Go Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance(45)

That was how my father was, and the whole money situation only made him worse. He felt like he was a failure somehow, because he couldn’t keep his farm going in horrible economic conditions. That just brought strain onto the whole family.

And that was why I left. I thought I could solve things, like if I worked hard enough everything would just magically right itself. Instead, the mafia wanted to sell me into sex slavery and I had been almost raped.

“I understand. But you’re doing good?”

“I’m great, honey. How are things over there? Good?”

“Things are great. I love my job, I love my friends. I’m out practically every day. I can barely keep it all straight.”

“That’s so good to hear.”

I hated lying to my mom, but what was my alternative? If I told her now, she’d just come out here and try to drag me home, probably making everything worse. She was just as stubborn as I was, and that wouldn’t help this situation at all.

“What about the gang of three?”

“The boys are good. Reggie just got a little promotion at work, but he’s still coming around on weekends. And the other two are helping your dad out for a while, ever since he hurt his back.”

“Great. Really great.”

I hated feeling this way. I hated lying to my mom, making stupid small talk when I knew that everything around me was falling apart. I knew that I couldn’t fix or help it, and I just felt so incredibly powerless to do anything about it.

The gang of three, my brothers, they were invincible. It seemed like no matter what happened, they always had a smile on their faces. Reggie was quick with a joke, and serious Jonny was always giving brotherly advice. The oldest, Reese, was always the first to stick up for me back in the day. It wasn’t easy having three older brothers, but they were amazing guys, and they were turning into even better men.

But it never seemed to touch them like it touched me. The pain of everything, the way Daddy struggled and Mom constantly picked up after him, the difficulty of it all never seemed to get to them. They were content living their lives, seeing how things turned out, but not me. I had to step up and do something, even if that meant putting myself in danger.

It was all so hopeless, and hearing my mom talk about home only made me feel that much worse. I didn’t want to lie to her anymore, and so I’d been trying to avoid her. I needed a familiar voice in that moment, but I also couldn’t stand to hear it.

In the end, maybe I was just a coward. Maybe I couldn’t step up when I needed to. I didn’t know what I was, but I quickly ended the conversation.

“Sorry, Mom,” I said. “I have to get going. A friend is calling on the other line.”

“Oh, okay. Well, call me back soon.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hung the phone up and tossed it over onto my bed. I stared at it for a second, wondering.

I believed that in Travis’s case, where he came from was so important, but I hadn’t really looked closely at myself, at where I came from. Maybe I needed to do a little more of that before I started judging him.

Maybe I was being a little harsh on myself and a little unfair to Travis. Feeling guilty, I pulled open my bedroom door and went back out into the living room.

Travis was sitting on the couch and glanced up as I walked in.

“There she is,” he said. “Who were you talking to in there?”

“You spying on me now?” I sat down at the other end of the couch. Travis was watching a baseball game, though he looked more like he was drinking some of my wine than watching anything.

“Couldn’t help it,” he said. “This place is fucking tiny.”

“I’m sure you tried real hard not to listen.”

He grinned at me. “I did. That’s why I’m asking you now.”

“It was my mom.”

He nodded. “You tell her you’re elbow-deep with the Dixie Mafia?”

“No. I told her I’m off working a job I love and hanging out with people my own age.”

“I’m your own age.”

I laughed. “You’re like five years older than I am.”

“How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-one.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Shit, you’re young. I’m twenty-seven.”

“Six years. I was close enough.”

“Shouldn’t you be in college?”

“I decided not to go. Wanted to stay home and help my parents on the farm.”

“Farm girl through and through.”

I sighed. “Guess so. Hey, think you can get me some of my own wine?”

“Sure can.” He smirked and stood up. “So how was lying to your mom then?”

“Not fun.”

“I’m sure.” He grabbed an extra glass and poured me some. He handed it back to me and sat down. “Never fun lying to your family, even when you fucking despise them.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“I am.”

“You lied much to them?”

“When I was younger, all the time. They all died after that, so it’s easier not lying to them now.”

“Guess you’re trying to say I’m lucky that I can even lie to them at all.”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, well, save it. I don’t feel lucky.”

He smirked at me. “I feel lucky. I get to sit on this couch with you, drink some wine. Feels good.”

“Not to me.” I sipped the wine and stared at him, frowning. “How can you be so calm right now? Do you have a plan?”

“No plan to speak of beyond this second,” he said.

“Then it seems like you should be more stressed.”

He shifted toward me, sitting closer. I didn’t move, but I felt my heart start to beat harder in my chest. The memory of the bathroom that first night came back to me. I had been so starving for him that night, had wanted him to kiss me so badly, but everything got so messed up after that. It was like we dropped the whole thing and forgot to pick it back up.

Until now, at least.

“That’s not the kind of man I am,” he said. “I just don’t stress about that.”

“But why? I don’t get it. Our lives are in danger.”

He moved closer, shifting his body toward me. “You know how many times my life has been in danger? Too many to count, honestly. I’ve been shot at more times than you’ve ridden the bus, I bet. When you’ve lived your life like that, you come to accept certain things.”

“What things?”

“Inevitable things. You can’t change what’s done; you can only change what’s ahead. You buckle down and you do the damn work. Otherwise you drown.”

“Comforting words,” I said.

“True fucking words,” he responded. “We can’t change what happened. We’re in this now, and we’re going to do the work to get out. Right? Me and you.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We will.”

He clinked my glass and drank. I smiled and drank with him. For some strange reason, I felt oddly comforted. I knew I should still be terrified, that nothing had been solved, but his confidence was infectious.

I couldn’t help but stare into his deep blue eyes, his intense gaze. I became incredibly aware of the positions of our bodies on the couch as he sat there, inches away from me, our knees touching. I sipped my drink to try to cover my embarrassment, but it was way too late. I couldn’t look away.

So when he reached out and took my chin, tilting my face toward him, I couldn’t move.

“I’m a practical man,” he said softly. “I take what I want. Do you know what I want?”

“What?” I asked, but I knew the answer already. I knew the answer and I wanted the same thing.

He leaned forward and kissed me, and I knew he had me.

His lips pressed against mine, our tongues touching as he pressed my face against his. He kissed me hard, and every built-up ounce of frustration and need inside me broke in that moment. All of the fear and the anguish, all of the pain, it was suddenly gone, or at least okay.

I loved his taste and the soft roughness of his kiss. He was hard and he was gentle and he was so much more than that, sending long waves of pleasure along my spine.

I sank into the kiss and let him shift his body against mine. I felt him take the glass from my hand and put it on the end table. He pressed me down onto the couch, kissing me hard, his hands against my hips.

I felt him slowly begin to unbutton my pants as he kissed my neck. I felt a thrill race through my chest.

“I’ve been thinking about this since that night,” he whispered in my ear. “We got fucking interrupted then. We won’t now.”

“Is this a good idea?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “But the things that feel the best usually aren’t.”

I gasped as I felt his hands flipped beneath my jeans and find my panties. I was soaking wet, knew I was soaking wet, and the soft grin he gave me only proved it.

“I know you’ve been thinking about it too,” he said.

“I haven’t,” I lied.

“You have. You can lie, but your pussy can’t. You’re dripping and you want it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I admitted as he slowly began to work my clit. “Yes, shit,” I gasped.

His fingers rolled around my soaking clit, sending long waves of pleasure all through my body. I kissed him again, pressing my lips hard against his, feeling greedy for every bit of him as he continued to work my spot.