by Erica Hobbs
Hot For Sports
Books 1-5
A BAD BOY SPORTS ROMANCE SERIES
ERICA HOBBS
Dirty Sports
Check what happens when the top football player Cole Brady meets the charismatic reporter Jenna Lee. Their story will make you sweat, exclusively available!
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Copyright © 2017 by Erica Hobbs
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Table of Contents
Hot for Sports – Book 1
Hot for Sports – Book 2
Hot for Sports – Book 3
Hot for Sports – Book 4
Hot for Sports – Book 5
Hot For Sports – Book 1
Prologue
Since the beginning of time men have played ball sports. It has ranged from savage to civilized, and the rules have changed over the years to create different games. Games that are celebrated today. However, there is one thing that has always stayed the same: Passion.
Since its origin in 1869, American Football has become the greatest sport the world has ever seen. It took the world by storm and fans have never looked back. With the highest average attendance of any sport, American Football doesn’t only entertain every fan on the face of the earth, but it touches the heart of every player.
It’s a game with a raw finesse equal to its brutality. The players are defined by it; the very play itself screams the word ‘man.'
Teamwork. Sacrifice. Aggression. Passion.
American Football is almost a religion, and for the players on the field it redefines the concept of ‘all for one.'
They called me Powerhouse Jake. It had started as something I could set my sights on when my reality blurred. My skill had translated into a career which would allow me to soar. And I gave the fans the thrill they wanted in return for the break they had given me.
When I set my eye on the end zone, when I had that touchdown in my line of vision, nothing could stop me. Not the other team, not the hell dominating my past, not a woman. When I was out there the feel of the leather ball in my hands, the taste of sweat on my lips, the cheers of the crowds and the throbbing pulse of my team all around me was what I lived for.
The game had turned me into a professional player, but the fans had transformed me into a star.
Football was my passion, my dream, the blood in my veins. My job, my hobby, the sport I’d dedicated my life to as a pro player. It was the one thing that had been there for me when my life had fallen apart. Football saved me.
Chapter 1
Jake
The grunts of the team in the middle of the field echoed through the hall where the Denver Broncos were training. The grunt and grind were the very definitions of being a man. Rough and raw. That defined us.
Usually, the training centers were a kind of home to me. However, today it felt like the walls were closing in on us. On me.
I stood to the side, chest heaving. My throat hurt when I breathed and when I swallowed. You would think I was unfit. We’d been at it for hours. Coach was on a rampage.
After our loss against the Ravens, he was punishing us. And we deserved it. It had been shameful, at best.
One more day and I would be back in Denver. I’d been on tour for too long. Being away made me feel sick in a way nothing else did. Powerhouse Jake, the big man himself and I was homesick. Aww.
I had a hole in my soul, and only one person could fill it. Rebecca. It was a part of the job, and I was always ready to leave when the team needed me, but my little sister was the only thing left in my life I could hold onto.
If I could play my sports and keep her with me my life would be perfect. But I can’t have my cake, right?
My little sister was seventeen – growing up without me now I wasn’t there. It was a bitter pill to swallow. What did I just say about my cake?
When I was seventeen everything had gone wrong. I’d lost everything – my home, my happiness. My parents. What a way to realize you were taking happiness for granted. I knew her life was easier than mine had been, but I still worried.
Rebecca stayed behind with Aunt Maurine whenever I left. It was another reason to want to get back and keep her safe. Then again, I couldn’t exactly fight off what had already happened. It was an exercise in futility.
I looked over at the team who were all standing with their hands on their hips or bent over with their hands on their knees.
“We’re not paying you to stand there and look pretty, Nash. Get your ass in here, we need to run the play again.” Talk about an exercise in futility. Coach’s blue cap was pulled low over his eyes like the non-existent sun bothered him, and the gray hair curling out the bottom was wet with sweat as if he’d been running, too.
Coach Clay was in a foul mood. On days like this, you bit your tongue and did as you were told. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, tucked my gum guard back into my mouth and ran onto the field. I took my place where Damien would pass me the ball after the huddle. We’d gone over this play so many times I was starting to dream in play formations.
My shirt was wet with sweat, my pants were starting to chafe, and I itched underneath the helmet. The smell of sweat and frustration hung in the air. Damien glared at me as if his fuckups were personally my fault. Blame shifting never worked for anyone.
