Playing the Game Read online

  Playing

  the Game

  by

  Graysen Morgen

  Playing the Game © 2019 Graysen Morgen

  Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events of any kind, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition – 2019

  Cover Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Interior Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Editor: Megan Brady - Triplicity Publishing, LLC

  Also by Graysen Morgen

  Mission Compromised

  Boone Creek (Law & Order Series: book 1)

  Castor Valley (Law & Order Series: book 2)

  Never Let Go (Never Series: book 1)

  Never Quit (Never Series: book 2)

  Meant to Be

  Coming Home

  Bridesmaid of Honor (Bridal Series: book 1)

  Brides (Bridal Series: book 2)

  Mommies (Bridal Series: book 3)

  Crashing Waves

  Cypress Lake

  Falling Snow

  Fast Pitch

  Fate vs. Destiny

  In Love, at War

  Just Me

  Love, Loss, Revenge

  Natural Instinct

  Secluded Heart

  Submerged

  Special thanks to my editor, Megan Brady, for her expertise with the story and with my mistakes! Muchas gracias!

  For my wife.

  Tu sei il mio mondo. Ti amo.

  1

  The bell jingled on the door of The Grind, a small locally owned coffee shop, when it opened. “Morning, Berkley,” said Paul, the owner/operator. He waved in her direction and went to work making her an iced cinnamon and unsweetened almond milk latte.

  “How’s your week going?” she asked.

  “Not bad. How are the streets?” he replied.

  “Same shit, different day,” she said, walking over to the newspaper lying on a nearby table.

  Berkley perused the local news section, then turned back towards the counter, nearly dropping the paper from her hand as her eyes landed on a woman walking from the bathroom. Flip flops slapped the ground as she walked, and a nice pair of fit legs moved under a worn pair of cutoff jean shorts with the white pockets hanging down. Her heart rate increased as her eyes traveled over the tight black t-shirt that hugged a lithe torso and small round breasts. Long and wavy, dirty blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder. She could’ve easily been a model, as she looked like someone who had just stepped off the beach. They were in south Texas right outside of Austin, in a small city called Richey.

  The stranger reached for a coffee cup sitting on the end of the counter and took a long swallow, before unceremoniously spitting it out…all over Berkley’s white Nike t-shirt. “Ewww! This isn’t mine,” she grimaced.

  “That’s because it’s mine,” Berkley said as coffee dripped down the front of her shirt.

  “You can have it,” the woman said, handing her the cup.

  Berkley’s fingers tingled where they’d grazed the woman’s as she took the cup.

  “Randi, your iced double shot mocha is over here,” Paul said, pointing to the other cup on the counter.

  “Can I buy you another of whatever that is since I contaminated it?” Randi asked, feeling bad for spewing coffee all over her.

  “Do you have any diseases or STDs I should know about?” Berkley questioned, looking directly at her pale green eyes.

  “Why? I took a sip of your drink. It’s not like we’re going to have sex,” she laughed.

  “Well…we might,” Berkley replied with a teasing grin that revealed a small dimple in her cheek.

  Randi raised a brow and gave her the once over. She’d never seen this Berkley person before and was sure she would’ve remembered her if she had. Berkley was an inch, maybe two taller, but jacked and ripped like a Crossfit Pro or some other weightlifting athlete. The large muscles in her biceps and shoulders bulged under the form-fitting t-shirt and were covered in half-sleeve tattoos. The wet material hugged her torso like a second skin, revealing her chiseled chest, small breasts, and abs. A large black Nike check was spread across her front. A pair of black jogger pants hung off her hips, and a black snapback was turned backwards on her head, covering a tuft of short dark hair that was trimmed close on the sides and back, and cut into a faux hawk on top. Dark blue eyes stared back at Randi. She swallowed the lump in her throat and laughed.

  “I’m sure your drink is fine…but I’m afraid your shirt is toast.”

  Berkley shrugged without breaking eye contact.

  “I can make you another latte,” Paul said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

  “I’m good,” Berkley called. “I’m running late anyway.” She watched Randi’s eyes as she placed her lips on the straw where Randi’s had been and took a long sip.

  Randi watched her lick her lips as she pulled them from the straw.

  Berkley smiled, flashing two rows of straight white teeth, before turning and walking out the door.

  Randi’s eyes followed her all the way out. “Who was that?” she mumbled to herself as she grabbed her own coffee. “Does she come here often?” she asked, looking back at Paul.

  “Yeah, I see her a few times every other week.” He shrugged. “About as much as I see you, probably.” He smiled.

  “Thanks.” She grabbed her own coffee and walked away.

  When she stepped outside, Berkley was gone, and so was the custom, flat-black-painted, Ducati Monster sport bike that had been parked right up front. The sound of a motorcycle roaring in the distance was all the proof Randi needed. She shook the woman from her head and walked to her car.

  2

  “What happened to you, Ward?” a guy chuckled as Berkley walked by. “You’re late.”

