Balls: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (A Cruz Boys Novel Book 1) (3 page)

“You got it,” Rodrigo shouted from under my right leg as we swung the team around.

We arrived and I jumped down with an easy grace.
 

Bones stood to the side of the children with his arms folded across his concave chest. A permanent frown creased his weathered lips.

“Lucky shot,” he said.

“You wish, old man,” I said. I slapped his shoulder, not too hard.

“In the old days,” he said, “they would’ve never called that pansy foul. In American football, players hug harder than that.”

I laughed. Nobody dished it out better than Bones.

“Are you kidding me? I almost lost a leg out there!”

The faintest smile crept into his face.

“You’d make a fair-to-middling NFL kicker,” he said.

“And your empty head would make a fair soccer ball,” I replied.

A boy next to him bounced up and down like his feet were springs. His brown hair flopped around wildly and the freckles that sprinkled his face bunched up.

Bones nodded and a tear gathered in the corner of his eyes. He wiped it away in a hurry.

“Thank you, Leo,” he said. “The kids haven’t talked about anything else for a week.”

He pointed at the brown-haired boy.

“Josh didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

Josh bounced uncontrollably screaming, “The Lion of Spain wins it!”

Bones sniffed and cleared out the frog growing in his throat.

“Don’t get soft on me, old man!” I slapped his shoulder. “I’m happy we finally made it happen.”

I turned to Josh, the boy I’d adopt in a nanosecond if the idiot courts in Barcelona would let me. Apparently, I was an unacceptable parental role model.

Yeah, probably.

But how many biological parents were standing right there beside me?

Besides, had any of those uptight authority assholes lived
one minute
in the shoes of someone like Josh?

No.

But I had.

The familiar burn in my belly started to boil so I pushed the thought away.

“Your plan worked, Sport!” I said to Josh. “Upper left corner was his weakness.”

The other kids from the Bright Hope children’s home stared at Josh in wonder.
 

“Spain owes you a debt,” I said to his beaming grin. “So, I’ll start with this as a down payment.”

I slid off my jersey and settled it over his lanky eight-year-old frame.

Rodrigo came up behind me with the game winning ball and a Sharpie.

Josh’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. I’d given him a number of match balls over the three years I’d known him, but this one was the most special by far.

I bit off the cap and wrote on the ball. I lined up the ball so it would hit right.

“Ready to practice a header?”

He nodded so hard it looked like his head would shake off.

I tossed the ball and he headed it right back.

“Nice one, Sport!” I said with a laugh.

I handed him the ball and he rolled it around looking for where I’d signed it. He found it and furrowed his brow.

It wasn’t my usual signature.

“It’s backwards,” he said.

He mouthed out the letters trying to solve the puzzle.

“Why does it say ‘BUTTHEAD’ backwards?”

He turned to the kid next to him and the whole section of kids busted out laughing. They pointed at his forehead.

Josh turned back and punched me in the chest. He rubbed at his forehead, but it wasn’t that easy to get Sharpie off.

“Got ya!” I said.

Josh lit up and laughed harder than the rest. The kid was amazing. Resilient and open to a world that hadn’t done him many favors.

I waved at the rest of my team all huddled around the raving kids.

“Let’s go guys! Shirts off!”

The whole team stripped down and tossed their jerseys into the mass of squealing kids.

Good.

They each deserved more happy memories than they’d been given so far.

Josh held the ball above his head and yelled.
 
“The Lion of Spain wins again! The Lion of Spain wins again!”

I leaned over the railing and gave him a lion-sized hug. I let go and ruffled his hair.

“We’re going all the way this time!” I said. “I have to get back for interviews and all that. We still have plans for Monday afternoon?”

“You bet we do!” he shouted.

I nodded and turned to Bones.

“NFL kicker, huh?”

“Yeah, something worthwhile,” he said.

I held my hands in the air and looked around taking in the pandemonium of a hundred thousand people going apeshit.

