by KB Winters
Monster Baller
Bitsberg Knights Duet Book One
KB Winters
Copyright © 2021 by KB Winters and Bookboyfriends Publishing Inc
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
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
Thank You So Much!
About the Author
About Monster Baller
Lacey
You know what they say. Big hands, big feet, well, you get it.
And I got it one sultry night with a stranger.
Then, the judge sends him to my non-profit and I have to babysit.
So what if he’s some bad-boy football star.
I’ve got my girls to protect. And he can do his time and get out.
Chance Beauman—the Beaumonster— might be hotter than sin, but I have no time for games—football or any other.
I can’t stop thinking about him. Those abs, that butt, the biceps.
The way he touches me when we’re together.
I have to get him out of my head before my heart takes over.
* * *
Chance
They call me the Monster of the Midwest because I hit hard—and play harder.
But my football career is on the line.
I thought bad decisions made great stories.
Guess I was wrong.
I get sentenced to a month at a non-profit for kids.
And who do I find? Lacey. The girl who swept me off my feet.
Only now, she’s relegated me to the friend zone.
I don’t want to be her friend.
I want to be her man. Her lover. Her life.
And I’ll do anything to make her mine.
Forever.
Love dirty talking athletes who can melt your panties in thirty seconds or less! You got it!
Monster baller is a full-length bad boy romance with a little bit of football and a whole lot of HEAT! No cliffhanger and a very happy ending.
* * *
★Previously published as Big Time★
1
Chance
“You need to listen to me, Beauman or this could turn into the worst day of your life.”
I scoffed. “Theatrics much, Riley?”
Nolan Riley, my professional shit show handler—technically referred to as my business manager—leveled me with one of his fierce, closing argument stares. “I’m not fucking around with you. This is serious.”
I sucked in a sigh and leaned back in the padded leather chair that sat opposite Nolan at his place behind a large, dark-finished desk. I glanced around the room and fixated on the large painting behind Nolan’s head. That way, I didn’t have to meet his narrowed stare. I knew he was pissed at me. Although I wasn’t entirely sure why this time was any different than the last half a dozen. A bar fight was a bar fight, wasn’t it? Besides, my fuck ups paid for his fancy office, a small army of sports cars, and access to a private jet. So why the hell did he care?
“I thought this would be settled by now,” I growled, halfway under my breath.
“I did too,” Nolan said. My eyes dropped six inches and met his stare again. The man looked tired. More so than usual. Guess that was my fault too.
“All right. What do you need me to do?”
Nolan adjusted his silver tie and leaned forward, bringing his hands to rest on top of his desk. “In an hour, when we’re before the judge, I need you to keep your mouth shut. When the judge asks you what you have to say, you apologize for the altercation, agree to pay the man’s medical bills—” I snorted out loud at his statement. Nolan’s eyes narrowed even further and the smile dropped off my lips. I raised a hand and he continued, “And then, offer up some charitable donation. Here is a list of three charities that I know the judge personally supports. Take your pick. That should appease him.”
Nolan handed me a glossy sheet of paper with the logos for three different charities listed. I waved the paper away. “Just pick one. I don’t care. Send the info to Macy and she’ll get it taken care of.”
Nolan sighed and placed the paper back on his desk. He folded his hands again. “Chance, I need you to care. I need you to give a shit about your future here. This wasn’t just a drunk argument in a bar and you know it.”
“I do?”
He scowled.
“Fine, fine. It was stupid, I get that.” I dropped a quick glance down at my own hands as they lay palms down on my thighs. I was dressed for court, reluctantly wearing a dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt. I looked like a fucking bank manager. I yearned for my usual attire. I wasn’t supposed to be in a tailored suit with my size fifteen feet stuffed into shiny loafers, and I definitely wasn’t supposed to have a tie choking me. It was the off-season, which meant lounging poolside, half-naked—or fully, depending on the company—and drinking all damn day.
“Beauman, this is the last shot we have at keeping you out of jail. And I don’t think I have to tell you what will happen if the judge wants to make an example of you and send your ass to prison. No more football, no more fortune and fame, no more fancy cars and desperate gold digger play toys.”
Now it was my turn to scowl. What the hell did he know? He was married with three kids clinging to him whenever he managed to escape the confines of his office and return to his bland but safe, four thousand square foot home in a gated community outside the grimy streets of Bitsberg, Ohio.
Courtesy of me. Bastard.
