by Lane Hart
“I’m sure you can understand our initial hesitancy…” Mr. Wright starts.
“Of course,” I tell them. “It looks awful, like I did it on purpose, but I never saw him. I-I should’ve been paying attention, but the parking lot was so empty…I never thought someone would walk out in front of my car.”
“You stayed with Kohen until the trainers arrived?” Coach Griffin asks.
“Yes. How…how is he?” I ask. When my eyes flit around the room, and all the men stay silent while wearing the same grimace, I know it’s not good.
“His left knee was dislocated,” Robert tells me.
“Oh God,” I mutter, slapping a palm over my mouth.
“He may need surgery to repair the ligament damage. We’re still waiting on the orthopedist to finish up all the tests. Either way, he’s looking at a lot of physical therapy.”
“So he’s…he’s not gonna get to play for a few weeks?” I ask, knowing how devastating that will be to the team. They depend on Kohen almost as much as they do Quinton, the star quarterback. The kicker is crucial to scoring points and winning games.
“Roxanne, Kohen could very well be out for the rest of the season,” Coach Griffin tells me.
And right there, on day fucking number one, I break my second stupid rule.
Even though I cover my face with both hands to hide it from them, they all had to know I was crying like the little girl I am with Winona’s hand patting my back. I’d come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to be playing professional football, but knowing Kohen is hurt so badly that he may miss an entire season is heartbreaking. Because of me, the entire team is gonna feel his loss.
Once I get myself mostly under control, I swipe away as much of the moisture from my cheeks as possible and push my chair back to get to my feet.
“Thank you all for being the first team to welcome a woman to the roster. I’m sorry I’ve…I’ve crippled your team, but I wish you the best for the season.”
Quickly finding my way to the conference room door, I’m ready to escape this place and then have a meltdown in private before I have to break the news to my dad. I yank it open, thankful to be finally fleeing the scene.
“Roxanne?” Mr. Wright says, preventing my escape.
Shit. They probably need my driver’s license and insurance information for the police report.
“Yes, sir?” I ask, steeling my spine, squaring my shoulders to look more put together than I am as I turn around to face him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. “If you’re gonna help this team win some games, we need to get the details of your contract hammered out and send you on down to camp.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, shaking my head to try and clear the fog.
“You do still want to play for my Wildcats, right?” he asks.
“Well, yes, of course, I still want to play, but –”
“No buts, except get yours to training camp,” he replies with a grin. “Welcome to the team.”
“Oh my God! You’re kidding, right? I-I’m a fucking mess. I mean, freaking…” I slap a hand over my mouth to try and stop the word vomit.
“We’ve got faith in you. And while Kohen is irreplaceable, we think you’ve got a leg that will keep us moving forward until he recovers.”
“Oh wow! Thank you so much!” I exclaim. “In that case, I’m ready to get to work, before you change your mind.”
“Good,” Mr. Wright says, standing up to shake my hand. “And I can assure you that we’re going above and beyond the contract requirements you and Ms. Jones have asked for. I won’t tolerate sexual harassment on my team, even if I have to let the entire first string go,” he informs me, his face deadly serious. “I have two teenage daughters, so losing games isn’t what keeps me up at night.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” I tell him, swallowing past the knot in my throat and pushing down the painful memories from high school. Those were stupid, juvenile boys, while these are grown, professional athletes. I survived college, so this should be a piece of cake.
“There’s just one condition,” Mr. Wright says, putting a damper on my celebration when his expression becomes even grimmer. “I don’t want any bad blood between my players, and Kohen’s given us five incredible years. He’s not only dependable, but he’s a good man and the coaches and I trust his judgment. Therefore, when the regular season starts, we’re gonna let him make the final call on who’ll be our starting kicker. If or when the doctors clear him, he’ll be our man. Otherwise, it’ll be his choice to play you or our punter, Dane Adams. Deal?”
“Deal,” I reply, knowing I’m destined for the bench, but that’s absolutely fine with me. I’m just happy to be a part of the team after being certain my dream had come to an end.
“And don’t worry. Since this unfortunate accident thankfully happened on our property, we’re gonna take care of the damage and try to keep it contained and out of the press. Only a few of the players saw anything, and we’ll urge them to keep their mouths shut. We don’t need the negative press surrounding us before the season starts,” Mr. Wright says.
