by Kata Čuić
He’ll break every rule he’s ever made…for her.
Alex Fossoway cleaned up his act—only no one knows it. As the star wide receiver for the Orlando Sharks, he has a certain reputation to uphold. He’s already recovered from his old playboy ways when the woman who changed his rule book shows up as the new team psych.
Alex knows he can’t afford to blow this second chance at proving he’s a changed man. He’ll work as hard as he has to—for as long as it takes—to convince the woman he’s always loved that she’s not his practice run. She’s his end goal. He’s going to teach Amira a new set of rules—family first.
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Personal Foul Sneak Peek
Alex
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
Fuck. I’m thinking about it. I know exactly where that bottle is in my duffel bag. I know how much this simple training session wouldn’t hurt if I had two or three of those magical little pills in my system. I know exactly how many of them are left in the bottle, and how long I’ll need to ration them until I can get a refill.
“Did you hear the idiots in the front office hired another woman?”
I glance at my teammate, Gorge Betts, who’s on the treadmill beside me. Yeah, his name is Gorge. Like a canyon. Makes sense, too. His arms are bigger than my thighs. He’s like the Grand Canyon—wide, deep, and dangerous.
We only have two days left until training camp starts, and we’re the desperate assholes putting in extra hours at the Sharks complex because we’re terrified our starting positions will be usurped by rookies who are stronger, better, faster.
Him—because he’s a running back who’s nearing retirement and his beat-up body is close to giving out. Me? Because I have a stupid fucking injury that didn’t happen on the field even though I’m the leading wide receiver in yardage and scoring for the team. I’m only twenty-five to his thirty-two, but chipped bones in a guy’s knee don’t give a shit about age.
“Are you kidding me?” I groan. Partly from pain, partly because that means my upcoming season just got a whole lot more complicated. “Didn’t they learn their lesson the last time?”
“Apparently not,” Gorge pants. “We already have to babysit him when we go anywhere. Why are they setting us up for a PR nightmare by hiring more female staff?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” I grumble, even though I’m not surprised. Not really. I’ve seen some shit in my days of playing football, and most of it I learned the hard way before I ever made it to the pros. “You’re not more concerned he’s gonna actually rape someone this time instead of just the blurrier sexual harassment he should have been charged with last season?”
That’s another shitty thing I’ve learned. Rape doesn’t mean penetration. Physical scars aren’t necessarily worse than mental ones. Sexual harassment and sexual assault are just terms used in the courts that hardly ever give guys like our quarterback their due justice. If they even make it to court.
Maybe I’ll have a future after football as a vigilante who goes around castrating guys who never learn any lessons.
I snort to myself. Quite a few women in my past would probably love the opportunity to cut my balls off.
“What’s so funny?” Gorge asks.
“You ever have an idea that’s just so fucking ludicrous, you can’t believe you even thought it to yourself?”
“Every time I say yes to hanging out with you,” he mutters.
I laugh because I get it. If someone had told me on draft day that my closest friend on my new team would be a guy who prefers game nights with his wife and kids over going to strip clubs in our free time, I’d have called them a liar.
“Come on. Have I ever led you astray?”
Gorge raises his eyebrows. “Does Daytona ring any bells?”
I wince. “You can’t hold that against me forever. That was not my fault.”
“My wife almost left me when she saw those pics on the internet, man!”
Yeah, and it took a lot of groveling on both our parts for her to see reason. We did not ask to be mobbed by a group of thirsty women, but we’re never in a position to say no to fans either. If a woman wants her naked breasts signed, then we’ve gotta take one for the team sometimes.
“I can’t help it I have one of the most recognizable faces in the league, and that women want my autograph and to take selfies with me.” Selfies that they rush to post to their social media that get shared and shared and shared and shared…
“It wasn’t your face they recognized.” Gorge glares.
No, it’s all the billboards, bus ads, and commercials they’re familiar with. What can I say? My abs are a hot item, and my agent knows how to market my eight-pack like a pro. The endorsement deals he lands me are going to give me a little breathing room if my contract with the team doesn’t hold out for the next two years.
I’m not sure my knee will make it through the season as it is.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite dynamic duo.”
I grit my teeth at the overly loud voice.
Gorge rolls his eyes, then calls back, “Oh, look! The guy who knows how to throw a ball is here! Wanna play catch? I’ve got a jock strap with your name on it.”
This is why I love Gorge. He won’t make any public waves—would never dream of fucking up anything for our teammates—but in private? Yeah. He doesn’t hesitate to treat Blake Mayview like the piece of garbage he is.
The quarterback of the Orlando Sharks leans against the doorway with a smug grin on his face. “I’m good, but even I’m not good enough to catch the tiny cup you use to cover your crown jewels, Betts.”
For a black man, it’s amazing how red Gorge’s face becomes. He shakes his head and mutters to himself, deciding our royal dickhead isn’t worth his time.
I’ve got nothing but time. And a seething hatred for this piece of shit who makes more money than I do. “Speaking of crown jewels, B-Lake…did yours shrivel up and fall off yet? I’ve got a bet going with the team about which STI you’ll be diagnosed with this season. Personally, I put up my whole workout bonus on syphilis. It’s making a comeback in the States.”
