Free Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance by Simone Scarlet MMA

“I’ll drive you home.”
    Hannibal laughed uproariously.
    “Aww, hell no . You think Momma’s gonna let me in the front door when she sees me in this state? She won’t care that I’m a championship-contender MMA heavyweight. She’ll still pull out the wooden spoon and paint my ass red!”
    Kristen laughed, leading him to the passenger seat.
    “Okay, okay. I’ll text your mom. I’ll let her know you’re staying over at our place.” But secretly, she knew Hannibal staying with his dad would be almost as painful to Trudy as seeing Hannibal in this state. It seemed the big, powerful man was still reduced to a helpless pawn when it came to the pissing match between his squabbling parents.
    Once Hannibal had been deposited in the creaking leather of the passenger seat, Kristen climbed behind the wheel of the beautiful Bentley.
    She had to adjust the seat almost to its limit, so she could peek over the steering wheel and still reach the pedals. It was a big car, designed for big men like Hannibal, and she tiny as she clutched the big, leather wheel.
    “Y-you sure you can handle this thing?”
    “Pppft,” Kristen stuck out her tongue. “You just buckle up. I’ll do fine.”
    And, to her credit, she did. The British-engineered car drove beautifully, and she kept the speed down and paid attention to the road and managed to guide them back to their parent’s place without incident.
    By the time they got there, Hannibal had sobered up – enough to even suggest: “Why don’t I drop you off? I can get my ass back to Mom’s from here.”
    But Kristen switched off the burbling engine, turned in the creaking leather seat, and looked her handsome stepbrother in the eye.
    “You said something to me earlier about how you’re just as bad as Jules when it comes to making bad decision.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “So don’t make one now. You don’t want an arrest for drunken driving to overshadow your suspension from the MMA league.”
    For a second, Kristen saw a flash of anger in Hannibal’s eyes. But then he snorted derisively, and his thick lips curled.
    “Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, that would be just my stupid ass luck. I’d probably get a Rodney King-style police beat down too. There can’t be many black guys driving Bentley’s up in Hartford, unless the trunk’s full of crack.”
    Kristen smiled and squeezed his hand.
    “Come on inside. And be quiet . We’ll have to explain what you’re doing here to your dad eventually, but I’d prefer it to be in the morning.” She locked gazes with Hannibal and narrowed her eyes. “You dig?”
    Hannibal chuckled, and squeezed her hand.
    “I dig.”
    With that, they clambered out of the low-slung grand tourer and Kristen led them across the garden, and as she fumbled with the keys it looked like – for a moment, at least – that the two of them would get away with sneaking into their parent’s house.
    But Kristen hadn’t figured on Buttons and Popcorn.
    The moment they smelt Hannibal from under the door, the two Bichon Frisé pups started yapping and barking furiously – and no amount of ‘shut ups’ and ‘sssshhh!’ hissed through the letterbox deterred them.
    The lights from the bedroom above their head flicked on. A moment later, they both heard the creak of the stairs through the front door.
    The locks rattled and the front door swung open.
    Looming and grizzled, the imposing frame of Cornell Alexander stood in the doorway of his home – peering out disappointedly at Kristen and Hannibal, as they both stood there sheepishly.
    Cornell’s big nostrils flared as he drank in the scent of smoke and alcohol.
    “Well, well, well,” the grizzled old professor murmured. “I thought the days of my kids trying to sneak home late at night were behind me.”
    He looked up at his son – a foot taller than his dad, but suddenly feeling very, very small indeed.
    “So this is how you finally greet your old man, is it, Hannibal?” Cornell