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Published by The Hartwood Publishing Group, LLC,
Hartwood Publishing, Phoenix, Arizona
www.hartwoodpublishing.com
Roughing the Passer
Copyright © 2016 by Natalie Brock
Digital Release: September 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 and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Roughing the Passer by Natalie Brock
Allison and Tony had only one thing in common: they were attending the same university. Other than that, they were about as different as two people could be. He was a mixed-heritage bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. She was a Southern belle whose ancestors supposedly sailed to America on the Mayflower. She’d never dated a bad boy before, but the shy and virginal cheerleader-wannabe was so attracted to the Barracudas’ sexy quarterback that she ignored all the warnings and decided to trust Tony instead of being afraid of him. As for Tony, he desperately wanted to shake off his past and be a better man for Allison. Tony will learn that living down his reputation won’t be an easy feat, and covering up the truth could threaten his chance to win Allison’s heart.
Dedication
I am dedicating this book to my beloved mother. She passed away last year, shortly before my first professionally published book was released, and I miss her so much. She was always asking me what I’m writing, always encouraging me from the first time I ever picked up a writing instrument. She was the kindest soul who ever walked the earth, and she would have loved to see me become a professional author. So this one’s for you, Mom. It’s a romance by your favorite writer.
Chapter One
Sitting in the stands, Tony Ramos was dying for a toke or even a smoke. He wasn’t the one graduating today, but the coaches made it mandatory for the entire team to attend the ceremony. They seemed to take sadistic pleasure in finding ways to punish Tony, and being forced to sit through these bullshit speeches was a new kind of torture.
“An athlete is judged not only for his talent on the field, but also by the way he handles stress and adversity.” Philip Mason’s voice reverberated through the loudspeakers of Eastern Florida University’s football stadium. “That’s true for every one of us—athletes and civilians alike. How we behave in life is as important as our achievements.”
What the hell was the commencement committee smoking lately, Tony wondered. Did they really think the graduation ceremony would be any less dull with the school’s star quarterback delivering the keynote address? Because if that’s what they thought, they were wrong. It was still boring. Nothing Philip Mason said in his speech was even relevant to Tony. The only thing the two men had in common was the position they played.
Philip had been the Barracudas’ beloved quarterback for four years. The golden child who could do no wrong. After more than a year at backup, Tony finally got his shot in his sophomore year when Philip got injured partway through the season, and the team won every game he quarterbacked—except for the big championship game and sadly, that’s all anyone remembered. As usual, Tony’s failure loomed way larger than his successes.
Tony stuck a finger inside his collar. It didn’t help that the late-May sun was hotter than hell and he was trapped inside a button-down shirt and tie. He shifted in his seat and tried to distract himself from his physical discomfort by imagining the faculty asking him—the Barracudas’ resident bad boy—to deliver the commencement speech at his own graduation in two years. That was one effing hilarious thought. Hell, he’d be lucky if he even graduates on time.
“You are your brand,” Mason’s speech continued. “Everything you do, all your actions and all your words add up to the total package that is you.”
Tony came off a month-long suspension last winter just in time for the championship games. He was suspended because he’d been accused of date-rape and even though he didn’t do it, the faculty and coaches immediately presumed Tony was guilty, yielded to political pressure, and suspended him.
He shook his head and cursed under his breath. He never forced himself on a girl in his life. In fact, girls threw themselves at football players like Tony, with his Latin heritage, olive complexion, bedroom eyes, and effortless sex appeal. At six feet three, he could tell by the way women eyed him up and down that they admired all two hundred and fifteen pounds of his lean muscular build. He never needed to coerce anyone to have sex with him, so he still didn’t get that girl’s motives for the false accusation. His teammates said it was probably because he never called her after that one night. Well, he never intended to, and he never said he would. Tony preferred one-night stands. Relationships were for guys like Mason.
Tony leaned forward to get a better view of Philip’s family a few rows up—his mother, father, sister and brother-in-law with their twin boys, and that girl Sara, the one who tutored Mason and wound up in his bed. He had a picture-perfect family. And for the icing on the cake, Philip got drafted into the big leagues by Miami where he was expected to be their franchise player.
Tony leaned back in his seat and rolled his eyes. Mason can bitch and moan about adversity and stress all he wants, but if anyone knew about hardship, it was Tony, not Philip. Tony was the illegitimate son of a Cuban father who got deported before Tony was born and an Italian-American mother who split when he was four. He ended up being raised by his Italian grandmother in a trailer home in Bradenton, Florida. So compared to Tony’s existence, Philip’s life looked charmed.
“What you did yesterday affects today,” Mason continued. “And what you do today affects tomorrow. You never know if you’re gonna get to replay the down. Sometimes you only get one shot, so make it count.”
