Until today. She almost wished she were staying longer. If Colton Sterling was single, which she doubted anyhow, he’d be more than welcome to park his boots under her bed tonight.
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SCREWED
STORY DESCRIPTION
I hate Jett Lang.
I’ve hated him for six years- ever since college. I was a shy, awkward freshman and he was a cocky, arrogant football star.
A.K.A. the a-hole who made my college days a living hell.
It figures he would be the one to come to my rescue
Now he’s a better-paid, cocky, arrogant NFL star.
Still steaming hot, panty-meltingly gorgeous. Still an a-hole.
And, here he is in front of me with a proposition that I’m in no position to refuse.
Damn him.
***************
Claire Donnelly.
Sweet, mousy little Claire Donnelly.
My bad boy rep is hurting my career and Claire is just the sweet thing that can help me change that.
Besides, she makes my d*ck harder than any woman I’ve ever known.
I will do anything to get me a piece of Claire.
The one thing I didn’t expect was to fall head over heels in love with her.
Chapter 1 CLAIRE
Another night, another bar. Jesus Christ.
I blow my hair out of my eyes, and wrap both arms around my drunk boyfriend. The idiot is, as usual, totally shitfaced, which means I got a call at home from the bartender about 10 minutes ago hollering about Aaron picking fights with some poor college freshman over a game of darts, and how I needed to come pick him up.
“Get that asshole under control, Claire.” the bartender barks at me as I drag Aaron, still screaming, out of the bar.
Yeah, I want to shout back, I’ll get right on that.
No one can get Aaron under control when he’s been drinking, which is pretty much all the time anymore. Tonight I have no doubt I’ll be repaid for the kindness of keeping him from pounding those scared kids into the floor with a lovely black eye that everyone at work will avoid asking me about.
My co-workers have already heard all the stupid, repetitive lies; they aren’t interested in hearing them again.
“Aaron, please try to calm down,” I try to talk comfortingly. I’m too exhausted to be scared of what I know is coming when we get home. I never thought I’d feel this exhausted at the age of 24.
“Those little fucks cheated me out of my money!” Aaron bellows, still scrambling to get around me and back into the bar. “They fucking hustled me!”
I lean into his body trying to nonchalantly block him with mine. The car is in sight. “I know, baby,” I lie, placating him, “but you can’t just go after them. The bartender said we have to leave.”
“I can’t?!” Aaron whips around to face me, his eyes wild and bloodshot.
Oh crap! I said the wrong thing.
“Did you just tell me what I can’t do, you little cunt?”
Oh, God. I hoped he would have at least waited until we were in the car. “No, baby, that’s not…”
“Not what? Not what?” He grabs my hair and starts yanking me around by it, bringing me to my knees. “Not you trying to fucking control me? You little lying bitch, that’s all you ever do. You just want to fucking control me.”
“No, I swear,” I can feel eyes on us from all over the parking lot. No one will intervene. No one will try to stop him - they never do. Most will look away or leave. Some will watch in disgust. Those who watch will be more disgusted by me taking a beating than by him giving me one. I will just have to endure it, as always.
“I’m not trying to control you. You’re in charge, okay, baby? You’re the boss. Please, let’s just go home, I’ll give you a massage and you can relax -”
My words are cut short by a slamming punch to my jaw. I’m sent reeling backwards, knocked flat on the ground. I lie sprawled out on the pavement with Aaron ranting and screaming above me, but I’m not listening. I want to fucking kill him, the tears in my eyes are from humiliation rather than pain, although my jaw throbs. But I know my 5’2” frame springing up and throwing lame punches at him won’t diffuse the situation, it will make it worse for me.
Just keep breathing, I remind myself, trying to swallow the fear that crawls up my throat like bile. I’ve been through this before, and I will make it through this time.
Just keep breathing, stay still, don’t fight back, don’t talk. Don’t make this last longer than it has to. You’ll get past this. I wince when I feel his kicks on my back, legs, and stomach, but I just curl into a ball with my arms over my face.
$623.52.
As the kicks continue, sharp painful blows with his boot, I just keep reminding myself of the $623.52 that I have stashed under the false bottom of my sock drawer. Soon I’ll have enough to get away from this psycho-asshole, to go somewhere else, start a new life, become a new person.
I just need a little more money.
I am suddenly aware of another male voice, and the kicks abruptly cease. I peek out from beneath my arms. A heavily-muscled man with dark blonde hair has Aaron by the shirt collar. He delivers a vicious punch to Aaron’s stomach.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” the guy bellows, his voice is deep and smooth but I detect an underlying tremor of rage. “Think you’re such a big man, beating up on a little woman, you piece of shit? That make you feel strong?” The larger man throws Aaron against the hood of my car. “Come on, man, show me how tough you are now!”
