Bad Play Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by, Kristen Flowers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages in reviews. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locals is coincidental

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Bad Play: A Romance Novel

  By Kristen Flowers

  Want FREE copies of upcoming books, or to hear about new releases first?

  Join My Mailing List

  And Like Me on Facebook

  Table of Contents

  I leaned back in the mesh chair and looked around my brand new office. My mouth fell open in a yawn as I reached up to readjust my headband. I put it on that morning in an attempt to tame my wild curls. Like so many other things in my life, it didn’t seem to work.

  I sat up and opened the appointment book sitting on my desk, only to find a client was scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes. I let out a small gasp and shot straight up out of the chair. How did I forget about the appointment? It wasn’t like I had that many to keep track of.

  I placed a hand flat on my chest and the other on my stomach. My chest expanded as I inhaled deep and then exhaled slowly. I needed to get a hold of my nerves. I opened my eyes to look around the new place. It still smelled like fresh paint. It was so fresh in fact I’d occasionally find some had dripped in my hair when I took showers at the end of the day.

  I loved the scent of fresh paint even more than how smooth and inviting the pale blue walls looked. Maybe I was a weirdo for that.

  I sat down again and leaned back in my chair. After all, the client wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes and everything was ready to go. It had been ready to go a few minutes after I had arrived at the office. I always wanted to be prepared before anything else. I took a deep breath as if to brace myself and tried to take a sip of the homemade kombucha tea my best friend, Shellsea, gave me.

  The moment it hit my taste buds I wrinkled my nose and covered my mouth, willing myself not to spit it out for its awful taste. I forced it down my throat and hurled a loud coughing breath.

  “Gosh, it's like it’s already been digested.” I mumbled as I drew it away from my face to take a look at it.

  I stared at the somewhat murky liquid, trying to recall all the reasons it was good for me. Shellsea had prattled them off when she packaged it up for me. I tried my best to convince myself that it was indeed good for me. But considering how it looked and how it tasted, it was a tough sell. Shellsea’s little speech on the benefits of drinking something so allegedly wondrous was rapidly becoming less convincing. I was quickly developing and aversion to the stuff.

  And it only took a couple sips.

  “Ugh,” I muttered, holding up the glass and peering at it against the light. I shut my eyes and shook my head. “Come on, get it together. It’ll be good... in the long run.”

  I had just closed my lips around the rim of the glass to brave another sip when there was a knock at the door. I set the glass down, said a few silent prayers for not having to taste anymore, and stood up slowly. It had to be the client at the door.

  “Come in,” I called out after clearing my throat of the murky wretchedness clinging to the back of my mouth. I immediately regretted not walking up to the door and actually opening it to greet my one and only client of the day. I briefly scolded myself inside my head. I was still getting used to the whole “being your own boss” thing.

  The door opened and in stepped a tall, Greek god of an athlete. My jaw dropped and my eyes stared; or rather gobbled him up. I opened my mouth to greet him, but as he neared me I was struck with an instant case of mutism. He had a distractingly handsome face. He was easily taller than six feet, had light brown hair and golden tanned skin that made his hazel eyes look absolutely gorgeous.

  His thin lips curled into a smile, or more like a smirk. I quickly came to my senses; he had probably already caught on that I found him drop-dead-gorgeous and it was definitely not a professional way to start the appointment. I gratefully pushed my tea to the side behind the small potted plant on my desk. I’d much rather deal with him than any more of Satan’s toilet water.

  I smiled widely.

  “Welcome,” I said in a soft and pleasant voice. “You’re right on time.” I took the opportunity to covertly peer over at my appointment book to double check his name before directing him to the massage table in the small room next to the office.

  He nodded and strutted over, making me wonder if he always walked that way or if he was doing it just to give me a little show. Either way, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy watching the swing of his broad shoulders and the view of his tight-toned ass. He was definitely an athlete who had lucked out to have such a distractingly handsome face. I walked up to the room and closed the door behind him, giving privacy for him to disrobe and climb onto the massage table.

  After a few minutes I knocked and he murmured, “Come in.”

  He already sounded rather relaxed, which would make my job a bit easier save for the fact that my mind was already running wild with thoughts of how his exposed muscles would look. Hand still on the doorknob ready to twist, I took a moment to indulge in a bit of fantasy.

  Maybe if I get it out of my system it’ll be easier. I thought before drifting off into a dreamland, envisioning his golden tanned body shining under the lights of the massage room. His thick plates of muscles would be more alluring than they already had been hidden by his T-shirt.

  I already knew what it would be like to sink my hands into those corded shoulders. I’ve already worked with plenty of athletes before, but that didn’t mean I didn’t crave to feel his muscles. My breath skipped as I thought about my fingers digging into those taut buttocks and kneading the muscular flesh. My pulse started to rise in spite of my need to be professional.

  My eyes shot open and I made note of another mental reminder; it was far too important to be professional than to ruin anything by running away with this little fantasy of mine. It could quickly go from harmless to harmful and that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. Job and career before fantasies—always.

  Still, I gulped.

