Tackling Love: A Sports Romance (Tackling Romance Series Book 1)

by Kathleen Kelly

  “Nope! But I do know it’s time for you to go.”

  In a daze, Colt stands wearing only briefs and nothing else.

  I wonder when he put them on?

  “I could stay… make you breakfast?”

  “I have plans tomorrow. Well, today, but maybe another time?” I smile as I push him back toward my front door.

  “Sugar, we had fun, right?” Colt’s grinning at me. He’s so cocky, so self-assured.

  “Yes, we did.” I reach around him and open the front door. “But now it’s time for you to go.” I give him a final shove, and he’s on my front porch.

  Colt looks around, his clothes and shoes are still clutched to his chest. “Come on, Skye, let me stay. It’s late.”

  “That’s right, it is.” I lean in and kiss him. Honestly, this man is so good with his hands, but that tongue alone is enough to melt my resolve. I break away and step back into my home. “It was nice meeting you.” I shut the door in his face.

  “Come on! You’re kidding, right?” Colt shouts to my closed door. “I’m Colt Anders.”

  I yell back at the closed door. “Good night, Colt Anders.”

  His laughter filters in through the closed door, and I hear him say, “This isn’t over.”

  I count to sixty and peek out through the curtains—Mr. Biceps is gone.

  Smiling to myself, I go back to the bathroom. I plan on taking a long shower before sleep claims me again.

  COLT

  The minute I saw her at the bar, I knew she was different. I like to spend time there as everyone knows me, and it’s easy to pick up a little something.

  Normally, when I talk to a woman, their eyes glaze over with lust or dollar signs as they realize Colt Anders, quarterback for the New England Warriors, is talking to them. But with Skye, there was nothing, no recognition, no awareness, just nothing. She simply liked what she saw, and she wasn’t after a payday. It’s been a long time since a woman has wanted just me and not the football star.

  I watched Skye as she went back to her date, and even from a distance, I could tell he was more into her than she was him. I was looking for a reason to talk to her, and he gave it to me by grabbing her ass on the dance floor.

  Now, after a fantastic night of sex, she’s booted me out in my underwear. I’m standing behind a bush, hiding, attempting to get dressed. The weather has turned cold, and my thought process is all about Skye and what the hell just happened.

  Skye threw me out.

  Me!

  I’m Colt-fucking-Anders!

  I don’t understand.

  No one has ever done this to me before. I’m always the one looking for an out, not the ladies I meet. Shaking my head as I try to pull on my jeans, I trip and land ass first in a bush.

  Great.

  Just great!

  Crawling out, I manage to put on the rest of my clothing, hoping I don’t get arrested for being a peeping tom or indecent exposure by anyone who could be out in the early hours of the morning. I am sure that would make the NFL happy.

  Stepping out from behind the shrubbery, I trip and land face-first onto a cobblestoned path, the same path that leads to Skye’s red-painted door. There are no lights on, so she must have gone back to bed.

  Un-fucking-believable!

  The street lights cast their dull illumination over everything. Her house appears cute in the dim light—dark blue weatherboard with white trim, planter pots under the windows with white shutters. The red door gives you a hint of her personality, she’s all nice and cute on the outside, but underneath that exterior, she’s a fantastic, naughty lover.

  “Colt Anders, what brings you to suburbia?” asks a voice in the dark, causing me to jump.

  I turn around, and a flash goes off in my face.

  Fuck, a damn reporter.

  I don’t need this.

  First of all, I have been kicked out, that’s unheard of, and now a reporter is here to document the experience and tell the whole goddamn world. The press loves you when you are scoring touchdowns, but the minute you fuck-up, you go from the celebrated guy next door to pond scum in one easy move.

  “Just leaving a friend’s house,” I reply as I square my shoulders and fake a smile.

  “And she’s a cute little friend, too. Care to give me her name?”

  “Look, man, she’s a friend. I don’t want her name plastered all over the place. Can we leave it at that? I can give you tickets to the next big game?” I try to tempt him.

  The guy shakes his head.

