Beachside Lover - A Bad Boy Sports Romance: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Read online

  Beachside Lover

  A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  Andy Wayne

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 1

  The air smelled like seaweed and salt water as it rolled over the sand. Elena didn't know how she knew what the ocean smelled like, having never smelled it before, but somehow she recognized it when she stepped off the gate and found herself standing in the middle of a crowd.

  People were pushing past one another, sidestepping between couples, and dodging little kids attached to their mother's hands. It was overwhelming. There was no place for Elena to stand and absorb her surroundings. She would have very much liked to stand back out of the fray and just watch, taking it all in. This was her first time visiting the Pacific coast, and even the airport could have offered her a little bit of distraction. Instead, she was forced to follow the stampede, and struggled to make her way to the conveyor belt where her luggage was on display for anyone who felt like taking it.

  She sifted through the navy blue and black wheeled suitcases until she found hers and snatched it up. Then she walked back into the crowd. Her phone started vibrating as soon as she found the exit, but she couldn't answer it because she was sandwiched between two men the size of sumo wrestlers. She couldn't even reach into her pocket.

  Elena figured she would just call him back, but by the time she had squeezed herself out the door and into the parking lot, he had already called four times.

  “What?” she answered, a hint of irritation in her voice.

  “Where are you?” Tripp sounded upset.

  “I told you. I'm in Ocean Beach. I took a job out here.”

  “You never told me. I drove all the way down to your house this morning. The lights were off and the blinds wide open. It was completely cleared out. Are you leaving me, Elena?”

  “No. I'm not leaving you. I put my stuff in storage because I knew I was going to be gone for a while. Tripp, I've been telling you about this for the past three months. You never listen. Half the time you interrupted me before I even started to tell you. You'd think that if you were so worried about me leaving you, you'd listen to what I have to say.” She dodged out of the way, barely avoiding a man pushing a luggage cart the size of a smart car.

  “So you are leaving me. I knew it. You didn't even have the decency to tell me to my face. Instead, you just disappeared. After everything we've been through. You ran off without saying a word.”

  “I'll be back, Tripp. I love you and I want to be with you, okay?” She used a softer voice, hoping he would listen.

  “You can't deny you're unhappy. We've been fighting for years.”

  “I want to be with you.”

  “Just say it, Elena.”

  “Do you want me to break up with you, Tripp? I mean, it sounds as if you do. You didn't even listen to me when I tried to tell you I was leaving town. You literally tuned me out for the past three months. I told you I was leaving yesterday. And what was your response? Okay, baby,” she mocked him.

  “Are you leaving me, Elena?”

  “No.”

  “But you want to get away.”

  “I need to. It's not because of you.”

  “Yes it is,” he countered.

  “You're right. It is,” she said as she started walking to the line of cabs next to the curb.

  “I love you, Elena.”

  “I love you too, Tripp.”

  “Alright.” He hung up sounding disappointed.

  “Hey,” Elena turned to her right at the sound of the voice, and saw there was a taxi driver staring at her. “You need a ride?”

  “Sure. Could you open the back?”

  He popped the trunk and let her in. “Where to?”

  “Big One Arena, please.”

  “Got it.”

  The freeway was a death trap. The only way they were able to get through the grid-locked traffic was by dodging back and forth between lanes, and there were a couple of times when Elena was certain they were going to sideswipe somebody. She didn't know how she was going to survive on roads like this. I was a good thing she had decided to wait a bit before she rented a car. Otherwise, she might have killed herself the second she left the exit ramp.

  When they finally got back onto the city streets, Elena sat back and closed her eyes. She didn't really feel like going into the office right away, she wanted to get a hotel and lay down for a couple hours, but that wasn't going to happen.

  Tripp was in her head, screaming. Her heart was still racing from the death race on the freeway, and all she could think about was how unfair he was being. He didn't have to put so much pressure on her. She really did love him. Of course they fought. They were a couple. It would be impossible for them to live a peaceful existence when they were spending so much time together. That was the problem. If she just got away for a little while, it would give her the time she needed to treat him the way he deserved. She wouldn't be so tense, so angry with him all the time. It seemed like everything he did bothered her these days, and he felt the same way about her.

  He was still the one. He would appreciate her and take care of her. She wouldn't have to work. She could start a family and raise her kids in a wonderful home. She wouldn't have to worry about whether or not she'd have food or the money to buy the things they needed. Tripp would make sure that her life was easy. Elena didn't want to give him up.

  But he was distant. They would go out to eat and he'd look at everything but her. He'd mindlessly nod his head and smile while she was talking, but she knew that he was never listening. Sometimes she'd say funny things to catch him and he would just acknowledge what she was saying without even noticing.

