Mister Baller: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance (Bad Boys in Love Book 2)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Keeping off the sports blogs and away from shit-talking football fans on social media has been good for me since all I do is get myself into pointless fights with strangers on the internet. On the downside, my teammates haven’t been able to reach me.

  I busted out laughing when I saw the three of them on Iris’s porch, looking disgruntled and out of place. They haven’t been very happy about my phone being off, and when their calls continued to go unanswered, they looked up Paul Price and got my new address from him.

  So now, here I am at a local bar having an actual beer—or two. Or maybe this is number three?—with my friends.

  Side note: the Frosty Pitcher really needs to put tea on their drinks menu.

  “We’re just happy to see you, man!” Jace reaches across the table and ruffles my uncombed hair. I knock his hand away.

  “Bro, we thought you were dead,” Knox says with a creased brow. “Had to hunt you down through your agent.”

  The guys have been bullshitting about the Paragon’s season. We lost another game two nights ago, so understandably, my friends are bummed. Meanwhile, I keep my face a blank mask. Reminders of my injury sting.

  At the moment, I’m still on the team, sitting uncomfortably on the injury reserve list while Fletcher, the second-string tight end, makes an absolute shitshow as my replacement. But at the end of the season, the general manager will have to make a decision about my fate.

  The Iowa Paragons are a winning team, mostly thanks to Maxwell, our all-star quarterback. But what good is a fifty million dollar per year quarterback if he doesn’t have the weapons around him to get the job done?

  In the offseason, we drafted Knox. Between his running game, and my ability to give Maxwell a stellar receiving target, this was going to be our year. Then, I had to go and fuck that up. I just hope team management is willing to give me a shot to redeem myself before drafting another superstar tight end to replace me.

  “We’ve had three straight losses,” Maxwell complains. “Did you see our last game? They double-teamed Knox on defense. We don’t have a chance if we can’t get our passing game going again.”

  Knox bows his head in frustration and tears off his cap. “I haven’t been playing at my best,” he admits, running a big, brown hand over his short, compact curls. “Ever since Arlene filed for separation.” The guy has a lot going on in his personal life, especially the child custody drama.

  Maxwell drops a palm on his shoulder. “You can’t take all the blame, man. Don’t beat yourself up. The rest of the team has to pull their weight, too.”

  “What about Fletcher and Cora ?” I ask about our other tight end and our veteran wide receiver. They’re not consistently great, but they have their moments.

  “Between the pair, we had six dropped passes in the first quarter alone,” Jace groans. “It was fucking painful to watch. Maxwell’s pass rating is taking a huge nosedive, and Coach broke another headset.”

  “Sorry, guys.” I don’t know what else to say. I hate this. We all hate this.

  “How’s PT going?” Knox asks, “I’ve heard whispers that you’re not coming back. But they’re not true, are they?”

  “PT’s going slower than I’d like.” I hesitate before continuing but my teammates deserve to know the truth. And anything I say will stay here. The four of us hold unspoken loyalty. “For a long time, I wasn’t making much progress but that was because I was working with the wrong people. If my PT therapist isn’t taking me serious, then what’s the point, y’know? So I had to fire the first four assholes. I’m on my fifth physiotherapist, at this point, though. I’ve been making gradual progress with his help. The pain in my knee is subsiding and it’s getting easier to walk without a limp…I’m gonna make a comeback, guys. I’m sure of it.”

  There’s an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. I can see the pity in Jace and Knox’s expressions. Maxwell gives an unconvinced nod and turns back to his beer. Clearly, my teammates think I’m delusional.

  Experiencing a career-ending injury is every athlete’s biggest fear. You’re so freaked out, worried about jinxing yourself, that you almost feel as though you’ll catch an injury like a fucking illness. No one wants to talk about it too much for fear that I’ll pass it along. On some level, I’m grateful my teammates don’t voice that negativity out loud.

  But I can recover from this. Hearing Iris say she believes in me, right when I was about to give up. It’s like she injected a double-dose of self-confidence into me. And having her working out alongside me has given me a boost I didn’t realize I needed. It’s her friendship—her faith in me—that’s been keeping me going these past few days.

