The Bad Baller Collection
Tabatha Kiss
Copyright © 2019 by Tabatha Kiss
All Rights Reserved.
Cover Design by Cover Me Timbers
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This novel contains explicit descriptions of erotic and sexual acts that some may find offensive, including perverse adult language.
All characters are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual.
Reader discretion advised.
Bump and Run was originally published as Whiplash.
In Too Deep was originally published as Johnny Deeper/Deeper/Go Deep.
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Contents
Bump and Run
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
In Too Deep
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Home Run Baby
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Excerpt: Just a Kiss
Also by Tabatha Kiss
About the Author
The Bad Baller Collection
Bump and Run:
Star quarterback? Check.
Perfect body? Check.
Cocky attitude? Ugh. Check.
A heart of gold and a smile that turns me stupid? Double check.
My father is the new football coach and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want me dating anyone on the team. So, I’ll just keep my head down and focus on my theater degree. Easy enough, right?
Wrong.
Enter, Junior Morgan. Exit, my panties.
But I don’t want to be just another notch in his bedpost. If Junior wants me as badly as his bulge tells me he does, then he’s gonna have to earn me.
Win a game. Win a night with me.
Game on, quarterback. We’re just getting started.
In Too Deep:
Pros: Star athlete. Amazing body. Excellent sense of humor.
Cons: A bit cocky and-- Oh, yeah. I'm his tutor.
This. Can't. Happen.
I'm so close to getting everything I've ever wanted but all I can think about is John Kirby sitting in the front row of class. Teaching assistants and students cannot mix the way he obviously wants us to.
So, I'll just keep my eyes on my own paper until one of us graduates. Easy enough, right?
Wrong.
Business, meet Pleasure.
I can't resist him and he knows it. I leap at his emails. I giggle at his texts. I melt beneath his touch...
No. This. Can't...
Why do I keep saying this can't happen... when it already has?
I am so screwed.
Home Run Baby:
Love. Marriage. Babies.*
*Not in that order.
I got hit in the head with a baseball. A damn home run. I didn’t even see it coming.
The next thing I know, I’m in the hospital with a headache but that’s not all…
There’s a doctor standing in front of me telling me I’m pregnant.
Who’s the father, you ask? The damn baseball player who hit the ball.
Hunter Novak. Home Run Hunter himself — but that’s not the name he gave me when he took me home with him from that bar six weeks ago.
Call it coincidence. Call it fate.
I call it a pain in my ass.
For the first time in my life, I’m responsible for someone other than myself. This baby deserves to grow up with a real family. It can’t get that from me and my one-night stand. Or can it?
I barely know Hunter. We skipped to the end before but now we have to start from the beginning.
How is that even possible now that a tiny heartbeat is involved?
Bump and Run
Chapter 1
Junior
September
“Cary Pierce?!”
Ty nods, his eyes never leaving the road in front of us. “That’s what I heard.”
I blink, forcing my vision to focus but my head still spins. “No way. That’s impossible.”
“Before he retired, he said he’d like to coach a college team.”
“Most professionals say that on their way out,” I argue. “They usually don’t. There’s no way Cary Pierce is our new coach. Why would he even bother with a shitty school like ours?”
Ty grins and tilts his head, taking his eyes off the road for several dangerous seconds to glare at me. “Wanna bet?”
I’ve known Ty for two years now, ever since our freshman year. This is his gotcha face; his I know something you don’t know face.
“What do you know?” I ask.
“Make a right turn,” his phone speaks, highlighting an upcoming road on the GPS map.
Ty barely slows down in time and makes a hard right turn. The car lurches and my guts shift as I grip my seatbelt a little tighter.
“I know,” he begins, “that my cousin, the real estate agent, just sold a big house just outside the city —” he points the map, “this big house — and had to sign a non-disclosure agreement before he met his client.”
I pause. “Really?”
He nods. “But we
went out for drinks last night and he said he’d fucking kill to be in my cleats right now because our new coach is a retired, four-time pro football champion—”
“You are so full of shit, dude,” I scoff.
“Hey…” He holds up his hands and the wheel curves gently left, sending the car along with it. “Don’t believe me if you want but you’re gonna be sucking my dick later.”
“Just watch the road, man,” I urge, shifting in my seat to get a little more comfortable.
A suit and tie aren’t usually my style but the invitation the team received insisted on us looking our best to meet the new coach in order to pay respect to the last one — Marty Duncan. He’d been the university football coach for the last two decades until he finally keeled over last week — just two weeks before the first game of the season. The gentle, relieved sighs of the school board could be heard throughout campus for days as they celebrated the idea of bringing in some new blood after begging him to retire for years.
But Cary Pierce blood? Not a fucking chance.
Still, a bit of doubt seeps in as we round the dirt corner and the house comes into view. Scratch that — it’s not a house, it’s a damn mansion with a large, black gate surrounding it.
“Holy shit,” I say. “I didn’t even know this was out here.”
“Me neither,” Ty mutters.
We come to a stop at the front gate where a security guard emerges out of nowhere. He grins at us as Ty rolls down his window, flashing a pair of old, stained teeth. “Welcome, boys!” he greets. “Come to meet the new coach?”
“Yeah,” Ty says, scavenging into his back pocket for his invitation. He holds it out and the man waves us through.
“Have fun!”
The gate slides open slowly, adding even more annoying anticipation toward finding out who this mysterious new coach is. As Ty drives forward, his smug grin dances a little more on his face. Could he be right? Could we be driving toward professional football royalty right now?
