Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

T
o Jon
, Cal, and Lauren, for your crash course in what is far more of a thinking game than I ever imagined.

To Nate, for your boundless patience.

To the readers, for your incredible devotion, feedback, and humbling words of encouragement.

T
his book is
for all the Tami Taylors out there.

I
grew
up in New England in the 80’s and 90’s, which pretty much mandated that I was a dyed-in-the-wool Red Sox fan. That’s baseball, by the way. And if you’re as sports-illiterate as it am, it’s the one where you hit the ball with the stick and then run in a circle.

But I have two confessions to make before you move on to this football-themed sports romance set in Georgia.

One: I don’t know
anything
about football - or really even baseball to be perfectly honest. Confession number two is that despite my best efforts at perfecting a mint julep and my insistence on watching the Derby every year, I am sadly
not
actually a Southern girl.

Luckily, I had three very patient friends to help me with the first. As for the second, well, I write
fiction
. So, you know, problem solved ;).

This is all just to say, don’t worry. This might be a “sports” romance, but it was written by someone who has no idea what the difference between a wide receiver and a tight end is, aside from both sounding vaguely sexual.

But sports-fan or not, every once in a while, we need a little (or a
not so little
, as is the case of this book) Dalton Cole in our lives.

Luckily, he’s right here in your hands.

…every inch of him ;).

T
rigger Warning
:

There is a scene in chapter 20 of this book involving assault which - though
very
mild in nature - may be triggering to some readers. Please be aware of this.

O
h my God
, is that his dick?

He’s knee-deep in the pool, too busy with the two giggling, topless coeds squirming in his arms to notice us as we step out the backdoor of the house. Or to notice the look of shock on stunned faces.

My eyes go wide, at the nearly naked man with the chiseled muscles and the cavalier half-cocked grin on his face standing there in the shallow end of the pool in just a pair of dripping wet white briefs. I quickly force myself to look away from the
very
noticeable
something,
bulging at the front of those jockeys.

“Dalton!” His mother shouts again, this time snapping his attention to the three of us standing there. The two nearly-naked girls hanging off his muscled biceps suddenly shriek, trying to cover themselves as they duck behind him.

But Dalton Cole doesn’t bat an eye.

Dalton Cole doesn’t flinch, or turn red, or even do anything much to cover the fact that he’s all but naked.

Dalton Cole only shrugs and brings the bottle of tequila in his hand up to his lips to take a swig. His crystal blue eyes sparkle, and that strong, chiseled, cowboy-looking jaw that graces magazine covers, and ESPN headline interviews, and a major underwear ad campaign pulls back in that trademarked cocky grin. His eyes move over his mother, and my dad, until they land on me.

And he
winks.

I wrinkle my nose.

The notorious, the infamous, the disgustingly arrogant Dalton “Ten” Cole. “Ten” for “Tennessee”, his middle name, “Ten” for the number he wears on the back of his jersey, and “Ten” for-

Well, no, that part is I’m
sure
just a gross tabloid rumor.

Dalton Cole - the biggest thing to hit the Georgia college football scene since, well, ever. Apparently. Statewide MVP back in high school, media darling, a damn
underwear
model, and an NFL shoe-in in a few years.

It’s not like I pay attention to football,
at all
, even with my dad being the famous high school coach he is. But you’d have to be living under a rock to
not
know who Dalton Cole is. And living under a rock when it comes to Georgia football is
not
an easy task when your dad just accepted the head football coach position at the state university.

I’ve managed to avoid meeting Heather’s headline-making, party-boy of a son so far, even though she and my dad have been together for a little over six months now. That is, until this “important” dinner tonight, two weeks before classes start.

All good things must come to an end.

I grimace at the walking frat-boy cliché standing almost naked in front of us - complete with the bottle of booze and the skanky girls.

“
Ladies?
” Heather’s voice is sharp as she crosses her arms and glares at the two half-naked college girls somehow trying to hide behind her son.

“Sorry, Dean Cole!” They’re scampering out of the pool and grabbing towels, and bikini tops, and flip flops before they tear around the side of the large house back towards the driveway.

Heather narrows her eyes as she turns back to her son. “Dalton Cole you
put
that bottle down this
instant
!” she says, shaking her head.

