Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Stand Alone Novel)

by Christina Clark

“I was just, uh, leaving. Carrie's working on another piece –”

  “In her bedroom?” said Jamie bluntly.

  “Jamie!” My eyes flashed as I glared at her, indicating Jackson with a furious flick of my chin.

  “What? It was just a question,” Jamie muttered, glaring right back at me.

  “You should go.” I opened the door, looking up at Kingsley and conveying my apology with my eyes.

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “No!” Jackson cried out sadly. “Don't leave yet, I just got home! Don't you want to see how good I'm taking care of Kingson?”

  “Next time, buddy,” said Kingsley sadly, starting out the door. “Promise.”

  “Okay!” Jackson waved out the door. “Have a good day, Kingsley!”

  “You too, Jackson. I'll see you later, ladies.”

  I closed the door behind him, my blood simmering.

  “Jackson, there's a peanut butter muffin and some milk for you in the kitchen. Why don't you take it upstairs and watch some cartoons on my TV?”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  Jackson hugged my thigh before skipping off to the kitchen, doing as he was told. Jamie and I listened intently for Jackson's footsteps, waiting until he got to the second floor. When we were sure he was out of earshot, we turned on each other vehemently.

  “Jamie, what the hell was –”

  “Should've known there was a reason Kingsley Kelly was helping us out.”

  “What's that got to do with anything?”

  “How does it feel to be slutting around when your poor nephew's out for a checkup? He's fighting for his life out there!”

  “For Christ's sake, Jamie,” I interjected angrily, ready to school her, but as usual, she wasn't letting anyone else get a word in.

  “I can't believe how selfish you are, Carrie. And how blind can you be, too? Open your frickin' eyes, Carrie. I know guys like Kingsley, and he's just manipulating you so you'll sing his praises in your stupid articles. Why would he be wasting his time with you when he's got a whole world of gorgeous model-types out there throwing themselves at his feet? No offense. It's just common sense. You're always playing yourself off like you're the responsible one, too –”

  “Wow, that's real rich, coming from the girl who's screwing her married manager.” I took great satisfaction in the horrified look spreading across Jamie's face. “Yeah, I know about that, and so does everyone you work with. Yeah, you remember when Jackson and I surprised you at work last month? We saw you 2 in the kitchen, and you were all over each other. You're not exactly keeping it low-key –”

  “I do what I have to so I can keep my job,” said Jamie, brandishing her victim card once more. “That's what a good mother does.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” I shrugged, every fiber of my being just wanting to end this conversation. “Get over yourself, Jamie. This is the only 'social life' I've had in months, and you know it. This may or may not be the wisest decision I've ever made, but don't you try to take this away from me. I'm allowed to live my own life, make my own goddamn happiness. And if you're not willing to accept that, well, that's no longer my concern.”

  After I'd said my piece, I headed to the kitchen to start dinner.

  Chapter Fourteen: Kingsley

  “That'll do for the day. Wrap it up, boys!” Coach blew into his whistle 3 times, signaling the end of practice.

  I puffed out my mouth and did my final stretches, relaxing my sore muscles as the adrenaline decelerated in my system.

  The team scattered to clear the training equipment off the field. Some hauled off power blasters while others rolled portable football throwing machines, tackle sleds, shields, and dummies across the greenery. I joined in to help Odell with the lineman chutes, unfastening my chin strap and lifting the face mask of my helmet.

  “What's up?” I noted the sunken look on his cheeks and the dark circles rimming his eyes. “You look like shit.”

  “Tell me about it, brother.” The dreads sticking out under his helmet whipped with Odell's shaking head. “Nellie's been giving me the cold shoulder all day.”

  “Whoa, I never thought I'd see the day that Odell Kahale gets put in the dog house.” I withdrew my smile at the serious look on Odell's face.

  We set the chute down under the tarp roof.

  “I don't know how Angela ended up with my number, but she sent me a picture of her tits in the middle of the night. I tried to delete that shit, but Nellie saw, and she's pissed.”

  “Angela who? The cheerleader?”

  “Yup.” Odell took off his helmet and rubbed off the sweat on his forehead. “She came up to me last week after practice and she was coming on real strong, but I let her down easy.”

