Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (41 page)

“Sorry about that.” I scratched at the back of my neck, pulling out a name card from my wallet and handing it to him. “Here's the number of an excellent attorney if you wanna hit her with harassment.”

“I don't need the drama,” said the supervisor as he pocketed the card. “But I'll be happy to forward you the messages she left if that'll help you at all in any way with your case against her in the divorce.”

“Good looking out,” I said gratefully to the supervisor, nodding at him. “I'm gonna need all the help I can get – God knows she's not gonna make any of this easy.”

“Not a problem. Alright, the boys and I should be about done here. That vanity was the last on the list. If there's anything else we can do for you, don't hesitate to call us.”

“Thanks again,” I called out to him. “Drive safe!”

“Bet you're glad you signed that prenup, huh?” said Kevin, snickering. “I remember she was mad as hell when she found out. Pulled a Godzilla and overturned our poker table and everything. And that's why you should never doubt your boys.”

“Voice of an angel. A soulless, modern harpy. Fast, you must run now,” said Goldstein poetically, beaming toothily.

“How long were you sitting on that one?” I asked him incredulously. “Did you really just write a haiku about my failed marriage? You need a –”

“Are all of Tanya's things gone?”

Our banter froze, turning around to face the figure that soundlessly crept up behind us. We relaxed at the sight of Henry, his eyes riveted to Kevin's Air Jordan retros. As usual, my brother was sporting one of his many treasured pop culture T-shirts ranging from classics to near obscurity. Today, he wore one of his all-time favorites – an Alf shirt that made its appearance on a bi-weekly basis.

“Hey, Henry. What's good, buddy?” Kevin greeted him, lowering his outstretched hand as Henry decidedly ignored the gesture.

“Hi. Not much,” Henry replied curtly. He shifted slightly in my direction, reiterating, “Are all of Tanya's things gone?”

“Yup, that's the last of it,” I told him, my brows furrowing in concern as I detected his flaring nostrils and stiffening shoulders.

“What's the matter, Henry?” Goldstein offered helpfully, cocking his head to the side. “You not in the mood to celebrate with us?”

“No,” Henry replied simply, reaching into his pocket. He proceeded to retrieve his PS-Vita, resuming his game of God of War as he lingered in the background.

“Hey, Mr. Winslow!”

The chief household affairs manager to my estate strode in from the living room, joining us in the entryway. An esteemed man in his sixties who dressed in his own uniform of strictly plaid suits, he was like an eccentric father figure of sorts. Even with the five insufferable years I tried to make it work with Tanya's wrath, it was John Winslow's unflappably soft-spoken demeanor that kept me whipped in shape and on track with my crazy schedules.

He crouched down and began closing the front doors, bolting the upper and lower locks to the left.

“Afternoon, gentlemen.”

“You're probably the most thrilled of 'em all to finally get rid of that succubus stench stinking up the house, aren't ya? Ding-dong, the bitch is gone!”

“Very good, sir,” replied Mr. Winslow in his trademark one-tone cadence.

Just as he began to close the door on the right, a knee-high boot kicked through the doorway.

“Don't you dare close that door in my face. Step aside, Winslow!”

Mr. Winslow shot her a derisive look before disappearing into the kitchen. I could almost feel my balls shrinking as Tanya shoved her way into the house, the “lucky” snakeskin boots she wore to every CMA show clicking obnoxiously on the stone tiles. For the most part, I'd always been more logical and level-headed with everything in my life, particularly when it came to business. Asking Tanya to marry me after a whirlwind romance that barely lasted six months was a decision that baffles and haunts me to this day.

For a split-second, I found myself ogling at her jiggling cleavage from her angry panting. I would be lying if I said she didn't look fucking bangable in her extremely low-cut dress, but any chance of even a half-chub flew right out the door the moment she opened her mouth.

“Wait outside!” she barked to her bodyguards, who swiftly backtracked out the door. “I can handle this myself.”

Exchanging knowing looks, Kevin and Goldstein broke out into song as Tanya stomped towards us.

