by KB Winters
Hey, pretty girl,
Go outside—take the girls with you.
C.
I arched a brow, not understanding the clue. “It says we’re supposed to go outside.”
Tien popped up from her place at the table and led the way out the front doors. Outside, along the curb, were two stretch limos gleaming in the late afternoon sun. A hand flew to cover my mouth as the two dapperly dressed drivers tipped their shiny caps at us.
Tien dug her elbow into my side. “See? Told you there were perks to dating a baller!”
“Are you Miss Hart?” the driver on the right asked, taking a tentative step in my direction.
I nodded and he produced another envelope, a twin to the one I’d opened inside. I thanked him and tore it open, grinning wildly.
Like your ride? Fit for a pack of princesses if you ask me.
Get the girls ready! You’re all coming to the game tonight. I snagged tickets for you and have them at will call. Can’t wait to see you all in the winner’s section!
With everything,
~C.
“What is it?” Tien asked, leaning over my shoulder.
“Ladies! We’re all going to the Knights game!” I announced, handing the letter to Tien. I nodded to the drivers and went back inside to rally the rest of the girls. Cheers rang out, and I quickly instructed them all to call their parents or foster families to get permission.
When we finally got everything arranged, I sent Tien and the girls out to get into the limos while I ducked back into my office to change into the carefully cultivated outfit I’d put together for the game. I drew the shades on the windows and changed quickly. I went to shut down my computer and spotted a small stack of mail in front of my keyboard. Missy had brought me the letter from Chance, but it appeared there had been more to the daily delivery. I shoved them aside, deciding to deal with it in the morning, when one envelope caught my eye. It was from the organization that coordinated foster care and foster adoptions.
My heart slammed against my chest, and I slid my letter opener through the envelope. I held my breath as I read the contents. When I reached the end, I folded it in half and tucked it into my small purse, then raced out of my office to join the girls waiting in the limos.
Football, as it turned out, wasn’t so bad at all. The slow pace and sometimes endless commercial breaks on TV were all replaced with the live energy of the roaring crowd—all of whom knew infinitely more about the game than I did. And the girls, flanking each side of me, as we stretched over two full rows near the field, made the excitement even more electric. They were all beaming and cheering their little hearts out for Chance anytime he made it onto the field.
I hadn’t been sure what to expect at the game, but I never anticipated the surge of pride in my chest and the swell of love as I watched him play his heart out. He was a beautiful monster, effortlessly tackling guys, some even larger than him, and then he’d get back up and do it again.
I was proud. Actually, I was in awe. I was also really, really hot.
Chance in his football uniform was enough to get me twitchy but watching him play the game and tackle guys with ease—my panties were soaked by halftime.
I couldn’t wait to get him alone after the game and show him just how riled up he made me.
“You’re blushing,” Tien said, digging her elbow into my ribs as I stared at Chance’s ass.
I laughed. “I am not. It’s just warm out here.”
“Riiight,” Tien said, coughing slightly. “Nothing to do with the way men’s asses look in football pants?”
I giggled and rolled my eyes. “Fine! You caught me.”
“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been able to stop staring at number 31 since we got here.”
I followed her lusty eyes to a tall, broad shouldered player on the other side of the field. “Tien, he’s not even on our team.”
“Girl, I don’t give a damn whose team he’s on. All that matters is that he knows how to—”
I slapped a hand over her mouth, stopping her before she rattled off a list of positions that were exclusive to the Kama Sutra in front of a pack of impressionable girls that were on either side of us.
“TMI, Auntie Tien,” I huffed.
She rolled her eyes, but I was relatively sure she wouldn’t finish her sentence, so I dropped my hand. “Just sayin’. Maybe your stud muffin could get me his number.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I snarked.
The game went on for another hour and despite a nail-biter fourth quarter, Chance and the Knights kicked ass and walked away with the victory. Since it was the first home game of the official season, there were fireworks in the distance, mad cheering, and dancing throughout the stadium. The girls and I lapped up every minute of it. When it was over, we took our time leaving the stadium, and I compulsively checked my phone to see about getting a message from Chance to set up a time or place to meet. I knew he’d be swamped with interviews and postgame press, but I hoped he’d get a chance to see the girls before they needed to get back in the limos and head home.
More importantly, so that I could give him the piece of news that had been rattling around inside my mind for the last four hours since opening the envelope in my office.
“Hey! Girls! Wait up!”
We all pivoted in the middle of the concord and spun to find Chance, still wearing his uniform, covered in sweat, dirt, and grass stains, jogging toward us. The girls erupted in another round of cheers, and I smiled over their heads, wondering how hoarse all of them would sound tomorrow.
Chance let them all pile on him, and I glanced around, noting how many fans and media stopped to observe the warm welcome—most of them snapping pictures or videos on their phones—but Chance didn’t seem to notice at all. He was completely absorbed by seeing the girls he’d obviously been missing since his last day at Harvest House weeks before.
Finally, he pried free from them and came over to plant a kiss on me. His lips were salty from sweat and slightly chapped, but I didn’t mind at all. “Hey, pretty girl,” he whispered, stroking a finger up the side of my face.
