Romance: New Adult: One Game at a Time - A College Football Romance (Bad Boy Romance) (Sports Contemporary Short Stories) (16 page)

''Ryan I've decided I want to end our relationship.''

''Nice one. Now, what do you
really
want
to talk about?''

''Ryan. Listen to me. I don't want it anymore. It's not right. You're my boss. I know I
've
let it go on for too long, but I hope you understand. It's not
right
.''

''Why do you want to stop?''

''I've told you. You're the boss and always will be. We will never have a relationship on an even footing. I have learned so much here, about business and
about.......
sex.''

''He smiled. Which have you learned more about?''

''Sex,'' she admitted.

''Okay. If you stay, you know I'll always want you.''

''That's just the problem. You're the
boss,
and I'll always feel like I have to give myself to you.''

''What about Paris?'' he asked.

''What?''

''Pierre, the developer we met, he told me he's looking for an international PA. It'd be great
for
you. A chance in a million.''

''Ryan,'' she exclaimed. ''That would be....fab.''

''Then I'll call him.''

*****

Alina lived and worked in Paris for the rest of her life. Every time she passed the Four Seasons George V Hotel, she remembered the night she'd first made love to Ryan.
She
saw it as the moment her great adventure began. If she'd hadn't made love to him, she wouldn't be in
Paris
and she would never have met her wonderful husband Jacques, or had her children Emma and Charlotte.

*****

THE END

There was a flash of light when Josh Bloodstone entered the room. It was the biggest gathering of journalists the hotel had ever seen. Josh stood at the door and raised his arms above his head. Flash after flash illuminated his face.
He was surrounded by bodyguards and press officers
from his record label.

''Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,'' a man in a suit said. ''I'm Harry Jones from Brandy, Josh's
label
. Thank you for coming to the Hilton today. We are so proud of Josh and what he has done. He's the world's number one recording artist as we speak.'' More flashes, this time as Josh reached the stage. ''As you have
been told
you have half an hour to ask Josh what you want. Please refrain from asking anything about his personal life. Keep it about his music.''

The man stood
aside,
and Josh stood by the microphone. He looked strangely out of place in the luxury hotel. It was supposed to be a place where gray-suited business people met, not a place for a tattooed, pierced pop star.

''Right,'' Josh said. ''I
ain't got
all fucking day. So ask your filth.'' His manager, standing just off stage, cringed. No matter how he
tried,
he couldn't get Josh to stop swearing. Surely it couldn't be so hard to stop. But Harry Jones had been to Eton and Josh had been to some unmentionable state school in the back streets of Manchester.

''Josh, I'm Simon
Hetherton
from the Telegraph, can I....?''

''Wow even the
posh
bastards are here today. I must be doing something right.'' There was a chuckle in the room.

Simon continued. ''Josh, can I ask you what you think about what the Prime Minster said about you the other day?''

''You mean that tone deaf tosser who's fucking our country? He's a liar and a
cheat,
and he should
be put
in the Tower of London.''

''But what do you say to his specific words? In the House of Commons he called you the worst of British,'' Simon pressed.

''I'll tell you who the worst of British are. Those faggot politicians. They're bleeding us dry.'' Josh swept his hand through his bleached hair and adjusted one of the rings on his fingers. ''No, but seriously. I have sold over sixty million records, this year. Do you know how much tax I'm
gonna
pay? More than all those assholes put together, so don't give me no shit about being the worst of British.''

''Josh, I'm Richard Evans from the Rock and Roll Times....''

''You
can fuck
off straight away. You called me a prick in your article. What was it? Yes, that's right. The biggest
prick
on the planet. I'm not the biggest
prick
on the
planet
, I've got the
biggest
prick on the
planet
.'' People roared with
laughter,
and Richard Evans sat down defeated.

''Josh, I'm Jon Cookeridge from US Rolling Stone. Are you going to be touring the States soon?''