That arrogant smirk drops from his lips as he hangs his head and shakes it, the
picture
of remorse. “I’m sorry, mama,” his voice drawls and drips that southern charm and he looks up and smiles that lopsided, chiseled grin as he steps from the pool.

Goodness
.

I’ve of course seen him without a shirt on before - I mean half of the
country
has seen him in just his underwear after that ad campaign. But seeing a glossed magazine ad, or a billboard just isn’t the same thing as watching him pull himself out of the pool here in the flesh.

The very perfect, very sculpted-from-marble, very muscled flesh.

I can feel my cheeks burn as I quickly avert my eyes.

He casually grabs a towel, still in no great hurry to cover up his almost naked form as he pats himself dry.

“I’m real sorry, Coach,” he says in that Georgia accent. “That was disrespectful of me, sir.” He shakes his head and puts his hand out towards my dad.

Oh, he’s good
.

My dad just chuckles and shakes his head. “Hey, boys will be boys.” He puts his hand out to shake Dalton’s outstretched hand. “You just bring that energy to the field this season, son.”

Dalton grins - that shark-like smile that says he’s won over another one. “You bet, Coach.”

Suddenly, he’s turning to me, those big blue eyes landing
right
on me.

And he
grins.

“Hi,” he drawls out, his voice smooth and honeyed.

I swallow quickly, pushing down my skirt and feeling the heat in my face as he looks at me with that lopsided, easy farm-boy smile.

No, stop that
.

I will not be
charmed
by this boy. I will not be taken up in his wake like every other girl, or recruiter, or coach he’s ever met. I can see right through his “yes mama” and “that was disrespectful of me sir” bull-crap to the cocky prick behind it all. I’ve met this type before, with my dad being who he is. The cocky, arrogant, sports-type - the type that thinks just because he can throw or catch a dumb ball, he’s somehow better than anyone else, or that he’s God’s gift to women.

I can’t
stand
the type.

Dalton grins at me despite the vaguely sour look on my face and my arms crossed over my chest. “I don’t know how we managed to not meet yet, but I guess we’re gonna be getting pretty close this year.”

I flash a fake smile right back at him. “Oh, I’m not sure we’re in much of the same classes.”

Because, you know, I can read, and write, and talk in sentences that don’t end in “bro”.

He laughs. “And I’m not sure you’re cut out for college ball, darlin,” he throws back easily with a grin. “But that ain’t what I mean.”

I don’t
care
what he means. I get that this dinner tonight is important - after all, we’re celebrating my dad’s new position and all. And I like Heather, but eating at her house tonight doesn’t mean I need to make
nice
with her douchebag of a son.

I’ll sit here at this dinner and I’ll be polite. I’ll avoid or ignore the arrogant jerk with the legendary track record, and the billboard-model face, and the infamous
package
, and then he and I will never, ever have to see each other ever again.

“I mean what with our parents getting-”

“Dalton-” Heather suddenly cuts him off with a worried look to me and then my dad.

I frown. “What?”

Dad shakes his head. “Honey, we, uh, I mean Heather and I wanted a chance to talk to you about something tonight.”

“About
what?
” My eyes dart from his uneasy smile, to Heather’s concerned look, to Dalton’s effortless, beaming grin.

Wait, hang on.

I am
never
seeing Dalton again after this dinner, right? I won’t be at any dumb
football
games, or being sweaty and gross in the gym, or guzzling beer at frat parties, so I can’t
begin
to imagine where he and I would ever cross paths.

I turn back to my dad, just as his hand drops to Heather’s, their fingers lacing together. And for the first time since pulling up to the house, I notice the ring.

The very shiny, very elegant diamond ring that I am
positive
wasn’t on her hand any other time I’ve seen her.

Oh, God.

“Honey, Heather and I have something we want to tell you.”

I can feel my pulse skip a beat, the air around me suddenly getting heavier and harder to breathe.

“I’ve asked Heather to marry me, Hailey.”

I see the flash of diamond on Heather’s hand as the world spins, and as I whirl back to stare at the still shirtless, still grinning, still stupidly handsome, arrogant, manwhore football jock Dalton Cole.

My new
stepbrother
, Dalton Cole.

It’d be comical if it wasn’t so horrifying.

Never seeing Dalton again after this dinner, huh?

Yeah, right.

Because I am now one-hundred percent sure I will be seeing
much
more of Dalton Cole than I ever,
ever
wanted to.