  “Y'all are the dream team, man. Nellie should know you're not ever gonna step out on her. I can vouch for you, if it helps. Just say the word, man, and I'll try talking to her for you.”

  “Nah, thanks. I think she'll come around sooner or later. She ain't ever been mad at me for more than 48 hours. But I'm gonna bring home some flowers, just to sweeten up the pot a little bit, know what I mean?”

  “I hear ya. I saw that Angela chick getting into Val's car the other day, so there's that. Something ain't sitting right. My guess is, the prick's got something to do with it. He's trying to throw off your game.”

  “For real? Yeah, you might be right. Val's always had a thing for Nellie – the sleazy prick's always trying to chat her up at Coach's barbecues.” Odell's gaze floated over my shoulder, curling his lip. “Speaking of the prick. There he is now, chatting up another one of his sweet, unsuspecting preys.”

  When I looked over my shoulder to match his gaze, my gut fell. Val had Carrie cornered by the bleachers. I couldn't hear a word they were saying, but I knew I sure as hell didn't like what was going on.

  “Let's just hope Carrie knows she can do better than that,” Odell remarked, tutting loudly. “She's a nice girl.”

  I hadn't told Odell about Carrie yet. I was far from being ashamed about what transpired between us, but a part of me feared I would somehow jinx it. But as I watched Carrie clutching her chest, giggling as she punched Val on the arm, it looked like I'd jinxed it either way.

  “Evidently not.”

  “What?”

  Val took Carrie's phone, punching in his digits. Carrie smiled, slipping her phone back into her purse before waving at him. As she headed back into the clubhouse, she turned her head for a quick second, catching my eye before the door swung close.

  “Ah, well. What you gonna do, right?” Odell turned to leave. “I'm gonna head for the showers, you – oh, snap. 10:00 – you got company.”

  Farrah had climbed up the fence and was teetering over the edge, waving animatedly in my direction. Half her ass was hanging out of her short black skirt, and I could see the tiara sitting on her head sparkling in the sunlight from over 50 feet away. Odell sucked in his teeth behind me.

  “I'm gonna go take care of that. I'll catch up with you later.”

  “Alright. Remember – make smart choices.”

  “Fuck you. I'll see you later. Send my love to Nellie and Hope.”

  I didn't get why I was so worked up about seeing Carrie and Val together. I had women left and right crawling all over me, begging me to use them. I woke up to perfect 10 honeys from around the globe sucking my dick. Not to mention Ivanka, who'd been hitting me up even more than usual lately. So why, on God's green earth, was I dwelling on this one woman?

  I hung my head and made my way towards Farrah, but instead of telling her to kindly piss off, I signaled for her to meet me around back.

  Chapter Fifteen: Carrie

  Wattana's face was indecipherable. The brilliant turquoise painted over her heavy-lidded eyes seemed much too peppy for her permanently sour disposition. She scratched the impossibly narrow tip of her altered nose, skimming through the contents of the open manila folder on her desk. I waited quietly in my seat, drumming my fingers along my armrests.
r />   “I trust you've seen the traffic data for your piece on Odell Kahale?”

  “I did,” I admitted, shrinking in my seat. “I know it wasn't as big of a hit as the last –”

  Wattana snorted unpleasantly, rapping her midnight-black acrylics on her desk.

  “Not as big a hit? Frankly, I don't know how this utter garbage you've come up with even managed 283 shares.” Wattana reached for her steaming cup of green tea, blowing softly onto its surface. “People are done with these rags-to-riches types of stories about boring, hardworking family men. The public wants scandal.”

  I swear, if Wattana said “scandal” one more time...

  “I'm sorry you're disappointed with the piece,” I tried to explain myself. “But I've done multiple background checks on Kahale, and he's clean. He's very relatable, just a man trying to balance everything on his plate while he pushes his career forward. I thought his story was powerful and deserved to be heard –”

  “Well, it looks like you thought wrong, didn't you?”

  I winced, accidentally biting the inside of my cheek in my frustration.

  “That would seem so, yes.”

