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Courting Love - A College Sports series
Sierra Hill
Contents
Praise for Courting Love
Disclaimer
Introduction
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
Epilogue
Next Up - Game Changer
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Sierra Hill
Copyright © 2018 Sierra Hill
Published by Ten28 Publishing
2nd Edition 2019
Cover Design: Q Designs
Editing by: Michele Ziemer
Proofreading: The Indie Author’s Apprentice
All rights reserved.
Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without prior written permission by the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used factiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, business establishments, or educational systems is entirely coincidental.
All products and/or brand names mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies/institutions.
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Praise for Courting Love
A.M. Johnson, author of Kingdom and Possession, Avenues Ink Series
This was my first book by Sierra and will not be my last. What an angsty little dish! GORGEOUS Italian backdrop makes for a steamy read you won't want to miss.
Renee McCleary:
This is probably the sexiest and steamiest in the series!! This book had me angry, happy, heartbroken, and swooning…I can't wait for the next book in this series!!
Josephine Brierly, author of The Stonewater Series:
I loved the writing style by this author and look forward to reading more.
Mackenzie Bibliophile:
Sierra Hill is basically a genius. I adore her brain and how she crafts a story to such perfection!
Disclaimer
***Disclaimer***
This book’s central theme deals with two very difficult subject matters: addictions and racism, both of which many readers are unfortunately far too acquainted with.
My hope is that I’ve written this book, and these characters, in a manner which accurately and authentically depicts the pain and the turmoil these two issues can cause in real life, but also bring about hope.
Hope that we will see change in the world. And that love can conquer all.
Thank you for reading.
Sierra Hill
Introduction
“One joy dispels a hundred cares.”
Confucius
Prologue
I have a monster living inside of me.
Eating me alive from the inside out. Turning me into something I never wanted to be. Someone I abhorred and loathed.
That monster is my darkest secret.
One that will eventually be my ruin. The thing that will turn my world upside down.
The evil villain that will destroy me.
There’s no pain quite as excruciating as watching the woman who gave birth to you, who raised and cared for you, slowly killing herself. Whether intentional or not is irrelevant. There are only two people to blame for her condition.
One of them is me and I couldn’t save her.
My father is somewhere out there on a bender. Just another one in a cycle of many. Hundreds that I’ve known in my lifetime. Twenty-two years of booze, drugs and disappearing acts.
I need to drink. And get high.
And then I need to fuck someone. Hopefully in that order.
These self-destructive behaviors are the only things that get me out of my head long enough to avoid thinking about all I’ve done. All the pain I’ve created. The deaths I’ve caused.
It’s just another reason to hate myself and the man I’ve become. If I wasn’t such a fucking coward, I’d be lying in the ground next to her right now, too. Next to my brother’s grave, as well.
There are days I wish I wouldn’t wake up. That I could fuck myself up so much that I’d fall asleep and drift off into the endless night. Because that would mean I wouldn’t have to live any longer with this constant malignant hatred that lives deep inside my soul. The self-loathing, loss and grief that I’ve caused.
But instead, the daylight always returns, making that hole in my heart seem bigger and deeper.
1
Lance
What the hell is all that banging?
I wake in a stupor, with the world spinning faster than usual, producing a film of fuzziness across my memories of the night before. Bleeding the lines and edges of recollection so I’m thoroughly confused about where I am.
Although the killer hangover and nausea has me questioning my life choices at the moment, I still have enough awareness of my surroundings to know a few things. One, I’m not in my own bed. It’s too warm, the blankets too comfy and the pillows much too soft to be mine.
Second, my head is a fucking time bomb that’s about the detonate and someone in the near vicinity is going to get an ass-kicking for making so much noise this early in the morning.
Wait, it is morning, right?
Fuck me, where is that racket coming from?
Slowly – and painfully – I peel my eyes open one at a time, taking in the scene around me. I’m careful not to jostle my head or make any sudden movements – because, well, hangover. Awareness – thick like molasses – begins to creep in.
A few flashes of recollection spark my memory from the night before, but it’s still unclear. Panic ensues, like quick, sharp jabs into my ribs, as I’m not able to recollect the entire night and what happened or how I got here. Blackouts suck. I swallow back the bile stuck in my throat, hoping not to empty the contents of my stomach in an unfamiliar place.
But then relief floods me. While I’m not in my own bed, which isn’t too unusual after a drunken night, at least I have clothes on.
