Tell Me A Story
TELL ME A STORY
LACEY BLACK
KAYLEE RYAN
CONTENTS
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue Joey
Epilogue Brock
Thank you
Acknowledgements
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2022 Kaylee Ryan & Lacey Black
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of Kaylee Ryan and/or Lacey Black, except for the use of brief quotations in articles and or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locations, businesses and plot are products of the author’s imagination and meant to be used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events throughout the story are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges trademark owners and trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, sponsored or associated by or with the trademark owners.
The following story contains sexual situations and strong language.
It is intended for adult readers.
Cover Designer: Just Write Creations
Editor: Hot Tree Editing
Proofreading: Deaton Author Services, Sandra Shipman, Kara Hildebrand, and Jo Thompson
CHAPTER
ONE
Brock
“Once upon a time,” I start, and the group, my best friend, Caleb, and some of my new teammates, erupt in laughter.
We’re sitting outside around the fire at Caleb’s house, which is my house now, too, since I’ve been traded to the Kansas City Ramblers. When you’re traded in the professional football league, there is no time to shop around for a house. Training camp started two days later. I had no choice but to get my ass to Kansas City. Thankfully, Caleb was all too willing to let me stay with him.
I was drafted to the Chicago Thunder right out of college. I was butthurt when they traded me, but that’s the thing about a career in professional sports. It’s business, not personal. The Thunder needed a quarterback and did what they had to do to make that happen. As I sit here with my best friend since freshman year of college and my new teammates, I can’t find it in me to be mad. I miss my old teammates, I miss my old team, but damn, it’s going to be nice playing on the same side of the field as my best friend again.
“Fuck off,” Caleb says, trying to hide his smile.
“No, don’t stop,” Jeff, the left tackle for my new team, says, holding his stomach.
“There were three of them,” I continue. “They were all over him, and his drunk ass tells them to drop their panties. I kid you not. All three did just that right there in the middle of the bar.” I grin when I see Caleb cover his face with his hands. He lived up to the hype of the football player, being, well, a player in college. Hell, we all did.
“Damn,” Dominic, one of the defensive linemen, speaks up. “Sounds like I went to the wrong college.”
“What about the time you hooked up with the cheerleader on the back of the bus?” Caleb tries to goad me, but we both know it won’t work.
“Good times,” I say, holding up my beer in salute, making him laugh. “There is no shame in my game,” I tell them. “I was single. Nothing wrong with a little action.”
“Not when it’s where we can all hear her,” Caleb accuses.
I shrug. “You know damn well that if she or any of the cheerleaders wanted to ride your cock, you’d have done the same thing.” A chorus of agreement pipes up around me, including from Caleb.
Sex is a beautiful thing, and there is no shame in having lots of it. Two rules. Both of you need to be single, and always wrap it before you tap it. I’m not really a relationship kind of guy. I’ve got women throwing themselves at me daily, and I’m gone a lot. I know some of the guys make it work and are happy even. However, there are just as many that end in divorce. I may not be one for relationships. However, if I ever do find the one, if I ever take the plunge and settle down, she’s going to be it for me. I’ll make damn sure she knows how much she means to me. I refuse to be a statistic of a pro athlete and end up divorced. That shit is fucked-up. I’ve seen it happen too many times. Besides, I was raised by a single mom. I know the toll it takes on not only the parents but the child.
“Do they think that’s what we want?” Alan, an offensive lineman, asks. “They have to know that letting us fuck them whenever wherever does not make them wife material.”
“You looking to wife up, Jones?” Caleb questions, calling him by his last name.
“Yeah, I mean, isn’t that how life works? You meet someone worth taking home, you marry them, have a house full of babies, and live happily ever after, and all that shit?”
“Jones here is the resident romantic of the Ramblers,” Caleb explains.
“Nothing wrong with a little romance,” Jeff chimes in. “That doesn’t mean you have to wife them.”
“Why put forth the effort if they’re not worth having around for the long haul?” Alan asks.
“Smart man.” Dominic points at him with his water bottle that looks like a mini version in his large hands. “And if they’re not wife material, we don’t have to put in the effort. There are too many warm and willing football groupies to have to even try.” I see him shrug through the light of the fire.
We’re jaded, like most pro athletes, from the scandals and the jersey chasers who try to latch on to us for fame, or as their meal ticket. I’m sure if there were women around to hear this conversation, they’d be appalled at our reasoning, but it’s our reality. The one that we live day in and day out. You know those rumors you hear about fans sneaking into celebrities’ and athletes’ homes lying naked in their beds? Yeah, that shit really happens. Never to me, but I did have a woman drop her trench coat as I approached my car in the lot one night after an away game. She was buck naked, standing there begging me to take her. I didn’t, in case you were wondering. I was exhausted from the game and the long-ass flight home. I just wanted a shower to rinse off the travel and my bed.
My own father was a loser, as was my best friend’s dad. He played in the league, a damn good player too, but he played just as hard off the field as he did on. It’s not just the women, but the parties too. There are some guys who live for that shit.
“None of you are married or attached?” I ask my new teammates. A variety of “nope, no, nah, and not me” greets my ears.
“What about you?”
“Unattached,” I tell them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to settling down, but it’s hard to find someone who’s worthy of taking home to your momma when you’re on the road or at practice six to seven months out of the year. I don’t indulge in the groupies as much as I did in college, or hell, even when I was first drafted. That shit gets old fast. I’m not a saint. I still have the casual hookup, but they know the score, and they’re good with it. They want to say that they slept with Brock Williams. I’m bragging rights for them.
Gotta love the life of a professional athlete.
Most of the guys in committed relationships met their girl in college and some in high school. They’ve been with them before they became a household name. I wasn’t that guy. That’s fine. I have five, maybe six years left to play. Football is hard as hell on your body. Maybe then, once I’m no longer in the limelight, I might find a nice girl and settle down.
