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

by Christina Clark

  There was something sweet about her innocence and lack of experience with fooling around – I preferred a nice girl getting down and dirty over one of those experienced chicks that slept around like it was a hobby.

  “No worries.”

  I stroked her hair and drew circles around the back of her head. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling her eager mouth vacuuming my dick. Wary of her teeth, Daisy put her tongue to work instead.

  “You just...keep...doing what you're doing...”

  As Daisy sucked me off, she slipped her hand under her knit sweater. I could see the shape of her hand poking through her top. She grabbed hold of one of her tits, massaging herself as she gobbled on my dick. While she squeezed herself harder and harder, her fingers dove into her bra to twist her nipple. She switched between muffled moans and gagging – one of the hottest things I'd ever heard in my life.

  My eyes were flickering open and shut. I struggled to keep them open. I needed to see this – I had to see this...

  “Miles? Miles, honey, are you home?”

  When Ma's voice came hollering up the stairs to my closed bedroom door, I felt my legs go rigid. My hands tightened into fists at my sides, grunting under my breath as I splooged into her mouth. Daisy pulled away from me, her ballooned cheeks filled with my jizz. I was about to reach for a clean towel for her to spit into when her cheeks deflated. She gulped loudly, smacking her lips.

  “What better way to get rid of the evidence?” Daisy whispered as she rolled off the bed.

  She walked up to the mirror in my closet and started smoothing out her sweater and hair. “Aren't you gonna go down and say hi to your mom?”

  “Nah, I'll catch up with her later.” I hopped off my bed and slipped into my jersey shorts. As Daisy started stuffing her phone and wallet back into her bag, a faint knot tied in my gut. It was weird – I knew I was going to see her again at school tomorrow, but I didn't want her to go just yet. “You leaving already?”

  “Yeah, I'm meeting Honey at this tea place, and I don't want to be late. I'm still trying to make it up to her for practically ditching her that night at the fair.”

  “She's really making you work for it, huh?”

  “Can you blame her?” Daisy shrugged as she applied her lipstick. “I –”

  Daisy stopped as we heard a deafening bang from the slam of the front door downstairs. She lowered her lipstick and put the cap back on, looking spooked. I listened closely, hearing the shuffling sound of angry, pacing footsteps in the living room.

  “How many are there, Charles?”

  My chest tightened at the heavy note of anguish in my mom's words.

  “Keep it down, Nancy. What if Miles hears us –”

  “He isn't home. I've already checked. Don't you change the subject on me, Charles. Just answer me – your wife of 22 years – I deserve to know.”

  “For God's sake, Nancy. Stop talking crazy – I don't know what you're talking about.”

  Daisy lowered her head, looking at me sadly. She set her bag back down and sat next to me on the foot of my bed without saying a word. I folded my legs under me and hunched over, listening as she squeezed my hand.

  “Are you really going to just stand there and lie to my face? I saw the emails, Charles! Who the fuck is Annabelle?”

  It was weird hearing Ma swear – she usually prided herself for being, in her words, “a prim and proper lady with unwavering Christian values.”

  “You're working yourself up over nothing. You're reading between lines that aren't there –”

  “Don't you dare insult my intelligence. So that explains all the damn business trips to Miami! Is that why you've been spending thousands and thousands of dollars with your 'new clients'?”

  “Please, darling.” I seethed at Dad's whiny voice. All their years of marriage, and Dad's never called Ma anything other than “Nancy.” He must have really wanted to get out of paying alimony. “You don't understand –”

  “Oh, no, Charles – my understanding is right on the money. Tell me, is this Annabelle floozy really worth it? Flushing 22 years down the marriage down the drain? You disgusting, vile piece of... Add three more years, and you have yourself a full Annabelle! You are nearly three times her age, how –”

  “Nancy, please –”

  “What is it about these young girls that I don't have, Charles? Is it their tight, wrinkle-free skin?” Ma's words were shaking, but her voice was still crystal clear. “Is it their perky breasts? Their firm asses? The flat, cellulite-free stomachs of a ripe young woman that's never had a baby inside of her?”

  “Stop it, Nancy. You're just embarrassing yourself –”

  I lunged off the bed to my feet, my shoulders rising and falling in my rage.

  “Sir! Madam! Where – where is Miles?”

  It was Mrs. Bautista's voice. Except, the usual jolly quality in her voice was replaced by heavy emotion. She sounded strained, like she was on the verge of tears, or like she had been sobbing for hours and had just stopped.

  “Mrs. Bautista? What is it? Excuse us, we're in the middle of –”

  “Have you heard from Miles?”

  “No, he's not home – can this wait –”

  Daisy followed me as I flung open the bedroom door. I walked up to the railing of the second floor landing. The three of them gazed up at us, each of their faces more baffled than the next. Ma and Dad exchanged silent looks of shame.

  “What's up, Mrs. B?”

  Mrs. Bautista took one look at me before bursting into a fresh puddle of tears.

  “My goodness, Miles. You haven't heard yet...”

  “Heard what, Mrs. Bautista?”

