Mr. Beast_An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Nicole Elliot

  She was still breathing, which was good. Had they drugged her? Before I figured it out, I heard the man with the gun calling out from the front of the RV.

  “Come on out, football boy. I want to play with you.”

  I stood up and glanced down at Brooke. If I rushed the freak with a gun and he shot me, my football career might be over forever. On the other hand – Brooke.

  The thought of her made up my mind in less than a second. I took a deep breath, preparing to run down the hall and tackle him before he got a shot off.

  If I got lucky, it might actually work.

  One more breath. You got this.

  “I’m coming for you!” he yelled in a sing-song voice.

  Before I had a chance to take off toward him, I heard another voice.

  “Police! Drop the weapon!”

  “Fuck you!” he yelled back.

  Then he screamed bloody murder.

  “You tazed me bro! Why did you taze me?”

  “Anyone else in here?”

  “Back here,” I yelled. “My hands are up, and I don’t have a weapon. Someone is hurt.”

  A second later, two officers entered the bedroom.

  “Hands up,” one shouted.

  “They’re up!” I said, moving them for emphasis.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing. I just wasn’t willing to wait for you guys.”

  “Why don’t they ever wait?” He mumbled. “Hey, aren’t you Austin King?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait a minute…That’s Brooke, isn’t it? The woman you love so much you gave up football?”

  “Apparently you read my letter,” I said. “Will you please call someone to help her?”

  “Everyone read that letter kid.” He bent down and spoke into his walkie, putting his gun away. “We’ve got an unconscious female inside the RV, requesting EMS.”

  He looked back at me and I put my arms down. “They’ll be here in a second. I still want to question you though. Let’s move outside, give them some space to work.”

  “Fine, but can you tell me something, was anyone hurt outside? I heard a gunshot.” I began walking toward him, sad to leave Brooke, but understanding she needed more help than I could give her.

  As we walked outside EMS rushed past me. “No one was hurt, just some idiot with a gun, shooting into the air.”

  Well at least that was something.

  This night had been a nightmare.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Austin

  One Year Later

  The final play of the final game of the year, and we were down by three points. I scanned the end zone, looking for someone open. Gonzales waved his hand like a madman, but I waited a moment, not trusting his catching skills. Trey held back the opposing team, giving me a few crucial seconds.

  I saw a guy break through and come toward me. Here goes nothing, I thought, throwing the ball toward the end zone. I dodged out of the way of the man who had broken through while keeping my eye on the football arcing gracefully through the air. Come on, Gonzales! Catch the damn ball!

  He raised his hands, looking at the ball and running back and forth to line it up. Two other players rushed toward him. Catch the ball! At the last moment, he jumped up about a foot and caught the pass, which had been a bit too high. Oh shit! I thought as he danced around, slamming the ball to the ground.

  “We won!” I shouted, soaking up the cheers from the crowd of easily twenty-thousand people.

  Brooke sat in the crowd somewhere. She was the only one I really cared about, but I lifted both arms into the air with my index fingers pointing to the sky. The fans ate it up, cheering even louder.

  I made my way to the locker room with the other players. We were all exhausted, but we had won. A headhunter was in the stands from what Coach had told me.

  Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind my last pass, which had been too high. Even if I didn’t make it to a pro team, my college career was nothing to laugh at.

  Trey ran up and slapped me on my shoulder pads.

  “What’s up, bro?”

  “Good job keeping them away from me. Maybe we’ll get drafted on the same team next year.”

  “I don’t think I’m going pro.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  We entered the hallway leading to the locker room, walking side by side. After four years of playing and living with him, it felt odd to think of our last game together.

  The thought passed quickly as I thought about Brooke and our future together. No matter what happened, we would be together. After having been through so much together, we trusted each other completely with no questions asked. I would die for her, and she would do the same for me.

  We loved each other.

  ***

  I told Coach and the rest of the team I would see them later that night before leaving the locker room. Freshly dressed, I went straight to the parking lot.

  Brooke sat on the hood of my black and yellow Camaro, looking as beautiful as ever. She smiled and waved as I walked over, stopping in front of her.

  “You’re going to dent my hood,” I teased.

  “I didn’t think you would mind.”

  Her legs dangled over the side above the wheel well.

  “If it’s you doing it, I don’t mind.”

  I stepped in between her legs. She wrapped them around me as I leaned forward and kissed her perfect lips. We knew each other so well, each kiss reminded me of our first.

  She broke away.

  “Good game today.”

  “Thanks. How did you do on your final? Did they post the grades yet?”

  “Passed,” she said, head held high and proud.

  “That’s my girl.”

  “So are you ready for the draft? Skipping your bowl game?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t want to skip the bowl game if we make it. I want to play with my team one more time. But I am ready for the draft. I think anyway. And you? Which med school are you going to choose?”

  “I figured I’d wait to see where you got drafted. I’m kinda open to anywhere right now. I don’t graduate for another year, unlike you, I have time.”

