Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  “This special edition of "Kicked" also includes two full-length bonus novels from my nom de plume, Violet Blaze: "Stepbrother Inked" and "Raw and Dirty". Enjoy!”

  Kicked

  Kicked © C.M. Stunich 2016

  Stepbrother Inked © Caitlin Stunich 2016

  Raw and Dirty © Caitlin Stunich 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 1863 Pioneer Pkwy. E Ste. 203, Springfield, OR 97477-3907.

  www.sarianroyal.com

  ISBN-10: 1938623983 (eBook)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-938623-98-1 (eBook)

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

  "Bebas Neue" Font © Dharma Type

  "Lauren Thompson" Font © Jerome Delage

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  this book is dedicated to love.

  because that's what life's all about.

  DESCRIPTION

  Obsession.

  I know the feeling well.

  I'm the top draft prospect for the NFL, voted All-American last year, and a God at the University of Oregon.

  I didn't get here by fucking around or chasing fantasies—and I'll never forget where I came from. A guy like me only gets one chance to get out, to make something of himself.

  Passion.

  I thought football was my passion.

  But Teagan Fletcher, she's my obsession.

  My childhood friend is now a woman with curves for days and hair like fire.

  But she also hates me—and I don't blame her.

  I want her. But I can't have her.

  I need her. But I don't know how to let go.

  One way or another, I'll have it all: football … and Fletcher.

  Tyce Winship had a serious god complex.

  That was the first thing I noticed when I bumped into him for the first time in four years. I stood there in the middle of the park and gaped up at his smirking face. My breath came in quick, panting gasps as my fingers found the edge of Tyce's sweatpants. My nails scraped over the firm hills and valleys of his lower abs as I steadied myself and tried to keep the shock off of my face.

  This is so my luck, I thought as I stared up at his bare tattooed chest, slack-jawed and surprised as hell. I go out for a run and literally fall into the arms of my childhood best friend. Not exactly the evening I was expecting.

  “Tyce?” I asked, because the second I saw his face, I knew it was him. It was the boy I hadn't seen in years, a boy that had turned into a man. A somewhat famous man if ESPN was to be believed. Hell, I'd even seen him listed in Seventeen Magazine as one of the top ten hottest football players in the country. Hadn't expected to see him out on a deserted trail, a pair of Nike sneakers on his feet and gray sweatpants slung low over his defined hips.

  Tyce raised one dark brow at the mention of his name, but his face—his gloriously handsome face—didn't show even an ounce of surprise.

  “That'd be me,” he said, his voice that same deep, dark promise of sex and passion that cut straight through me. Of course, I'd never heard that tone directed at me. Now that's a change, I thought as I waited for him to acknowledge me. 'Hey, Tea. Long time no talk. Sorry for abandoning you all those years ago.' “Now how about you tell me your name?”

  My … name? I thought as I struggled to gather my thoughts. I was still reeling from the sheer coincidence of the moment, and Tyce was still … smirking at me. His hands were hot on my upper arms, his fingertips rough but sensual as he kept a firm grip on my body. His touch was intoxicating, but it wasn't enough to numb the sting of his words.

  “Or are you more the mysterious type?” he continued, still holding me, still not getting it. Tyce Winship was looking down at me like a conquest, like a find, some beautiful girl that stumbled into him in the dark that needed saving. His face said he was pretty damn sure I'd fall into his arms, that he was exactly the casanova that I was looking for tonight. But to me, he was still that angry little boy from two blocks down. That asshole teenager who broke my friends' hearts, who kept me frustratingly close at the same time he kept me at arm's length. Now … he was a haughty jerk with a perfectly defined 'V' of muscles at his hips, a taut tummy, and a chest that got my blood pumping hot and furious.

  Oh, and apparently he must also be suffering from memory problems because he didn't recognize me.