»»•««
After the ceremony, Head Coach Fairchild lined up the Barracudas to congratulate the graduating players. When Philip came over, he shook Tony’s hand and patted his shoulder. “I hope you take my words to heart,” Philip told him. Tony looked at him quizzically. “A lot of that speech was meant for you.”
Tony stood up straighter. “Wha—” Now he felt guilty for not listening and for sitting there judging Philip harshly when Philip was trying to encourage his teammate.
He flashed to the time Mason came to his dorm room in a wheelchair while Tony was on suspension. Tony was depressed and high on drugs, but he’ll never forget the pep talk Philip gave him. It was one of the few times in Tony’s life when he felt like someone was really in his corner. He wasn’t used to people giving a damn about him, but he believed Philip really did.
“I want to hear great things from you,” Philip continued, pointing a finger at his protégé. “I know you have it in you.” He smiled broadly and fist-bumped Tony. “Don’t let me down.”
Tony swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks for caring, man. Good luck in Miami.”
Philip gave Tony a quick guy hug before moving down the line.
Chapter Two
And five, six, seven, eight. Go! Allison watched the leader carefully, following her every move and attempting to duplicate each step in time with the recorded music. She was one of several dozen girls trying out for next year’s cheer squad. Three spots had opened up because of transfers and dropouts. Allison didn’t know about the other girls who were competing, but it was super important for her to make the team. In fact, there were times it felt like her whole life depended on it.
Her mother had been a cheerleader, and her sister too, so Allison had a lot to prove. She’d failed in her Freshman bid. In September, she’d be a Sophomore, so this was basically her last shot. Nobody chose a Junior or Senior to be a first-year cheerleader, especially when their closest experience was twirling a baton in a St. Patrick’s Day Parade in high school.
In the middle of a spin move, she lost her balance and missed a step. It took her a couple beats to recover. Deep breaths, Allison. You can do it. Her mother might not think so and her sister might laugh at her for even trying, but dammit, someone had to believe in her.
»»•««
The team was antsy for summer break, but that didn’t stop Coach Fairchild from scheduling a practice right after the graduation ceremony. Tony was inclined to blow it off, but the coaching staff drilled it into his head that if he failed to show up on time and prove himself during practice, he’d find himself warming a bench for most, if not all, of next season.
Whatever. Tony dismissed their empty threats. He’d been breaking rules since grade school and by now it was part of his nature. Hell, he’d still be smoking pot if the team hadn’t put him on a not-so-random drug screening schedule. Even if he couldn’t get away with using, there were plenty other rules he could bend, like the personal grooming rules, for example. The coaches were freaky about appearance, so Tony usually left his thick black hair uncombed and wore it just past his ears—short enough not to get cited and long enough to make the staff cringe. It was also against team rules to sport a beard on game days, but Tony wore a scruff anyway.
On his way to the lockers, he pulled off his tie and undid the top few buttons. He took a shortcut through the gymnasium in the sports complex, and was pleasantly surprised to find a cheer tryout underway. This should be interesting, he thought. Pretty girls all in a row wearing shorter-than-short shorts and skimpy tops bouncing around to rousing music. He grabbed a seat in the bleachers to enjoy the spectacle.
He leaned forward and cracked his knuckles. This little detour just might prompt Tony to break one of his own rules—his self-imposed no-sex rule. He’d sworn off women for the past six months because of that chick who accused him of date rape. That experience kind of took the excitement out of a hook-up.
Tony licked his lips. He didn’t know where to look first as six rows of girls danced in unison, their tennis shoes squeaking against the high-polished wood floor. Shapely thighs flexing. Bountiful breasts bouncing. Copious curves in motion. Tony was mentally narrowing down the top three choices for his next conquest, and the next three, and the three after that when his lustful decision was disrupted. A girl in the second row distracted his attention, but not because of how pretty she was. She caught his eye because she was dancing a couple of beats behind everyone else.
For some reason, she looked up into the stands and her blue eyes locked with Tony’s. He could tell his stare unnerved her, but he couldn’t look away.
Soon those two beats off became four beats, then eight beats. When she attempted a toe-touch—kicking her leg high and touching her toe with her fingers—she stumbled, falling into the girl next to her who fell on the girl next to her. In an instant, the whole row tumbled like a line of dominoes, and seven girls were lying on the floor shouting obscenities at the clumsy blonde.
Instead of being horrified, like most of the witnesses, Tony burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. All morning, he’d been sitting in the hot sun overdressed, listening to stuffy speeches on overly serious subjects, and finally something unexpected happened.
The would-be cheerleader’s eyes widened when Tony’s guffaw reached her ears, resonating several octaves lower than the girls who were shrieking at her. She blinked back her tears, scrambled to her feet, and raced out of the gym.
