Bull Read online

  Bull

  A Secret Baby Sports Romance

  B.B. Hamel

  Copyright © 2016 by B. B. Hamel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Mailing List

  Prologue: Charlotte

  1. Charlotte

  2. Bull

  3. Charlotte

  4. Bull

  5. Charlotte

  6. Bull

  7. Charlotte

  8. Bull

  9. Charlotte

  10. Bull

  11. Charlotte

  12. Bull

  13. Charlotte

  14. Bull

  15. Charlotte

  16. Bull

  17. Charlotte

  18. Bull

  19. Charlotte

  20. Bull

  21. Charlotte

  22. Bull

  23. Charlotte

  24. Bull

  25. Charlotte

  26. Bull

  27. Charlotte

  28. Bull

  29. Charlotte

  Also by B.B. Hamel

  About the Author

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  Prologue: Charlotte

  He was one violent bastard.

  He’d injured more players than anyone else in the history of football. That was why they called him Bull. Every game, all he wanted to do was destroy every man around him, and he could. Bull saw red, and that made him only want to see it more. Blood and destruction, that was how Bull played linebacker for the Chicago Bears.

  He was a nasty man, one of the most brutal players to ever step on the football field. He was tall and covered in tattoos, and he loved to flaunt his famous . . . package. His nose had been broken and reset plenty of times, and his perpetual five o’clock shadow gave him that sexy careless look. As much as I hated to admit it, Bull was handsome, so damn handsome.

  But he loved to party. Bull played hard and lived even harder, and there were rumors all over the NFL about the sort of things Bull was involved with. All night parties, gambling, women, drugs, and so much more, Bull was known to do it all.

  I wanted to prove it. Everyone knew what was going on with Bull, but nobody had the courage to confront him and really prove it. Bull was a disgrace to the league, and I hated him more than anything else.

  Which was how I first met him in person. I had gaped at his muscular body, his cocky swagger, but most of all, I had been shocked by how incredibly charming and handsome he was.

  Bull was a big man, and he could take whatever he wanted. He lived his life that way, never slowing down.

  I wanted to be the one to finally make him come to a stop. I was a new reporter writing for the NSPN website, which was the largest sports network in the world. Since I was a woman, it was hard to get some respect in the sports journalism industry.

  But I had a plan. I knew a guy who knew a guy, and I was going to get proof that Bull was exactly the kind of bastard I thought he was. I wanted to prove to the world that Trent “Bull” Dixon didn’t deserve to wear the Chicago jersey, much less to play on any professional field.

  I was so full of promise. I really believed in myself. With a guy like Bull, how hard could it possibly be to get a little proof?

  I was going to write the article that finally took down Bull Dixon. Or at least that was what I thought.

  I couldn’t have known how he’d make me feel. As soon as he turned those intense green eyes in my direction and smiled at me, I felt something jolt through my stomach.

  Bull had me melting before I even understood what was happening.

  He was dangerous, deadly, dark, and handsome. He was a gambler, a drinker, a player, and an asshole. Bull was everything I hated and so much more.

  So it was pretty damn surprising when I found myself wanting to feel his muscles against my body. His lips pressed against my ear as he whispered, “You know why they really call me bull? It’s because I’m fucking hung like one. Go ahead and find out, girl.”

  That was Bull Dixon. As soon as I got close to him, I knew my article was all but finished.

  But that didn’t mean Bull was going to be finished with me.

  1

  Charlotte

  My dad named me Charlotte, but he called me Charley. My mom liked to joke that he wanted a boy so badly that he was going to pretend I was one.

  He always laughed and played it off, but my dad was an old-school football coach, and there had to be some part of him that wished he could have had a boy who could actually play the game.

  Football wasn’t my thing when I was younger. I was more interested in girly things, Barbies and Disney movies and Lisa Frank stickers. That sort of thing. I thought football was for idiots and boring old people, at least until I hit high school.

  I remembered the day my father first took me to a Bears game. I was sixteen, and the last thing I wanted to do was sit in the freezing cold to watch a sport I hated.

  Except that day, wrapped in layers of coats, I fell in love. I suddenly understood why people cared about football so much.

  It wasn’t just a sport. It was a way of life. When you were in that stadium with a bunch of people screaming and chanting and you lost yourself in the excitement and the moment, it was obvious why football was important.

  Football was skill and athletics and emotion and everything else. Football was a tiny little slice of life shoved into a sport.

  I couldn’t get enough. I wasn’t going to play it, of course, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get involved.

  And so I got into journalism. I watched the games, followed the drafts, read the articles, and basically became absolutely football obsessed.

  When I got into Notre Dame’s journalism program, my dad practically glowed with joy.

  Notre Dame was four years of hard work. I had fun and watched plenty of college games, but I always had my eyes on the prize.