“Oh-oh, here she comes. Watch out boys, she'll chew you up. Oh-oh, here she comes. She's a –”

“Shut. Up!” Tanya snarled, the heavy, uterus-shaped earrings weighing down her earlobes swinging as she sized up the glaringly off-key duo. “Cut that shit out right now!”

“–Man-eater.”

“What?” said Goldstein innocently, shrugging. “Is it a crime to burst into spontaneous song? I'll have you know, John Oates' mustache is a damned national treasure –”

“Oh my God, are you still here?” Tanya groaned, the natural tone to her voice absurdly piercing for such a small woman. “Watch yourself, one quick phone call and I'll have your slimy, Seinfeld-looking ass depor –”

“Hi, Tanya.”

“Oh, Henry! Hi, I didn't see you there!” said Tanya, the smile on her face sickeningly sweet as she wrapped her arms around him. The instant switch on her expression was as remarkable as it was unnerving.

To our surprise, Henry returned the hug in his own way, slowly patting and sneaking in a whiff of Tanya's hair. Kevin mimed firing a gun to his head behind them, signaling a mind explosion. I nodded, acknowledging the look of alarm on Kevin and Goldstein's faces. It would have been priceless if the situation weren't so damn dire. Tanya's nose wrinkled, her displeasure dissipating as she wriggled free from his grasp.

“Golly, I think you're getting cuter each day,” Tanya simpered, disregarding the gagging noises my friends made behind her. “So how's everything at work? I hope your big, bad brother isn't working you to death –”

“Work's fine,” Henry stated matter-of-factly, his shoulders slumped as he lost interest. He walked away from the conversation, seating himself on the steps to return to his beeping console.

“Alright then,” Tanya muttered, pouting. She turned towards me instead, glimpsing at Kevin and Goldstein's smug faces as she pleaded with me. “Can we talk, please? Somewhere you know – without Dumb and Dumber around?”

Despite my friends' loud, overt warnings, I agreed. I knew it was best to get it over with. Beyond that, I needed to keep things civil. I couldn't promise that I was gonna succeed, but it's only in my best interests to try.

“Sure,” I said as I led Tanya into the living room. “If I'm not out in five minutes, alert Father O'Nealy immediately. That man's the finest exorcist in town.”

Damn. So close.

The pinhead glass on our sliding doors rattled as Tanya closed them forcefully behind her. She flattened herself against the door, staring at me wistfully with those stunning green eyes I was once went bat-shit crazy for. I lowered my gaze to the ground, folding my arms over my chest as if to brace myself.

“So what did you wanna talk about? Let's make this snappy. I don't think our lawyers would appreciate us conversing without at least one of them present.”

“Bradley, please, I know you think you wanna go through with this, but –”

“Oh, no,” I corrected her with the utmost confidence. “I'm sure. You see – the movers just hauled out the last of your shit, and the locksmith should be in here soon to change the locks to every single door on the premises.”

“You're making a huge mistake,” said Tanya, her voice warbling as if she was having difficulty believing her own bullshit. “Can we just talk about what happened?”

“Gladly. Where do you wanna start? You wanna talk about how you were missing session after session with our marriage counselor 'cause you were too busy screwing your 19-year-old fuck-boy? Or no, should we take a gander at all the false domestic abuse charges you've filed to authorities over the course of our marriage?”

“Don't be like that, Bradley, please. Those charges were dropped, weren't they? Just give me another chance –”

“Interesting,” I goaded her, my chest puffing out beneath my arms. “No, no – 'felons' with non-violent charges for drug possession on their criminal records deserve another chance. You? You deserve jack-shit.”

“Bradley, listen to me,” Tanya begged shrilly. “What about Bruges?”

I froze, softening slightly at the mention of the Flemish city. On our first date, we saw that Colin Farrell movie, together – In Bruges. On top of wetting ourselves with the wittily dark humor, we fell in love with the hauntingly beautiful European city. We often talked about one day leaving all the fame behind, packing up all our shit and retiring somewhere in the countryside. It was like one of those words you'd stowed away in the back of your mind, almost forgetting it existed. Still, it mattered enough at some point – we had the name of the place engraved inside our wedding bands. The same wedding band the bitch didn't even have the decency of removing as she went to town on her frat-boy dildos.

