Free Baller: An Off-limits, Sports Romance (Bad Boy Ballers Book 2) Page 4

  Chapter Five

  The Devil’s Inside

  Delaney

  AT HALFTIME WE WERE up fourteen points against the New Jersey She-Devils.

  We were on a roll to clinch the Artemis League cup with five straight wins. The gig with Carolina Crush—a deal made by our manager—helped bankroll our ride and paid out a little extra cash as well as put us in the promotional spotlight.

  I wouldn’t say the first half was easy as I slapped my gloves against a bench in the locker room. Two quarters in a full body contact sport were bound to be downright grueling, and I whipped up a towel to swipe across my sweaty face.

  Tendrils of Sammy’s honey-blonde braid, freed from her efforts on the field, clung to her temples. “Did you happen to see Brooklyn in the front row, Laney?”

  I turned my back, hiding a secret smile. “He’s such an idiot.”

  “Girl.” Raquel plucked at her dirty jersey “I ain’t lookin’ at Brooks. My eyes be glued to Calder. That’s some piece of fine right there.”

  From the middle of the twenty players on the Cougars squad, Lourdes sent an impish grin. “Screw Calder—”

  “Sign me up.” Raquel did a little twerk move—ass shaking and all.

  “Brooks wants a taste of Laney’s lovin’!” Sammy just wouldn’t let up as she high-fived Lourdes.

  “He’s going to get a taste of my knee to his balls,” I muttered, squirting water down my parched throat.

  “Aw, is he getting to you, hon?” Raquel slung an arm over my shoulders.

  “No,” I grumbled.

  Yes, the damn man was getting to me. That night on the basketball court in fact he’d gotten to me. Brooklyn looked panty-melting hot in his uniform—dirty, sweaty, and rippling with muscle upon muscle. He looked even better in workout gear or street clothes. He didn’t even have to announce his presence, yet I always knew when he was around. Something about the lethal combination of his tats and his beard and his body made me instantly react. I wanted to arch my back, rub all up against him, cup his cock in my hand again.

  Girth Brooks. And then some.

  That was no damn lie.

  The heavy hot length of him. I’d nearly burst into flames just having him so close to me.

  Thank God Coach D interrupted when he had.

  And then Brooks had to go and bedevil me by not putting the moves on me. By playing it proper and light and sensitive. Not that I was into the new-age man, but I didn’t think I had to worry about that too much when it came to Brooklyn.

  Maybe he thought he’d figured me out, but I was willing to bet he’d never guess why I always looked over my shoulder, checked the backseat of my car before getting in, and double-locked the doors of my apartment.

  Brooks equaled a distraction I wasn’t sure I could afford, but he made me feel alive again in a way even playing for the Artemis League couldn’t.

  It’d taken me a few years, but I’d worked on changing my appearance, my outlook. I’d become more than just physical again, like I’d been in high school. I’d become a powerhouse, the captain of my all-female team.

  I’d fought hard, and I had the scars, inside and out, to show it.

  Picking up my gloves from where I’d dropped them on the bench, I glanced at my ring finger. The gold band gone, sold, pawned for a few extra bucks I’d put toward my trusty little Toyota so I could drive halfway across the country to make a fresh start.

  Raquel jostled against me. “Ready for some more gurrrrl power?”

  “Let’s wipe the Devils from one end of the field to the other!” Sammy’s freckles brightened as her cheeks flushed.

  I joined her as the Carolina Cougars formed a tight circle. We had our mean faces on. All talk about Brooks and Calder and other men forgotten as we pushed our fists together.

  “On three!” I shouted.

  “One. Two. Three. COUGARS!”

  We ran back into the stadium, the sheer volume of cheers and claps and whistles deafening me as I slipped my helmet on. We huddled on the sideline, the fast rap of possible plays shot out by our coach, shot down by me.

  Coach scowled at me, but she listened as I set up the next play between the seven of us who were active on the field today.

  Sammy was my center, Raquel played guard, Lourdes my best wide receiver, and they all approved of my decision.

  The bright lights of the dome laser-beamed us. The night sky above dotted with a necklace of stars. The fans in the stands screamed even more loudly when we took to the turf opposite the She-Devils.