Nolan must’ve sensed that he stepped over a line and held up his hands in silent surrender. “I’m not here to judge, Chance. But you also don’t pay me to sugarcoat the truth. And right now, the truth is that if the judge wants to take this to trial, and we can’t find a way to get Mr. Waterside to drop the charges, you could be looking at assault and battery charges. Plus, the DA will probably try to fluff it up with some public indecency charges and maybe even get some fake ass witnesses that say you left the club behind the wheel of your own car and add on a DUI too.”
For the first time since the shit hit the fan, a cold sweat rolled over me. This was really happening. A drunken mistake six weeks ago was now approaching mass destruction levels.
I scrubbed a hand over my freshly shaved jawline. “And the settlement…?”
Nolan hitched his shoulders. “They’re not budging. We just countered this morning. I don’t have a sense of what’s going to happen.”
“Fuck.”
Nolan nodded. “Yeah.”
He gave a look at the pricey watch on his wrist. “We need to go. You clear on everything?”
“Keep my mouth shut. Donate a pile of cash. Smile—”
“No! No smiling. You need to look downcast. Remorseful. For fuck’s sake, whatever you do, do not smile.”
“Right.” I heaved myself from the chair and tugged at the front of my jacket, wishing for the hundredth time that I wasn’t wearing it. I clocked in at six-three and two-hundred and twenty pounds. Sure, a suit looked
fucking good on me but it wasn’t even remotely close to comfortable. As the middle linebacker for the Bitsberg Knights, I was used to cotton and cotton blends. My entire life was spent in athletic wear.
Except for my court appearances, which were becoming all too frequent these days.
I probably should work on that.
“Let’s go,” Nolan said, holding the door open for me.
I followed him through his office, ignoring the whispers that I left in my wake. Nolan had arranged for a driver to take us to the courthouse and we sat wordlessly in the back seat for the fifteen-minute drive. Apparently, Nolan had already said everything he needed to. He spent the ride staring out his window. I wondered if he was just thinking about the case or something more along the lines of regretting picking me up as a client. God knows I’d made him earn his keep over the last few years.
I could almost hear him: Why couldn’t I have landed one of those pretty-boy football players whose worst offense is an occasional fender bender. I could spend my billable hours scaring off stalkers and baby mama wannabes. Not this assault and battery horseshit.
He was probably right. But I was far from being the type of football player that the country worshiped like a nationally sanctioned saint.
No, Chance Beauman was trained to be a monster on the football field. And if my fans wanted me to be a nightmare out there, they couldn’t demand that I be a dreamboat the second I step off.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
Nolan’s curse drew my attention and I leaned over his shoulder to see his view. I groaned at the clusterfuck waiting for us to arrive. A horde of reporters, paparazzi, fans, and protesters were waiting on the steps of the courthouse. Signs were waving, flashes going off in rapid fire, and as we neared, a dull roar of cheers and jeers were erupting from the crowd.
“This is like a horror movie,” Nolan bemoaned before giving the driver instructions. The driver circled the block, pulling away from the crowd. Nolan whipped a cell phone from his pocket and called his security team to get them in place before we pulled around again.
I settled back against my seat as he made the arrangements. I just wanted to get the entire fiasco over with. It was all so stupid. Six weeks ago I’d been drinking at a club. I’d spotted a hot as fuck woman in a red dress, and like a bull to the matador, I went to her full speed. I used every trick to get her to agree to leave with me. Eventually, I got her on my side. We were minutes away from leaving together when some guy came flying out of nowhere. He said he was her ex. I asked if she wanted to leave with the new joker or me, and she picked me. The guy went ballistic, cussing her out, and when he took a swing for me, I put him in his place. Down on the mother fuckin’ ground.
Of course, the hundreds of camera phones in the vicinity had only turned on to capture the drama after things went sideways and no one really knew what sparked the fight. However, my reputation was a bad boy baller with a chip on his shoulder—I was instantly painted as the villain.
Typically, these bar fights resulted in a settlement, a gag order, and a few weeks of overblown media coverage. Then, when it fades, everyone goes on like it never happened. But this time, it was different. The guy turned out to be some local politician’s son and that meant deep shit for me.
Deep shit that I was still trying to get out of. A task that was infinitely more difficult with the swarm of people on the courthouse steps.
We rounded back to the steps and the security officers Nolan had called in were positioned at the curb. Three guys—probably my size—all in black Secret Service getups, waited for us to pull up. They pressed the crowd back but as soon as I exited the SUV, they went insane and surged forward. I was all but dragged up the steps, trying to keep my shit together before I ended up screaming at them all to back the fuck up.
Once inside, Nolan and I both exhaled a sigh of relief to be away from the madness. Nolan glanced over at me and gave a quick nod. It meant a job well done. I didn’t freak out and shoot my mouth off.
Who says people can’t change?