I swallowed. My fingers coiled into fists at my side as she gazed at me. The doe-eyed look was repulsive. Broken images of her naked body, sticky with sweat and defiled with stranger ejaculate, flashed in my mind's eye.

“Bradley, please,” Tanya whispered, stepping dangerously close to me. The flowery draft of that wisteria perfume that once numbed the feeling in my knees seemed to have lost its effect on me. I stood perfectly still, void of reaction as she walked her fingers along my chest. “Don't you miss me? Come on, Bradley. Just give me five minutes and you'll wonder why you ever wanted to leave me...”

Frowning, I craned my neck to the side, eluding her invasive fingers. Just like that, a frigid, but almost calming sense of realization ran through me. For the life of me, I couldn't think of the last time Tanya did something that didn't benefit her in some way. Honestly, it was pitiful. I almost felt sorry for her. Her head was so far up her ass she was lost – even sending down a compass and Google Maps wouldn't help.

“You're wrinkling my shirt,” I said calmly. I took one step back, flattening the creases on my black button-down. “You know, I was trying to be the bigger person here. I've done you the grand favor of keeping your pending bankruptcy and gambling debts under wraps. Don't make me change my mind.”

Tanya blinked at me, her mouth hanging open like a farmer stumbling onto a scene of his prize pig humping a goose. I did a quick mental countdown and ducked just in time. A heart-wrenching rush of wind brushed past my ear as my treasured replica of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701 soared over me. I groaned, the fractured replica crumbling to pieces behind me.

“Alright, you're outta here.”

Kevin and Goldstein appeared at the doorway, pulling apart the sliding doors. They hooked their arms under hers, dragging a kicking and flailing Tanya out the front door to drop her off at her bodyguards' feet. I slammed the front door in her face, bolting the locks shut as Tanya pounded angrily with her fists on the other side. Her shrieks muffled by the wood, the three of us slunk down to the ground.

“Holy shit, Brad –”

“I know, I know,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I need a drink.”

“We all do.”

Chapter Three: Jolene

“Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

I glimpsed down at my watch, my stomach doing a mini jolt at the time. I had fifteen minutes before I was due at PostHaste for my first day. That was cool and everything, but I wanted to be there twenty minutes early to hopefully make some kind of an impression in the company that housed over 200 employees. As I squinted up at the street sign hanging above me, my heart steadily sank.

Market Street? Damn it.

I grunted, hanging my head at my own stupidity as I removed the tangled earphones roped around my neck. I'd hopped off the bus two stops early, distracted by my Fleetwood Mac mix and my eager-beaver anticipation. I hastily balled the wires of my earphones in my fist and stuffed it back into the practically brand-new shoulder bag I found in the bottom of my closet.

And just as I began to head west towards Union Square, a man with thick, lensless glasses bumped into me. I yelped, standing with a foam cup crushed in my fist and scalding herbal tea splattered all over the front of my cream blouse. I scowled at the man, my upper lip twitching furiously. I watched as the stranger lifted his car remote over his shoulder to lock his Prius, which was crudely parked in the handicapped spot next to me. It was a miracle he didn't trip over his own bad manners as he disappeared into a vegan bistro.

Flustered, I stepped into an alleyway and positioned myself behind a dumpster. I removed my blouse as quickly as I could, my exposed arms tingling from the wayward breeze. Balancing the blouse on my lap, I rummaged through my bag for a bottle of water and wet wipes, and began going to town on the stain. I cried out in frustration. How could the stain be getting bigger?!

I looked up to the narrow entry of the alleyway, making accidental eye contact with a horrified homeless man. I glanced down at my hands between my suggestively sprawled out legs, the truth concealed by the dumpster. Mortified, I shook my head vigorously, flourishing my blouse up in the air.

“No, sir, it's not what you think!”