeup, scantily dressed.

  I don’t wonder what she wants. I know. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “I heard you love Mexican food, so I made you my famous chicken enchiladas.” Clutched as the dish is beneath her boobs, I can’t help but notice her 36Ds.

  “Thank you.” I grab it from her. “Wish I could invite you in, but as you can see”—I gesture toward the empty space behind me—“my furniture hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Her face crumbles, but she recovers quickly. “Oh, I don’t mind sitting on the floor.”

  “But I do. Can’t have a pretty little lady like yourself ruining your clothes. Thanks again.” I give her my most charming grin and slam shut the door.

  I’m starving and the dish really does smell delicious, but I have no plates, no forks and no knives. So I drop the casserole on the bottom shelf of the fridge and head out to eat. When I get back, I fetch the air mattress from the car and inflate it. Not the most comfortable accommodation, but it will do for the night. Somehow, I manage to get eight hours of sleep.

  The next couple of days bring the king-sized bed I ordered and more women dropping by. Pretty soon my fridge’s stocked with mac and cheese, beef stroganoff, and a really tasty chicken and rice. I’d bought some plastic knives and forks and a set of paper plates. So one thing for sure, I won’t be starving any time soon. After heating the chicken dish in the built-in microwave, I serve a sizable portion. But the fragrant food reminds me of Ellie’s, and two bites in, I lose my appetite. Damn it, I can’t go through life being this miserable. I’m going to have to let go. Yeah. Like that’s happening anytime soon.