By the time we were done, I was hungry and irritated. I showered and got dressed, ignoring the rest of the team when they bickered back and forth about plays and fouls. The change rooms were almost universal, blending into each other, so there was nothing to distinguish one place from the next. Maybe I was just tired. I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. Think happy thoughts. Denver and Rebecca.
In the corner, a few of them were standing in their towels. Their conversation got louder and louder, drawing me out of the spiral of my own thoughts.
“If you fumble this play in the game you’re going to regret ever picking up a ball.” Clyde was in a worse mood than I was, and that was saying something.
I didn’t blame him. Damien had dropped the ball, so many times in the play it was his fault we’d been forced to fit in double training this week. One man failed, we all suffered. Was it the same with success? I wasn’t sure.
“Get off my back, Clyde,” Damien said. He stood chest to chest with the Quarter Back. Damien was a lot smaller than Clyde, even though he was all muscle – taut and angry. He swallowed hard but stood his ground. Clyde looked like he was thinking about taking the challenge. We didn’t need a fight this close to the end of our tour. We didn’t need a fight between Damien and Clyde, period. Football already had too much blood and broken bones without the team disagreeing behind closed doors.
“Leave him alone, Clyde,” I said from where I sat on the bench. “We have training for a reason. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need it.”
Clyde glanced at me before he pinned Damien with a hard stare. He turned away, showing him his back. It was an insult. Everyone prayed Damien wouldn’t respond to it. He might not have realized it, but it was better than having Clyde’s fist buried
in his eye.
Damien whipped his towel off and got dressed. When he was done, he picked up his bag and walked over to me. His black hair, now clean, flopped into his face. His eyes were the color of slate, evidence of a storm that hadn’t cleared up yet and his face was set in an ugly mask.
I didn’t even like him on a good day. Today was worse than others; I was pissed off with him too.
He had better not start with me.
“I can fight my own battles, Jake,” he said. He tried to stare me down for a moment before he left the changing room. I didn’t grace him with an answer. We all knew the truth –Damien couldn’t fight Clyde.
Damien’s dad was head of the Sport’s Department at the high school Damien and I both attended. He pushed us both into a better position to get scouted for pro football. It was thanks to him we both were where we were today. I was glad he’d noticed me. I didn’t think Damien felt the same. He was often seen as the runt and the fact his dad cared about me at all was a sore point.
Damien and I never got along, but I felt obliged to look out for the guy. I understood I’d risen through the ranks of football when he’d stayed in the same place. It wasn’t my fault, of course, but Damien didn’t always remain neutral about it. Especially not now that his career wasn’t going very well. Not as well as mine.
I put on my tracksuit jacket and zipped it up. It was getting late, and it was chilly out – the weather in Minnesota was so different from Colorado. I pushed my hands deep into my pockets when I stepped outside and walked toward the bus that would take us back to the hotel. This was the last time I would turn my back on this training center in a while. Tomorrow we were going back to Colorado.
Thank God.
It would be good to go back to Rebecca. It would be good to rest my bones for a while.
When dawn broke, we were on the bus, heading to the airport. The team was quiet, ignoring each other as much as possible. We were getting sick of each other. On the field, we were tight – we played like one man, and we had each other’s back no matter what. Off the field, we weren’t exactly friends. I suppose it’s the same as any other business – you’re nice to your colleagues, but you don’t invite them over for your birthday.
A good rest before the next game, a beer with the team, and everything would be okay again. I didn’t doubt our ability to stand together.
When we arrived at Denver Airport, spirits lifted. There was something about Colorado, it made me happy to be back. No place like home.
I walked to the long-term parking lot and found my car. Sparkling and beautiful, making the other cars look like junk on wheels. My black and orange Limited Edition Bugatti Veyron waited for me. It didn’t even look like she’d been in a long term parking. It looked like she’d been delivered right from the showrooms.
I dumped my bag into the boot and got in. Her seats were smooth as butter and comfortable. I stroked the steering wheel before starting her up. She greeted me with a growl.
“You and me, baby,” I said and pulled out of the parking bay.
My phone rang as I was driving. I pressed the button to answer it over the car radio, and Aunt Maurine’s voice crackled through the speakers.
“Are you home yet?” She asked.
“I just landed. I’ll come over tonight. I’m bringing dinner so don’t cook.”
She chuckled. “I’m just eager to see my favorite nephew, but the food will be a plus.”