  Desperate to get away, I scowl at him and turn on my heel.

  “Colt, do you even know where you are?”

  “Sure, I do,” I answer after stopping to look around. I continue forward, not having any fucking clue where I’m going.

  “I can give you a lift?”

  I wave a hand in his direction without turning around. “I’m good.”

  “Colt, you know you’re heading the wrong way, don’t you?” Sarcasm is dripping off his every word.

  This stops me again. I spin around, embarrassed, annoyed, and wishing I wasn’t in this predicament right now. “Okay, maybe a lift would be nice.”

  The reporter points at a car, and we walk over. He unlocks it with his remote, and we both slide in.

  “So, how did you find me?” I ask cautiously.

  “Followed you from the bar,” the reporter candidly replies.

  “Buddy, you know I am entitled to a little privacy.”

  “Yes, you are, but not in football season. Come on, Colt, even you know that.”

  Fuck!

  The NFL does not like scandals. I’ve managed to keep my private life private, and I want to keep it that way.

  “Can we work out a deal? I don’t need the aggravation or the bad press. Maybe we could come to some sort of monetary agreement?”

  The guy’s hands tighten on the wheel. I’m studying his face, trying to read him, to see if he’ll take the bait and leave this alone. He smiles, then shakes his head. “Let’s keep this between us. I’ll scratch your back, and one day you’ll scratch mine?”

  “Thanks, man. Thanks, I appreciate it.” Relief floods through me—sounds like he’s going to do the right thing.

  Thankfully, he doesn’t ask me any questions for the rest of the drive back to the bar and my car.

  After sliding out, I lean down to the car window. “Thanks for the lift,” I say,

  “No, thank you,” replies the reporter as he smiles and drives away.

  I stand there, staring at his red tail lights, wondering what he meant by those words. Owing a reporter a favor can be a dangerous thing. I groan inwardly and head for my Jeep. I need to get home. It’s Saturday morning, and I have a game on Sunday. I need sleep, to train, and then get my game face on.

  Climbing into my car, I dial my agent, Tom Fellow. It’s the early hours of the morning, but the man always takes my calls, twenty-four hours a day, no matter what.

  “Colt? Everything okay?” asks Tom in a worried, sleepy tone.

  “Think I fucked up, Tommy.”

  “Tell me, and for God’s sake, don’t leave anything out.”

  “The only thing to tell is that a reporter caught me in a compromising position.”

  “With a married woman? A fan? A man?” Tom’s voice rises with each question.

  “No, Tom, I was kicked out of a female’s house in my underwear,” I admit sheepishly.

  “I’m confused.”

  “I picked up a woman in a bar, her name’s Skye, and about an hour ago, she kicked me out. I didn’t realize a reporter had followed me, and he probably has pictures.”

  I hear Tom sigh and then laugh. “Are you or her naked? Was there a screaming match? Is she a freak?”

  “No, well… I was in my underwear. I yelled at her front door, but I was laughing. And no, she’s not a freak. She’s… she’s different. Beautiful.”

  “You have a sponsorship deal with Calvin Klein, at least tell me you were wearing them.”
/>   “As a matter of fact, I was.”

  “That’s fine, we can spin it. Do you have the reporter’s name or what newspaper was he works at?”

  “Crap! Nope. I got nothing.”

  “Not to worry, I’ll get on the phones now. We’ll sort this out. Don’t stress. Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll see you on Sunday. Colt, we are more than halfway through the season, you have a shot at the Super Bowl, don’t fuck it up.”

  The line goes dead. The Super Bowl is my life long dream. No way I’m screwing that up.“Thanks, Tom.” I hang up, start my car, and head for home.

  SKYE

  The weekend is filled with house chores and preparing for school on Monday. I teach kindergarten and have a little project for the children to do. It’s a fun, learning exercise, and I know they will enjoy.

  When I pull up at the school, Derek Geyser is there, handing out something to all of the parents.

  I get out of my car, and someone shouts, “Way to go, Miss Hadley.”