  “Miles... Allison – Allison, she –” Mrs. Bautista stammered, gripping her chest. Ma looked startled as she wrapped an arm around her, rubbing her shoulders.

  “What's the matter, Mrs. Bautista?”

  “Allison – she...she is gone. Her parents found her two hours ago...”

  “What? Gone where?” I scoffed, laughing nervously as I peered down at her. But a sense of unease was spreading across my chest, slowly choking me. “You're joking, right? Damn, Mrs. B, I didn't know you could act like that. Did Allison put you up to this?”

  “Miles, I don't think...” came Daisy's voice from behind me. I knew she was standing right behind me, but she sounded like she was 200 feet away.

  “I'm sorry, Miles. The police – the police are saying it was a home burglary gone very, very wrong. They found Allison's body, strangled and stabbed to death. They think she must have walked in on the assailant. The police have the man in custody...”

  I could see Mrs. Bautista's lips moving, but I couldn't hear her.

  “Miles? Miles! Can you hear me? Miles...”

  This guttural, primal howling filled the whole house. I looked around me, the silhouettes of my parents, Mrs. Bautista, Daisy, and every object in the spinning room turning to blurred blobs.

  This couldn't be real. Mrs. Bautista must have made a mistake. I just saw Allison at school this morning. And now she's telling me Allison's dead? This was just a fucked-up, horrible mistake.

  It was only when the muscles of my jaw started throbbing did I realize that the howling was coming from me.

  Chapter Nine: Daisy

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  A neon-orange frisbee soared 20 feet in the air. From the left, a beautiful Labrador Retriever with lustrous golden-oat fur scampered across the grass. The dog caught the frisbee in midair, wagging its tail as it trotted back to its owners. The owners were a pair of adorable teenage girls who couldn't have been older than 13. They knelt on the grass, cooing and petting the appreciative dog's head.

  The park was abundant with faces young and old, but they all shared the same look of carefree bliss. Young children out on picnics with their families chased each other in circles. Kids whizzed across the ramps of the skate park on the right, showing off the newest tricks they'd just mastered. Couples hopelessly in love ambled along the paths hand in hand with tha
t dopey, lovey-dovey look in their eyes.

  They were all so unaware – each and every one of them. A part of me wanted to scream out at them, remind them to treasure their moments with their loved ones. Life was way too fragile. Too many die from such heartless, senseless acts.

  The authorities speculated that Allison was fast asleep when Ronnie Coleman, a 19-year-old gang-banger from Brooklyn, got into the house. The ripped screen door to the back of her house was how he had allegedly gained entry. He was in the middle of ransacking the Prescott residence when Allison woke up from her nap and found him. He strangled her, but when he couldn't overpower her, he bludgeoned her on the side of her head with a vase, leaving her to bleed out. They found her phone with the number “91” still on the screen. One beautiful life ruined for a couple of bucks. Allison Prescott had her whole life ahead of her – she was the last person to deserve such a brutal, cruel death.

  As my eyes skimmed the scenery outside the smudgy window of the M7, I spotted a familiar figure turning into the corner of a sidewalk. I reached for the rope hanging overhead, ringing the bus bell. While the bus started pulling up to the nearest bus stop, I strapped on my shoulder bag and made my way to the front.

  “Thanks!” I said to the driver before hastily getting off.

  I jumped the red light, ignoring the honking cars as I took off across the street.

  “Miles! Wait up!”

  Miles staggered backwards at the sound of his name. He had to spin around cautiously to keep himself from falling over. I froze, stunned by his disheveled state. His shirt was creased, and there were dirt stains all over his sleeves and pants. He took a final swig from the paper bag in his hand before crushing the bag and tossing it aside.

  “What?”

  The coldness in his voice stung, but I quickly overlooked it. It was understandable – Allison's funeral was yesterday. I couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like to have to carry your best friend's casket.

  “I – sorry, it's just. You've been avoiding me for two weeks now. How – how are you doing?”

  “I'm doing just fine – can't you see?” Miles belched. His words were slurred and barely coherent. He pulled out a crumpled cigarette and lighter from his pocket, lighting up.

  “I didn't know you smoked.”

  “I don't.”

  I tugged on my thumb, taking a deep breath.

  “Do you want to go somewhere and talk, maybe –”

  “No.”

  “Okay, maybe not now. It's just, I've got something to tell you.”

  “What?” Miles took a long drag from his cigarette.

  “I heard you got your acceptance letter to Haas Business at Berkeley last week, so congrats. I wanted to tell you that I was thinking of taking the half-scholarship at UC Irvine instead. I haven't told my parents yet, but I think if I get two jobs and we see each other every weekend, we could –”

  “Wait – what about Northwestern? I thought that was your dream school.”

  “Yeah, but...”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? We've only been doing this for two months – don't be fucking stupid, Daisy. I thought you were smarter than this –”

  “Stop, Miles.” It took everything I had to keep my voice from cracking, but I failed. “You don't mean any of that – you're drunk. We'll just talk about this later.”

  Miles flicked his cigarette to the side calmly. He squared his shoulders and stood up straight. The cloudy, drunken look on his face evaporated.