''At last, a proper fucking question. Yes, Jon we've got something in the planning. I think we'll be in the US in October and November. Is that right Tubby?'' Josh looked at Harry who nodded. ''Tubby will send you details Jon, okay?''

''Josh, it's Emma from the BBC....''

''Fuck me the BBC. I must be doing well. She's a bit of alright as well isn't she,'' Josh said pointing at Emma.

''Are you anti-women?'' Emma continued.

''Why do you ask that?''

''The way you talk about women, it seems disrespectful.''

''Oh does it, little Miss Perfect? Listen I love women, ain't nobody who
loves
more women that I do.'' The male members of the audience giggled. ''What would you girls do without me? You all
wanna
piece of me, admit it. Even Emma here. She's acting all prudish, but she wants it
really
. Look she's blushing, she
really
wants it.''

''I'm Harriet from the Times. Josh, talking in that manner
really
isn't going to get you very far. Don't you think it's insulting to women? Because I do.''

''Is that a question? Jesus your poor husband. I bet you make him beg when he wants to fuck you. Although why anyone would want to do that to
you,
I have no frigging idea. Tubby, I've had enough of this shit. Only one reasonable question, the rest were just prodding into my private life.''

Josh walked off the stage to more flashes. His bodyguards surrounded him and took him out of the room.

When they reached his hotel room, Josh opened the mini bar and took out a beer. ''Well that was a bunch of laughs.''

''Josh, you've got to stop swearing at everybody. The things you said about Emma and Harriet were unforgivable,'' Harry said.

''Fuck off, Tubby. What the hell do you know? The last time you dipped your wick the fucking Titanic was still
in
construction. Listen, I'm who I am. I write music and sing. I like to screw
women,
and I like to drink a few beers. What I don't like are people telling me what to do.''

''Insulting people isn't good for sales, though,'' Harry complained.

''I call you Tubby because you're a fat fucker. That hasn't stopped you working with me has it?''

''I only do that for the
money,
though. Do you think I would put up with you if you weren't a darn good earner for the label?''

''No I don't
think you
would,
and I wouldn't blame you.'' Josh snapped the top off the bottle and took a swig.''But it's all about money. All those parasites just now were here to interview me because I'm selling their papers and magazines. What do you think sells better Tubby, a story about me insulting the bitches in the press or a story about my grandmother and how much she loves my music?'' Josh lay down on the bed and opened his shirt. The large Eagle on his chest looked ready to swoop down and peck Tubby's eyes out.

''I know Josh. I get the game too. But it's going too far. You just can't swear and insult people so much.''

''Who gives a toss. I don't insult my
fans; they
know I
love 'em
. But the press can fuck off and so can that asshole Prime Minster. Who the
fuck
does he think he is?''

*****

The crowd
cheered,
and the fireworks exploded.
This was
a Josh Bloodstone concert at it's best. The stadium
was packed
with fifty thousand adoring fans. Josh was the man women loved and men admired. When he bounced onto the stage, people went wild. He was the best-selling British artist since the Beatles. A household name, a person that you
either,
loved or hated. He was known in every household young or old.

It wasn't his music that had made him known to the older
generation; it
was Josh's ongoing feud with the Prime Minister. Josh wasn't a supporter of any
party; he
was on the side of fairness and honesty. One day the Prime Minister had said that the
popular
entertainment business was corrupting young kids into using drugs and alcohol. A journalist had asked Josh for his view on the Prime Minister's
statement,
and Josh had gone to town. He'd told the
journalist
that the Prime Minister was using words from the nineteen sixties and that he was a prude, and had done nothing for young people who happened to have the highest rate of unemployment in any category. He'd also cited the Prime Minister's reputation as a womanizer as not being a good example for young men. Once Josh had made it personal, the Prime Minister was out to get him and ruin him. But it was impossible. The kids loved
him,
and so did a lot of older people.

Josh threw his microphone stand in the air and caught it again. ''Hello Birmingham. How are you doing?'' The crowd erupted. ''What do with think of that asshole in number ten?'' he shouted. The stadium booed. 'What?'' the booing became louder.