  Confused, I give a little wave and continue on toward the school entrance. As I pass Derek, he hands me a newspaper—it’s the sports section from Saturday, and the headline reads:

  Quarterback Gets Dumped!

  And under it is a picture of Colt and me kissing.

  “Oh my God! How many of these have you handed out?” I shriek.

  “I bought you dinner, drinks, and you repay me by fucking the football hero?” sneers Derek.

  My face is flushed with anger, but even more so, embarrassment. “My personal life is none of your business. Why are you doing this?”

  “The parents deserve to know what kind of woman is shaping the minds of their children.”

  “I should never have gone out with you,” I hiss.

  “Well, then you’d never have met the hero,” replies Derek in a mocking tone.

  I snatch the remaining papers out of his hands and storm into the school. The eyes of the students, teachers, and the parents feel like they’re scorching into my back as I hurry toward my classroom.

  Opening the door, I slam it shut behind me and throw all of the newspapers into the bin with a thud.

  I. Am. Mortified.

  What was I thinking going out with that smug asshole? Now, I’m going to be perceived as some sort of slut.

  Much to my dismay, the overhead PA crackles, and then I hear, “Miss Hadley… to the Principal’s Office. Miss Hadley… to the Principal’s Office.”

  I clutch my sides and start taking deep breaths.

  I need this job.

  I like this job.

  All I’ve ever wanted to do is to teach. I love coming to work every day, I love my kids, but this is a private school, and any form of public embarrassment will be frowned upon. We even sign a waiver saying we won’t discuss the children with outsiders without the prior consent of the principal. I thought this was unusual, but some of the parents are famous, and reporters often try to discover juicy tidbits about them.

  Squaring my shoulders, I open my door and proceed toward the office. I hold my head high while smiling at those coming toward me. I don’t hurry, mainly because I’m trying to convince myself and everyone around me that this is perfectly normal.

  As I enter the office, Marion, the secretary, stands and says, “Go right on in, Skye, he’s waiting for you.” She sounds empathetic, and I can feel the tears pricking the backs of my eyelids. I enter Mr. Wilson’s office and shut the door.

  “Sit down, Skye.” He tosses a newspaper at me, and my face goes a deep shade of crimson. “Tell me this isn’t you.”

  “It’s me, sir, but what I do in my private time has nothing to do with my job.”

  Mr. Wilson nods, purses his lips, and sits back in his chair. “You know what type of school we have here. It’s full of the brightest, and let’s face it… wealthiest children in the city. The parents frown upon this type of… behavior. The only thing which is going to save you is the fact they didn’t mention your name. So, do me a favor and tell people, if they ask, that this isn’t you. And for God’s sake, keep away from Colton Anders, he’s a known ladies’ man.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I whisper.

  Mr. Wilson leans forward in his chair and smiles. “Call me, Tony.”

  “Okay, Tony, thank you.”

  “Try and have a good day,” he says dismissively as he begins tapping away on his keyboard.

  As I stumble out of his office, I find the entire administration staff staring at me. Walking as quickly as I can, I give them a small smile and head back to my classroom. Opening the door, I step inside and close it as quickly as I can before the first of my tears run down my face.

  Bending, I take out one of the newspapers and stare at the picture. Colt is practically naked, and we are pressed together in a passionate-looking kiss.

  For some reason, this stops my tears.

  It was one night.

  It was a wonderful night, and now I’m back to being me—a good kindergarten teacher.

  Folding the newspaper, I place this one copy in my handbag, wipe my eyes, and get ready for my class to begin.

  COLT

  Boy, did I cop a ribbing after the picture of Skye and me hit the stands on Saturday. Tom, my agent, managed to convince the newspaper to keep Skye’s name out of the article. The guys enjoyed seeing me half-naked plastered across every newspaper from here to Timbuktu. We won the game on Sunday, so now the newspapers are full of speculation that we are in for a real chance at the Super Bowl. There’s only a handful of games left to be played.

  News is fickle, and my little indiscretion is now forgotten.

  Skye, however, is not.