  And the prize was a position as a staff writer for NSPN, the biggest sports network in the world.

  I wanted to write for the big leagues. I didn’t want to waste my time on some local paper, so I busted my ass and graduated at the top of my class.

  Somehow, I landed an internship. I worked hard, wrote articles, made friends, and finally was noticed. I was given a provisional position as a junior copywriter, which was basically the first step on the long journey to full-time staff writer.

  Right around the time I got promoted, I met Ryan Bruce. Not long after I met Ryan, I saw Bull Dixon for the very first time.

  I’d never forget that moment. That was the night that changed my life forever, and that showed me there might be more to Bull Dixon than I could have ever imagined.

  My heart was pounding as I walked down the street, my heels clacking on the hard sidewalk.

  I felt incredibly nervous, and I kept looking around as if I were going to spot some crazy people stalking me or something. I felt totally uncomfortable in the inappropriately short dress I was wearing, and I could only imagine my father’s response. He’d just grunt and frown with disapproval, which is so much worse than him saying something.

  I had no other choice, though. My normally conservative outfits weren’t going to do any good for my mission. I needed to blend in, and the only way to blend in at an NFL party was to dress to the nines.

  Which meant high heels and a short, tight dress. I’d gotten my hair done, but I drew the line at going overboard on the makeup. I wanted to blend in, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself.


  I wasn’t going to this party to make friends or to have fun. I was going to this party to get some dirt on that asshole Bull Dixon.

  I’d gotten the invite from Ryan. We met on the set of the NSPN morning show; I got him some coffee, and he complimented me on my shoes. We quickly got to chatting, and we became actual friends. He was the kicker for the Chicago Bears, and so he was my first insider contact among the players.

  I felt bad thinking about Ryan that way. I had a feeling he had a crush on me, otherwise I couldn’t understand why he was being so nice. He didn’t know that I was writing an article on Bull, or else I was sure he wouldn’t have invited me to this party.

  But he had, and I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. I may never get to go to another one of these parties, and I just had to see it for myself.

  Bull’s parties were legendary. Everyone knew Bull Dixon was throwing the best, most over-the-top parties in the whole league, but nobody seemed to care. For the family-friendly image the NFL worked so hard to cultivate, Bull Dixon was allowed to get away with some pretty bad stuff.

  These were rumors, but I had a feeling they were true. He once slept with the wife of his team’s coach. He once stayed out for four days, doing drugs, only to get arrested trying to rob a liquor store for fun. He once went to Mexico and missed a game because he wanted to try authentic tequila. People said he slept with a new woman every night, and he never called a girl back.

  He was a total pig. I’d seen him interviewed, and Bull Dixon was about as cocky as they came. He loved to grin at the camera and make lewd jokes just to see how far he could push the stations.

  But Bull was also the best. He had the most sacks four years in a row, plus the best defensive stats possible. The man was a machine and a legend, and he got away with whatever he wanted.

  I could feel myself getting heated as I stopped at the entrance to the building. I was in the middle of downtown Chicago, and I’d walked by this building a hundred times before but had never had a reason to really look at it. I took out my phone and texted Ryan to let him know I was here.

  I quickly checked my purse again. I’d gone to this cheesy little store on the edge of the city that sold magic supplies and “spy” devices. I’d managed to find a camera that looked exactly like a lipstick tube. I pulled it out, checked to make sure it was on and ready, and then quickly put it away.

  Ryan came down not too long later. He grinned at me as he walked over to me and kissed me on the cheek. He was cute in a boyish way. He was a few inches taller than me, thin but muscular, with short brown hair and simple brown eyes. He was quick to smile and was a nice enough guy.

  “Damn,” he said, laughing. “Have I ever seen you in anything but a sweater and jeans?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Now let’s go inside before I freeze my butt off.”

  He laughed and led the way. The building was incredibly modern and beautiful on the inside. The security guard at the front desk nodded at us as we walked past him, and I guessed he recognized Ryan’s face. He was a good kicker, though he wasn’t really well known outside Chicago.

  “You ready for this?” he asked me.

  “Of course,” I said. He hit the elevator call button.

  “I should warn you. Bull’s parties are wild.”

  “I’ve heard,” I said. “How can that be that bad, though?”

  “Well,” he said, shaking his head, “Bull has a knack for throwing parties. Just be warned. You can’t talk about anything you see up there.”

  “I wouldn’t,” I said.

  “Seriously, Charley, you can’t. I know you’re a journalist, so I’m taking a risk bringing you to this thing. I’ll be fucked sideways if anything leaks.”

  “I won’t,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. I felt horrible for lying to him, but I had no other choice.

  He smiled, bashful. “Good. Sorry. I had to say that.”

  “I understand. You have a career you need to protect.”