“Thank you for everything,” I said, smiling at the girls that surrounded us. “I’m pretty sure you made their entire year.”
Chance laughed. “Least I could do. Besides, after the offseason from hell, I wasn’t sure I’d have too many fans on my side. I needed a little help.” He winked at the girls.
“Well, I do have one more piece of news that will make your night even better,” I teased, smiling at him.
His green eyes, sparked with light and fire, shifted back to me. “What’s that?”
I fished the paper from my purse and handed it to him. “You probably haven’t seen this yet, although I’m sure your copy is at home. It’s a follow up in regard to the letter of recommendation I made. You’ve been granted permission to become Aria’s legal guardian and foster dad.”
Chance’s mouth dropped open as he stared at me for another long beat before scrambling to pull open the letter and read it for himself. His eyes flooded with glossy tears as he read the words on the paper, cementing his fate and putting him on the path to adopting Aria, if that was what he decided he wanted in the future. I brushed my hand over his forearm, stroking small circles on his smooth skin. “You did it, baby,” I said, barely able to manage more than a croaky whisper.
A tear slipped over Chance’s lashes and he grunted.
“God, I’m turning into such a fuckin’ marshmallow,” Chance complained, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch at his eyes, discreetly swiping away the tears pooled in the corners.
I leaned into him, smiling as he pulled himself back together. “You can get as ooey-gooey as you want as long as you stay hard where it counts.” I traced my fingertips down his arm.
Chance choked on a laugh and flashed me a wicked grin. “You ain’t never gotta worry about that, pretty girl.”
And later that night, after we left the dazzling stadium behind, he took me ba
ck to his house and showed me exactly what that meant.
24
Chance
Oh, the difference a year could make. Shit, it hadn’t even taken that long. But as the football season ended, my life was the polar opposite of where it was months earlier at the beginning of the season.
All of it for the better.
I had everything I ever wanted, even if it was nothing I was looking for. Life took over and gave me what I needed.
Lacey was not only the love of my life but she was the catalyst for revitalizing my entire career. Sure, I’d been one helluva football player before we’d met, but the city I played for—the team I played for—all too often regarded me as the class clown in high school. I wasn’t taken seriously as a man—only as a player. Which, at the time, had been enough. But now, everything had changed.
“You girls need anything before I leave?” I asked, stopping at the large, arched doorway to the kitchen. Aria was in her wheelchair, still unable to walk or stand without a lot of pain from the plates and screws holding her hip together, and Lacey was standing at the sink, washing her hands, a black and hot pink apron tied around her waist.
God, they were a beautiful sight.
Lacey turned off the water and wiped her hands on the front of her apron as she twisted to face me. A large smile spread across those perfect lips that I still couldn’t stop kissing anytime I got within range. “I think we’re good. The cupcakes and brownies are in the oven. Catering will be here setting up while we’re at the game.” She glanced over at Aria. “Can you think of anything?”
Aria shook her head. “Nope! Just go kick some ass, Dad.”
My heart twinged. The same way it did every time the small—but powerful—word left her mouth. I was still working through the legal red tape to adopt her, but as her foster dad, Aria had taken to using the term over the last few weeks. It was all surreal—and amazing.
The best season of my career was ending. My team was competing for a spot in the playoffs for the first time in three years. I was crazy in love with the most beautiful woman in the world. And the sweetest girl in the world adored me and called me dad.
Damn!
I shook my head, still staring at the pair of them.
“You all right?” Lacey asked, cocking her head.
I grinned. “Couldn’t be better.”
And damn it, that was an understatement.
“You got your head in the game, Beauman?”
I lifted my chin at the sound of Tom Brandon’s voice. He chugged back half a bottle of Gatorade and then did a little boxing jump back and forth, getting warmed up. He was in full game mode, ready to fight to the death. We’d both busted our fucking asses all year long, waiting for, working for this moment. This was the game that would either send us to the playoffs—or send us back to the playbook, to figure out something new for the following season.
I shuddered at the thought. It had been three long years since our last shot at the playoffs after a streak of bad luck with injuries, late season trades gone awry, and coaching staff issues.
There was no room for error tonight. We had to play tough, from the first whistle to the last.
“I’m good, Brandon,” I growled, every nerve cinched tight.
“All right, man,” Tom held up his hands and stopped his incessant bouncing. He lifted one foot and then the other, drawing circles in the air. It was the same damn thing every time. His routine. I should’ve been used to it, and normally I was, but tonight was different. Everything had me on edge.
At the house with Lacey and Aria, I was fine, listening patiently as they reviewed their plans for the after-party. The sounds of their happy chatter had comforted me. But as soon as I’d left the house and hit the highway to the stadium, something changed and left me in a piss-poor mood.
Before Tom had a chance to piss me off anymore, we were called out of the locker room. I snatched my helmet from the bench beside me, slamming it under my arm as we made our way to the tunnel.
We played our fucking guts out for three and a half quarters, leading the whole way. And then it happened—the crunch heard around the world.