  “I'm gonna take that as a yes,” Tyce continued as my mind spun in a million different directions and he leaned close—way too close—to my lips. “The mysterious, silent type. I like that.” His lips curved in a sensual smile. The movement of that mouth turned my knees to jelly. “But be careful. Next time you might not have something this sturdy to grab onto.” With a start, I realized my grip was precariously low, my fingers in a hot, sweaty place that they really shouldn't be. But that they kind of wanted to.

  “Sorry,” I said automatically as I unhooked my grip and stumbled back, the shock of the moment making me numb, and, for just a split second there, speechless. Not a usual thing for me. I continued to stare back at Tyce, waiting still for that recognition that I so badly wanted. We grew up together, you asshole. Remember me, damn it.

  “No apologies necessary,” he said, his sapphire eyes catching the evening's last golden streams of sunlight. “I'm always happy to help a beautiful girl.”

  My heart started pounding again, and I found myself having trouble catching my breath. I'd come to Alton Baker Park to run. After all, I'd just moved to a city nicknamed TrackTown, USA so why not try to embrace the local lifestyle? Sweat continued to stream down my face and stray strands of red hair clung to my forehead and my cheeks as I stared Tyce down and tried to figure out what to say or do. I should just walk away and forget I ever saw him, but I was effectively mesmerized by that smile of his.

  He was taller than I remembered him, a towering six foot two that made me feel even shorter than usual. And those eyes … had they always been that blue? Two sapphire orbs ringed in gold, the perfect color to offset his chocolate dark hair and that ruggedly sculpted face. His lips looked ripe and moist, wet with sweat, and would've been his most distracting feature had he been wearing a shirt.

  I swallowed hard and brushed some hair away from my face, unconsciously wetting my lips at the same time. I didn't mean to flirt. Hell, I was actually starting to get pretty pissed. How could Tyce not recognize me? After all that we'd been through … A part of me had never forgiven him for leaving.

  I curled my hands into fists by my sides and listened to the subtle beeping of my Fitbit. It was warning me of my rapidly rocketing heart rate. Approaching the danger zone. Like I needed a warning. I could feel it in my throat.

  “You must be a Ducks fan,” Tyce said, taking a step closer to me. It wasn't a question. He looked down at my green and yellow University of Oregon shirt and then lifted up a hand to trace the curve of my side.

  His fingers were warm, his touch firm, and when he finally settled his grip on on the round swell of my hip, I felt a distinct tugging sensation in my belly. I was turned on, but I didn't want to be turned on. I wanted to be mad, furious, indignant.

  “Not really,” I said softly, registering the confusion on his face. Good, that makes two of us now. The nearby oak cast mesmerizing shadows across Tyce's face, highlighting the strong square shape of his jaw and the high but masculine cheekbones that he'd inherited from his mother. A warm coloring of bronze
shaded his skin, complementing the dark tattoos near his hip and down his arm. Those were new. When Tyce had left our hometown four years ago, he hadn't had a single one. “My friend gave me this shirt.”

  “Well, then, why don't you let me do you the favor of taking it off? I guarantee by the time we're done, you'll be a huge fan.” Tyce cupped his junk with his other hand and gave me a look that I just knew had a near one hundred percent success rate filling his bed. I bet the girls at the U of O fell all over themselves for an offer like that.

  “You don't recognize me, do you?” I asked as I locked my green eyes with his blue ones and waited for something, something that told me the asshole was still human. I mean, I was surprised to see him, and I was hurt, but I wasn't going to let this wreck me emotionally. I'd been devastated when he left; I got over it.

  “Shit,” Tyce said, leaning back, his lean body a hard slice of perfection in the cool, green quiet of the park. He was sizing me up, sliding his tattooed right hand into the pocket on his sweatpants. I stared him down, my hands still curled into fists, and waited for him to redeem himself. What are the chances I'd run into him here, now, tonight? We'd both been jogging, and I'd quite literally tripped and fallen right into Tyce.

  At the time, all I felt was annoyance. Later on, I'd think it was fate. The thing is, fate isn't always a good thing.