“This is where I belong.”

Rodrigo tugged on my shorts.

“Let’s go, boss. Lots of TV people wanna talk your ear off.”

I made a show of grabbing at my ear and being shocked at finding it missing.

Josh giggled like crazy.

“See you, J,” I said.

Rodrigo pulled me toward the waiting throng of cameras and microphones. He whispered in my ear, “Let’s get this over with. That surprise I’ve got should be waiting below.”

I’d scored an unforgettable goal, one they’d show on montage reels for years to come.

And now I was ready to score another one of my favorite things.

* * *

Jennifer and Jennifer (they were all Jennifers) danced in front of me in the locker room, gyrating their hips around like their butts were on swivels. Red lace panties and matching bras left little to the imagination. Their flat bellies and huge tits defied the laws of nature, which was fine by me.

I didn’t
do
limitations.

“Let’s go, ladies,” I said. “Whoever dances the best is the winner.”

The winner, of course, being the girl that would end up with me for the night. To be honest, they were both going to get lucky, but a little healthy competition never hurt anything.

They darted dagger eyes at each other and redoubled their efforts at being the sexiest.

I had to give it to Rodrigo.

They were the hottest pair of fake blondes I’d seen in a week or two. Yeah, girls like them blurred in my memory into a faceless mass of conquests. But it never hurt to smudge in a couple more.

I sat on a wood bench with my legs spread out in front. Not a stitch of clothing covering my skin. My cock hung between my legs like the rope that it was.

But having a big dick wasn’t all physical. Part of it was mental too. And nobody and nothing had a cockier mind than mine.

Jennifers pulled their bras off. A quartet of plastic tits stared me in the face. They were going to earn a hot load before then sun came up.

I looked over and saw Rodrigo getting his cock stroked by a young, petite brunette. He had a thing for small girls that he could bounce around. He caught my eye and grinned. He flashed a number one sign with his finger, and because he was my best friend and I knew him, I didn’t take it as a challenge. He was just celebrating.

As was I.

Jennifers danced around doing the whole over-the-top sexy thing. Why did every girl think stripper-dancing was the only way to be sexy?

The media or something.

I took a long slug of cold beer and watched the show.

“Who’s the winner gonna be?” I asked, to fuck with them a little more.
 

Why not?

Anything to keep my interest.

My reverie was cut short when someone knocked on the locker room door.

Who knocked on a locker room door?

The door flew open and the most stunning pair of long, cocoa legs I’d ever seen stumbled in. A guy with a camera on his shoulder came in behind her.

She lurched to a stop and stood there with her mouth hanging wide open and a confused look on her face.
 

Her eyes dropped to the area between my legs.

“Kind of late for an interview, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Sorry,” she stammered as her eyes came back up to mine. “I, I…”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “For you, I’ll hang out awhile.” I caught her gaze and glanced down between my legs. I looked back up and she was still locked on my dick like a tractor beam.

She shook her head. “Sorry, no…”

She took a step back and tripped on what must’ve been a four-inch heel. She sprawled forward flailing her arms. Her face smacked the concrete floor with a slap.

“Ouch! Damn!” I said as I jumped up and ran over.

I leaned down in front of her and extended a hand.

“Take my hand. Let me help you up,” I said.

Still staring at the floor, she held her busted face with one hand and raised her other hand above her head. She reached up and grabbed ahold.

Of my dick.

She missed my hand by a few inches and ended up with more than a few in return. She tugged down and then let go like she’d grabbed an electric fence.

A spark ran through my belly. One that settled deep in my balls. Something in her touch. Something I’d never felt.

I found her hand and steadied her.

“I like where you were going,” I said. “But maybe we should get some ice on that first. Then again, I’m a gentleman, so lady’s choice.”

She pushed up to her knees and looked up.

My heart exploded in my chest. Looking at me were the two most gorgeous amber-colored eyes I’d ever seen.

“I could use the ice,” she replied.