  The spark was gone, and she wasn't sure they were going to get it back. She wasn't even sure she wanted it back. She wanted the life he had to offer, but she didn't want the man he was becoming. Elena wanted a relationship based on something real—passion and trust. Because they had been seeing each other so long, it seemed they'd gotten comfortable… complacent. Elena didn't want to be comfortable. She was wanted to move forward and be a part of something. Something real.

  The arena's black steel structure came into sight long before they reached it. It was sitting high above the rest of the city, on the top of a hill bordering the coast—a man-made monolith filled with brightly covered screens and light towers. It seemed unnatural against the beautiful coastal backdrop.

  She hated sports, especially football. In her mind, it was an antiquated tradition that only served to suck up money and attract filth. She wanted as little to do with it as possible, but she needed the job. She made a living taking out the trash—fixing marriage scandals, bad hair days and all around craziness so public figures and businessmen could look good in front of a camera.

  The problem was that people out in the Midwest where she lived weren't all that picky about their public figures. They were too busy with the daily grind to care. So her image consulting firm was tanking, and she wasn't making it. So, she had broadened her horizons and wound up where her services would be needed the most.

  The west coast was a haven for celebrities and their drama. Everyone was in the tabloids and if they weren't, they were trying to be. Ocean Beach was the perfect place for her to revitalize her career.

  Elena found her way to the priva
te entrance in the back of the arena and followed a series of empty corridors until she came to the elevator that would take her to the top floor. The place was rugged. There were no frills, no decorations, just bare steel and black painted walls. They didn't even bother to fix the paint that had worn away around the elevator buttons.

  Elena wanted to challenge herself, and she believed that working with athletes was the best way to do that. If she could make these would be felons the size of apes look good, then she could make anyone look good. The elevators opened up to a long reception area with posters lining the walls and a row of cheap metal chairs sitting under them. It reminded her of a run-down old dive bar that couldn't afford tables and booths. The only thing that set it apart was the young woman sitting at the reception desk wearing a white shirt that barely covered her chest, and enough makeup to paint the Mona Lisa.

  “Hi,” Elena's heels clicked against the tile floor.

  “Hello.” When the receptionist looked up from her phone, Elena could tell there wasn’t much happening behind her blank stare.

  “I have a meeting with Chance in ten minutes.”

  “Watch,” she laughed. Then she turned toward the back and door and leaned back in her chair.

  “What are we watching for?” Elena asked, curious.

  “Just wait,” she folded her legs and smiled.

  The door shot open and hit the wall behind it, lodging the doorknob into a hole in the wall. Elena stepped back. The man that emerged was a model of pure, unadulterated anger, packed into a tight Latino package.

  “What?” He cocked his head to the side and trained his eyes on her. He was clearly imbalanced. Elena was worried he'd run up and slam her to the ground. He could do it. The man had arms the size of tree trunks, and a body like a bear. Dread rushed down her spine and settled in her gut. She was in danger, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  She waited while he stared at her, terrified that he would hurt her, but he didn't. Instead he walked past with a cocky smile and shook his head.

  Chapter 2

  Before Elena got a chance to ask the receptionist what was going on, Chance, the team's manager called out to her from his office. “Elena,” he said jovially. “Come on in.”

  She got the sense that this was a man in control, capable of passing through different worlds, like circles of athletes and those of well-groomed investors. It was his confidence, perhaps; and the way he had his feet up on his desk with a sly smile. He was casual, wearing a graphic tee with his auburn hair messed up and a pair of sandals to go along with his torn jeans. She imagined him with a surf board leaning against the wall of a luau hut, drinking a beer.

  When she walked in, he said, “You can close the door.” Then he motioned for her to sit down.

  She did.

  “Diego Rojas is the lowest form of life I've ever come into contact with. Do you know what he did?”

  “Of course I do. He knocked up one of the Hawk Ladies and now he's refusing to take responsibility for it. Everyone knows about it, and it's causing a huge scene. In my opinion, any man that could leave a woman after getting her pregnant doesn't deserve to exist, much less father a child.”

  Chance put his feet down and leaned in. “Those women are the reason why people come to this arena. They don't care about the game. They just want to see the girls bend over. Maricela was one of our best. Everyone knows who she is. She's as big as he is. Now that they know what he did to her, women everywhere are burning their bras in her honor, and it's killing out ticket sales. I lost four sponsors this morning, and Diego could give a shit.”

  “This isn't going to be easy. I don't think people want to listen to him.”

  “They don't. Bottom line is damage control. Keep him in line. Teach him to talk to the press like he has more than a third grade education, and we'll do our best to keep her low key.”

  “It won't be enough,” she added.

  “If we can keep this controlled while you work on giving him a better image, we might be able to avoid the worst of it.”

  The media cycle was slow, they didn't have much to talk about. It could take a long time for them to move on from the story. She wasn’t looking forward to this assignment.