I learn this from the slide of my hand underneath the sheets, past my stomach as I pat my lower extremities to confirm that I’m not naked. I suppose that’s a plus.
Another shot of panicky adrenaline jolts through my aching head and frenzied heart, skittering wildly to a stop when I check the other side of the bed for another body. My exploration comes up empty. Again, I’m not sure if this is a positive or not, considering I have no recollection of what transpired last night. There is a strong possibility that I could have had wild, crazy sex with any number of sorority girls or hoops hunnies bugging for my attention.
That mistake has been made one too many times to count over the last four years of college, with the label of asshole being thrown at me every single time I make my exit the next morn
ing and never call them again. Yeah, the asshole label isn’t entirely unfair.
But it’s a relief to find myself alone in the bed.
On the other hand, it sucks balls. Because I hate being alone and if I had my way, I wouldn’t be. Not if the girl I’ve wanted for the last year would give me the time of day.
And then the banging begins again and all thoughts about what I want and can’t have disappear in lieu of finding the cause of this maddening noise and shutting it the fuck down.
“Shut the hell up already,” I groan, moving at a snail’s pace to the edge of the bed where I plant my feet on the sturdy floor.
Not sturdy enough to gain my balance, though, as I wobble to a standing position.
Fuck, this is bad.
My ass lands back on the bed, my head spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl on speed.
But then my bladder informs me that I need to take a leak like a motherfucker, so finding a bathroom sooner rather than later is important. It’s then that I hear the soft pad of footsteps nearing the door and a faint knock before it creaks open.
My blurry eyes may deceive me, but standing in the doorframe, looking as fresh and beautiful as a desert rose, is Mica Reyes. The same girl who’s evaded my advances – but invaded my thoughts –for over a year now. The only woman who’s shut me down and shut me out and doesn’t seem to care about my basketball status. The one who’s made it all abundantly clear that we’re to remain friends. And not the ‘friends with benefits’ that I would prefer.
“Good morning,” she whispers, her voice breathy and soft, with a hint of a sexy rasp. “I brought you some water and aspirin. And I have breakfast ready if you’re hungry.”
My stomach churns at the thought of food, but water is good. When she hands me the glass of cool water, our fingers touch and I take the opportunity to grab onto her tiny wrist, holding her in place so she can’t run away.
Mica’s like a skittish bunny. Shy and quiet, always anxious over my attention. Resistant to my charm and needy flirtations. Yet, here I am. It’s become abundantly clear that it’s her bedroom where I spent the night, but I’m uncertain if anything happened between us.
And let me tell you, I will kick my own ass if it did while I was black out drunk. Because the first time we’re together – and yeah, I’m very hopeful there will be a first time in the future – I want to remember every perfect detail about it.
“Thanks, beautiful. You’re an angel,” I reply with a mix of gratitude and raw pleasure.
She allows my hand to remain planted on her wrist, keeping her within an arm’s length distance as my thumb gently traces a pattern across her smooth, caramel-colored skin. I was already sporting a morning chub, but now it’s ten times harder just from the feel of her soft flesh.
My thoughts are jumbled, from both the hangover and her nearness this morning. I try to forage through my memories to recall what went down last night. It was my buddy Cade’s engagement party, and everyone was there. All my former and current college teammates, their girlfriends, family members and Mica. The last thing I remember was playing beer pong with Christian and Van.
After that, I don’t remember anything. I must’ve blacked out. That has been happening more and more frequently, and although I’m always safe and know one of my friends will make sure I don’t get myself into trouble, it is cause for worry. I get to a certain point of drunkenness and then that part of my brain just clicks off.
Regardless of what happened, it’s not a hardship being taken care of by Mica. She’s a sight for my sore, bloodshot eyes. She could easily be related to Ariana Grande, with the same toffee complexion, the long, dark chocolate hair, and the brown eyes that are a cross between amber and molasses. She has no idea what she does to me or how beautiful she is.
My throat constricts, and I choke out the question on the top of my mind. However, it comes out with more bite than I mean. “What am I doing here?”
She flinches, toying with the hem of her shirt.
There’s one thing I know with one hundred percent certainty, and that is that Mica would never sleep with me when I’m drunk. She’s made it very clear that she won’t tolerate my stupidity when I’m stoned or completely wasted off my ass.