I shake the thoughts away. We’re smack in the middle of a damn fly-over state. Cary Pierce is from New York City and he probably retired there as well, along with his millions.
“Whoa-o-o!” Ty laughs as we swing into the circle drive. His eyes flash around, taking in the perfect lawn and the huge fountain at its center.
Even my jaw sags a little. I grew up about a half a block from the bad part of town in a neighborhood that pretended to be nicer than it really was. My family got by just fine but never in a million years did I think I would ever step foot in a place as nice as this.
A man in a vest charges down the front steps and meets us at the end of the drive, signaling for Ty’s keys as we climb outside.
Ty passes them off, his grin stretching out even longer. “Valet parking,” he remarks, staring at me.
“It’s not Cary Pierce’s house, man,” I say, although I’m not even sure what to believe anymore. The valet drives off. “For all you know, that guy just stole your car.”
“Joke’s on him. Thing ain’t worth shit. He did me a favor.”
I chuckle and the front door opens before we even reach it.
“It’s about time, guys! The team is waiting on you!”
My jaw drops and I glance over at Ty as his mouth slides into a thin smirk.
Cary Pierce. The Cary Pierce. Four-time champion Cary Pierce, a man I’ve looked up to since I was ten years old, is standing in front of me. He looks exactly the way he did when I was a kid with the small exception of his black hair looking a little thin around the edges and the slight wrinkles taking hold of the skin around his eyes.
No fucking way.
He waves us in with a thick hand. “Well, don’t just stand there.”
We step forward and Ty takes the lead, shoving forward to shake hands with a legend. “It’s awesome to meet you, sir,” he says. “I’m Ty Fisher.”
“Fisher?” Pierce asks. “You know a Sal Fisher?”
“Sal’s my cousin.”
“Good man! He gave me a decent deal on this house.”
“And what a beautiful house it is!” Ty winks.
Pierce gestures him inside and his eyes fall on me. “And you must be Junior Morgan.”
I blink, taking his hand. “How did you know?”
“Process of elimination. You’re the only one I haven’t met yet — and you’re gonna have to work on that grip if you’re going to be my quarterback.”
My cheeks bleed red. I just gave the world’s daintiest handshake to Cary freakin’ Pierce.
“Sorry, sir!” I laugh, giving him a hard squeeze. The steel band of his championship ring presses into my skin.
“That’s much better! Maybe the tales of your legendary arm are true after all.”
He pats my shoulder and I feel like a little kid. He’s so much taller than I thought he was. I’m 6’2” myself, making him nearly 6’6” by my estimation and close to two-hundred and fifty pounds. He’s a damn truck.
“Well, I don’t know about that—”
“Never tone down your strengths, Junior,” he says, leaning in. “Even if you have to fake it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He shakes his head. “None of that sir stuff. Coach is fine.”
I beam like a damn jester in the presence of the king. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Come on out back,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to go over tonight.”
Ty and I follow him through the foyer toward the back, passing through a huge kitchen before stepping out onto the lawn. The air is thick with the scent of barbecue and burning charcoal. A perfectly landscaped garden rests in the center, along with a large pool and a pool house on the other side of it.
Our teammates linger around with sodas and plates stacked with burgers and chips. Ty instantly darts over to grab his own plate while I stand back, taking in the moment.
I’m in Cary Pierce’s backyard.
“Hey, Junior.”
A light hand brushes my shoulder and I lock eyes with Bob, our assistant coach. He’s been around the university for nearly as long as Duncan was. “Hey,” I greet him.
He chuckles at my expression. “Bit of a shock, eh?”
“More than a bit!” I laugh. “I thought for sure you’d be our new coach.”
Bob waves his hand. “With this old mug? Nah… I mean, I did, too, but when the school board called me about this… I didn’t argue with it. It’s what’s right for you boys.”
I nod. It hasn’t sunk in at all yet. Cary Pierce is our new coach.
“Hey, guys!” Pierce’s voice booms across the lawn, instantly grabbing our attention. He claps his hands together and scans the crowd, making sure to make eye contact with each one of us. “I can tell by the looks on your faces that I don’t have to introduce myself or list off my qualifications. But who I am isn’t important — you are. It’s an honor to meet you all. I look forward to getting some one-on-one time with each of you and, hopefully, being the coach you deserve.”
Ty nudges my ribs, practically giggling to himself with a full plate of fried food. I have no idea how any of them can eat right now. I can hardly even breathe.
“I’m coming in a little late here,” Pierce goes on. “The semester has already started, and your first game is this Saturday. It was unfortunate to hear about your old coach. From what I’ve been told, he was a good man but from every tragedy comes opportunity. You know, when I told people I was moving here to be your coach, they looked at me and asked — Why? You’re Cary Pierce. You can coach anywhere you want. Why go to that school? They’re just a bunch of losers.”
I glance around, feeling the air shift and team’s morale plummets. We won one game last season and even less than that the year before. The term loser is more spot-on than we’d care to admit.
“No talent, no wins,” Pierce says. “You know what I said? I said they were right. You are a bunch of losers…” He glances around again, letting it all sink in on us. “But so was I. When I played college ball, I was nothing. We
were nothing. We had stats not so different than yours right now. Then, one day, a new coach came to town and changed everything. He trained us harder than we’d ever thought possible. He motivated us to not only change our minds about how we saw ourselves but to change everyone else’s mind as well. I want you to let me be that coach for you.”
I feel a boost of confidence, one I haven’t felt before in my entire life. The rest of the team stands a little taller, too.
The Bad Baller Collection Page 1