“Thank you, sir,” I reply, appreciative that I won’t be making my media debut as Tonya Harding.
“Just got an update,” Coach Griffin says while looking down at the phone in his hands. “Kohen will not need surgery. Jon’s gonna brace him up, and he’ll start his rehab during training camp once the swelling goes down.”
I exhale a sigh of relief since surgery would require a helluva lot longer recovery and could even be possibly career ending.
“That’s good to hear,” Mr. Wright responds before clapping me on the shoulder. “Roxy, since your vehicle is in need of repairs and Kohen’s in no shape to drive, maybe you can give him a ride in his car to camp, try to mend fences and whatnot?”
“Sure,” I agree, wondering how hard it will be to convince Kohen to ride in a car with me. Especially when he finds out I’ll be driving his.
Chapter Five
Kohen
Two hours later, my leg is raised on a stack of towels on a table in one of the training rooms and my dislocated knee has been popped back into place. I feel as good as new, just a few scrapes and bruises, with only a little discomfort thanks to the pain reliever Jon gave me as soon as we came inside. Now I’ve got an ice pack on top of my knee to help with the swelling, and I’m waiting for him to give me the results of all the tests.
While I wait in the boring silence of the completely empty halls, I can’t resist pulling out my phone, which is now sporting a crack down the middle of the screen, to continue my research on a certain female football player.
That’s where Lathan Savage and Wildcats’ star quarterback and pompous asshole, Quinton Dunn, find me.
“Dude, this seems a little extreme to avoid camp,” Quinton says with his signature arrogant grin when he saunters into the room like he owns the place.
“Seriously, Kohen, how bad is it?” Lathan asks with a frown when he steps up beside the table in his gray tee that I just noticed says, Show me your kitties, with a wide-eyed feline in the center.
“I’ll be back practicing with you all before the end of camp,” I tell him.
“Really?” Lathan asks with an arched blond eyebrow. “You do realize your leg is doing an imitation of Mount Rushmore, right?”
“My knee popped out of place; the doctor put it back. It’s a little swollen. No biggie,” I tell them with a shrug.
“Well, at least you’ll get a few more days of vacation,” Lathan replies. “You still think she hit you with her car on purpose?”
“She ran me down! And in case you didn’t notice, it wasn’t a car, it was a fucking SUV.”
“No way,” Quinton perks up and interjects. “Roxanne looks too fucking sweet to do some fucked up shit like that.”
Right, like me, he’s already under her spell. As if he needs to add another woman to his roster. The man has fucked enough women for ten lifetimes. And what the hell? Why d
oes the thought of him with this gorgeous girl, who drives like shit, make me want to punch him in his perfect fucking face? Maybe because I still hold a grudge from the Lola fallout. He claimed he had no idea we were together, but I called bullshit. Now he’s trying to swoop in and nail Roxanne.
The memory of her grassy green eyes is one I can’t seem to forget. I swear looking into her gorgeous gaze was like having a front row seat into a perfect, peaceful, never-ending football field. It’s a shame she’s a conniving bitch. Although, it doesn’t feel right using the B word on her. There was nothing bitchy about her except for the fact she tried to kill me.
“What do you think, Lathan?” I ask, wanting an unbiased opinion. It feels like a gigantic knife is twisting my gut for thinking she did it on purpose and that I almost fell for her sweet, apologetic act.
“Cunning as fuck if she did,” Lathan opines. “You talked to her, right? Did she seem like an evil bitch?”
“I don’t know…”
“Fuck no,” Quinton answers, and I shoot him a glare.
“And, I mean, come on, how would she know the exact moment when you would step into oncoming traffic?” Lathan asks.
“True,” I mutter on an exhale.
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Jon says when he comes into the room holding his electronic tablet. “You’ve escaped surgery, but now that it’s been dislocated once, I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again. If it does, it’ll probably be worse.”
“When can he get back on the field?” Lathan asks.
“Kohen will need to wear a brace for support for several weeks and crutches for a few days to keep the swelling down. Once the inflammation decreases, we can try to start some rehab at training camp, and it’s possible you’ll be kicking again in about five or six weeks.”
“So I’ll definitely miss the preseason games but might be ready for the season opener?” I ask.