  “Keep it up, Tomato, and I’ll make sure you drop that weight you’re trying to lift,” she chided with a grin.

  “At least tell me she was hot.”

  “Aren’t they always?” she called over her shoulder as she turned on her headphones, blaring an intense rock song in her ears. She took a few deep breaths and began her rigorous workout routine. She alternated between circuits of lifting heavy weights and Crossfit routines to keep her body in amazing shape. She was as strong or stronger than most of the men she knew, and several of her peers envied her workout discipline.

  “You ever going to stop playing the game?” the guy asked, spotting her when she moved to the weight bench after her warmup.

  Berkley looked up into his eyes as she raised the bar over her chest and back down again. Garrett Tamayo, mostly known as GT or Tomato, was her best male friend. She literally trusted him with her life. He knew her well…almost too well. Ignoring his question, she continued with her reps until her arms shook. He spotted the bar as she placed it back in the rack.

  Berkley sat up and turned around, facing him. He had two inches of height on her and his body was stacked like hers from the hours and hours they spent in that gym. “If you’re asking if I want to stop dating and get serious with someone…the answer is yes. Isn’t that the goal…to find the woman you can’t live without?”

  “Before I met Dena, I was a man-whore. So, I know what you mean. I’m just busting your balls.” He grinned.

  “Grab that bar again before this gets anymore mushy, and keep your balls awa
y from my forehead, got it?”

  “What…no teabags for you?” he laughed, moving into position near her head to grab the bar.

  Berkley glared up at him and rolled her eyes as she began bench pressing the heavy weights once more.

  *

  Randi had finished her small coffee by the time she pulled her white BMW into her driveway. She pressed the button for the garage and watched it rise, revealing a black Audi crossover SUV. She drove in, parking next to it. She sighed as sat she in her car with the engine off. She needed to get the stranger Berkley off her mind. Chances were, she’d never see her again.

  “You’re back early,” Randi called, as she walked into the house, placing her keys and small purse on the counter.

  “It doesn’t take long to do a physical,” another woman said, as she entered the room from the hallway. The three-bedroom house had an open floor plan, with the kitchen looking out over the living area. “I thought we were meeting at the practice field?”

  “We were, but I had to run back by the house,” Randi said, as she pecked her on the lips. “Did you get cleared?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fully?”

  “Uh huh. I’m good to go. The ankle is back to normal.”

  “That’s great, babe.” Randi looked at her girlfriend of five years and smiled. Olivia Zeller, better known as Liv, was a few inches taller with an athletic body like her own. Her messy brown hair was trimmed short around her neckline and ears, but was long enough on top to wear it in different ways depending on her mood, and she had big brown eyes that looked like balls of milk chocolate. She was tan from countless hours in the sun, but her skin wasn’t naturally golden like Randi’s.

  “I already talked to MJ,” she said, referring to Mitch Johnson, their coach. “I’ll probably be back in goal this weekend.”

  “Really? You’re just coming back from an injury.”

  “I’ve been training for three weeks. I’ll be fine,” Olivia said.

  Randi shook her head as she walked down the hall to grab her cleat bag. Olivia was waiting in her vehicle when she stepped outside.

  *

  The fifteen-minute ride to the field gave Randi time to think as she listened to the music playing on the radio. Olivia was a grown woman. If she wanted to be hardheaded and push herself too far, there was nothing Randi could do about it. She loved her, she always had, and if she got hurt again, Randi would be there for her. They had five years together, in what had started out as friendship and quickly turned into a relationship. It was comfortable, and it fit. The people close to them knew about them, but they’d never really made any kind of announcement, and had never really planned on it either. They were in the spotlight enough as it was with both of them being professional soccer players for the same women’s pro team, Richey FC. Social media hadn’t helped matters, but at the same time, neither woman had ever denied the claims. And posting pictures together had certainly fueled the rumors over the years.

  3

  Berkley stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed after the hot spray not only woke her up, but soothed her sore muscles. She tied the towel around her waist and put on her black sports bra before squirting some gel in her hands and running it through her dark hair, styling the perfect faux hawk. The deep blue eyes staring back at her looked tired. She silently wished for another cup of coffee, and that brought on thoughts from earlier that morning at The Grind. She was still surprised at the stranger…Randi. She pushed the woman from her mind, knowing she’d probably never see her again as she hung up the towel and pulled on a pair of gray underwear, followed by a pair of black polyester pants. Sitting on the ottoman at the foot of her bed, she leaned over, putting on a pair of long black socks. A platinum Saint Michael pendant dangled on a chain around her neck as she slipped her feet into a pair of shiny black tactical boots that zipped along the inside. Then, she pulled on a black, dri-fit undershirt with the Richey PD logo over the left breast, tucking it into her pants as she stood up. She walked over to the chair in the corner and grabbed her black, tactical-style bullet proof vest. She put her head through the hole in the middle and pulled it down to her shoulders with the vest covering most of her upper torso in the front and back. Once she had it in a comfortable position, she closed the large Velcro straps on her sides. She finished her work ensemble with the uniform shirt that matched her pants. It had a starched high collar, a square pocket over each breast, a pen slip, and buttons down the front, which were actually fake and hiding a zipper. She tucked the tails of the shirt into her pants and slipped her black, web style belt through the loops, fastening it in the front.

