Page 5 of Screw Me Daddy

With that, Trent floors his accelerator and gets an early lead on me in his gleaming white Porsche 911.

I might have been one of the fast soccer players in my peak, but these days I’m all about getting my kicks in other ways.

For near enough two decades, the name Reece Bellham was synonymous with soccer. I might have grown up in New York, but I made my name at some of the Europe’s biggest soccer clubs across their toughest, most glamorous championships.

With my soulful brown eyes and high cheekbones, I was never short of attention.

My sandy blonde hair and multitude of haircuts garnered countless articles and attention over the years – there was no denying that I was always a star attraction wherever I played.Sure, I had talent in abundance. But the media would always look to make the most out of my looks too.

Italy? I was Milan’s master.

Spain? They called me the real king of Madrid.

England? I was London’s Daddy – if only the media knew LOL!

But that was then.

I’m no longer the teen sensation of old.

And my prime years in my late twenties and early thirties are behind me.

I might be thirty-nine and finally retired from professional soccer, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still know how to live life on the edge.

My buddy Trent and I love nothing more than racing our cars on the deserted roads of Los Torros canyon.

Retirement is fun, there’s no denying that.

I’ve got enough money to last me several lifetimes and homes across the globe. Anything I want is pretty much within my reach – or if not, I know I can pay a man to make it that way.

And yet…

As great as my life is – and I truly know how privileged I am – there is something missing.

It turns out that all the money, diamonds, and exotic vacations in the world don’t quite match up to the thrill of playing high stakes professional sport week in, week out.

But right now, I don’t have time to get all misty eyed about my former days as a pro soccer player. Right now I simply need to focus my mind on taking this steep uphill curve and squeezing my Ferrari past Trent’s Porsche…

‘Gotcha!’ I laugh, whizzing past Trent and pulling into the gravelly verge that overlooks the town and then the beach beyond that.

‘Pfft. You got lucky,’ Trent shouts, a broad smile on his face as he pulls up next to me. ‘How did you do it? Don’t tell me, you were imagining that your dream boy was waiting for you on all fours with his tushy all on display?’

‘Hey, whatever bro,’ I laugh, trying not to rise to the bait.

‘Come on, just admit it,’ Trent says, his ocean blue eyes piercing through my defense and getting to the truth as they usually do. ‘You’ve been quiet on the subject for a minute, but your best bro Trent knows. You want a boy. And not just any party boy. You want a boy to call your own…’

I nod.

It’s pointless trying to deny it.

Being a professional soccer play abroad meant I was mixing with a lot of different cultures and beliefs. I respected how my teammates lived their lives, and I knew they would have mostly felt the same about me.

But the press? That was a wholeotherthing.

Had the media got a hold on the fact that I was a Daddy, I honestly don’t know how I would have been able to handle it. The press scrutiny would have been crazy, and that’s beforefactoring in how a hostile rival supporter fanbase would have reacted too.

So, long story short… I’ve always hidden my real identity.

Millions may have known me as Reece Bellham, the infamous New York Nightmare, but no one ever knew who I was off the soccer field. It just wasn’t something that I ever allowed even the slightest hint about.

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