Jon cringes as he considers it. “Let’s not rush it. How about we set our goal for week three of the regular season?”
“Okay,” I agree. If I can play in week three, that’ll give me the majority of the season to earn a contract extension. I hate missing any games, but I can handle that.
“Oh, and management wants you and the rest of the team to keep a lid on what happened,” Jon explains. “Since tomorrow’s the first day of training camp, we’re gonna hold off and tell the press you dislocated your knee in an early morning run.”
Great, so now I’ll sound like a klutz who can’t put one foot in front of the other.
“The PR team thinks it’s critical that we don’t have any public rifts in the team before the season starts,” Jon adds when he notices my hesitation.
“Fine,” I agree.
“Great. Now you two better get on the road and head to camp,” Jon turns and tells Lathan and Quinton.
“Do you need a ride?” Lathan asks me, but Jon interrupts before I can answer in the affirmative.
“Kohen’s transportation has already been arranged,” he tells us just as a tall, beautiful blonde fills the doorway, nervously clutching her shoulder bag to her stomach. “Ah, here she is now.”
“Wait a fucking second,” I grumble, moving the ice pack from my knee to throw my legs over the side of the table so that I’m sitting up. “What the hell is she still doing here?”
“Looks like you’re stuck with me as your backup and temporary chauffeur,” she says with a stunning grin.
Great. Her magical tits and ass power has already done a number on the team’s owner and manager. Now she’s using her feminine wiles on my teammates, who quickly rush over to congratulate her with hugs, welcoming her to the team. Even Jon, who previously seemed immune, gravitates to her.
“Hi, Roxanne, right? I’m Jon Young, the head trainer. If you ever need anything, just let me know,” he tells her, practically bowing when he offers her his hand to shake.
“Nice to meet you, Jon, and I appreciate that,” she replies. “Thank you all for being so welcoming.”
“No problem. It’s gonna be a great season,” Quinton says with his chest puffed out like a fucking peacock.
“Glad to have you on the team,” Lathan tells her. Traitor. “Guess we’ll see you at camp.”
“Yeah, see you there,” she tells the three men as they reluctantly leave the room, but not without final once-overs from her head to toe. Meanwhile, I’m completely forgotten.
“You’re a maneater,” I tell her once they’re out of earshot.
“No, I’m not,” she scoffs, crossing her arms over her ample chest. “It’s not my fault that men only see one thing when they look at me.”
“A manipulative bitch?” I offer with a smirk, earning a glare so powerful it’s a wonder I don’t turn to stone.
“Everyone upstairs saw the surveillance video. You were on your phone, tweeting, texting, or playing Pokémon Go. Whatever it was, you were distracted and stepped out right in front of me. There was no time for me to stop!”
“First of all, I don’t play Pokémon Go. And second of all, bullshit!” I shout.
“You are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, and that’s really saying something since Joe Benson is my father!” she replies, coming up to the table to start poking me in the chest with her index finger again.
“What is with you and the damn poking?” I ask, snatching her hand and yanking her forward until she’s standing between the V of my spread thighs. And, damn, she’s really fucking tall. From my seat on the table, she now hovers over me a few inches.
“I-I don’t know,” she replies to my question, and then I watch her anger deflate right before my eyes. It shows in the slump of her shoulders and exhale of breath that escapes so close to my face that I can practically taste the sweet, refreshing watermelon scent on my tongue. Fuck that, I need to taste it.
Reaching for the nape of her neck, I bring Roxanne’s mouth down to mine, and she comes willingly, without putting up an ounce of resistance. Her lips part, allowing my tongue to slip inside and stroke hers. Then I’m drowning in her mouthwatering watermelon flavor, my dick bobbing up between us, trying hard to breach the surface of cloth suffocating it.
Thoughts like I’m not supposed to be touching her, much less kissing her, swirl around in the back of my lust hazed mind. The forbidden only makes it that much hotter, and just like when I was a teenager, telling me I can’t do something just makes me want to do it even more.
KEEP READING BALLBUSTER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times bestselling author Lane Hart was born and raised in North Carolina. She continues to live in the south with her husband, two daughters, and several pets named after Star Wars characters.
When Lane's not writing or reading sexy novels, she can be found in the summer on the beaches of the east coast, and in the fall watching football, cheering on the Carolina Panthers.
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