Aaron doubles over, coughing, and I almost feel like laughing. Aaron is an intimidating presence, but this guy is huge. His back is to me but from the way it looks, he is solid muscle. I don’t think of myself as a particularly vengeful person, but knowing Aaron will have bruises tomorrow too feels unbelievably satisfying. Unfortunately, it will also mean he’ll become more enraged, and more rage means more taking his anger out on me.
With Aaron reduced to a groaning pile on the gravel parking lot, the big guy turns and reaches out a hand to help me up.
“Hey, lady, are you oka- ” He freezes mid-sentence, and when our eyes meet, I know why.
Jett Lang.
Jett fucking Lang… Lord, this can’t be happening to me!
“Claire?... Claire Donnelly?... Is that you?” he asks.
I groan. Of course, the one guy who so honorably comes to my rescue has to be Jett Lang, who used to be the biggest fucking douchebag college football player, and is now the more famous, better-paid fucking douchebag NFL player. Also known as the asshole who made my college days a living hell.
When will I catch a break?
“Yes, it’s me,” Using the hand he offers, I pull myself to my feet, and dust off my jeans. “Hey, Jett.”
“Holy shit, I can’t believe it’s you.” He motions with his thumb at my mess of a boyfriend. “Who the fuck is that guy?”
“My boyfriend,” I sigh. “And if you’re done playing white knight, I have to get him home. Thanks, though.”
“What?... Oh, hell no. No, no, no. Don’t you tell me you’re driving him ho
me?” Jett was never the sharpest tool in the shed.
“Well, we do live together and I do have to deal with him sooner or later.”
Jett is standing in front of me shaking his head. His eyes scan my body from head to toes, and I feel myself shrink. Then, he grabs my arm and starts pulling me towards a nearby Lexus.
“That dick can take a cab.”
“Wha-- Were are we going? Where are you taking me?”
“We’re getting dinner.”
“Says who?” I snap. I realize the guy just saved me from getting a worse beat-down, but I’ve had about all the arrogant control freaks I can stand tonight, thank you very much.
“Says me,” he snaps back, and then his voice softens, “Think about it - do you really want to deal with that idiot right now?”
I don’t answer, but when he turns and continues toward the Lexus, I follow, mostly because my jaw stings like a mother, my body aches, I’m exhausted, and he’s right; I need to regroup for a few before dealing with Aaron again.
We don’t speak the whole way there. Jett looks over at me a couple times, but doesn’t say anything, and I pretend to be interested in what’s outside of the car window.
I’m grateful when Jett pulls into a small hole-in-the-wall diner in the middle of nowhere. In college, Jett craved the limelight, loved to make himself look good. Always the arrogant center of attention. Now that he is one of the biggest players in the NFL, I half-expected him to take me to some five-star bistro to show me off as his new charity case. That would totally be something he’d do.
It’s not until after a waitress with bright orange hair wearing a polyester uniform and orthopedic shoes takes our burger orders and saunters away that Jett breaks the silence between us.
“So, that asshat was your boyfriend?”
“Yep.”
“But, why?”
Oh, here it comes. I roll my eyes.
“Well, Jett, when he first asked me out, he told me he planned to beat the crap out of me on a regular basis, and I said ‘well, you sound like my kinda guy,’ so now here we are three years later, just as planned.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Jett mumbles. He leans forward and I catch a whiff of his cologne, the same kind he wore in college. For a moment, I’m back in the tutoring center explaining physics to Jett while he plays with his pencil and stares into space. He hasn’t even changed cologne. What a narcissist.
“I’m not trying to sound like a dick,” Jett continues, “I’m just confused.”
“You? Confused? What a surprise.” I know I’m being a grade A bitch, and maybe he doesn’t deserve it. He did just come to my aid back in the parking lot, something none of the other patrons standing around were willing to do. I gaze over at his tousled, dirty-blonde hair, straight nose, chiseled jawline. Still hot as hell, maybe even hotter. Besides, people can change. Maybe Jett deserves a chance to be absolved of past deeds and given a fresh start. I ponder this a second.
Nope, still hate him.
He ignores my comment. “I just don’t understand why you’re still with that guy. I know we didn’t know each other all that well in college, but I knew you well enough to know that you’re really smart, and you’re pretty talented. You could do a helluva lot better than that asscrack. What makes you stay with him?”
I take a sip of my water. I haven’t heard that question since I had friends, something that Aaron ensured ended completely at least a year and a half ago, back when he’d tried to convinced me I didn’t need anyone but him. I never agreed with him, I just got tired of the hassles and arguments.
“A lot of reasons,” I finally say. “At first it was because I hoped he’d change, and I still loved him. Now… well, I’m trying to leave now, but it’s a lot harder than people think.”
“How?” In Jett’s eyes, I see a genuine question. He isn’t being sarcastic or condescending, he really seems to want to know.