When the first song started the crowd sang along, it was word perfect. It had been a number one hit in the UK charts for weeks.

Trish and Poppy were bouncing up and down at the
front
singing as loudly as they were able. They'd queued
for hours
to make sure they got a place at the front. From where they were, they could see him very well. As he sung and danced, the two shouted his name. ''Josh we're here. Come and get us.'' Poppy's breasts bounced up and down in her vest as she jumped in time to the beat. ''Oh my God, he's so good looking. Look, Trish, look how well hung he is.''

''Oh my God yes. Jesus,'' Trish said. ''I bet he's got a whopper.''

The last song Josh sang was a rock ballad about a young man's first love and how she jilted him. Trish and Poppy cried at the lyrics and the sound of Josh's voice as it hit the top note. ''Oh God,'' Trish shouted unable to contain herself. ''Josh come here and kiss
me,
''

Poppy screamed. ''Josh we love you. We'll always love you.''

Josh came and went and sang an encore. When he left the stage
altogether,
people began to file out of the stadium. But Trish and Poppy were determined. They were both eighteen and blonde, with large breasts and great bodies. ''If we hang around maybe he'll notice us,'' Poppy said.

''I just wanna shag him. He makes me so.......'' She didn't finish her sentence.
A huge black man
leaned over the barrier and waved to them.

''Josh wants you to come backstage.''

The girls screamed. Trish began to cry. ''No way?''

''Yes. He
wants
to talk to you two. Jump over the barrier.'' He caught them when they reached the other side. Trish was wearing jeans, but Poppy had more trouble in a skimpy skirt.

''Oh my God, that's him,'' Trish cried when they got to a large room behind the stage.

Josh saw them in the distance and walked over to them. ''Alright ladies? You two are gorgeous. I heard you shouting at me. So you love me do you?''

The two were now a little shy. Here was a man who had taken the world by storm, a man who flew all over the world and who was unimaginably handsome and
rich
. ''Yes we love you, Josh.
You're great
.
Your music is so cool,'' Trish said.

''Yes Josh, we do
love
you.
You're great
for young people in our country.''

''So why don't you two come and have a drink with me and the boys. Would you like that?'' The girls looked at each other unable to hide their excitement.

''Oh my God,'' Trish whispered to Holly. ''Do you think he wants to .......you know?''

''I dunno. He
can't come
with both of us. Can he?'' Poppy said.

''I suppose he could if wanted to. But that would make us a bit lesbian as well,'' Trish observed.

''I don't give a dam. If he wants me, I don't care if I've got to see you naked as well.''

''Jesus Poppy, you are up for it,'' Trish said.

''Right ladies. A glass of bubbly each. Here we are.
Cheers,
here's to you two beauties. That's Trev, the drummer.'' The two looked at a very hairy man with huge biceps and a lot of earrings. ''And that's lead guitar, Andy.''

''God he's so nice,'' Trish whispered to Poppy with reference to Andy.
Andy Pearson was widely known as the best rock guitarist in the world. His looks made him a regular on the covers of both men and women's magazines.

''Yer he is. Tell you
what, you
have
him,
and I'll have Josh,'' Poppy said.

They drank another three glasses of champagne by which time the two women were quite tipsy. Josh put his arm around Poppy and whispered to her. ''Do you wanna come to my room. I've got everything up there, except drugs. I hate drugs.''

Poppy instantly wished she was on the pill. ''I can't leave Trish,'' she said. ''Do you want us both to come to your room?''

''It's an idea, but she looks like she's doing fine with Andy.''

''I suppose.''

Poppy had had enough to
drink,
and when they got to Josh's
room,
she asked him if she could order some food. ''Course we
can,
darling. We can get whatever you want.'' Josh called room service and ordered a seafood platter with bread and yogurt.

''That's a very healthy choice,'' Poppy said.