  “Who’s that babe you’re shacking up with?” Knox asks, awkwardly changing the subject.

  “Iris?” Just saying her name and I need another swig of beer. The sexual tension between us has been bananas since that wild kiss in the hallway.

  I spend all my time replaying that kiss…with an alternate ending. An ending that involves us together in her bed, me pounding into that sweet, curvy body of hers until she screams my name.

  “You hitting that?” Jace asks with a smirk on his face. I know that look. He’d hook up with her, if given the opportunity. A territorial spark of jealousy ignites in the center of my gut.

  That’s not fucking happening…

  Knox reads my expression, his own face lighting up with a mischievous grin. “Oh, you are hitting that!”

  “Dude, it’s not like that.” I take a long pull of my beer. And because I’m too chicken to face what I’m really feeling, I fall back on my classic excuse. “She’s my best friend’s ex-wife, and I wouldn’t do that to him.” I’m so full of shit. If my teammates hadn’t rang the doorbell when they did, no doubt I would have kissed Iris again. And dealt with the guilt later.

  Jason narrows his eyes. “You said ex-wife, right? So what’s the problem?” His reasoning hits a nerve. Jace is the eternal bachelor. He just doesn’t get it.

  I look at Maxwell, the only happily married man of our group. If anyone will understand my reasoning, it’s him. “Help me out here, Masters. You can’t hook up with your friends’ ex-wives. That goes against every rule of the bro code, doesn’t it?”

  The team captain surprises me by tilting his head back and forth as he weighs the question. “I say it depends…”

  “On what?” Knox asks, his expression guarded, clearly telegraphing that if any of us ever hit on his estranged wife, we’d have his fists to contend with.

  Maxwell shrugs. “Well, what broke them up? If he’s at fault for that, and he’s already moved on, then I’d say you’re in the clear. Plus, it seems like the dynamic is already unusual if you’re shacking up with this Iris chick and not your buddy. If the guy was really your friend, wouldn’t he have offered to give you room and board?”

  I stew on Maxwell’s words. From what Iris told me, it sure sounds like Kirk moved on before they even split. Plus, she has invited me into her home and practically cooks for me every night, while my so-called friend hasn’t even made an effort to check on me. Truth be told, she’s turning out to be a better friend than he ever was.

  “I see those wheels spinning, Kingston,” Jace laughs.

  I shake my head, beer and confusion slowing my thoughts. “It’s just…she’s not the person I thought she was. We never got along back when she was with Kirk. She was just this uppity girl. But, I don’t know…maybe that’s just what I wanted to see.”

  Normally, I don’t get all sappy, but after weeks of forced solitude, I’m practically itching to spill my guts to these guys. And the alcohol isn’t helping with my filter, either.

  “Even back then, I could see how shitty my friend treated her. He broke her heart, more than once, and it’s not fucking right. He had it all. Iris may have looked at me with disdain and reserve, but she treated her boyfriend like a goddamn king. She was the perfect fucking girlfriend. Always went out of her way to make sure he was happy. To make sure he was fed before games. To make su
re he made it to practice and class on time.” I tip back my beer and down it, before slamming the empty bottle on the table. “And to thank her, Kirk sticks his dick in someone else.”

  “Damn…” I hear Knox mumble.

  “Then I say the bro code is null, void and without effect,” Maxwell throws up his hands and declares.

  “And I’m sure you could think of a way to fix that broken heart. Right, Kingston?” Jace makes some lewd hand movements that break the serious atmosphere.

  Iris Merlini has obviously been through a lot, and the more I see her, the more I see how kind-hearted she is. I’m starting to question whether she actually was a cold ice queen who hated my guts in college or whether she was just a shy, insecure girl trying to protect her own feelings and save her relationship, while we were too busy partying and balling to take notice.

  My loyalty to Kirk is wavering. If he was so rotten to his wife, does he deserve my steadfast, brotherly allegiance? A loud voice in my drunken head is demanding to declare mutiny on his cheating ass.