  I stood back from Sammy, nearly dizzied by the attention the Carolina Cougars had earned during our past two inaugural seasons in the Artemis League. I could’ve chosen a more low-profile profession, but it wasn’t like we were mainstream celebs.

  Sure, we looked hot in our gold and white uniforms. The jerseys were little more than half shirts and our bottoms almost booty shorts, but we engaged in fully physical, in-your-face sport.

  Mega male fanatics treated us like royalty, but what I liked best were the women. The moms and wives and girls who showed up strong and loud and invested in the female football league.

  Besides, I didn’t want to run and hide for the rest of my life. Just sometimes I thought . . . I thought I saw . . .

  I scanned the crowd again for the painfully familiar crop of blond hair and the hard sneer on the handsome All-American boyish face. The mean look in the blue eyes just before he hit me.

  Sammy swung her head toward me. “The clock’s counting down, Laney. You ready for the snap?”

  Hunkering behind her, I shouted the play in code.

  I caught the snap, palming the ball. Raquel set Lourdes up nicely—opening a chute, and I hurled the football, watching it spiral perfectly down field. Slammed to the turf by a brick shithouse of a Devils linewoman, I had to count to ten before I trusted myself to not react to being hit.

  Just a game. This is just a game.

  By the time I gained my feet, Raquel and Lourdes danced around the end zone.

  SCORE!

  Unable to resist, I looked toward Brooks. He was on his feet, whistling between his fingers. He pointed down at me, and it felt like he touched me right in the heart. He had everything going for him, except for that hard-to-overlook, newly acquired womanizer rep.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I jogged off the field. I tore my gaze from him, glancing at Calder Malone. Raquel was right. He’d been blessed in the looks department with the short-cropped dark hair and the sexy silver-blue eyes, but he wasn’t free of issues either. His drug problem was well known and much talked about. The reason he’d been kicked off the Reno Ravens then picked up by Carolina Crush. Still, I believed in second chances, at least I used to.

  On our next possession, I threw a pass that made me wince even before it started wobbling. The Devils easily intercepted the ball. They ran long and hit a total unstoppable touchdown before I even had a chance to blink.

  On the sidelines I wiped my face, guzzled some electrolytes, and tried not to let my frustration at myself show. I would not be distracted by Brooks in the crowd or thinking I saw him lurking in the shadows. It was time to charge forward, take the game home, own Jersey whether they liked it or not.

  Unfortunately through the third quarter and for most of the fourth, the damn She-Devils began closing the gap until we were tied neck and neck. Powering through the final plays through sheer force of will, I set up the touchdown—long-legged Lourdes again in my sights.

  Giddiness began bouncing around my stomach about Brooks cheering me on for this game clincher, but I stayed focused, focused until Lourdes got blocked by two of the biggest Devils players.

  Raquel shouted at me, “Go! Go! Go!”

  And the sprint was on. I tucked the football against my chest, ducked my head, and ran full steam ahead. Met by a gridlock of players at every pivot of my feet, I spun left then right. I stiff-armed the competition.

  Five yards to go. Final countdown. I rushed the yardage, leaping over the last t
ackler to land inside the end zone.

  Victory was ours!

  Sammy chest-bumped me. Raquel high-fived me. Lourdes made the sign of the cross before dragging me to her, laughing in my face. My heart skipped several beats, and my feet soared on clouds.

  My heart thump-thump-thumped hard when Brooks approached.

  My hair was tangled. My jersey filthy. My shorts stained. My body sweaty and hot. Never hotter than when he prowled toward me right down the center of the field with that smoldering look in his eyes, because who would think to stop NFL superstar Brooklyn Holt?

  He marched straight up to me and pulled me into a tight hug as fans cheered all around. So much for low profile.

  His hugely muscled arms drew me closer, and his embrace—the clean earthy smell of him—only made me smile wider and lean into him harder instead of shoving him away.

  Knee to the balls? Right.

  He pulled slightly back, his wide hands spanning my hips sent sizzling heat up my spine. Brooks didn’t tame the hungry look as he took in my uniform, what little there was of it.