“This has been real, fellas,” Hank, the center says, standing from his Adirondack chair. “I’m heading home.”
That starts a chain reaction as all the guys stand and say their goodbyes. “I’m glad you’re here, brother,” Caleb says, leaning his head back against his chair and staring up at the night sky. “Going to be a good season with us on the same team.” He holds his hand out for me to bump, and I don’t disappoint, making a fist and pressing it against his.
“Yeah,” I agree. “The guys all seem nice. I expected training camp to be a bitch, but everyone was pretty chill.”
“They are,” he agrees. He starts to say something else when his phone rings. “It’s Joey,” he says, referring to his little sister. “Hey, sis,” he answers.
I’ve met Josephine Henderson a handful of times while we were in college. She’s four or so years younger than us, so she was graduating from high school as we were leaving college. She’s a cute girl, if my memory serves me correctly.
“You have a key. Just come on in. You know where your room is.” He pauses. “Do you need me to come and get you?” Another pause. “Are you sure?”
My curiosity is piqued for sure. It sounds like Josephine, or Joey as Caleb calls her, might be coming for a visit.
“All right. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Everything all right?” I ask.
“Yeah, I think so. That was my sister. She’s coming to visit.”
“Unplanned?”
He nods. “That’s not like her, but she said she just needs a break. We both know that our dad and her mom aren’t good options.”
“Definitely not,” I agree. Their family history is messy and all kinds of complicated. Caleb and Josephine have the same father but different mothers. The two of them have forged their own little tight-knit family that excludes their parents.
“What’s she doing these days?” I ask him.
“She works at some big-wig advertising firm in Springfield. She’s wicked smart with all that marketing shit.” He finishes off his water before placing the lid back on the bottle. “I hate that she’s two and a half hours away, but she loves what she does, and she’s damn good at it. She’s moved up the ladder pretty quickly in the short amount of time that she’s been there. She started right out of college, and now she’s a junior something or other. Don’t tell her I can’t remember her job title,” he jokes.
“Good for her.”
“I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“You getting old on me, Henderson?” I call him out, using his last name.
“Fuck off.” He laughs. “I’ll see your ugly mug in the morning.” With that, he stands and heads toward the back door.
“Night, my man,” I say with a wave. I should probably head inside as well, but it’s nice out, and the fire is still blazing. The last several weeks have been hectic from getting traded and starting training camp with a new team two days later. It took some time to get into the groove with my new teammates on the field, well, everyone except for Caleb. He and I just work together like a well-oiled machine. Now, here I am, a few days away from the first preseason game of the year.
It’s going to be weird for me not to wear a Thunder jersey, but so far, the trade has been good. I do need to find my own place to live, but Caleb insists that my staying with him is fine. I agreed to stay through the season. I’ll have more time once the season is over to look at houses and decide where I want to live. I also still need to sell my place in Chicago. It’s on the market, but as of right now, no takers. It’s in a private gated community, so maybe one of the new recruits to the Thunder will be interested. Hell, half of my neighbors were my Thunder teammates.
I don’t know how long I’m out here staring at the stars when my phone rings. Fishing the phone out of my pocket, I see my mom’s name. “Hello.”
“Brock, is everything okay?”
Her mom-dar is always on full alert. “Yeah. I’m just sitting out here around the fire. The guys left, and Caleb went to bed. I’m just relaxing.”
“Good. How was the training camp? I only got to talk to you for a little bit the other day.”
My mother’s “little bit” was actually almost an hour. “It was good. The team is tight. Took some time to mesh with everyone, but we finally found our groove.”
“Oh, good. I was worried about how that was going to play out.”
“What are you doing up this late?” I ask, pulling the phone away from my ear so I can check the time.
“I worked a late shift. I just got home. I was hoping I would get lucky and you’d still be up.”
“Mom.” I sigh. “I’ve told you that you can quit that job. Let me take care of you.”
“I will do no such thing, Brock Andrew Williams,” she scolds.
I know she means business when she does the full name drop. “Stubborn.” My tone is teasing, even though we both know I’m serious. I had to fight tooth and nail to buy her the house she lives in. She threw a fit, and I hated to threaten to have her old house torn down so she wouldn’t have a choice to get her to cave.
“That’s your money, son.”
“Mom. You busted your ass to keep me in gear and to get me to games and practices from the time I was five years old. I have more money than I can spend in my lifetime. I’ve invested well. Let me do this for you.”
“Nope. Not going to happen. Have you met any nice girls? You could give me a grandchild, you know,” she says, only half teasing.
“I promise you, if I ever happen to come across someone I think is worthy of your time, you will be the first to know.” I don’t tell her what she already knows, which is that there is a very slim chance of that happening. Not in the next few years. “How was your shift?” I ask to change the subject. Mom is an ER nurse at the local county hospital in Indiana, where I grew up.
“It was slow for once. You know, not a lot of action in this small town of ours.”
“How’s Howard?” I inquire. Howard is my mom’s boyfriend for all intents and purposes. She calls him her “man friend,” but they’ve been “friends” exclusively for about six years now. He’s a great guy who treats her right. That’s all that I can ask for.
“He’s doing well. He’s still coming with me this weekend. Is that okay?”
“You know it is. I have two tickets waiting at the booth for the both of you.”
“You nervous? First game with your new team?”
“A little, if I’m being honest. We have the preseason to work out the kinks. I think it’s more excitement to be on the field with Caleb again and to see where we can take the Ramblers this season than anything.”
“I sure did love to watch the two of you play together in college.”
“The A team.” I laugh.
“Most definitely,” she agrees. “All right, well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to check in on you.”