by SJ Bishop
Cuffs & Ballers
A Second Chance Sports Romance
S.J. Bishop
Contents
Exclusive Offer
Cuffs & Ballers
Prologue
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
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
Blitz Prequel
Personal Note
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Cuffs & Ballers
Prologue
Treena
I felt every eye in the room on us as Jax spun me around the dance floor. My red dress flared out, revealing long, trim legs, and the tan I'd been working on for the last two weeks. I still couldn't believe I was at Denver High's prom with the hottest guy at school. A slow song started, and Jax wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close. I pressed my face against his neck, inhaling every morsel of the scent I had come to know and love—green grass and sunshine. When I was a freshman, I never would have believed that sunshine had a scent, but as a junior, I could smell it on Jax as certainly as I could feel the muscles in his chest twitching through the thin fabric of my dress.
"I'm glad I beat you at skee-ball last week," I purred, resting my head against his shoulder. "Winning that bet was the only way I was ever gonna get you out on the dance floor."
"I've got a secret," he whispered back to me. "I let you win."
My head shot up, and a smirk lighted my face. "No one loses at skee-ball that badly on purpose."
He grinned back at me. "I'm ready for a rematch any time you are."
"You're on. I'll wipe the floor with you next time too," I grinned. I lightly pressed my mouth to his. The soft, gentle kiss I'd been going for turned long and passionate. We stopped dancing. We stood with our arms wrapped around each other, neither one of us wanting to let go.
"Are you ready to get out of here?" he whispered. I could feel his hot breath blow softly against my ear, warming me from my head to my toes.
"If you are..." I said, my heart palpitating wildly in my chest. I hoped Jax couldn't read how nervous I was.
"Treena," he said, putting his hand under my chin and tipping my head back so that my eyes met his, "we don't have to do anything tonight that you don't want to. There's no rush."
A slow smile spread across my face, impossible to hide. "Don't you dare try to back out now," I teased. "I'm ready," I felt my cheeks color. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, his soft lips lingering close to my face for just an instant before I caught a look from Mrs. O'Hara, who was chaperoning with about a dozen other teachers. I pulled back and took his hand in mine, swinging our arms as we walked toward the exit of the Colorado Hotel ballroom our school had rented out for the prom.
"Besides," I teased, "you're leaving in a few days. I want to make sure you remember me when you're surrounded by pretty college girls."
"Hey," he said, stopping just outside the entryway to the ballroom. "I won't forget you, whether we have sex tonight or not. You're the only one I want, Treena Walker. Now or ever. I meant what I said. I want this to be special. I don't want you to sleep with me because you feel like you have to."
My heart skipped a beat, and I lost my breath. If there was one thing Jax was, it was a gentleman. I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, pressing my five-foot-five-inch frame against his hulking six-foot-four one. My lips just touched his, and I instantly felt that shudder I’d been coming to equate with a deep, primal urge. The kind that could only be satisfied with something more than kissing.
My body was on red alert as Jax escorted me up to the room he'd booked for the night. I sent my dad a quick text and told him I was alright, that I was out with Jax and our friends at a Denny's, eating midnight breakfast. I knew Clarissa would be waiting up for me when I got home. Even at fifteen, my younger sister had eyes like a hawk when it came to matters of the heart. The second I walked into the room we shared, she'd know something was different.
Our hotel room, average to anyone else, seemed magical to me as Jax closed the door behind us. It was as if it had been created by a fairy godmother especially for Jax and me on this special night. The bed sat in the middle of the room, ready and waiting. This was the only time since Jax had first asked me out when I was in seventh grade and he was in eighth, that we were alone together in a hotel room. I set my purse aside and spun to face him.
Jax's blue eyes glimmered across the dim light of the room, searching mine. I tried to send him a signal the way women in movies always did, conveying lust and love and willingness all in a single, simple glance, but I think all I managed to convey was my nervousness. Jax stepped close enough that I could feel his breath on my face and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. My breath caught in my throat, forcing a small cough. Jax reached down, taking my hand in his. He raised it to his bare chest and placed my open palm over his heart. It was beating just as frantically as mine.
Thank God—he's nervous too.
"Don't forget that you're not alone here," he told me.
I couldn't help the teasing glint in my eye. "I should hope not. That might be a bit awkward if I was, don't you think?"
He laughed, and I felt his hand shake. "That's not what I meant," he said.
"I know." A giggle bubbled up out of me.
"What's so funny?" Jax asked.
"Two virgins alone in a hotel room... whatever will we do?" I knew it was nerves making me laugh now. Jax shattered them with the soft stroke of his fingertips over my cheek as he brushed some hair from my eyes. I took a deep breath.