  “Good game, babe.” His fingers stroked lightly, and I went limp at the sensual touch of his rough hands. “Probably shouldn’t say this ’cause you might hit me but”—his gaze roved from my legs to my breasts to my lips then my eyes—“I’m a huge fan of the uniform.”

  I coiled back. “And what about my plays?”

  “Delaney, I mean no disrespect.” He pushed his hands into his back pockets and rocked on his heels. “I think you could give Rafe a run for his money, honey.”

  “Better.”

  He pulled me to him by my hand. A hand he lifted to his lips, and the soft brush of his beard tickled my skin almost as much as his tongue-lick nearly brought me to my knees.

  “Anything else?” I asked, my voice smoky and low.

  “Still like the uniform.” Brooks shrugged his huge shoulders. “Call me an asshole if you want, but this is the first time I’ve really had the chance to take it in up close.”

  “You’ve been watching my games?”

  “Uh . . . not to sound like a stalker or anything, but yeah. I’ve caught all your games. You’re damn good.”

  I knew stalkers, and Brooklyn definitely didn’t qualify. Hunky delicious rugged unf? Yes. But creepy stalker? No.

  “Hmmm. Anyway the uniforms aren’t much different than the WWE Divas, asshole.” I grinned.

  “I’m beginning to think of that as a term of endearment. And I don’t watch wrestling.”

  “Maybe you should. Those women are . . . baller, Brooks.” My eyebrows arched in challenge, but truth be told my entire body sang to his.

  Especially when he bent his head back for a huge laugh. The booming belly laugh suddenly interrupted by a small voice and a slight tug on my hand.

  “Mith Jones! Mith Jones!”

  My heart nearly popped out of my chest when I saw the little girl bouncing up and down next to me.

  Her mom offered her hand. “Emily’s one of your biggest fans.”

  I had to blink back a whole swell of tears as I crouched before the girl. “Hey, sweetie.” I hugged her against me, always wondering what if.

  She squeezed on me so hard I thought she’d never let up.

  I stood with little Miss Emily in my arms, her mom beaming, Brooks smiling and watching.

  “I get bullied at school cuth I gotta wear glasses. And I have a hearin’ aid thingy.” She pointed to a virtually invisible device inside her ear.

  My God.

  Balancing her light weight on my arms, I nudged my nose against hers. “They’re probably just jealous.”

  “You think?”

  “Oh yeah. Because you, Miss Emily, have superhero powers now.” I whispered in her ear, “You can hear everything. See everything.”

  Emily scampered out of my arms and thrust herself at her momma. “Did ya hear that? I’m a thuperhero now!”

  “You always were.” Her mom gathered Emily in her arms, and I tried to gulp back ten tons of emotions.

  “Can we take a thelfie?” Emily asked.

  “Of course we can, sweetie.” I smiled, scooching down as Emily got into position with her arms thrown around my neck.

  Her mom aimed the phone at us, and afterward I gave her my number so she could send the photo to me, too.

  Meanwhile Emily stared up the great height of Brooks, her mouth wide open. “Who’th he? He lookth like Bigfoot.”

  “Emily! This is Brooklyn Holt from Carolina Crush!” Mom looked mortified, but Brooks just laughed.

  He had to bend way, way down to get on eye level with the brave little girl. “It’s okay. I do have big feet.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Hairy face.”

  Chuckling, he rubbed his jaw. “Guilty as charged.”

  Emily’s mom’s face turned bright red.

  Brooks stuck out his huge hand. “Nice to meet you, Emily.”

  Her expression screwed up as she contemplated his hand then looked into his eyes. “I like hugth better’n handshaketh.”

  “Oh dear Lord,” Mom muttered.

  I watched with a squeeze to my heart as Brooks simply enfolded the little sweetheart in his big embrace.

  Emily squealed delightedly.

  “How’s that then?” His deep voice rumbled.

  She patted his cheek where smooth tanned skin appeared above the neatly trimmed beard. “Not ath good ath my daddy. And hairy,” she repeated.

  He grinned, opening his arms so she could wriggle out.