  But why am I so hung up on Iris? Of all women? For heaven’s sake, she’s obviously playing the field. She was on a date with that weird guy at the restaurant and when that fell apart, she and I had a ‘moment’ in the hallway outside her bedroom.

  The kiss tilted my universe, shifted my paradigm but it obviously did nothing for her because within the hour, she was on the phone talking dirty with somebody else.

  The thought of her with yet another assface who won’t appreciate her makes me territorial as hell. She doesn’t need some guy who doesn’t know how to treat her, who’ll only see her as a hook-up or a booty call. Iris deserves better. She always has.

  But she’s a single woman. If that’s how she wants to live, she has every right.

  The cocksure, overconfident part of my brain intervenes right then, whispering in my ear. So what if she’s dating other people? I can compete with any guy she’s into….I’m Jude fucking Kingston. None of those jerks can take me on. And I’m not a man who was built to share. One night with me and she won’t want anyone else. I can guarantee that.

  The women I’ve fucked act like I’m a god. If I’m being honest here, I’ve never complained about that. But I’m a guy who likes to occasionally work for it a little. And I’d work for Iris Merlini.

  She’s a challenge. And I’ve never backed down from one of those.

  Damn, I’m confident when I’m drunk…

  By the time Maxwell’s SUV pulls up to the curb, my brain is paddling around in a lake of booze and lust and poor decisions waiting to happen. Seeing that I’m usually not a drinker, the few beers I had tonight hit me hard. As Knox and Jace are escorting my wasted ass up the pathway, I make a decision—a very drunk decision. A very bad drunk decision.

  Tonight is the fucking night.

  With a tight grip on the railing, I drag myself up the stairs. I position myself in front of her door. Feelin’ sexy, I finger-brush my hair and pop a stick of gum into my mouth. Oh yeah, baby.

  Just as I lift my fist to knock, I hear…something. Fuck—is this girl having phone sex again?

  Iris speaks in a voice so soft I have to press my ear up against the door to make sure I’m hearing her right. “…His pincer-like fingers wrap around my thighs and I tilt my pelvis forward, desperate for contact,” she whispers in a breathy tone. “My Master watches me with a possessive glint in his telescopic eyes…”

  What the…?

  “He runs the tip of one scale-covered tentacle along the lips of my pussy…”

  How fucking drunk am I?

  “A strained sound breaks past my Master’s fish-like lips…”

  Dude…

  On second thought, maybe I can’t compete with the guys she’s into. This girl is into some freaky shit and I don’t think I can hang. I should probably just turn my drunk ass around and head straight for my own bed.

  But my coordination is off, as is my sense of direction. I stagger and my ass hits the door. Hard. The door swings open and I stumble right through. I trip on the cat who lets out a screeching yelp. Foxxy darts out of the bedroom and scampers into the linen closet. I grab the wall just in time to prevent a crash-landing.

  Iris’s neck spins around from where she’s sitting at the dresser in some sexy pink lingerie. Her wide diamond blue eyes land on my face.

  She springs to her feet fast enough to knock over her wine glass on the dresser. She tears a clunky headset off her head. “What the hell, Jude?!”

  25

  Iris

  Whoa there!” My roommate mumbles as he makes a staggering entrance that would make Kramer from Seinfeld look like a graceful ballerina by comparison. He barely catches himself on the wall.

  “Oh my god. Are you okay?” I abandon my headset on the dresser and rush over toward him because he looks pretty unsteady, like he might fall flat on his face. Not that I’d be able to catch a six foot three professional football player without becoming a pancake on the floor myself.

  Thankfully, he rights himself and limps into an upright position.

  “What on earth are you doing, Jude?!” My voice comes out squeaky and high-pitched because this man just scared the shit out of me.

  He throws a disoriented glimpse over my shoulder, then his forehead creases with something that looks a little bit like anger. I follow his stare.

  There’s red wine spreading across my dresser, bleeding into the scattered papers, circling the base of my microphone and dripping down onto the hardwood floor.