But that doesn’t mean we haven’t found times to make-out when I’ve been sober. Like this past New Year’s Eve. That’s what puzzles me. I know she likes me and finds me attractive, but every time I try to move further than copping a feel, she puts the brakes on.
It’s understandable, I guess. She may have some feelings for me, but there’s a lot going on in her life that she hasn’t told me about. According to her best friend, Ainsley, Cade’s fiancée, there are things related to her family life that make it difficult for Mica to get close to anyone.
Especially me.
Mica blushes as I stare at her intently and avoids looking me in the eyes. She pulls her arm out from my grasp, and I reluctantly let her go. I don’t want her to feel trapped.
Mica tugs at her dark braid that lays over her left shoulder. Oh, what I would do with that braid if I had the chance. Yank, tug, pull and unlace it so I could slide my fingers through her silky locks as I fuck her from behind. Or have her underneath me, spread wide open and willing.
Shit, this isn’t doing my hard-on any favors.
She shrugs at my question. “You were blabbering incoherently last night about going home, but you were in no position to drive. Christian took your keys and then you threw a tantrum and told him you wouldn’t go with him,” she pauses, a cheeky smile forming on her lips. “You informed everyone within a five-mile radius that I was the only one who could drive you home.”
I clear my throat, hanging my head in my hand, embarrassed to hear what an insufferable douche nozzle I was. Not that I’m embarrassed about it, but I regret putting her on the spot like that. She doesn’t like being in the center of attention.
My fingers sift through my bedhead hair, trying to remember any of what happened, but coming up empty. I’m sure I was a sight to behold. I get annoyingly loud and obnoxious when I drink. Just like my dad, except without the anger issues.
Shaking my head, I try my luck at standing again and this time land on my feet with some solid footing. Maybe that’s just Mica’s influence. When she’s around me, I feel stronger. Grounded. More in control.
There’s barely a breath of space between us, but she doesn’t retreat, holding her ground and looking up at me with amusement and curiosity twinkling in her eyes. Taking advantage of the opportunity to properly thank her, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my arms. She comes willingly.
I’m a six-foot-four basketball player and Mica barely reaches five feet on her tiptoes, but somehow, she fits perfectly in my arms. She smells of cinnamon and cloves – maybe because she’s been making breakfast in the kitchen. But whatever it’s from, it’s warm and comforting. Sweet and intoxicating.
I hate that I may have put her out last night and taken advantage of her generosity by insisting she drive me home – or in this case, to her place. On top of that, I took her bed from her.
“I’m sorry if I acted like a dick last night. You could’ve said no.”
She laughs and gives me an incredulous look. We both know the truth. I probably argued my way into her bed. There’s a good chance I made a spectacle of myself, my usual MO, and she was just doing what she could to fix the situation. Ever since we’ve become friends, that’s what she’s done. She’s my very own caretaker.
Mica steps out of my embrace and I feel the loss acutely. She waves me off as if I’m foolish to say such a thing.
“I highly doubt that I could have said anything to change your mind,” she cajoles. “You were beyond adamant. You passed out almost as soon as you hit the bed. Well-”
I quirk my eyebrow. “Well, what?”
Her cheeks burn a bright red and I know I must’ve tried making a pass at her. Shit. I can’t be trusted. My dick is very frisky when it’s had a lot to drink. Eh, who am I kidding? I
t’s frisky whenever I’m around Mica.
I’ve wanted her for a long time now. She’s given me small tastes here and there, but I want the whole meal. I’m starving for anything she’s willing to dish out to me. And I want to go back for seconds, and thirds, until I’m gorged on Mica.
She giggles coyly. “Well, you did work hard to convince me that you couldn’t fall asleep unless I laid down next to you. And when I did…”
Groaning, I tip my head down in humiliation, using the nickname I’d given her when we first met. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, Georgie. Whatever I did, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.”
And then it dawns on me. What if I did put the moves on her and she was too nice to tell me to stop? What if I got too pushy? What if…fuck me, I could have easily overpowered her slight frame and taken advantage of the situation.
My voice trembles and I’m shaking in fear for what I might have done in my condition. I can only hope and pray I didn’t force myself on her.
“Micaela, please tell me I didn’t force you -”
Her head moves from side to side and reaches for my hands, cupping them in hers.
“No…no, Lance. You didn’t. You would never do that to me. We’re good. The only thing you did was try to sneak a kiss and then you cuddled me for a few minutes before you passed out. I went out to the couch when you started snoring like a bear.”