ROMANCE: SPORTS ROMANCE: Bad Boys of Sports: A Complete Collection (Alpha Male, Football, Hockey Secret Baby Romance) (Contemporary Sports Romance)
Authors: Mallory Hart
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Copyright 2016 by Mallory Hart - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
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About the Author
Mallory Hart lives in Los Angeles, and can be found either walking her two French Bulldogs or typing away at her next novel at the local café. When it comes to her favorite genre, romance, she loves to devour the stories that will give her a good laugh, and a good scare.
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Bad Boys of Sports
A Complete Collection
By: Mallory Hart
Table of Contents
The All-Star’s Baby: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
Chapter One
Emma
“Sweet thing.”
I scrunched up my face as I darted back to the kitchen. The pitcher of hot coffee in my hand was calling my name. It was a tempting thought to pour it all over the leering faces of my customers. Of course, I’d be fired in an instant, and not to mention possibly sued. The wrinkled faces in my farthest booth were as regular as the smell of grease in the cozy restaurant of my hometown.
“Your table’s leaving,” Lee, the man working the counter, told me as he popped his head in. A sympathetic look passed over his face, but he was gone in a second. I groaned underneath my breath and headed back out.
The men had just paid their tab. I already spotted the terrible sign of coins for my tips. Biting my tongue to keep down a biting remark, I approached just as they were leaving.
“Bye, babe.”
“See you, sweetheart.”
I rolled my eyes as soon as the last one had passed. He tried to brush his hand on my lower back, but I was used to maneuvering around touchy feely men by this point in my serving career. I pivoted out of his reach and muttered a feigned polite apology when his knee bumped with a painful thud into the neighboring booth.
They trudged out to a weathered pickup truck. I shoved their pitiful excuse for a tip, ignored a hastily scrawled phone number, and began cleaning their plates off the table. A couple in the corner was laughing over a story about their friends, making slow progress on their food.
Time for a break.
I stepped outside and sucked in a grateful breath of fresh air. My shirt felt sticky with grime as I leaned against the cold brick of the building behind the restaurant. I was never able to get the smell of bacon and fries out of my shirt. My mind drifted back to the couple, dressed fashionably, apparently stopping in town on a road trip.
That’d be nice, I thought. To be able to dress in a cute outfit and hop around the country. Not that I could do that. My feet groaned in protest as I rocked back and forth on my heels. Two jobs were wearing down my shoes.
But Chloe was worth it. I shut my eyes and pictured my young daughter, rosy cheeks and sweet eyes. I smiled. The phone in my apron buzzed. My heart leaped. I never got messages, not really. It came with single motherhood and well, the lack of friends. Was it the sitter?
My eyes scanned the screen. Caroline.
Oof.
My best friend from high school. I could never seem to find the strength to text her back even after all these years. Of all the people that I’d pushed away, Caroline was still trying to make contact with me. My heart ached with guilt, and I sucked in a deep breath.
All of Caroline’s messages were usually the same:
How are you? Is everything ok? I just want you to know that I miss you, and I love you. Is this the wrong number?
We hadn’t seen each other in years. Every time, I began typing a response but then deleted it. My head swam as my thoughts tumbled wildly. If Caroline only knew… But I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.
I braved my phone’s screen to read the message.
The air escaped from my throat, leaving a tight, painful knot in its place.
I’m coming home, Em. For my wedding. I know we haven’t spoken. I’m sure you have your reasons, but I want you to be at my wedding. It would mean the world to me. Please.
When I finally trudged home after work, Melissa, the world’s best babysitter looked at me with a worried face.
“You look...tired,” she muttered with a frown. “Is everything okay?”
I pulled myself together with a soft smile. “Just the old pervs at work. They wore me out more than usual today.”
Melissa nodded as Chloe rolled around on the carpet while giggling wildly.
“Mama!”
My heart soars with happiness. I scooped her up into a hug as she laughed, babbling on about all of the games that she played with Melissa.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Melissa said with a gentle pat on my arm as she said goodbye. Chloe whined, but I reminded her that Melissa would be right back tomorrow when I’ll be pulling a double shift. That thought sent a sour taste into my mouth, but it was time to make dinner.
Chloe was starting to talk a mile a minute. Her toddler conversation was often choppy, but always cute. I nodded along while chopping vegetables for our dinner, but my mind was drifting to Caroline. I wonder what she thinks about me ignoring her for so long? I sighed over the steaming pot. Chloe began to list her favorite cartoon characters.
After we had eaten, Chloe laid down on the couch with her stuffed bear. I sat next to her, stroking her hair and admiring the glow in her peaceful face. She often reminded me of Caroline, who had gorgeous dark hair and skin tanner than my own.
My eyes glanced towards the bookshelf in the cozy living room. A gold-trimmed crimson spine stood out among the weather paperbacks, mostly music books. I drifted away from Chloe and tugged the book from its place, spreading it out on the coffee table.
Smiling at the photos that were a blast from the past, I thought to myself how high school was incredible for me. Maybe that’s why I felt so miserable about where I am in life now. Not about Chloe, but about everything else. My fingers flipped through the glossy pages of my yearbook. Has it been over four years already? The image of my younger self surprised me. My eyes looked lighter in this picture, a crystal blue that cut through me. Where is that happy, confident girl of my past now? I bit my lip and turned the page quickly.