  “And I don’t think you’re ath famous ath Mith Jones.” She peered up at him with her hands on her hips.

  Brooks glanced at me, the smile still tugging his lips. “Probably not.”

  “I think that’s enough now, Emily.” Her mom nodded at both Brooks and me. “It was so nice to meet you.”

  “You too. And Emily? Don’t forget to have your mom send me our picture.”

  Brooks and I waved as they headed away, and he sighed, shaking his head.

  Once again alone in a sea of milling people, I bumped my shoulder against his. “You like kids, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have any of your own?”

  “No.” Watching little Emily skip away, his lips flattened. “None of my own.” He drew his gaze back to me. “I should probably go round up Calder. Got a flight to catch in a couple hours.”

  “You’re headed back to Charleston now?”

  “Is that a hint of disappointment I detect?” One of his eyebrows arched wickedly.

  “You think too highly of yourself, Holt.”

  “Uh huh. If you say so.” He ran a hand through his thick hair. “I’d love to stay, but practice tomorrow. Coach Frank and Coach D, not to mention Peyton, would rip me a new one if I showed up late or wiped out.”

  “You think I’d wipe you out?” With a hand propped on one hip, I knew my breasts thrust out even more.

  His scorching look dropped lower from the lips I licked to my body revealed by the scant uniform. He stepped forward, and the sudden full contact hit me with a surge of lust.

  I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze, and his lids revealed darkening irises. My nipples tightened as my breath came heavier and heavier. Heat low in my belly amplified.

  “I think you’d give me a run for my money, but I reckon I could handle you.” The deep guttural strain of his voice wrenched a gasp from me.

  Brooks cupped a warm, rough palm around the nape of my neck. Tingles floated from that point of contact to my breasts, my belly, my pussy.

  I wondered if he’d kiss me, his mouth hovered so close.

  “What say when we get back to the lowcountry you come for a ride with me?” The words flittered across my skin and I watched his tongue peek out.

  I wanted to taste it, taste him.

  I swallowed harshly. “Like a date?”

  “A ride.” He pulled back enough to hit me with a searing look.

  “On a bike?”

  Brooks shook his head.r />
  “Motorcycle?” I asked, my entire body aching for him and the damn man hadn’t even kissed me yet.

  “Not exactly.”

  “The dirty kinky kind of ride?” I rested my hands on his shoulders, and his groin—that thick bulge—rubbed against my belly.

  His groan was low, almost unheard, but he pressed his hips forward, the fingers on my neck fanning toward my face. “While I definitely want you riding my cock, no.”

  My cheeks heated. My heart sped. My lips parted unconsciously.

  Brooks backed up, leaving the imprint of his warmth all over my body. “You have to say yes to find out exactly what I want you to ride.”

  “Yes.” Did I squeak? The girls would have a field day if I squeaked.

  Chapter Six

  Jock Talk

  Brooklyn

  COULD NOT WIPE THE grin off my face after Delaney said—pretty much whimpered—yes to finally going out with me. For a ride.

  The surprise would be on her.

  I’d found Calder fielding questions and flirtatious come-ons in the middle of the Cougar crew. The women sure seemed to eat him up.

  Malone had come along on the day trip to Jersey. Rafe would’ve been my first choice as wingman, but the asshole was wrapped up in the ongoing wedding plans and probably trying out every position in the Kama Sutra in order to knock Peyton up faster. That fuckin’ guy. The hardcore ripped-and-ready QB becoming a goddamn romantic pouring over flower arrangements and color schemes and . . . oh yeah, having sex with the woman of his dreams every chance he got.

  Calder Malone, the new center lineman, was pretty chill, and since all his people were back in Nevada I’d welcomed his company. Anything was better than flying solo or having to share first class with Buckley the Fuckster.

  On the flight home, I’d cracked a beer and peered at the dude who’d sworn off drugs, alcohol, and—as far as I could tell—chicks. “You mind if I?”

  He snorted. “Trust me. Once you go rehab, you don’t go back. Not when you’ve got something to prove and everything to win for.”

  “Just tryin’ to be sensitive.” I sipped at the cold brew.