Nolan’s phone rang and as he fished it from his pocket, his eyes went wide. “It’s Laura.”
Laura Ridgely was a hot little piece of legal ass that worked at Nolan’s firm. I hadn’t managed to score with her yet, but she was in the top five of my to-do list.
“What did he say?” Nolan snapped, not bothering with his usual pleasantries. He listened intently. “Good. Good. Okay… excellent. Good work, Ridgely.”
Nolan hung up and turned to face me, grinning from ear to ear. “He settled.”
“Really?” The tension left my chest like a deflated balloon.
Nolan nodded. “Yes, but don’t go doing that ridiculous touchdown dance of yours just yet. We still have to meet with the judge.”
“What? Why?”
“The state can still press charges and I imagine they’ll want to, considering you’re a big fish.”
“Fan-fuckin’-tastic.”
Nolan gave a grim nod. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”
We scurried to the proper courtroom and were ushered inside. The DA was already there, sharply dressed with an even sharper glare directed my way as I took my seat beside Nolan. I strongly resisted the urge to flip him the bird. The judge came in a moment later and Nolan stiffened. He was ready to go to war. And judging from the look on the DA’s face, it was going to be a battle.
After the opening procession bullshit, we all took our seats. I tried my best not to look bored. Nolan’s voice was drilled into my head, reminding me not to slouch, look smug, yawn, or make really any move other than to blink the appropriate amount of times. It was like I was being tried for serial murders or something.
The DA stood and addressed the judge. “Your Honor, it is my understanding that a settlement has been reached between the defendant and the victim.”
Victim? Ha!
Nolan stood when the judge’s eyes roved toward him. “That’s correct, Your Honor. They are dropping all charges.”
The DA scoffed.
Nolan snapped a wicked look at his opponent. “Comments, St. Clair?”
“Gentlemen, it’s late in the day and I haven’t had lunch. Don’t press me,” the judge said.
I suppressed a smirk.
The judge continued, “If there are no charges—”
“Wait! If I may, Your Honor,” the DA interjected.
The judge gave an annoyed nod.
“My office would still like to pursue this matter, given the defendant’s stature and reputation—”
Nolan pounced. “There’s no need for this to be dragged out! If the two parties were able to work this misunderstanding out without the need for a full hearing, then why continue?”
The two men bantered back and forth while the judge watched them like a boring tennis match. After a moment, he turned his gaze to me. “Enough! Both of you. I’d like to hear from Mr. Beauman now.”
I pushed up from my seat, fidgeted with the button on my suit jacket and met the judge’s dark eyes. “Your Honor, I deeply regret the actions that led to this hearing. I will have a public apology issued through my agent and will donate twenty-five thousand dollars to the—” Shit. What was the name of the charity?
I gave a nervous glance at Nolan and he jumped in to save me. “To the Harvest House, Your Honor. The donation is already in the works.”
The judge didn’t look impressed.
“It won’t happen again, Your Honor,” I said, halfway knowing it was probably a lie. Hey, I wasn’t under oath. If some loudmouth wanted to play tough in a club after I’d had a few drinks, I’d flatten his ass. Promise or no promise.
The judge leaned back in his cushy chair and steepled his fingers together. “Mr. Beauman, I can appreciate your apology and the desire to do some good with the donation. As you likely know, Harvest House is one of my favorite charities. However, that’s not going to be enough, I’m afraid.”
My spine went ramrod straight, waiting for his following words.
“As a football fan myself, I know you have a handful of weeks before pre-season starts. I think we can find a way of using that time that will benefit the community as well as yourself if you allow for it.”
What the hell was he getting at?
“I am sentencing you to one hundred hours of community service at Harvest House. I think your time and personal commitment will go a lot farther than a check. Don’t you?”
With everything inside of me, I wanted to tell him that no, I didn’t think me being in some community service program was a good use of my time. But disagreeing with him would probably lead to a hearing before a self-proclaimed asshole judge. And jail time would mean the end of my career.
It was too big of a risk.
So, I did the only thing I could—I nodded in agreement with a big ass smile on my face. “That seems fair, Your Honor.”
“Excellent. You’ll report to Harvest House first thing on Monday morning and serve twenty hours a week over the next five weeks.”
“I will be there, Your Honor.”
“Good. I look forward to it.”
Well, fuck! I didn’t!
2
Lacey
For the first time in what felt like a decade—I was going out on a Friday night. Not entirely by choice, but that was beside the point. As I applied the last coat of my favorite ruby red matte lipstick, I dared a smile. Maybe Tien was right. I did need a night out. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, all dolled up, it was like seeing a long-lost friend.