The QB makes a tsking noise that sounds like a cross between a clucking chicken and a dying rabbit. “I followed your career and extracurriculars in college, Fossoway. I really thought you showed promise. We could have been football besties, but no. You decided to turn into a pussy when you got here.”
He doesn’t know shit about my extracurriculars in college, just like everyone else. And I have zero regrets about cleaning up my act. Well, maybe a few regrets.
“For a guy who loves pussy so much, using the term like an insult makes absolutely no sense.”
A different sort of pain kicks around in my chest. The kind that’s from injuries of my own making. Throwing my old QB’s words at the current one feels like coming full circle, except that circle is more like a lopsided oval at this point. Still. I’d pay my entire salary to see Rob Falls go toe to toe with Blake Mayview. If Rob knew what this guy was like, he’d knock him out cold and not give a damn about the bad press. Or his job.
He did that once already his rookie season with a reporter who’s cut from the same cloth as Mayview.
“Speaking of pussy…” Blake mocks my words. “Did you two check out the new team psych yet? She is fuck-hot. Black hair, black eyes, tan legs for miles, and the best natural tits I’ve ever seen on a woman. Y’all better start placing bets about how long it’s gonna take me to get her into bed. Personally, I’ll put up my whole workout bonus on two weeks. By the time we get back from training camp, I’ll have Dr. Deep on retainer to get on her knees and suck my cock anytime I want.”
I press stop on the treadmill before my legs catch up to my brain that�
��s sprinting faster than my heartbeat. I nearly faceplant into the display. “What did you just fucking say?”
Mayview grins. It’s evil, like he knows something he shouldn’t. He repeats his words slowly. “She’ll be sucking my cock in two weeks. Bet me.”
The world tilts beneath my feet when I step off the treadmill. It has nothing to do with my balance not catching up to the change of pace and motion. “No, not that part. What did you say her name was?”
He shrugs. “Dr. Deep.”
“Amira Deep?”
Please no, please no, please God no.
“Yeah. Why?” His grin increases a few million watts. He smells a competition, and every pro football player is addicted to the stuff. “You know her or something?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar,” I lie through my teeth. I’m not about to give this motherfucker ammunition he doesn’t need. I’m not about to back down from his challenge either. “Just curious about the name of the woman who’s going to be sucking my cock in two weeks.”
Right after I’m through wringing her neck.
Pre-Order Personal Foul, releasing August 3!
Titles by Kata
Moving the Chains series
First and Goal
Second Down
Third and Long
Fourth and Inches
Holding
The Rules
Personal Foul
Standalone Novels
Revenge Love
Keep the Beat
Homebound
A Bird in the Oven
About the Author
Kata Čuić lives in Pittsburgh, PA with her husband and three teens. No one told her life was gonna be this way. She holds a degree in Linguistics with a minor in Religious Studies from the University of Pittsburgh. Her plans of becoming a pediatric neurosurgeon were foiled by OChem 1. Fortunately, she’d been making up stories in her head since the days of her imaginary friend, Choosy. Putting pen to paper, er—fingers to the keyboard—came surprisingly naturally after her aforementioned teens decided it was time for them to cut their respective cords.
Kata writes everything from angst-filled series to standalone rom-coms and has been known to dabble in a bit of paranormal for the holiday short stories she gives out to her Facebook group as freebies. She believes nice guys shouldn’t have to finish last (except in the bedroom where she prefers an alpha between the sheets but a gentleman in the streets), and that the surest way to a woman’s heart is through laughter and food.
You can judge her standards to your heart’s content in the following places:
Website
Facebook Reader Group
Newsletter
Acknowledgments
This novella was never supposed to happen, but once Toni Montgomery Gonzales planted the seed, this prequel grew branches all by itself. Y’all literally have her to thank for this.
As always, so much appreciation for my team who helps me produce these babies, no matter how skinny or thicc. (Yeah, I typed that.) My thirsty beta readers—Toni, Danielle, and Karin; my eagle-eyed editing team—Lisa and Alison; my amazing cover artist—Sarah.
Thank you to everyone who’s still sucking down this series 6 books later. I promise you at least one more after this, and then we’ll see how the garden grows.
I have my watering can ready.
Playlist
Playlist
Dirty Little Secret | The All-American Rejects
Trouble | Cage The Elephant
The Cave | Mumford & Sons
Wicked Games | The Weeknd
Maneater | Nelly Furtado
SexyBack | Justin Timberlake ft. Timbaland
Mr. Brightside | The Killers
Don’t Let Me Down | The Chainsmokers ft. Daya
Sugar, We’re Goin Down | Fall Out Boy
This Is Gospel | Panic! At the Disco
I know. I know. Not a single Marianas Trench tune. Trust me—I’m disappointed, but I also can’t expect a musical genius like Josh to produce albums as quickly as I need for inspiration. I can hope…but I can’t expect.
You can listen to the playlist on Spotify.
