Read Bigger Than Beckham Online
Authors: V. K. Sykes
Tags: #Romance, #sports romance, #sports, #hot romance, #steamy romance, #steamy, #soccer
Bigger Than Beckham
V.K. SYKES
Copyright © 2012 by V.K. Sykes
Smashwords Edition
Cover Art © Kimberly Killion of HotDamn Designs
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Martha Winston jerked her gaze away from the
celebration on the field, sick at the sight of the jubilant Dallas
players piling on top of each other near the Jacksonville Thunder’s
goal. A sea of green and white bodies rushed to bury the striker
who had just sent a left-footed rocket into the net, giving his
team a 2-1 lead with barely a minute remaining in the match. As the
frustrated Jacksonville fans let loose a chorus of boos with a
force that belied their tiny number, Martha managed to stifle the
groan that forced its way up from the depths of her competitive
soul.
Uncle Geoffrey showed no such restraint as he
slammed his glass down onto the counter hard enough to make Martha
jump backwards to evade the shower of cold Heineken that cascaded
over the rim of the beer glass. Geoffrey Winston, fifty pounds
overweight and slow as a box turtle, barely moved his bulk as amber
liquid splashed onto his wrinkled gray slacks.
Martha scowled at her uncle as she swept up
her purse and tossed it onto the sofa at the opposite end of the
suite that overlooked JaxBank Stadium. Beer had dripped down onto
the soft sides of the expensive Coach bag, but that was the least
of her worries. Not when her underachieving players had just blown
the opportunity to salvage a draw.
“Oh, for God’s sake, relax,” her uncle
muttered. “Hell, for once we were finally competitive, and then
that jackass Kavanagh sends it all down the drain with two
miserable minutes left. What a bunch of overpaid losers!”
Rosaria, their sweet young stadium attendant,
grabbed a roll of paper towels and rushed over to clean up the mess
at Geoffrey’s feet. As she knelt, Geoffrey leaned forward and poked
her in the shoulder. “Just leave the damn mess until you’ve fetched
me another beer. And hop to it.”
The young woman flinched, sucking in an
audible breath. She struggled to school her features, then stood
back up and hurried across the room to the bar fridge.
Martha pushed her sunglasses back over her
forehead and glared into her uncle’s pinched face. “I’ve told you
before that you need to show more respect for our staff,” she said
in a stern voice. Not that her idiot of an uncle would listen, but
she’d be damned if she didn’t call him on it. “That kind of
petulant discourtesy is unacceptable. Yes, you own part of this
team, but you’re a guest in
my
suite. I suggest you remember
that.”
“How could I not?” he snorted. “You never let
me forget my place, do you?”
Kieran McLeod, the team’s general manager,
had kept a grim-faced silence during both the wrenching goal and
Geoffrey’s brief tantrum. The sixty-five year-old, silver-haired
Scot clearly suffered under the crackling tension that filled the
room. Still, his calm demeanor made a stark contrast with that of
Martha’s volcanic relative. McLeod shook his head in a tight arc.
“I’m afraid this team somehow manages to find new ways
not
to win.”
“You’re absolutely right, because all we’ve
got is a bunch of lazy half-wits and quitters,” Geoffrey sneered.
“They make me embarrassed to own this team.” Without even a nod of
thanks, he snatched the bottle of Heineken that Rosaria extended to
him.
Martha’s forbearance with her uncle sank to
the bottom of the tank. “You should only be twenty percent
embarrassed.” Geoffrey seemed to need constant reminders that she
owned the other eighty percent of the team.
Her uncle glared at her. “You always have to
rub it in, don’t you, darling?”
Darling
.
The last thing Martha would ever be was
Geoffrey Winston’s darling. Cool and distant when she was growing
up, he had deeply resented her since the moment she took over
majority ownership of the team. She had so little regard for the
pompous jerk that she’d have kept their interaction to an exchange
of Christmas cards if she’d had a choice. But, for now at least,
their co-ownership of a woeful soccer squad bound them together and
she had her father to thank for that particular misery. He’d
bequeathed Martha his controlling share of the team, almost giving
his brother a heart attack in the process. And in classic fashion,
her daddy had kept his intentions secret through the months of his
dying, only bringing her into the picture a few short weeks before
the cancer finished its slow death march though his body. Geoffrey
had found out only when the estate lawyer disclosed the terms of
the will.