»»•««
Allison’s sobs echoed through the cheerleader’s locker room. She sucked in some air mid-cry and began to cough. Resting her forehead against one of the metal lockers, she chastised herself. Stop it! Do not cry. Crying is for babies. That’s what her mother would tell her.
Her head was hot and damp with perspiration. She bent over a sink and splashed water on her face. Then she reached for a paper towel from the dispenser and blotted her skin, avoiding the mirror above the sink.
She’d spent half the morning getting her hair and makeup just right and she couldn’t bear to see the mess of a girl staring back. She inadvertently took a peek. The combination of embarrassment and anger combined to create pink splotches on her fair complexion. Lovely.
Clenching her teeth, she rolled the elastic ponytail holder out of her long, blonde hair, letting the waves cascade around her face. The ponytail had become unbearably tight and releasing it let her hide her face behind a curtain of hair.
She pushed herself away from the sink she’d been leaning on. Her palms were still red from hitting the gymnasium floor when she fell. “Dayum him,” she shouted at the walls, her Georgia accent making the curse sound less hostile than she meant it.
Pacing the length of the locker room, she fumed at the boy who caused her to screw up her tryout routine. Didn’t he know how hard this was for her? Just working up the courage to register for preliminary tryouts was a big deal for Allison. There were only a few positions open and the odds of winning a spot were minuscule, especially for someone with no experience.
Allison knew she was a long shot. At five feet six and a hundred twenty-three pounds, her light blonde hair, azure eyes and large chest gave her the perfect look to be a cheerleader, but they didn’t help her personality. She wasn’t perky and animated and fun and confident. She wasn’t the kind of girl that guys or other girls gravitated to. Even at nineteen, she was shy and lacked self-confidence and really had to force herself outside her comfort zone to try out for the Barracudas’ cheer squad.
EFU was supposed to be a fresh start in a new state where no one knew her. She’d been itching for independence, to come out from the shadow of her overbearing mother and overly perfect sister. She wanted to be different from the girl she’d been back home. As a mid-size regional university, EFU was large enough that she’d be able to meet a diverse variety of people from all over the country, but small enough that she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. The school offered all the liberal arts programs, but its claim to fame was a world-class athletics program. Whenever anyone mentioned EFU, the first things came to mind were the football and basketball teams that were always in contention for a title.
“Dayum him,” she repeated, punching one of the metal lockers with the side of her fist. “Ouch!” She shook out the pain. Her knees hurt as much as her hands. She scuffed them too when she fell.
If Tony Ramos was standing in front of her, she’d punch him, if she didn’t lose the nerve. Yes, she knew who that guy was. When she first locked eyes with him, looking sharp in that button-down with his tie hanging loose around his neck, she didn’t recognize him. All she saw was a tall, dark, handsome man admiring her, his golden-brown bedroom eyes searing through her. His striking good looks literally threw her off balance.
It wasn’t until he started laughing that she realized who he was. She’d seen him play for the Barracudas and she’d seen pictures of him in EFUsion, the school paper. She also heard he got suspended after being accused of date rape, that he was a stoner, a screw-up and a loser. So how dare he sit in judgment of her? How dare he laugh at her when he himself was a laughing stock?
“It’s not fair,” she sniffled, leaning her head against the locker once again.
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Chapter Three
It was back to business as usual the next day. Allison waitressed at Old Smoky’s Real Pit Barbecue, an off-campus restaurant, three or four days a week, depending on her class schedule. It was a decent job, except for the fact she came off every shift smelling like smoked meat. A long hot shower and strawberry-scented shampoo was the only cure.
Allison strained to hear her customers above the twangy Southern rock music coming through the speakers as she took their order. She retrieved the menus and smiled. “Be right back with y’all’s cornbread.” She placed the menus at the central station and put in the order.
When she picked up a tray with an order for another table, the sound of a man laughing caught her attention. It was a laugh she recognized immediately, one she’d never forget because it’s what made her lose her concentration and blow the cheer squad tryouts the day before. Steadying the tray on her shoulder, she turned slowly in the direction of the laugh.
It was him all right—Tony Ramos, “ass passer,” as some of the girls on campus called him for a number of reasons, not the least being he was a first-class ass. He was seated in a booth against the wall, along with several big, burly, boisterous jerks, who Allison figured were his teammates.
Anger rose in her throat, and she tried to swallow it away. He must have sensed he was being stared at because he turned his head and, just like in the gym, his eyes locked with hers. He started to smile, then the recognition hit. She gave him the dirtiest look she could, hoping he could see her fury. That’s right, Ramos, she said to herself. It’s me, Allison Martin, the girl you humiliated in the gym, you cavalier jackass. His table was about twenty feet away and it almost looked like he wanted to say something to her. Well, maybe she should give him that chance.
Roughing the Passer (Quarterback Sneak Book 2) Page 1