“Well, first, I need money. I’ve started salting away a little here and there without him noticing, but he controls our bank account and without money, there’s not much I can do. Right now I have a little over $600 in my sock drawer.” I take another sip of water, trying to figure out how to phrase the next part. “Plus, it’s not like he’s just going to let me go, just let me walk out. With someone like him, it’s not over just because I say it’s over. He’ll come after me, try to find me and probably keep trying to hurt me, even after I’m gone…” my voice trails off.
Jett just sits there silently watching me. I expect him to say something but he appears lost in thought. The silence kind of makes me nervous, so I continue, “I need enough money to completely disappear, and that’s hard to do since all of my paychecks are direct-deposited into our joint account.”
Again silence.
“Are you gonna say something?” I finally ask.
“I could give you some money.”
That was not what I expected him to say. At all.
“No,” I say flatly. “I don’t want your charity.”
A wicked smirk crosses his face. “It wouldn’t be charity,” he leans forward, his elbows resting on the formica tabletop. “I’d need you to do something for me, too.”
Oh, here we go. Of course.
“I am NOT going to sleep with you for money,” I snap, sitting up straight and glaring at him, as if drawing myself up to my full, miniscule height will intimidate him. “I do have some self-respect left, you know.”
He tilts his head back and laughs as though I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “God, relax, would you? You’re always so uptight. It has nothing to do with sex.” He pauses, and then his gaze sweeps over me. “Unless you want it to.”
“I don’t.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “What would I need to do?”
“Marry me.”
Chapter 2 JETT
“I’m not the marrying type,” I tell my agent.
“Yeah, I know,” Larry says, “That’s the problem.”
I almost feel bad for Larry. He is kind of a nag, but he isn’t totally wrong. Even I know my less than tarnish-free image isn’t working really well for me anymore. Larry usually has to take the heat for letting me “get away” with my antics. He’s only thirty-eight, but in the six years I’ve been playing football, he’s already gone almost entirely gray.
“Being your agent is like being the president,” he once told me after picking me up from a club at five in the morning. “It ages you twenty years.” It’s starting to look like he’s right.
“I don’t see the point,” I argue anyway. “So what if I get married? It’s not like it’s gonna change anything about me.”
“You’re not the thing that needs to change,” he explains. “Your image is. Lately, everything you touch turns to shit. It doesn’t matter how great you are at throwing a ball if everyone thinks you’re a total dick.”
“But I am a total dick,” I joke.
Larry is entirely straight-faced. “I know,” he says. “Trust me, if the public knows that, you’re going to lose your job. The team doesn’t want someone everybody hates on the payroll. It’s bad for ticket sales. Plus, you’re losing endorsements left and right, and I don’t think I have to tell you how bad that is for your bank account.”
I shrug as though I don’t care, but I know he’s right. At first, my behavior just added to my image. I was the “bad boy” of football, something that a lot of men found exhilarating; they liked to live vicariously through me. And the women, day-um, I couldn’t keep the women away. Over time, though, fans seemed to enjoy it less and less. My sponsorships are starting to fall away like poor Larry’s hair, and my coach is starting to lose patience with me. I can hear his words in my head. “Your girlfriends aren’t doing anyone any good, and it looks like you’re not helping them much either.”
They aren’t my girlfriends, but it is true that neither of us are benefitting a whole lot from our exchanges. The chicks are hot, and they are great lays - don’t get me wro
ng about that - but they are also complete disasters. There’s Delilah Rose, the porn star best known for flashing the cameras when exiting high-end night clubs. Then there’s a lunatic-turned-model, Amber Ferndale, who overdosed on pain pills three times in as many months and showed up at my house naked, crying and asking why we weren’t married yet. The list goes on and gets worse as it does.
“So what do you want me to do?” I ask. “Find some mousy little kindergarten teacher and propose to her on the spot? No one will buy that.”
“Well we can’t go that far, obviously. But we need to find someone. Someone pretty and wholesome, who looks good on your arm but can still keep her panties on for more than an hour. We’ll say that you’ve been keeping your relationship quiet because you didn’t want to deal with the press.”
“I’m not sure about this,” I say.
“Well, I am,” Larry bristles. “Listen, Jett, I love you like a brother, but if you don’t start listening to me, we’re going to have to… go down a different path.”
I stare at him for a second. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’d seriously drop me?”
“You’re not giving me a choice, Jett!” Larry argues, running a hand through his hair. “Do you know how much time I sink into trying to make you look good and keep your career afloat? I can’t do it anymore! I missed my twins’ fifth birthday for you, and I still haven’t gone to a single one of my son’s little league games!”
I frown. “You have kids?”
“Oh my God.” He puts his head in his hands, looking totally defeated. “Listen to me for once, okay? This isn’t optional this time. Either you find somebody who’s willing to put up with you, or you and I are done. Understood?”
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