Free Love 'Em: A Bad Boy Romance by Kelley Harvey

when it came to
any woman?
    Her inhalation sounds tired and deep. With a shake of her
head, she tosses one of the balls into the air and slams it with more
aggression than that ball probably deserved. Why do I get the feeling that she might
be imagining it’s one of mine?
    “Since I don’t want to talk about it.” She tucks a stray
curl back into the bun atop her head.
    The children’s mother comes to the fence, dragging them away
and chattering on about how people should watch their mouths in public. I give
her a little wave. At least she doesn’t know what else happened in public. I’d
probably get arrested.
    I check my watch. It’s seven twenty-two. If they were meeting
at seven, Dave’s late. What the fuck? Is he going to stand her up? He’d better not
pull some shit like that. Not cool.
    “So, did Dave text? He’s late, right?”
    She shrugs. “I don’t know. We’re set to meet at seven thirty.
What time is it?”
    “Oh. Guess not then. A few more minutes.” Why do I even care
if she gets stood up?
    What the fuck is wrong with me?
    Okay, so she’s a hot piece of ass that I’m dying to tap, but
whether or not she succeeds with her work really shouldn’t matter to me. And whether
or not she’s disappointed by some guy she’s going on a fake date with shouldn’t
be important to me.
    But it is.
    Damn. I need to get laid. This is ridiculous.
    Tonight. I get fucked tonight. Even if it has to be someone
from my little black book. This shit’s fucking with my head. Both of them.

    I lean forward, hands braced on my knees. I need to play
more often. This is embarrassing.
    Just sad. I haven’t lost without scoring once between all the
games in probably six years. I can usually at least score one measly point.
Best five out of seven didn’t take too long.
    “You okay, Ronnie?” Dave takes a swig of water from his
bottle.
    I hold up a finger, still out of breath.
    Jackson meets Dave at the net. They shake hands and chat for
a minute, but I can’t hear them for all the wheezing I’m doing at the moment.
    Dave and Jackson come my way. I stand, trying to fake that
I’m fine. I’m so not fine. That’s it. No more tennis. Since my tits got
this big, it’s just not worth the pain and suffering, even with the two sport
bras I’m wearing—not enough. And I’m sadly out of shape.
    “You’re amazing, Dave.” I smile at him the best I can while still
huffing and puffing. Compliment him. He needs to know I appreciate his
abilities. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a talented opponent.”
    Dave offers his hand. “Well, good game, and thanks for the
fun. I’m afraid I have to get to work.”
    Not even the offer of a side-hug.
    This is great. I’ve made zero progress in trying to pull Dave
in.
    Stupid Jackson. Third wheel.
    I gather my things from the far end of the court. Dave’s
already gone, and Jack waits near the gate. I start down the court, eyes on Jackson
as he bends over to tie his shoe.
    That ass. Oh my. The memory of it in my hand only days ago
sends a shot of fresh adrenaline to my core. Why couldn’t God send me a man
like Jackson who actually wants a relationship? One as well put together, but who
enjoys women for more than a screw—
    The world suddenly tilts as something jumps into my path. A
hard thump on my forehead is followed by a flash of pain through my skull.
    I let go of my arm full of crap, roll over, and sit up.
    Nice.
    Follow my miserable set with failing to pay attention to
where I walk. I groan, probing the thumping spot on my head. Wetness meets my
fingertips.
    Jackson runs over, kneeling next to me. “Oh, my God, Ronnie.
What happened?”
    Great. Dump a little humiliation on top of my disgrace.
    I let out a tired breath. “This stupid net jumped out and
tackled me.”
    Jack chuckles at my sad joke as he whips off his shirt and
presses it against my bleeding wound. “C’mon, let’s get you to an emergency room.
I think that might need stitches.”
    He pulls me to