  “Oh, you'll be meeting Diego tonight. The team does charity work regularly. It helps bring in sponsors and it keeps the players occupied with something other than drugs and pussy. We're having a fundraiser for an African children's foundation and Diego is required to attend. It would be a great chance to corner him and maybe have a few drinks.”

  “Okay.”

  “Great,” he said as he stood up to show Elena out. “Give Chelsea your hotel information.” He stopped at the door and Elena watched as he undressed her with his eyes. “This is a red carpet event.”

  “Of course,” she replied. The man was a pig.

  “Perfect.” He slapped her on the back playfully. “I'll pick you up at six.” He gave her one last sickening look before he closed the door.

  Elena hovered around the reception desk, while the girl fawned over the slab of bleached blond beef leaning over the counter. They were talking quietly, smiling and giggling. Elena couldn't make out what they were saying, but judging by the intensity of their looks, she had a pretty good idea.

  She cleared her throat.

  “Oh, hi!” Chelsea reacted with a high pitched explosion of energy

  “Hi.”

  “How was it?”

  The man stared at Elena indignantly. He was probably upset that she interrupted him.

  “It was fine,” Elena leaned against the desk. “What happened before I went in?”

  “Well, Diego has been coming in every day, trying to talk to Chance, but Chance is really mad at him for knocking up that girl, so they keep getting into it. It's actually kind of funny. Their meetings never last longer than two minutes. So I do what I call the countdown.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah.” Her blond ponytail bobbed up and down when she nodded her head excitedly. “It never fails.”

  “You're so smart, babe.” The beefcake sounded like he was just as brain dead as she was.

  “So, the man that rushed out of the office was Diego?”

  “Yeah. I mean, you didn't know that? He's the star of the team.”

  “I guess I didn't.” She said with a sinking feeling, as she handed Chelsea her hotel information and left.

  Elena wasn't going to be able to get within a few feet of Diego without fainting, much less work with him on a daily basis. Image consultants were meant to have close relationships with their clients. They manage nearly every aspect of their PR, including wardrobe and statements to the press. She even regulated her client's mannerisms. She couldn't work with Diego on that kind of level.

  He was more animal than human. He would either eat her alive or tackle her, probably both. How was she going to be around him, much less fix him up?

  She wasn't sure she could handle any of the people she'd met. Elena was a simple woman whose life consisted solely of Netflix and quiet dinners. She liked things that were elegant and refined. She wasn't going to relate to these people and their over-exaggerated personas. They were too flamboyant and vulgar. Their lives revolved around their vices and base desires. There was no wholesomeness, no family or tradition. They lived the way they wanted to, with no regard to the consequences of their actions.

  Chapter 3

  Elena wasn't looking to go to a red carpet event. She didn't have anything to wear, and even as an image consultant, she had no idea how things would be handled at the entrance. She went back to her suite, a two room with antique couches and a bed that Jesus must have made himself. She laid down and snuggled, letting the padding overtake her.

  She had to figure out what she was going to do. There would be a way to walk, a way to dress and proper protocol for dealing with the press. She looked up everything from celebrity websites to etiquette, but the red carpet was a mysterious affair, either you knew how to work it or you
didn't.

  At a loss, she called down to the front desk. “Hello,” the woman answered in a thick eastern European accent.

  “Yes, hi. My name is Elena in room 416—”

  “One moment.” The phone shuffled around and Elena thought she heard the sound of a woman shrieking. “Fine. Fine. She's right here.” The receptionist must have been covering up the receiver. “I'll send them right up, Miss Matthews.”

  “Them?” Elena's phone beeped. She put the receptionist on speaker. She had a message from Chance saying that he was sending a tune up crew down.

  A tune up crew?

  “Your stylist team and designer. They just arrived.” Chance was talking about her like she was a car.

  “Send them up.”

  “Of course, Miss Matthews,” with the usual pleasantries, the receptionist hung up the phone.

  In less than five minutes, Elena heard a brisk knock at the door and jumped up to answer.

  “Move. Move. Step aside.” An Asian man wearing all black, with dyed blond hair winging down the side of his head, pushed his way through with a series of clothes racks being towed by a group of women behind him. The girls stood them up against the wall and turned around to face Elena who suddenly felt self-conscious. “Okay, girls!” he said as he snapped his fingers behind his head.

  The four women walked up, dressed the same as the head of the pack. Each one had perfect blond, wavy hair with a classic figure.

  “I'm Donovan,” he said as he offered Elena his hand. As soon as she took it, he pulled her forward and ducked down to look her fingernails over. His face went sour. “I guess those will do. Come here.” He pulled her forward and stopped her in front of the clothes rack. “These are couture. That means they're made to fit the model. They won't fit you properly, but it's all we have.”

  “I know what couture is.”

  “Yes. Now I'm thinking of a color.” He walked to the front of a rack and started pushing the hangers aside, faster and faster until he stopped, jumped back and gasped, with his hand over his mouth.