  Her eyes looked past me.

  “What’s up?”

  “You know I got an email from Jocelyn the other day?”

  I was shocked, I thought we left all that behind last year when Brooke was a sophomore. “No. What did she say?”

  “That she was sorry. She’s in rehab, ya know. Some nice facility near her family.”

  “It still doesn’t excuse what she did. Or what her friends did.”

  “No, but that guy is still in jail. I’m not worried about him. But I did care about Jocelyn, we were friends at one point.”

  “Yeah I know. Hopefully one day she can really get her life back on track.”

  “Yeah, maybe she’ll find someone decent. Be like us.”

  I laughed. “There’s no one like us.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Austin

  Three Years Later

  I pulled up to the two-story Colonial and parked on the street.

  “It’s a nice one,” Brooke said. “They’ve sold it already, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, look at the sign.”

  She turned to me. I grinned, unable to keep the secret any longer.

  “What?” she asked suspiciously.

  I opened the center console and took out two keychains with two keys each.

  “You know who bought it?”

  “Yes. We did.”

  Her eyes widened as she squealed in delight, just the reaction I’d been after.

  “Let’s go inside and check it out.”

  “When did you do this?” she asked, opening the passenger door of my Camaro.

  “I started the process a month ago. After I knew what you wanted in a house, all I had to do was find one that matched. With all the studying you’re doing for grad-school, I figured I would take care of it for us.”


  I stopped beside her on the sidewalk in front of our new home.

  “When did you find the time?”

  “Between practice and when you got home every night. Took me a couple months to find the perfect place.”

  “It is perfect!”

  “I have another surprise for you…”

  She turned her head.

  “Something else?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s in the garage.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  After getting the clicker out of my front pocket, I opened the door of the garage. Inside, a forest green Mercedes sat all bright, shiny and new.

  “Austin!”

  “That’s an odd name for a car, but okay,” I teased.

  She stepped in front of me and hugged tight while resting her head against my chest. I rubbed her back, loving to see her smile.

  “You work so hard going to school and chasing your DNP degree and yet you still make it to my games.”

  “I love you, Austin. So much. Can we go for a drive? Oh, wait. I want to see the house first. I feel like a little girl on Christmas morning. There’s so much to see!”

  “It’s not over yet,” I said seriously, reaching into my pocket again.

  She stared into my eyes, her face expressionless. I pulled out a velvet covered case and got down on one knee in front of her.

  “Brooke, you’re the woman for me. You’ve been by my side since the beginning, not knowing if I would make it all the way to the pros or not. I love you with all my heart and soul. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  “Yes!” she cried, pulling me up. “So many times yes.”

  I took her hand and slipped the ring on. We had met a little over four years earlier, but I felt as if we had been together for a hundred years at least – in a good way.

  She kissed me. Neither of us cared who saw us in the exclusive, upscale neighborhood, but I led her to the front porch. After unlocking the door, I picked her up and carried her over the threshold as she giggled, overwhelmed by happiness.

  We were living our dream. We had fought hard for our love, but every crazy moment had been worth it. Brooke was my everything. I was playing a game I loved, and I had the best cheerleader. She would stand on the sideline for me every time. And we were finally in the end zone.

  Baby Makes Three

  A Brother’s Best Friend’s Secret Baby Romance

  By Nicole Elliot

  Hi Kittens!

  What would happen if you started dating your brother’s best friend? Joanna is about to find out. Things get especially hot when she finds out her crazy ex is in town… and she’s pregnant.

  This one is all about the drama!

  xxx

  Nicole

  CHAPTER 1

  Joanna

  Sometimes love hurts, or at least that’s what I told myself. Lies. I told myself lies. They were the only thing to get me through the day back then. When things were bad. When I thought it couldn’t get any worse.

  But it could.

  And it would.

  The hour was late, the rain was heavy, my cell phone battery was dead, and my tears were even more difficult to see through than the rain. A part of me felt that I should have waited until morning to make my move, or at least waited until the storm was over. But the survivalist in me knew that the storm inside of that apartment would never end unless I physically removed myself from it.

  Sometimes it felt impossible to recall the earlier days. Zander had been such a sweetheart in the beginning. But I supposed a lot of them were like that, all smiles and charm in the beginning, and then a living nightmare once they believed their target was in too deep to get back out.

  In my case, I guess I had officially gotten in too deep when I decided to move in with Zander. I hadn’t even known him that long at the time. But, I had honestly thought I was in love. I had thought we were in love. So young and naïve, I’d been fully under the impression that I had never cared about anyone so much, and that I would never have those kinds of feelings for another man as long as I lived.

  I had believed that Zander and I were soulmates.

  I was wrong.

  The first few months of dating had been like something straight from a fairytale. I had been so smitten and amazed to think that I had somehow miraculously stumbled upon my very own real-life Prince Charming. He was handsome, romantic, and always seemed to know exactly what to say and do to sweep me right off my weary feet.

  Thus, moving in with him had seemed like a no-brainer.