  I’ve been dreaming about her since Friday night. I even googled her. Turns out, there is a Skye Hadley who works at one of the schools downtown. I checked it out, and now I’m sitting here watching her walk onto the school grounds.

  I’ve sent her flowers, chocolates, knocked on her door, but it’s all to no avail. The woman wants nothing to do with me.

  The NFL likes us to have a good-guy image for the press, and upon further investigation, her school has a Big Brother Program for some of the kids, so I signed up. This will grant me a good reputation with my team and management, and, more importantly, it will get me closer to Skye. The program’s built around kids who don’t have a positive male role model in their lives.

  Walking into the school, I stop along the way signing autographs for the kids and some of the adults as I make my way toward the office. Why is it all schools smell the same? A mixture of chemicals, sweat, and fear. Walking through the door, sitting behind the desk is a petite older woman who’s fussing with her hair. I notice her name tag reads ‘Marion.’

  “Hello, sugar, I’m Colt Anders. I’m here for the Big Brother Program.”I give her my best smile.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Anders, so nice to meet you.”

  I extend my hand. “Please, call me Colt.”

  Marion stands, visibly excited as she shakes my hand. “Oh, to think I’m touching the best player in the league.”

  “Marion… may I call you Marion?” She nods frantically. “I’m nothing without my team.” It’s the standard line I give out. The public doesn’t like it if you are too proud or arrogant. I learned it the hard way in the early days that I have to be humble.

  “Oh, Colt,” Marion giggles nervously, still hanging onto my hand.

  “So, where is my little brother?” I ask and wink at her.

  Marion points behind me, and I see a young boy, maybe ten, standing there staring at me. “This is Blaise Geyser.”

  Turning around, I hold out my hand. “Hey, Blaise, I’m Colt.”

  “Hey, Colt, how’s it hanging?”

  I like him, he’s got spunk. “Good, man, good. So, you ready to come meet the New England Warriors?”

  Blaise’s face lights up, and he nods. “Hells, yes!”

  “Blaise Geyser… you remember your manners around Mr. Anders,” berates Marion.

  “Yes, Miss Brown,” r
eplies Blaise, his eyes on the floor.

  Marion smiles wide at me, and I grin back at her.

  “Okay, Blaise, let’s get this show on the road.” I place a hand on the middle of his back and guide him out into the hall.

  “You didn’t say anything wrong, buddy. So, you like football?”

  “Hells, yes! I want to be just like you and earn a million-dollar contract.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, the money is good, bud, but you have to have a love for the game or it’s work. If it’s work, it’s not fun, and no matter what you do, when you get older, you have to love what you do.”

  “Colt?”

  I look up and see a surprised Skye staring at me in disbelief.

  “Skye… wow! What a small world. What are you doing here?” Even to my ears it sounds fake and somewhat rehearsed.

  “I work here.”

  “Really? Wow! I’m here as part of the Big Brother Program. Doing my bit for the community, you know?”

  “You enrolled in the program? You?” Skye asks, suspiciously.

  “Yeah, yeah… ahh, this is Blaise. Blaise, do you know Miss Hadley?”

  Blaise nods.

  This isn’t the way I thought this would go down at all as I smile awkwardly at Skye. But to my surprise, Skye smiles back at me and beams at Blaise.

  “That’s right, you’re on the football team, aren’t you, Blaise? Your team is doing pretty good this year, too. Aren’t they?”

  “Yes, Miss Hadley. But we lost the last two games as coach benched Drew for fighting, and he’s our best player.”

  Skye looks at me expectantly as if she wants me to say something. I look down at Blaise and back at her, then back down and blurt out, “That sucks, buddy.” Looking back at Skye, she’s frowning at me. “But you know this Drew is one person, he isn’t the whole team. As a team, you need to work together, play fair and clean, and you can succeed.”

  I glance at Skye, and she’s now nodding. Thank fuck!

  “That’s right, Blaise. Teamwork. Okay then, well, you two have a good afternoon.” Skye walks away. She’s done it again. She’s blown me off. What do I need to do to get this woman’s attention?