  “Have we fucked?” he asked, blinking those long lashes at me, tipping a water bottle back and letting the liquid drip down his throat and onto his chest. Moist droplets slid across the hard swells of his pecks and splattered on the tips of his shoes. When he dropped his head and looked back down at me, I was already shaking mine.

  “Never mind,” I said as his brows raised up in surprise. Not used to getting turned down, huh? Well screw you. “Forget about it.” I reset my Fitbit, turned around and started running. If he'd wanted to, Tyce could've caught up with me.

  He didn't.

  And when I looked back, he was gone.

  That's how I started my year at the U of O.

  It wasn't how I ended it.

  When I got back to my apartment, my new roommate was waiting up for me, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in one hand and a smartphone in the other. The wall between our unit and the next vibrated with a rhythmic thumping bass that I recognized as Rihanna's “Needed Me”. Chelease's face as she looked over at me told me all I needed to know about her feelings on the matter.

  I let the screen door slam shut behind me and thanked God that I had an excuse for my flushed skin and red cheeks. My Fitbit continued to bitch at me about my heart rate, so I tore it off my arm and tossed it on the table.

  “What's up?” I asked as I reached back and let my hair tumble out of my ponytail. As soon as it hit the back of my neck, it stuck right to my sweaty skin along with everything else. I was seriously going to have to peel my t-shirt off my skin like it was covered in adhesive. So not sexy. And that's how I got to run into Tyce Winship for the first time in forever. Great.

  “I hope your run was at least successful,” Chelease said, taking a sip of her wine and then tossing an evil glare over one perfect shoulder. She looked like a model with her flawless skin and trim but feminine form, but acted like a cranky old schoolteacher. I'd only met her a couple of weeks ago and already, I was starting to wonder how we were going to work as roomies. I wasn't exactly a partier myself, but the sound of people having fun just didn't get me worked up like it did her. “Because if you were hoping to relax tonight, you can kiss that wish good-bye.”

  “Sorry,” I said as I moved around her and headed into the kitchen to refill my water bottle. I realized as I turned the tap on that my hands were still shaking. I kept telling myself it was just shock, the surprise of such a strange coincidence, but I knew myself better than that. What an asshole, I thought as I remembered Tyce's face as he looked me over. “Have we fucked?” Seriously? “How long has it been going on?”

  “They turned on that noise about five minutes after you left,” Chelease said, putting her phone down on the glass and steel coffee table in front of her. All the décor here, the furniture, it all belonged to Chelease. She was into this industrial chic look that wasn't my favorite, but hey, I drove up here with everything I owned stuffed into the back of a rickety old pickup truck, one that I quickly sold for the first month's rent on this place. Right now, this overpriced apartment felt like heaven.

  Anything is better than home, I thought as I swallowed hard and tipped back my water bottle. The cool liquid helped soothe the burning ache of memories better left buried.

  “I called the cops about twenty minutes ago,” Chelease said as she unfolded her long, lean frame and came to stand next to me in the kitchen. Her dark hair was done up in dozens of tiny braids and swept over her shoulder, falling down her back in a waterfall while mine stuck up and frizzed around my face like the flickering flames of a fire. If I washed and blow-dried it, it was actually pretty, like a twisted sea of ruby strands to frame my pale face. Right then, I'd have killed for Chelease's dark locks. “I doubt they'll even bother to stop by though,” Chelease continued with the smirk of gossip playing on her lips. Her eyes shimmered like bitter coffee as she got ready to spill some secrets on me. “That quarterback is over there tonight. You know, the Prince of Green and Yellow. Like they'd bust a player with a game coming up. This whole town is starstruck.” A shrug of those thin shoulders. I squeezed my water bottle tight, the thin plastic crinkling as liquid streamed over my knuckles.

  “Crap,” I said as I turned and dropped it in the sink, splashing droplets all over my already wet shirt.

  Chelease leaned on the counter next to me and tried to give me a look that I ignored.