We leaned into each other at the same time. His lips brushed delicately against mine, sending a shiver up and down my spine. I kissed him back, harder, our tongues twirling together as his large hand lightly pressed against the small of my back. I broke away from him for just a second, our noses still touching as I whispered, "Promise me that when you're at Penn State, surrounded by all those cheerleaders and girls throwing themselves at your feet—"
"Treena, that's not gonna happen."
"—promise me that you'll remember this moment. That... that tonight, at least, we were one person." God, it sounded so corny now that I'd said it out loud. I blushed furiously. Jax kissed me lightly and met my eyes with his.
"Treena, I promise you that I will never fo
rget you. I will never leave you. I will always love you."
For some reason, a chill ran across my skin just then, making me break out in goosebumps. Jax held me tighter to him.
"I love you, too," I told him.
He kissed me, and I felt the chill fade away, replaced with a burning desire that went straight to my core. I sent one last prayer out to the fates or God or whatever it was that guided young lovers, that whatever might happen, Jax and I would always be together. Then we sank to the bed and forgot about the outside world.
1
Jax
I took a step and threw the ball to Mason. He missed catching it by more than a foot, and I silently cursed myself. That was my fault, not his. My head throbbed as I began to fidget, planting my feet deeper into the grass. For one brief second, I wished I was at a bar instead of at practice for the New York Jets. Then Mason threw his helmet down and stomped toward me, and the image of a bar vanished.
"Damn it, Jax! What the hell is the matter with you?" Mason yelled. His face was red and pinched and sweat gleamed across his forehead in the hot sun. He was no bigger than me, but he had a temper I couldn't afford for him to lose. Not after last season.
"Sorry, Mason," I said. "I blew that pass."
"Damn right, you blew it!"
The rest of the team stood watching. Some of them looked bored. They were used to me and Mason at each other's throats. Coach was already making his way over.
"I knew it was a mistake letting you back on the team this season," Mason spat. "How much have you had to drink today, anyway? Enough to drown a cow is my guess."
"Fuck you, Mason!" I yelled, my temper finally flaring. "I haven't had a drink in almost a year and you know it!" I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I could hear Caden in my head telling me to count to ten. Slowly, I did as my sponsor would have instructed if he were here instead of in Boston gearing up for his own first game of the season. By the time I opened my eyes, Coach Allen had joined us.
"What's the problem?" Coach asked.
"He's drunk," Mason grumbled.
"I am not drunk," I replied, fighting to keep the edge out of my voice.
Mason addressed Coach Allen. "That's what he said every time he bothered to show up last season."
"You're one to talk," I yelled. I felt my control slipping.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, except there's a certain video floating around the internet showing you smoking something that I'm pretty sure wasn't a cigarette."
Mason took a step toward me, and Coach jumped between us.
"Cut the crap! Both of you," Coach Allen said. "Mason, to the locker room."
"Fuck, Coach!" Mason hollered. "Why should he be lead quarterback? I was here last season. All of last season. And didn't miss one damned day of summer training."
"It's my decision to make, not yours. Any more out of you and you can skip practice tomorrow, too. Jax will be joining you in a minute."
Mason walked off grumbling, and I bit my tongue. What the hell could I say anyway? Everything Mason had just said was true. When he was gone, Coach turned to me.
"Now, you," he said, shaking his head. "I went to bat for you, you know that, right? The owner wanted you gone."
"I know that," I said, barely able to meet his eyes.
"I know you're clean, but you've gotta start playing like it. No more missed passes. No more fumbles. If you get on that field next week and there's even a hint of the kind of trouble you had last season—"
"There won't be."
Coach stared hard at me for a minute. "I'm counting on it." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I know it was hard for you after your dad died. Then the whole thing with Penny." He sighed. "You've had a rough year."
Referring to the last twelve months as "a rough year" didn't come close to cutting it. I still remembered the last game of the season. It was the worst game of my life and the last one my father had ever seen. The disappointment in his eyes when I'd stumbled drunk out of the locker room afterward still haunted me. I'd never had a chance to set it right. The drunk driver who had taken his life was behind bars. I'd tried to hate him, but every day when I looked in the mirror, I knew it just as easily could have been me who killed someone's father... or mother... or sister. How many times had I driven drunk? The last one had been the day of my father's funeral when I'd driven myself to rehab and stayed for three months.
Coach Allen was still talking, but I realized I had no idea what he was saying anymore.
"...Penny's just not right for you. She never was. She’s slept around and everyone knows it. She’s a washed-up model, and you are in danger of being an almost washed-up quarterback. You're better off without her."