  Unfortunately, shortly after, all the trouble began.

  It was subtle at first, like the small romantic gestures slowly starting to come to a stop. I wasn’t getting surprised with flowers quite as often as before. Zander didn’t cuddle and kiss me as much. The cute pet-names ceased. He didn’t plan as many fun date-nights and activities. I had chalked it up to the honeymoon phase of our relationship coming to an end, but never once did I consider that Zander didn’t still love me the same any longer.

  But then the arguments started, growing in ferocity each time they occurred. I started to notice how Zander would constantly criticize me and every little thing I did, from complaining about the way I did the dishes, to throwing fits if I left a wet towel on the floor after getting out of the shower, and not approving of the way I made the bed because I tucked the sheets too tight. Then he started telling me that I needed to change the way I looked and dressed…

  Nitpicking, which eventually evolved into full-blown power struggles.

  Control.

  But I kept dealing with it because I thought I loved him and that we would eventually wind up married, raising a family, and living happily ever after. I kept telling myself that rough patches happened. They were normal. All couples had them, and the persistent couples with strong love for one another moved through them.

  And then, one day, he hit me.

  The first time he hit me was a day I would never forget. He had been working late, but had come home even later due to going out for a night of binge-drinking, a habit I hadn’t been aware he possessed until after moving in with him and finding empty bottles stashed around the apartment.

  That particular day, when he had finally made it home, there had been a strange feeling in the air. It was exceptionally muggy, and hard to breathe. When he stepped into our apartment, his mood had seemed to suck out what little air we had.

  He had gone straight out to the balcony, overlooking the distant streets and palm trees. He stood there, perfectly still, for a long time. I’d crept up behind him, sensing that he needed to be comforted.

  “Rough day? Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, only to have him huff and sneer in return. “How about we go out for dinner?” I suggested, hoping it would take his mind off whatever was bothering him.

  “You should have cooked for me already,” he had responded, like I was his personal chef or something. “Is it asking too much for you to have a home-cooked meal waiting for me every once in a while?”

  I automatically blamed his attitude on the bad day he’d obviously had. So I had simply cleared my throat and calmly explained that I also worked and therefore didn’t have time to have dinner waiting for him. After all, I had only gotten off work a little while before he had.

  “I don’t want any of your excuses,” he had spat in response. “Just get in the damned kitchen and cook me something.”

  It had been hard to make excuses for him after that. I had been so stunned that I had laughed in disbelief. Not finding my laughter amusing, without warning Zander had painfully gripped me by the arm and literally dragged me into the kitchen, where he then proceeded to open the refrigerator and work himself into a rage about not having enough food stocked. He pulled out frozen meat from the freezer and threw it at me, just barely missing my face with a pound of ground beef.

  His hand, however, didn’t miss my face.

  “Stop it! What’s wrong with
you?” I had screamed. Two seconds later, I was staggering across the floor from the backhanded slap he landed across my face. Every time that memory resurfaced, I could still feel the terrible stinging across my left cheek.

  When the whole ugly ordeal was over, Zander had apologized profusely. He had even shed a few tears, insisting he hadn’t meant any of it. He’d sworn that it had all been stress, and that he just hadn’t been in his right frame of mind. Afterwards, he had hugged me so gently, I couldn’t believe he was the same man. He kissed my cheek repeatedly, made love to me, and ordered me the biggest bouquet of flowers, reverting right back into the guy I had originally fallen in love with. Not before long, I had almost convinced myself that I had only hallucinated him hitting me.

  But in due time, that other side of Zander resurfaced. Yet I had been too weak to not fall for his apologies. Furthermore, every time he promised not to lay a hand on me again, I believed him, until the next time.

  My patience eventually grew thin, as did my ability to forgive. Consequently, Zander had come to underestimate me. I wasn’t nearly as weak as he once knew I was. I had come to realize that I deserved better than the life he was forcing me to live. I had too much respect for myself to keep letting him put his hands on me whenever we disagreed about something. I refused to be the victim.

  Although my eye and jaw still throbbed from Zander’s fists, my heart had stopped aching over him long ago. I wished it hadn’t taken me so long to reach this point, but it was better late than never.

  Our last argument, it had been so stupid. This was partially because he’d been drunk, but that was nothing new. Once again, he had come home late, filthy drunk as usual; how he never managed to crash his car and kill himself had become an endless source of frustration for me.

  This time, he threw a fit because I hadn’t set the DVR to record one of his favorite television programs that I didn’t even know he watched.

  He landed one good blow on me, hard enough to make stars dance in my eyes. But I fought through it, staying conscious and managing to dodge the second strike. Staggering through the apartment, I grabbed my car keys and my cell phone before bolting from the apartment, not caring about the roaring thunder and bright lightning flashing through the sky. I just wanted to get out.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t had time to charge my phone battery before leaving, which resulted in me having to make a stop at the nearest gas station in the pouring rain, hoping the old and outdated payphone located there still worked.