With sheer minutes left in the game, and only yards away from scoring the clenching touchdown, Tom was sacked by a damn hippopotamus of a player and went down with a sickening crunching sound.
That was followed quickly by an excruciating scream that I felt in my own bones as Tom rolled on the ground. The ball went tumbling away and was scooped by up a defender, but luckily our running back jumped on him before he had a chance to go anywhere.
The agony-stricken expression on Tom’s face told me everything without a word.
“Fuck—” It was all I could manage to say as the breath in my lungs vaporized.
We were doomed.
With Tom out of the game and the ball turned over, it was up to me and my defense to hang onto our one-point lead. With just over three minutes left on the clock, we had to keep them from getting into field goal range, or we were done.
We all waited with wide eyes as two team trainers raced to Tom to help him off the field. The crowd was silent as a midnight graveyard. After what seemed like hours, the trainers managed to convince Tom into getting up from the cold ground. His face went tight, like he was biting back a string of fuck yous. My stomach churned like I was on a yacht in the middle of a thunderstorm.
It was all on my shoulders now.
This was it; we either stop them right here or the season is over.
Fuck! This is what I lived for. I dreamed about this moment my entire life.
Tom was done. There wasn’t a thing any of us could do to change that. I tightened my chin strap and prepared for battle as I watched him being taken off the field, wedged between two trainers, unable to put any weight on his left foot.
“Okay, rally up, gentlemen!” The intensity in Coach’s voice matched his eyes as he looked around the small huddle of my defensive team, his eyes locked onto mine. “Beauman, you and your men have come a long way this year. Their kicker is good, and he’s hit four from over fifty yards this year. We gotta stop ’em here and now. There is no tomorrow. This is it. This is what you all have been working your asses off all year for. I think it’s high time we show the world what the Knights are made of.” He paused as his eyes locked onto each of the ten other men heading out on the field with me. Now get out there and put a cork in these motherfuckers. Got it?”
As we took the field, the crowd came alive. The whole fucking place felt like a warzone. My warzone.
The Stormers broke huddle, and the roar of the crowd was like nothing I had ever heard or felt before; it was beyond deafening.
As their quarterback came to the line, I glared at him, shook my head and said, “No way motherfucker.”
Not today.
Not on my fuckin’ watch.
They didn’t call me the Monster of the Midwest for nothing. I wasn’t going down without leaving my damn guts on the field. This was flat out war—do or die—loser went home, and the winner lived to play another day.
I grit my teeth as the ref blew his whistle to resume play. The crowd was alive and standing on their feet, screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs. The Stormers’ quarterback took the snap and dropped back to throw a pass. It was a long one, streaking through the chilly air like a missile, deadlocked onto a receiver. Our safety, Billy Ray White, was with him step for step and at that perfect moment, he leaped up and knocked the ball away.
It was their second down and ten—two minutes and thirty-seven seconds to go—ball on their twenty-four-yard line. The next play was a handoff up the middle that I could see a mile away.
I shot through a gap and dropped him for a one-yard loss—third down, eleven yards to go and the clock was still running. On third down, one of our outside linebackers got tripped and the Stormers picked up a first down with a fifteen-yard pickup.
As the two-minute warning hit, I jogged over to the sidelines to talk things over with our defensi
ve coordinator and head coach. As I approached the sidelines, I could sense the tension in the air, but the coach was playing it cool. This wasn’t his first rodeo, and something about the way he looked at me sent a calmness through me.
We talked about formations and coverage and waited on the whistle to blow again. Before I headed back onto the field, I looked up in the crowd of eighty thousand plus people and had no trouble finding my girls, all of which were on their feet jumping up and down sporting matching team jerseys with my number and their names on them.
Even Aria was cheering me on. My heart melted as I soaked it all in. Just before I turned to trot back onto the field, I noticed both Lacey and Aria waving at me. My pride soared as I gave them my signature ‘Monster’ pose and the crowd reacted as I hustled back onto the field for the final two minutes of the game.
The Stormers had the ball. First and ten on their own thirty-five-yard line. They needed to reach the Knights thirty-five for a decent shot at a long field goal. This was what we practiced for every day—this is what we dream about. There was not a man on the field that would trade their spot right now for anything on this planet.
Not even a hot piece of ass.
The first play after the two-minute warning was a bomb down the sidelines that got busted up once again by Billy Ray White. Billy was playing the game of his life and we all rallied around him as the crowd’s roar continued. The Stormers quickly lined up, and the second play was a delay up the middle—a delay I was waiting on—and I dropped their running back in his tracks for a two-yard loss and nearly caused a fumble.
The clock was ticking, and the crowd was up on their feet. You could have dropped an H bomb and nobody would’ve known—or cared. On third down and twelve, the Stormers ran a bootleg that picked up fifteen yards across the middle.
It was first down and ten—the ball rested near mid field. The Stormers had only one timeout remaining and more than likely would save it to bring out their field goal kicking unit. They ran a quick out route that picked up five yards, but Billy Ray kept the runner inbounds, and the clock kept ticking as the Stormers lined up on the ball again.