  “Don't tell me you have a thing for Tyce Winship, too?” she said with a roll of her eyes. “If I have to hear another girl tell me how handsome he is, I'll scream.” Chelease stood up with a swish of skirts and made her way around the cabinets and over to the wall. Raising a fist, she slammed it into the drywall hard enough to make the pictures rattle. “You hear that, Tyce Winship, I know you're over there and I don't give a shit! Turn that music down!”

  “How do you know he's even here?” I asked as I made my way to the window and parted the curtains. Some of the partygoers had spilled down the concrete steps and were hanging out with red solo cups on the lawn below. There was a lot of green and yellow down there, shirts to champion the Ducks, but I didn't see Tyce, thank God.

  Two coincidences in one night? I don't think so.

  “Oh, he's there,” Chelease said, pouring herself another glass of red wine. “You want some?” she asked, but I shook my head. I already had a migraine building behind my eyes. The last thing I needed right now was alcohol. “Anyway, I saw him jog up the steps without a shirt on. I might not be a football fan, but I'd recognize that ink anywhere.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment and dropped the curtains in a flutter of silver fabric.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  Four years ago, I would've done anything to find him again. Now, I couldn't seem to get rid of the guy. I opened my eyes back up and found Chelease studying me with her gossip eye. If she got a hold of my past, my connection to Tyce, then I might as well take out the front page of the Eugene Weekly because everybody and their grandma would find out about it.

  “I'm gonna grab a shower,” I said as I forced myself to smile at Chelease, gesturing at my sweaty clothes in explanation. “If the cops do show up, I'd rather not smell like old gym socks.” Chelease made an mm-hmm sound under her breath, but she didn't stop me from moving down the short hall and barricading myself in my room.

  I flicked the lock on my door, like that'd somehow keep the last few hours of my life out of my mind.

  Tyce Winship.

  What were the chances?

  I took a deep breath and tilted my head back so that I was staring up at the white popcorn ceiling, a throwback to the decade this building was built. Everything else had changed: new granite in the kitchen, new tiles in
the bathroom, new carpet in the bedrooms. But this … it was still here, an ugly reminder of a time long past. Kind of like my memories of Tyce. I took a deep breath and stood up, moving over to the mirrored dresser under the window. That, too, belonged to Chelease, but that was okay. I'd learned a long time ago that possessions were pretty damn unimportant. People, connections, the feeling of freedom … of safety and security. Those were the things that mattered.

  At least, to me they did.

  Considering what Tyce did to me, disappearing in the middle of the night during his junior year of high school, I guess that stuff didn't actually matter to him. If it had, he never would've left me in that town by myself. When he needed me, I was there for him. I guess it didn't go both ways though, did it?

  With a sigh, I grabbed a clean tank and some yoga pants. Part of me wanted to go over to that party, find Tyce, and throw a stack of pictures in his face. I had so many. There was a cereal box in my closet filled with dusty Polaroids from that camera Tyce found in the Goodwill. He bought it with the little money he had and presented it to me like it was made of gold. Back then, it couldn't have been anymore precious, even if it was.

  “Screw you, Tyce,” I said, heading to the shower and trying to wash the memories of that asswad from my head with vigorous scrubbing. Didn't work. How could I ever forget that face? Even if it was twisted up in a smirk? I knew all the things he'd been through and, despite what had happened this evening, I was so goddamn proud of him. That was why I'd come here, right? With my academic record, I could've gone to any number of schools on a scholarship. So why this one?

  Because of Tyce.

  I just hadn't expected to actually see him—today or any other. The U of O had over twenty-four thousand students, so the chances of (literally) running into Tyce like I had were slim to none. Still, I'd managed to do that quite nicely.

  I climbed out of the shower and shut the water off, slipping on my pajamas and heading back into my bedroom and over to the balcony doors. Our neighbor, Jia, hated having people in her room. She didn't even let guys in there, so I figured I was safe. Despite the dozen or so parties I'd been privy to in my short time living here, I'd never seen anyone outside on the stone and metal porch that matched my own.