  “Look, I'm just gonna set this straight. Don't waste any more of your time on this. This was just a fling. We've had our run –”

  “Shut up. You don't mean that.” My voice came out much higher than I'd anticipated. “You're –”

  “You were just some girl I fucked for two months. What were you expecting – you think we're gonna run off, get married, have a bunch of babies? Don't be ridiculous, Daisy. Like I was saying – we've had our run. It was fun, but it's over. Move on.”

  My chest puffed out as my blood boiled inside me. I wanted nothing more but to pounce on him and knock him the hell out, but I couldn't. As unbearably vicious and blunt his words were, I knew he was right.

  “You should go. Take care of yourself, Daisy. I'm sorry.”

  I looked at Miles, my eyes exuding with hatred.

  “Fuck you.”

  I turned on my heel, sprinting in the other direction before he could see my wet cheeks.

  XXX

  “I'm home.”

  I shut the door behind me and kicked off my shoes. The strap of my bag sagged off my shoulder, falling next to the shoe rack. I trudged to the kitchen sink heavily, like my legs were made out of barbells. Twisting the tap, I splashed ice cold water onto my face, cooling my burning and puffy cheeks.

  “Mom? Dad?” I called out in the clearest voice I could muster. “You guys ho – right.”

  I sighed, remembering that it was barely half past 5 in the afternoon.

  “Ethan?” I tried, making my way towards his door. I pounded on the creased face of a scowling Mike Jones. “Ethan?”

  The moment I pushed open Ethan's door, I knew something was wrong.

  I stepped inside his abnormally spotless room. My eyes flitted from the half-open doors of his barren closet to the folded sheet sitting on his made bed. I couldn't even feel my legs anymore as I floated towards the bed.

  As I unfolded the note and read the four short lines over and over again, I dropped to my knees.

  “Tell Mom and Dad I'm sorry. Please don't come looking for me. Be good, Daisy. I love you all. – E”

  I clutched the note to my dry-heaving chest, curling to a ball on the floor next to Ethan's bed. My tears bled into the freshly vacuumed carpet, the fibers still warm on my face. Knowing I'd probably just missed my brother by a few minutes, I bawled even harder.

  The world giveth, and the world taketh it away.

  This couldn't have been happening. I was grasping the crumpled note so hard it tore in my fist. The voice inside of me screamed like a demented banshee, pleading with any spiritual force that would listen.

  I was ready to wake up from this nightmare now...

  The End of Book 1

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  Billion-Dollar

  TANGO

  — Book 1 —

  Written by: Christina Clark

  Copyright © 2016

  Disclaimer.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Chapter One: Jolene

  The sound of my graphite stick scratching against the white canvas of my sketchbook never failed to comfort me. With my butt as broke as the next poor sap stuck in the quicksand of student debt, this was probably the closest I could get to “relaxing.” As I carefully colored in the shading of an apple, I reached over to the kitchen counter next to me, blindly groping for my glass of water. Proving not all women were infallible when it came to multitasking, I promptly knocked it over. Water soaked into the messy stack of old bills and scrapped sketches.

  “Damn it,” I grumbled, scolding myself under my breath. “Real smooth, Jolene.”

  I grabbed a rag and swiftly swiped across the countertop, gaining on the stream creeping toward the plate of barely-eaten breakfast I swore I'd clear up hours ago.

  “Christ on a
cracker – my sweet, innocent eyes!”

  My roommate, Vivienne Santos, stood in the doorway of our apartment. A theater major, she tended to overreact sometimes. She stared at Gary Griffin, my model for the day. His hunky SFSU quarterback physique was sitting butt-naked in our living room with his hands trussed up over his head with handcuffs nicked from the Props Department.

  “Oh, well hello to you sunshine,” I chirped, giving her a half-assed salute as I tossed the rag back into the sink. “You're home early. We weren't expecting you for at least another hour.”

  Shielding her eyes like a vampire entering a room with its curtains drawn at noon, Vivienne crab-walked inside and booted the door shut behind her. Gary's ears perked at the extra commotion in the room. Twitching his nose frantically, the old-lady scarf blindfold loosened over his eyes and slid down the bridge. He spat out the picture-perfect apple stuffed inside his mouth, his eyes squinting as they adjusted to the light.

  “How you doing, Vivienne,” Gary greeted her before turning towards me. The golden ring around his eyebrow jiggled as he groaned, “Come on, Jolene, I've been sitting here for over two hours now. I'm sweating in spots I ain't even know existed. We done here?”

  “And you've been a real trooper,” I commended him, stopping the rolling apple with my foot. “My readers everywhere thank you for your service.”

  “Oh, please,” Vivienne cackled, throwing a towel over Gary's lap as she untied his wrists. “Your readers are a bunch of nerdy pervs. Now that you've added pictures to those filthy stories you've been writing, your reader base has doubled. Defense rests.”

  “Hey, I resent that,” I laughed, gathering my belongings off the kitchen counter before Vivienne could berate me. “And I'm sure my readers do too. I think they prefer the term – erotica connoisseurs. Want something to drink, Gary?”