  “Oh, shit!” I quickly grab my computer and headphones out of harm’s way. Tiptoeing through the mess, I deposit my gadgets on my bed. I bend over my mattress and take a few minutes to fuss over the equipment, making sure none of it got wet because lord knows I can’t afford to replace any of it right now.

  When I’m satisfied that everything is dry, my attention spins back to my roommate.

  Now, he’s standing there, his glassy eyes locked on my ass. His gaze bounces to my face. He swallows, making his Adam’s apple climb and drop. That’s when I remember that I’m virtually naked in this see-through lace teddy I’m wearing. Jeez, Louise.

  I grab a bunch of pillows and self-consciously clench them to my lingerie-clad body. “Again, what the hell are you doing?” I demand.

  Jude blinks hard and slow. “I wanted to talk to you but never mind,” he says in a cold, flat voice. He gestures resentfully to my make-shift recording studio. “Obviously, you’re in the middle of something. I don’t want to interrupt. You can go back to…whoever it is you’re so busy entertaining all the time.”

  What on earth is he talking about? Before I can ask, he limps away, closing the door behind him.

  I wrap myself in my bathrobe and plop down on the edge of my bed, fuming. It’s obvious that Jude just heard everything I was saying. That’s a major invasion of my privacy.

  My normal response would be to hide away and feel mortified. But I’m tired of being the quiet girl who holds her tongue when really, what I need to do is stand up for myself. Just as I’m working myself up for a confrontation, there’s a knock at my door.

  The hinges scream as I angrily tear the door open. Jude stands there with a mop and some towels from the linen closet. “We need to clean that up.” He frowns at me.

  I’m frowning too as I step out of the doorway to let him through. Wordlessly, he hands me the towels and starts mopping up the mess on the floor. “Really don’t appreciate you spying on me, Jude.”

  He stops and looks up at me. “I wasn’t trying to spy on you, Iris. I promise.” His tone is genuine. “I just wanted to talk…And my drunk ass fell on the door.” He shakes his head in frustration. “Y’see? That’s why I stick to my tea.”

  “Yeah, you should probably stick to your tea,” I shoot back bitterly. I ball up the towels to soak up the wine on the dresser. “Not that it’s any of your business but I feel the need to explain myself.”

  “You don’t need to,” Jude says, his tone cold. “You can hav
e phone sex with whoever you want to have phone sex with.”

  Is he for real? I roll my eyes. “I was not having phone sex. I—I’m auditioning…”

  That grabs his attention. He furrows his brows and quits mopping to look at me. “Auditioning?”

  “Audiobook narration. For romance novels,” I explain. “To bring in extra money. It’s one of the side businesses I’m trying out.”

  I can’t read Jude’s expression as he stands there frozen, processing my words.

  Feeling defeated, I drop down on my bed. “All of my business attempts are failing and I just need something to stick. Fast. Because when you leave, I don’t want to be destitute and scrambling to make ends meet again.”

  He abandons the mop and sits next to me. “I told you, I changed my mind. I’m not leaving any time soon.”

  I shake my head. “But you will leave eventually. And I’ve got to be ready for that when the time comes.” I can’t be financially unprepared again, like I was when Kirk left.

  “Shit, Iris…” He drops his head and rubs the back of his neck. Jude is silent for a while, deep in thought, then a smile slowly creeps up his handsome face. “So, audiobooks, huh?”

  I nod, feeling a hesitant little smile of my own. “Yeah. Romance.”

  “Sounded pretty…” He fumbles like he can’t find the right word.

  Steamy…Filthy…Panty-melting…

  I’m blushing. “Yeah, some of it is a little out there but for the most part it’s fun…”

  His eyes track down to my robe and his expression says he’s visualizing the thin scrap of lace I’m wearing beneath. “So the wine…? The lingerie…?”

  “Just to set the mood,” I tell him. “To make me open up and stop feeling so nervous.”

  He angles his chin toward the wine-soaked papers on my dresser. “Is that the manuscript?”

  I nod.