I nodded, trying not to show my irritation. My divorce had been highly publicized. I wasn't eager to talk about it. Our relationship had been sunk the second I went to rehab and she didn't. I’d known I couldn't make her get treatment, but I'd hoped she'd come around. Instead, she'd drawn out the divorce as long as possible, squeezing as much as she could out of me before it was finalized two weeks ago. A bitter "fuck you" to my moving on when she still couldn't.
"Coach, I appreciate—"
"All you've got to appreciate is that you're never gonna get your head back in the game while you're still dealing with all this baggage. I know what I'm talking about. Where was I just two years ago? Broke. Wiped out from my own divorce. Now I've got a rich, beautiful wife, and I'm back on top. But none of that happened for me until I let my baggage go."
Maybe Coach had a point. Maybe part of my problem wasn't Penny or even my dad. I'd gone through the twelve steps, but there was still one person from my past I couldn't let go of. The one person I'd failed to seek out and ask for forgiveness. I wondered where Treena was now. Seven years was a long time. I knew her father was in New York coaching the Giants. He was one of the more well-known coaches in the NFL and made the papers every week, but they never mentioned Treena. Why would they?
"Thanks, Coach. I'll work on it."
"Good. Now get down to the locker room, and tomorrow when you show up, I expect you to be playing like you belong here. This is the goddamn NFL, not some backwoods swamp. Start acting like it."
2
Treena
I opened the door to my new station and stepped inside. Immediately, I was hit with the steady buzz of energy found in any police station in any major city. Denver had been no different. Except, of course, in Denver I hadn't been a homicide detective. It was a thrilling feeling to be here. I still remembered the field trip I'd taken to our local police station in fourth grade when I'd been introduced to the life of fighting crime. I'd gone home and proudly declared to my father and sister that I was going to be a policewoman when I grew up.
I walked briskly toward the front desk, keeping my head high. My old captain had warned me that I might run into problems here. A woman in a man's world was never an easy place to be, especially when that woman had beat out other cops with more experience for this transfer.
"Treena Walker," I told the young male officer behind the desk, flashing my badge. "Reporting to Captain Murphy." He pointed me toward a door at the back of a large room filled with cops at their desks. Suddenly, they all seemed to be staring at me. I told myself it was my imagination, but as I made my way through the room, I felt their eyes on me. Three men in uniforms huddled together, whispering as they glared at me. I didn't pass one woman as I walked to the office in the back.
I knocked on the door.
"Open!" a man shouted.
I turned the knob and stepped into Captain Murphy's office, closing the door behind me. The room was just big enough to hold a massive oak desk that took up a third of the space. Papers were strewn all over it. A computer sat off to the right; more papers surrounded it. Captain Murphy looked up, fixing me with dark brown eyes and a cold stare. His receding hairline placed him somewhere in his mid-forties. He wore a brown suit and a tie with a mustard stain on it.
&nb
sp; "Treena Walker," he said, leaning back in his chair and surveying me. I was wearing dark blue pants with a matching blazer and a crisp, white dress shirt, an outfit I had agonized over for the last week. I wanted to make sure I fit the new role I was playing. My long blonde hair was secured in a high bun, and only a touch of makeup had been applied to my face. I waited for Captain Murphy to speak again.
"Well, welcome aboard," he finally said. "Good luck on your first day here." His lips curved up into a smile, and I felt myself relax just the tiniest bit. "You're gonna need it." Great. He thinks he's funny. Captain Murphy picked his desk phone up and pushed an intercom button. "Can you come in here, please, Keith? Detective Walker has arrived." I didn't much care for the way he said "detective," as if it was all a big joke, but I held my tongue.
A second later the door opened and a man of thirty with dark brown hair and even darker eyes came strolling into the room. He looked at me with critical eyes. I could see him gauging and dismissing my abilities as a cop. When he turned to Captain Murphy, he wasn't even trying to hide the smirk on his face.
"Detective Treena Walker, meet Detective Keith Anderson. Your new partner."
I extended my hand toward him. His six-foot frame seemed to tower over me as I waited for him to shake my hand. He looked at me like I was toxic, and when he finally took my hand, it was only with the fastest, lightest grip he could get away with. I felt like I had leprosy.
"Pleased to meet you, Keith," I said.
He shot an irritated look to Captain Murphy, who smiled at him and said, "Show her the ropes, Keith. Go on and make her feel at home." Somehow, I didn't think the look they exchanged indicated that "home" was meant to be like the warm and inviting apartment I'd just rented here in New York.
Anderson turned with a huff, opening his mouth just enough to breathe and said, "It's Detective Anderson." Then he walked out of the room. I stood there another minute, uncertain about whether I should follow, until Captain Murphy yelled at me to hurry up before Anderson decided to go home and call it a day. I wasn't sure whether or not he was joking, so I hustled after Anderson and caught up to him beside a desk with a mountain of paperwork and a blank nameplate.