  “There will be no more surprises for your next piece. You'll be forwarding me the article before sending it to any of the editors. So, what do you have in store for me next?”

  “I, um, was thinking about writing about Val Presley. He's the second most popular member of the team, after all. He tells me he's recently started working at an orphanage in Battle Creek –”

  “Yawn,” Wattana interrupted me grumpily. Her swiveling chair squeaked as she shifted in her seat. “Unless you can dig up some dirt on Presley, you'll find someone else to do a story on. Preferably Kingsley Kelly, as planned.”

  “Again, I've checked, and there doesn't seem to be any dirt on Presley, either, other than one DUI in September 2007.”

  “A DUI, you say?” Wattana's bold tattooed eyebrows peaked, intrigued. “We can work with that. Did he hit anyone, injure a couple of pedestrians, maybe?”

  I stirred in my seat at the disturbing new zest to Wattana's tone.

  “No, he hit a mailbox and was forced to do a few hours of community service. That was years before he entered the league.”

  “You're killing me here, Toussaint.” Wattana exhaled loudly and shook her shoulders loose, her shiny bob and straight bangs remaining uncannily static. “Then do what a real journalist does and embellish.”

  “I'm not exactly comfortable with embellishing – I know Lisa's an avid fan, but –”

  “And that's why Lisa's my shining star.” Wattana was angry. “You better step off that pedestal if you want to last here.”

  “I hear you,” I replied tonelessly.

  Every minute I spent in Wattana's office was sucking the life out of me. I opened my mouth to speak when I was saved by the sharp knocking on the glass door. A flustered Evelyn popped her head through the gap. I clicked my teeth, unabashedly judging her. That tiny top hat bobby pin she insisted on wearing in her hair had never not looked ridiculous.

  “Tamara? I'm so sorry to interrupt, but the Kingsley Kelly is waiting in Conference Room B. He says he's here to see Carrie.”

  “He's here? To see Carrie?”

  “I know, I couldn't believe it, too,” Evelyn agreed. She rolled her eyes. The bitch was acting like I wasn't even in the room.

  “I swear, I don't – I don't know what he's doing here.” I was shocked, but secretly grateful. I'd been itching for a reason to get out of here, anyway.

  “Let Mr. Kelly know Carrie will be out in a minute.”

  “Right away.” Evelyn singsonged before withdrawing her big fat head. She shut the door and dawdled away in her puke-green heels.

  “I guess you've managed to hook him sooner than I thought. Not surprising, but at least it's with an unmarried sap this time around.” Wattana leaned forward, taking another long sip from her teacup. “Either you amp up Presley's DUI story, or you get me what I want from Kelly. No more bullshit excuses, or I'm pulling you from the job. Do we understand each other?”

  “Uh-huh.” I managed weakly, my chest tightening.

  “Good. You're dismissed.”

  I spun around, pulling a face as I silently mocked Wattana's Maleficent shade all the way to Conference Room B.

  When I opened the door, I was greeted with bursts of flashes and the annoying cacophony of camera phone shutter sounds. Kingsley was lifting Sloane and Toddrick in each of his arms effortlessly, posing for Fleur's camera. An actual line of my blubbering star-struck colleagues had formed behind them, waiting for a quick selfie with the athlete.

  “Oh, hey, Carrie!” Kingsley lowered himself to the ground, allowing Sloane and Toddrick to disembark.

  He strutted towards me, looking fine as all hell in his tailored 2-piece. The fitted sleeves and shoulders of his royal-blue blazer hugged his hulking biceps, slenderizing his frame. His ironed slacks added even more height to his 6'2” stature.

  Dozens of eyes from those snubbed in line veered my way.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, hello to you, too. Just saying, you could work on your greeting etiquette.” Kingsley rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. “Wanna have lunch? My treat.”

  “I would, but, um, I'm kind of in a time crunch here.” By now, most of my colleagues had given up and wandered back to work. “I've got less than an hour of lunch left and I've gotta pick up my dry-cleaning which is all the way –”

  “I got you covered, girl,” Sloane chipped in from behind her bottle of nasty kale coconut water. Toddrick, who stood next to her, wiggled his eyebrows at us. “Toddrick and I are going out for some gelato. We could totally swing by your dry-cleaner's for you.”