  Berkley paused in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. A silver badge was sewn on her shirt above the left breast pocket. The State of Texas symbol was in a circle in the center of the badge patch. The words Officer and Richey were above the circle, with Police Department under it. Another patch with City of Richey Police Department was on the outside center of both of her short sleeves. B. Ward was stitched in silver above her right breast pocket. A small red, white and blue emergency star of life symbol patch, about the size of a quarter, was sewn above her name. Satisfied with her uniform, Berkley reached for her tactical utility belt and eased it around her waist, settling the weight of the heavy belt onto her hips before fastening the heavy Velcro closure across the front. She felt around, checking each compartment. Two fully loaded 9MM magazines were in the front. A pair of gunmetal gray handcuffs were in a case at the center of the back. A flashlight was on the front right side beside the magazines. She grabbed her walkie talkie radio and slipped it in place in the center of her right side, opposite the empty gun holster on the left. Then, she brought the microphone cord up under her arm, clipping it to the strap on the top of her right shoulder board. She stretched a little, making sure everything was in place and she could move freely, before walking to her nightstand to retrieve her Glock 9MM handgun. She slipped it into the holster on her left side and snapped the enclosure strap over the grip of the handle.

  “Be safe,” she said to herself in the mirror, then she placed a kiss on her pendant, tucking it behind her undershirt as she left the room.

  *

  A shiny black Dodge Charger with Richey Police written in large, bright blue letters along both sides, was backed up in the wide driveway next to a black truck. The red and blue emergency lights were inside of the police car at the top of the windshield and back window, and the windows were tinted very dark, giving it the look of an unmarked car from the front and back.

  Berkley hit the button to unlock the door, then she slid down into the seat and started the engine, blasting the AC to cool off the inside of the car. She tossed a blue soft-sided cooler containing her lunch, snacks, and three bottles of water, onto the passenger seat before turning her car’s laptop computer on. She quickly signed on when the screen came up and drove off as it came to life with the latest calls for her district of the Richey Police Department. Her shift had officially started, but she still needed to go to the station for the shift change, roll call, and shift assignments.

  4

  “So, funny story,” Randi said as she pulled her left cleat on. She was sitting in the locker room with most of the team. Everyone was in various stages of dress as they prepared for their practice session. “I spewed coffee all over a stranger,” she finished.

  “No shit?” said Carrie Nipper, a midfielder for the team and Randi’s best friend.

  “No shit,” Randi replied, shaking her head. “I pretty much ruined her white Nike shirt.”

  “Oh, my God,” several players said in unison as they laughed.

  “Was she hot?” asked Sasha Wright, the best defender on the team.

  Randi shrugged.

  “You didn’t tell me about this,” Olivia added.

  “You were too busy telling me you got cleared to play.” Randi smiled.

  “Yeah!” the team cheered, as this was their first time hearing the news.
<
br />   “I’m back, bitches!” Olivia yelled.

  “On the field in two,” the assistant coach called.

  Most of the girls walked out together while the stragglers finished dressing.

  Olivia and Randi had always made it a point to treat each other as teammates on the field. As soon as they hit the bright green grass of the practice pitch, they went in opposite directions. Olivia’s three hours were spent with the goalkeeping staff doing everything from weight training, to shuffling sprints while catching an incoming ball.

  The rest of the team was gathered around the other end of the training area. They always started with an easy warm up that increased in speed and control as they moved through the motions. Once their leg muscles were heated and their heart rates were up, they moved onto passing drills, followed by mini sprints, and then more passing.

  Randi always wore her hair up in a ponytail, but occasionally when her wild mane was bothering her, she’d fashion it into a messy bun that always seemed to stay together. This was one of those days. It was only May, but the Texas heat was in full swing…even at ten a.m. She wiped the sweat from her brow as she ran to trap a pass and sent it over to Sasha, who quickly passed it to Carrie.

  After several minutes, MJ grouped them into small teams for a four versus four small-sided game. One team had their practice jerseys which were baby blue with the club logo in yellow above the left breast and their numbers in yellow on their backs. The other four teams had different color pennies over their jerseys to indicate a different team. One group had white, and the other three had purple, pink, and yellow.

  “White versus blue. Let’s go!” Mitch yelled.

  Carrie, Randi, and Sasha were paired together, along with another midfield player named Jorja. The four women ran around the quarter-sized field, working the ball in and out of traffic. Carrie crossed the ball from the outside. Randi cut between two players and met the ball, scoring easily.