Clubs, field trips, pranks. I laughed, softly since Chloe was sleeping, when I saw the awkward facial expressions in our old orchestra photo. A violin case sat in the corner of the living room. Sometimes, when Chloe asks, I play for her. Sometimes.
The sports section. I gasped, louder than I meant too. My daughter didn’t stir.
Blaze Hadley.
The same last name as Caroline with same dark hair and sharp dark eyes. Blaze is her older brother.
The last time I saw him was at Caroline’s graduation celebration. He’d come to the party even though he was five years older than all of us. I’d worn a red dress that hugged my curves. When he pulled me away into the courtyard, I remember him whispering that red was my color.
“Red brings out the spark in those blue eyes.”
That was right before he kissed me. Before he became the only man that made me feel that fire inside of me.
I pressed the book shut and listened to Chloe’s soft snoring. The phone beside me felt like a time bomb. My fingers were quick, so the nagging thoughts in my brain couldn’t stop me.
I’m sorry, Caroline. I’d like to talk.
I pressed send and felt the weight on my shoulders lighten. But the knots in my stomach tighten harder than ever.
Chapter Two
Blaze
Sunlight was too bright. The sheets were too silky in this hotel. Whoever was lying next to me was wearing too much perfume.
I groaned as I slipped out of the bed. The woman beside me, a mess of perfect curls dampened from last night’s bedroom performance, barely shifted. Three wine bottles littered the table across from me. Alcohol was easier for an athlete to handle, which meant it was nice when last night’s adventure slept through you leaving, and you didn’t have to be quiet.
My hands ran through my hair. I marched into the bathroom and flipped the lights on. The dull ache in my head made me immediately regret it. With a string of curse words, I jumped into the shower and put it as hot as it would go.
Hotel shampoo and conditioner were bad no matter where you went. Even when I’d been in crummier hotels during college football, they were about as good as a bar of dollar soap. The luxury hotels weren’t much better even when they recognized me.
“Blaze, I’m so glad you went pro,” a front desk attendant would tell me.
Well, that makes one of us, buddy.
I shouldn’t complain. After all, my paycheck is monstrous, I love my job, and the women flock to me like flies to honey. It’s the easiest thing in the world to leave the locker room and pick from a line of them waiting, batting their eyelashes at me.
To be honest, it’s a bit annoying. The conversations with these groupies get worse every year.
“You don’t have a girlfriend?”
“Not my style, babe.”
They should know by now. I lathered the soap in my hands and began to scrub away the smell of that woman’s perfume. The tabloids always have a field day when I’m spotted with a woman, always with several women over the course of a few days. When they try to corner me on talk shows, the interviewers are never happy with my nonchalance. My job is to play football well. I just do that, and I do it to the best of my ability. The women come with the territory. Ask my teammates, they’ll tell you.
My closest teammates are telling me that I’m becoming an old man. One of them got married this year. He’d had his fun, but he warned me in private that this lifestyle could get to you. No human connection even for the pinnacle of masculinity in the country gets to a man.
“You’re just too picky,” another teammate told me. “There’s not a fucking woman who exists that could interest you.”
Whatever. A stream of suds from the shampoo stung my eyes. I swore darkly and moved underneath the thick stream of water. It rinsed away every speck of soap. I sighed underneath the flowing stream. Lately, I never feel clean, no matter how much I scrub.
There’s an understanding that athletes need to be active. We’ve got to be doing something at all times. Otherwise, something tears us up inside. That’s why men fight wars because we can’t sit the fuck down.
No, that’s not quite true. I glared at my open suitcase, towel fastened around my waist, and the woman still dozing peacefully in bed. Men start wars because their little sisters decide to host flashy weddings back in our lame hometown.
Off to Bumfucknowhere Town. Fantastic!
I shoved the clothes from the top drawer, the only drawer I ever used in hotels, into the suitcase. Next, my bathroom bag. Luxury Italian leather that shouldn’t have to be subjected to traveling to tiny towns where nothing ever happened.
My red shirt, my favorite shirt, sat on top of the messy pile of packed clothing.
Emma happened
, a voice reminded me in the back of my mind. I blinked, long and slow. My thoughts were sluggish in the morning hours.
“Happened and ended,” I muttered with an edge of bitterness.
The woman in bed shifted an inch, but her deep breathing continued.
God, what was Emma up to? Blowing some other guy off of his damn feet with that body and sweet laugh, I figured. The thought of her dating someone sent a scowl to my face. She went off to that fancy music school. Her boyfriend was probably some expert at cello or something. He’d probably never touched a football in his life.
Well, there you go again, Blaze, getting pissed off over something hypothetical. Those tackles have finally gotten to you. Head trauma is a real bitch.
I shoved my phone charger alongside two pairs of socks with a growl. The action nearly tore off the suitcase's zipper by accident.
My movements slowed. It wasn’t like I was mad at her. She’d been worried about Caroline.
“She’ll get over it,” I’d told her after the night at Caroline’s graduation party. My sister was as high-maintenance as they came, but she could get over sharing her best friend. She would’ve, I know it, if Emma hadn’t ended it.
The woman in bed was starting to shift as I slipped out, but I didn’t care.
I was gone.
Back home. Back to the place where a violinist in a red dress left a hole in me that no woman in a hotel bed could ever fill.