  I finally twisted the knob and pushed the door open only to see him splayed out on my table, face up. I took in a deep breath, forcing calm and restraint through my system. That wasn’t how I expected to find him, but it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary either. I spritzed some massage oil on my hands and rubbed them together before stepping forward, “Shall we begin?”

  “Go for it,” he muttered coolly.

  As I started to work, running my hands over his body, he let out soft groans of pleasure. It was a sound so sensual I didn’t quite know how to deal with it. I was unable to ignore it and my chest started to pound. In spite of myself, my gaze trailed down to the area of his body covered with a sheet. I quickly checked to make sure his eyes were closed as he enjoyed my touch on his sore muscles.

  Then my nervous breath stopped altogether.

  I saw the sheet draped over his manhood start to rise. A lump lodged in my throat. I bit my bottom lip, unable to tear my gaze off the very sizeable tent that was starting to be pitched. I stared for a moment longer before another soft groan pulled me back to my senses, at least enough to look away from his covered but obviously hardening self. I turned to watch his face relax. His lips parted in a sigh of contentment under my capable hands. I finally exhaled, feeling my spirit lift a bit.

  I was getting into the groove of it, finding a way to enjoy the sensuous sounds coming from him while still remaining (mostly) professional.

  Then it hit me.

  The most god-awful wretched gurgling sound I had
ever heard emanated from my stomach—enough to make my client open his eyes and look at me with scrunched eyebrows.

  The kombucha!

  I tried to breathe normally even though my stomach felt like it was being squeezed through a vice. Normal was the last thing I was capable of being. The horrific chaos the kombucha was inflicting on my poor innards was too much to handle.

  This was urgent.

  I placed my hands on his arm, “I’ll be just one moment...”

  It was all the dignity I could muster before darting out of the room with clenched butt cheeks.

  ______________________________

  "So no, thank you though. I really don't want any more kombucha."

  I was sitting at an all-natural juice bar with Shellsea. She tossed her pretty long blond hair over her shoulder before staring off into the distance for several moments. I could tell she was cooking up something in her head. What persuasive anecdote or lecture was she coming up with now? So I started to clear my mind and prepare myself to say NO to whatever Shellsea was coming up with next. After that horribly embarrassing experience, I certainly wasn’t in any rush to have any more kombucha tea.

  “I’ve figured it out,” she said slowly, still staring off into space. Shellsea’s stunning green eyes looked back at me like she had just come up with a brilliant idea. “Your gut environment must be too acidic!”

  “And just what the hell does that mean?” I felt oddly defensive. My gut environment was too acidic? Nonsense. My gut environment was just fine.

  Actually I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “It means you need to introduce more basic elements into your diet,” Shellsea said flatly.

  I got the feeling she was shocked that I didn’t know about gut environment and basic elements in diet. It wasn’t general knowledge, but Shellsea tended to act like it was, especially between the two of us. I picked gloomily at my kale and micro green salad as I thought about what she had just said. When it started to sink in, I looked up and nodded thoughtfully before staring back down at my salad in disappointment. All I wanted was a nice juicy steak and not some bowl of healthy plants that looked like they were plucked out of a field.

  It made me think Shellsea had even more of a point. I shouldn’t want steak; I should want the salad.

  I stuffed a forkful of salad into my mouth, telling myself I didn’t need a steak. Steak is an indulgence and everything needs to be in moderation. I told myself as I stared at my bowl of green leafy vegetables with depression.

  There was a clatter from a falling plate at the table next to us and my mind went back to the ‘conversation’ I was having with Shellsea. I realized I had been nodding the whole time while slowly munching on a bite of kale. I hadn’t even been paying attention to a word she was saying.

  Shellsea’s smile was brimming in an almost frightening manner. "I'll bring over my mother tomorrow!"

  I had no clue how long I had been spaced out and I missed a whole chunk of the conversation. What had I just agreed to?

  "Wait, your mom is coming?"

  Shellsea looked at me like I was a crazy person. "That's funny, Mira. I mean the mother for the kombucha."

  My eyes widened. I didn’t know what exactly the ‘mother of a kombucha’ was, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t anything I wanted to try. I had already had the regular kombucha, now I had to have the mother of kombucha. I could already feel my stomach wrenching.

  “Oh,” I muttered.

  I was thoroughly unconvinced with the whole thing, but I didn’t have it in me to take back whatever agreement I had just made by accident. Besides, it had to be good for me, right? I told myself that once I got my diet and “gut environment,” sorted out, then I would find inner peace for sure. And since inner peace was ultimately what I was after, I was willing to take the tough road until I reached the path of peace.

  Shellsea cheerfully sorted out the trash, recycling, and compost on her tray. Then she stood up and dropped everything in the appropriate dispenser. She kissed the air next to my cheek and trotted off, leaving me alone so I could continue convincing myself this would be good for me.

  Despite knowing better, I opened up my laptop the second I got home. I wanted to find out what exactly a “kombucha mother” was. As soon as the images loaded up, I nearly vomited on the keyboard. It looked beyond disgusting—the exact kind of thing I wanted to keep out of my body.