  “You're the best, Sloane. I'll be sure to get you and your dad some good seats for our next game.” Kingsley flashed them a thumbs up. “That goes for you too, Toddrick. I didn't forget about you.”

  “What, did you all become best friends in the 5 minutes you were here?” I fought the smile forming on my lips. I handed my dry-cleaning stub to Sloane and turned to Kingsley. “Alright, you win. Let's go.”

  “Atta girl.”

  XXX

  Whizzing cars and the carefree laughter of construction workers and teenagers ran free in the open air space. The rays of the midday sun dappled the uncut tufts of grass and dirt under our feet. With Kingsley in his fancy suit and me in my corporate attire, we were wildly overdressed, but I felt right at home.

  I leaned over my paper plate and took a giant bite out of my creamy, super savory lobster roll.

  “God, that's good.” I praised the roll between chews, swiping my mouth clean with a napkin. “I can feel all this cream going straight to my ass, and I love it.”

  “Glad you're enjoying yourself.” Kingsley held the last bite of his roll in his fist and dug into his foam cup for some equally amazing clam chowder. “I hope you weren't expecting anything too fancy, but I wanted to take you to one of my all-time favorite spots in Michigan. I used to come here with my parents all the time.”

  “Fancy's nice, but I'm really digging this place.”

  I glanced over to my right. The lobster truck was a rather outdated model, with the words, “Uncle Rob's Lobster Rolls,” in peeling neon-yellow wording written across the red vehicle. An older man sporting a whiskery, paling beard and matching hat and apron manned the truck by himself. His reddish eyes and tough skin told of his exhaustion, but he regarded every one of his customers with a warm smile and a heartwarming anecdote.

  The seemingly regular patrons of the lobster truck all seemed familiar with Kingsley and were well over seeing stars in their eyes. Other than a couple of heys and nods, Kingsley was pretty much left alone. I imagined it was a refreshing change of pace for him to be able to just have lunch, free of disruptions.

  “I'm definitely bringing Jamie and Jackson back here this weekend. There's a park just a block away, too, so we'll make a day out of it.”

  “What kind
of 5-year-old likes lobster and sugar-free cereal?” Kingsley laughed.

  “That's Jackson for you.” I smiled fondly at the thought of his googly eyes and his chubby little face. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for talking to your sponsors about adding the new line of sugar-free cereals. You don't know how much that meant to him.”

  “No biggie,” Kingsley brushed it off. “That kid's got a future brighter than ours combined. I've got a lot of time for Jackson. I've never met a kid like him – I mean, have you met other kids? What a bunch of little assholes.”

  Right as he'd said that, an 11-year-old girl came prancing past our picnic table. Her bouncing pigtails slowed to a stop along with the rest of her twiggy limbs. She stuck out her tongue and showed off the yellow polish on her middle finger before carrying on.

  “Not you, sweetheart, 'cause you're obviously just a big ball of sunshine!” Kingsley called out after her sarcastically. He turned towards me, finishing off his roll. “Case in point.”

  “Oh, real nice. I hope you're proud of yourself.”

  Kingsley looked proud of himself indeed, leaning against the back of his bench.

  “So, tell me, what's going on with you and Val?”

  “Um, nothing? What do you mean?”

  “I saw you exchanging numbers after practice on Monday.”

  “Yeah, we were. I need to do my one-on-one with him, remember?” I rocked back in my seat, sizing him up with an impish grin on my face. “Don't tell me the great Kingsley Kelly's actually jealous.”

  “Me? Jealous? Now you're just talking crazy.” Kingsley shifted his weight to his other leg, the bench groaning under him. “So what stunt is that clown trying to pull now?”

  “If by stunt, you mean selflessly donating thousands of dollars to 3 different charities just last week, and by clown, you mean generous and heartfelt individual, you've got it.”

  “Please, that guy's a phony.” Kingsley snickered, crushing the empty can of root beer in his hand. “I'll bet you it was his first time stepping foot in one of those charities after you came along.”