  “Not just that. It’s just, you don’t know Bull.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “Are you afraid of what he’ll do to you?”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “I mean yes, but that’s not it. Bull’s a good guy. He gets a lot of shit in the media, but you don’t really know him.”

  “He’s almost more famous for partying than he is for playing ball,” I said. “I can’t see how he’s such a good guy.”

  “You’ll see. Come on.” The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside.

  I felt a stab of nervousness as the elevator shot up into the sky. I couldn’t believe I was really doing this. I was a nobody in the business, barely a step above an intern, and here I was getting an insider’s view into one of Bull’s notorious parties. As far as I could tell, no other journalist had ever been invited in.

  The elevator stopped at the very top floor. “Prepare yourself,” Ryan said. I reached out and took his arm, knowing he’d like that.

  The doors slid open. Music blasted us both in the face, and my breath caught in my chest.

  The whole top floor was Bull’s apartment. The elevator opened directly into what looked like his living room.

  And the place was packed. Instantly I recognized a few faces, other players and at least one coach. There were servers walking around with trays of alcohol and appetizers, and beautiful women in sexy dresses were standing all over the place, some chatting with the guys and some just looking bored.

  “Come on,” Ryan said. “Let’s get a drink.”

  I nodded but was too busy gaping around me. The place was packed, and there must have been a hundred people at least. Ryan greeted a few people as we moved into the crowd, winding our way past couches, where I could have sworn I saw a famous quarterback snort a line of coke. Ryan stopped at the bar, and we had to wait a minute for the line to die down.

  All around us, people were shouting and laughing, and music was pumping into the room. I couldn’t see Bull himself anywhere, but I did start recognizing more players. That famous quarterback stood up and roared with laughter as he passed the coke to one of the best college running backs in the country. On the other side of the room, I watched a defensive player from the Philadelphia Eagles approach one of the bored-looking women and pull her back down a hallway, disappearing into the back part of the apartment.

  “Who are all these girls?” I asked Ryan as we stepped up to the bar.

  He grinned at me. “They’re hookers.”

  I stared, my mouth open. “What?”

  He looked at the bartender. “Whisky and ginger ale for me, and a gin and tonic for her.” He looked back at me. “That’s right, yeah, hookers. Bull always has hookers at his parties. All on him, of course.”

  I shook my head, shocked. We’d been at this party for five minutes, and already I’d seen hookers and drugs right out in the open. I couldn’t imagine how these things were kept a secret, or at least how someone hadn’t exposed it all already.

  These were professional athletes. They were supposed to be role models. They were supposed to treat their bodies with respect, since their bodies were how they made their living.

  Instead, I was seeing the total opposite. I wasn’t some silly prude who thought all drug use was evil and sex was bad, but I was shocked by how blatant it all was. These guys worked hard and needed to blow off steam, which made total sense, but it was way too over the top. The league had rules about this sort of thing, and these guys were supposed to obey them.

  Ryan handed me my drink and we wandered into the party. I took a sip and looked around, totally shocked by everything. Hookers were everywhere, sitting in guys’ laps, mingling with groups, and I saw more than a few kissing men I recognized and a few that I didn’t.

  “Ryan, what up, man?”

  We stopped, and I nearly dropped my drink. Merril Owens, one of the most famous wide receivers in the history of the game, shook Ryan’s hand and gave me a big grin.

  “What up, M.O.?” Ryan said.

  “Who
’s this little thing?” M.O. asked.

  “This is Charley,” Ryan answered.

  “Hi,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

  He shook my hand, grinning. “Well, you’re fucking adorable as shit. How’d you get an invite to this shit show?”

  “I brought her,” Ryan said.

  “To this?” M.O. laughed. “Good for you, man.”

  I took a sip of my drink. “Why wouldn’t he bring me here?” I asked him.

  “No real reason,” he said. “It just ain’t the kind of place for a nice-looking girl like you. You get me?”

  I shook my head. “Who says I’m so nice?”

  He laughed and shrugged. “I got an eye for that sort of thing.”

  “Good seeing you,” Ryan said, and steered me away. Once M.O. was gone, Ryan shook his head. “That guy is a dick,” he said.

  But I barely heard him. I was too busy staring across the room. Just as we stopped and Ryan started talking again about practice or something boring, I spotted him coming into the room.

  It was like a wave washing ashore. People turned toward him and conversation dimmed ever so slightly, almost as if out of respect for his presence.

  Bull Dixon was a big man. All of the NFL players were big guys, but Bull was one of the biggest. He was fast and lean and strong, all muscles and intense power. He had a big smile on his face as he walked around the living room, shaking hands and talking to people.

  He looked different in person. I felt that nervous excitement return as I nodded my head at Ryan, letting him keep talking as I watched Bull out of the corner of my eye. On television and on the field, Bull had this primal energy about him, something dark and scary.