  This road to peacefulness and Zen wasn’t looking very peaceful at all.

  "Wait, you're firing me?" The doe-eyed physical therapist said with shock.

  She had wavy brown hair pinned back in two small braids and a flowing skirt with flowers embroidered along the hemline. She was cute, but she wasn’t working out. I slid off her table and stood up. At least she had the good sense to turn away as I pulled on my pants.

  I sighed, reached into my wallet and winced a little from the lingering pain around my shoulder. I peeled out a few bills. The rustling of the money got her to turn around and look at me. Her eyes lit up. Of course seeing the crisp bills in my hands caught her attention—it gets everyone’s attention.

  "Severance pay, sweetheart. It's not working out,” I told her before I shoved the money into her hands.

  The young doe-eyed girl nodded. Although the edges of her mouth were turned down, her eyes shined as she counted the money. Then she stuffed the bills into her far-too-sheer sports bra top. At first I liked her so-called ‘uniform’, but now I was over and done with her.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Montgomery," she simpered. "I wish you speedy healing."

  Money talks. It’s practically a fact of life. Look at how quickly she changed her tune. Now that she had extra money in hand she wasn’t trying to convince me that she could treat my injury with herbs and chakra oils or whatever she called it.

  I rolled my eyes and walked out to my car before she had a chance to say anything else. The last thing I wanted to deal with was hearing some lame excuse come out of her painted red lips in an effort to squeeze more money out of me. I knew I shouldn’t have been driving even though my torn rotator cuff was mostly healed up, but I was damn tired of not doing anything for myself.

  I let out a long sigh as my phone started to ring.

  “Axel,” my manager, Larry, yelled. He always talked like he was trying to get me to hear him over a wood chipper or something. “How did the session go?”

  “I’m not going back to her,” I told him plainly.

  Larry let out an audible and exaggerated sigh. He was obviously frustrated. I knew what was coming; he was going to try smoothing over everything in an effort to get me to go back to the therapist, but it wasn’t going to happen.

  “Look, Axel, come on. I’m gonna level with you on this, okay? I’m running out of qualified sports therapists in the area. You can’t just, you know, do this sort of thing. It’s not like finding a taco stand or sandwich shop. There’s only so many therapists you can go to. You’re, well, you know who you are and what it means to get that cuff fixed. I can’t just be, you know, sendin’ you to any old therapist. J- just give her another–”

  "Find someone else," I cut him off. Larry was starting to stammer and say things that nobody wanted to hear, especially me. "Doesn't matter the cost." I knew how this worked and I was lucky enough to be able to throw money where it needed to be thrown.

  Larry sighed and stayed quiet for a minute too long. I quickly glanced at the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. I knew Larry was either thinking up some sort of chit-chat I had no interest listening to, or he had already given in and was doing the research on the next therapist.

  “Well... there’s a therapist out in the suburban wastelands. It’s a bit of a commute, but she does come highly recommended. Says she’s got great training, experience, understanding of what to do, gifted hands etcetera.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I said, a small but satisfied smile curling up the corner of my lips. I knew if I didn’t give into Larry’s ramblings right off the b
at I could usually get what I wanted. Even though Larry was a good manager, he could sometimes be a lazy son of a bitch.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. I knew he was annoyed, but I didn’t really care– it’s his to care, not mine. That’s what I paid for.

  “What are you waiting for then? Book it,” I said before ending the call just as I was pulling up to the driveway of my house. The business day was over, at least for me. Everything else could be taken care of later. The most important thing was waiting for me at home.

  I pulled up to my house and put the car in park, wincing at the pain in my bad shoulder. Just as I closed the car door behind me, the front door of the house flew open and the love of my life stood there waiting for me. I quickly grabbed my duffle bag out of the trunk and headed toward the front door.

  She was beautiful in the late summer sun, blue eyes glittering with a wide smile that took my breath away. She was bouncing up and down and waving to me. My heart beat so fast I could hear it. I just wanted to have her in my arms.

  It seemed like she was on the same page as me and couldn’t stand waiting any longer. She came flying out towards me with a shriek.

  "Daddy!"

  Little Molly slammed into my bad shoulder, making me wince, but I couldn’t care less. No amount of pain in the world could stop me from loving every second of her excitement. I carried her happily into the house anyway, pushing past the pain. Once inside, I set her down and crouched to be level with the most gorgeous blue eyes I had ever seen. I ran my hand through her dark brown hair and took in her smile, flashing a wide grin of my own.

  “Guess what?” I squished her face between my two big hands before pulling a present out of the duffel bag I had placed on the floor. I gave her a new doll, which made her shriek with pure joy and immediately discard the one she had in her hand.

  I laughed at how quick she was to toss her old toy aside. I kissed her on the cheek before standing up and pulling my cell phone out of my pocket to take a picture of her playing with her new doll. I snapped a few photos before deciding to record a snippet of her dancing in a circle with the toy. I smiled as I watched her, not only because nothing filled my heart more than seeing the light of my life shine so brightly, but also because she had no clue I had already bought a wardrobe for her new doll. That would only send her ecstatic happiness skyrocketing.