Fire burned in my veins. My dick pulsed and bobbled between my legs. Blood rushed down and my soldier started to raise the flag.

She kept her gaze on mine, which was saying something because her cheek was no more than a foot away from my rising erection, and said, “And it looks like you could use a cold shower.”

A circuit deep inside my brain, deep inside my balls, blew a fuse.

I’d found my winner.

Alexis

I stood in the press room, nervously drumming my fingers on the back of a foldable metal chair. Ed, my cameraman, and I were the only two people left. Everyone else gave up over an hour ago.

I continued waiting for Leonardo Cruz to come out, knowing full well it was never going to happen. The first person to score a post-game interview with The Lion—
El Leon
as the Spanish people called him—would get a major ratings boost.

Only he never did interviews of more than a half a minute or so. Just long enough to smile at the fans and thank them for their support. Never enough to satisfy the reporter.
 

Yeah, I was supposed to be doing a puff piece on the best tapas spots in the famous Gothic Quarter of Barcelona. But that was bullshit, intern-level work.
 

So what if I was an intern. I was never going to score the big bucks by covering plates of food.

After I ended the relationship with Robert, I decided to stick with the plan of moving to Europe. I wasn’t going to let
him
screw with my life plans.
 

Any more than he already had, at least.

It wasn’t an easy feat, but I managed to convince Megan to go, too. We ended up deciding on Barcelona because what’s not to love about the city of Gaudí? Oh yeah, and it was a big, bustling city with a beach on one side.

I’d been working this intern-level gig for five months and was going nowhere fast. There were only so ways to film and describe the delicious Spanish assortment of snacks known as
tapas
.

I was in desperate need of something major to prove I deserved bigger stories, and The Lion was the biggest story of all, if only someone could pin down the elusive national hero.

Ed sat in the corner with his gear in his lap and his head resting against the wall.

Were his eyes closed?

Was he taking a nap?

“Ed, wake up!”

He jerked and nearly dumped his fragile, ten-thousand-dollar camera on the concrete floor. He snatched it mid-tumble and saved his job for another day.

“What?”
 

He looked around, his eyes bleary and uncomprehending.

“Did he finally come out?” he asked.

“No, but we need to be ready.”

He shook his head and dropped it back against the wall. He stared at the ceiling.

“You know we’re not supposed to be here?”

I gritted my teeth. We’d already been through this.

“Do you want to be stuck filming dishes of
Tortilla Espanola
your whole life?” I said.

He exhaled loud enough to be sure I caught it.

His hinted exasperation wasn’t going to change my plan. Not in a million years.

“Good. Neither do I. We’re going to get the interview that no one could get. I’m going places, Ed. And you’re coming with me.”

His eyes shut. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Our voices echoed around the desolate room. Nearly the entire Spanish national team had come out and done the usual circus of interviews after a big game. We’d stood in the corner, doing our best not to attract attention. Everyone was only too happy to oblige by ignoring us.

And, of course, Leonardo spoke with reporters while leaving the field, but then never showed up afterwards as the other players did.

Now two hours later, only Ed and I remained. The rest of the press figured Leonardo escaped out another exit to avoid having to interact with them.
 

I couldn’t blame him.
 

The media praised and held him high on the one hand and clobbered and beat him with the other.

Not that it wasn’t entirely, or mostly, his fault. It was. He had a knack for getting his face and half-clothed, gorgeous body splashed across the front-page tabloid news at least once a week.

On the other hand, he’d do something like he did today. I’d seen him on TV giving his jersey to that boy in the stands. Then getting his whole team to do the same for the other kids.

He was a total question mark.
 

I watched the closed and locked door to the stadium’s back corridors and team facilities, willing it to open, willing my career to mean something more than nothing.

The door clicked and swung open!

And it wasn’t Leonardo.

A janitor pushed a mop and cart through the door and looked up in surprise.

Great.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Thought everyone was gone by now.”