I smiled, and she hung up. I floored it all the way to my apartment on the edges of Downtown Denver, and the looks I got on the way made me grin with idiotic pleasure. No one could resist a double take in a car like this.
I pulled into the empty parking bay, next to the other three ones I owned. They were all filled with expensive cars I considered pieces of art. I nodded at the man behind the desk.
“Welcome home, Mr. Nash,” he said from behind his marble fort.
“Good to be back,” I said and pushed the button for the top floor. The elevator rose with a whisper and opened right into my entrance hall. The smooth marble floor echoed my footsteps into the empty house.
I dropped my keys and wallet on the small table by the entrance into my living room. This place was everything I’d always dreamed of since Professional Football had become an option. It was perfect – white wall to wall carpets my feet could sink into, white couches with pops of color like green throw pillows and red paintings. A slate gray state of the art kitchen with every appliance I could ever need if I wanted to cook for myself. A bathroom with a waterfall shower so my whole body could immerse in it. A bed big enough to house four of me faced a top to bottom glass window overlooking the best side of Denver any man had ever seen.
Yes, this was the life.
I walked to the bedroom and put my bag next to the laundry chute for my cleaning service. They would collect it later, wash it for me and deliver it clean and crisp.
I hopped in the shower, reveling in the feeling of standing under the waterfall shower. The water sprayed on my aching muscles, loosening the knots of tension. I closed my eyes and got lost in the feeling.
When I stepped out I was myself again; the smells and feel of tour gone from my body. I was home.
The home phone rang as I stepped out and I padded naked across the room, picking up the receiver from my bedside table.
“Front desk let me know you’re back, sir.” It was Francois, my personal chef. “What would you like me to prepare for the evening?” Having a cook at my place catering for my every need as well as any possible guest’s was the cherry on top of this delectable cake.
“I’m not eating at home tonight, thank you.”
“Very well, sir. Have a good evening.”
The phone went dead, and I hung up. I walked over to the closet, and the lights switched on as I opened its doors, and picked out clothes for the evening. Designer jeans, a collared shirt which put my muscles on display, and Italian loafers.
Finally, I left for Aunt Maurine’s. Getting back in my car I could feel it up all over again. I stopped for takeaway on the way, and I got something of everything, building an appetite as I picked and sorted through the options. After a while, I was back in the car, driving the lazy road which led to the old family home where I’d grown up.
Chapter 2
Alyssa
The world was still cold after the long night, and the air had the quality of darkness in it. It tasted fresh on my tongue, burning my lungs. It was the taste of freedom.
My feet beat out a tattoo on the tarmac as I ran and matched the rhythm to my breathing. Two steps in, two steps out. My muscles were conditioned. My body knew what to do, and it did it without resistance. Running made me feel fresh, it helped me clear my mind. There was this certain satisfaction I felt when I asked my body to do something, and it complied perfectly.
“How do you do this three times a week?” Matt panted behind me, pulling me out of my bubble. I slowed my pace so he could catch up with me. His breath raced in and out of his lungs, his body was hunched over, and he plodded ahead. He was definitely not the athlete type.
“It helps if you keep at it,” I said. My cousin wasn’t fit at all. The only reason he had agreed on running with me this morning was because we had argued about fitness and he said something about guys doing it better.
Well, he was now starting to see my point.
Matt stopped and bent forward, leaning on his knees. He was trying wildly to draw air into his lungs. His body would already be respiring without the oxygen it needed. His muscles would fill with lactic acid. He was going to feel this the next morning. I couldn’t help but grin. This was what happened when you argued with Alyssa Ryan.
I jogged on one spot for a while, waiting for him to recover. When he didn’t, I stopped and sighed.
“It’s okay, Matti Let’s go back.”
He straightened out. His cheeks were flushed with bright pink spots, and his eyes were glazed. His dark hair was wet with sweat against his forehead, and there were da
rk patches under his arms and around his neckline, too. I still looked fresh and clean.
“Thanks,” he said and swallowed hard. We turned to go back home. I walked next to him and tried not to think of the road stretching out behind us and the miles begging for me to run them. I could always come out again tomorrow morning, I thought. No big deal, I was just going to have to suffer from the athlete’s version of blue balls for a day.
“You don’t have to walk back with me,” Matt said.
I smirked. “Come on, I’m not going to let you sneak back inside without everyone knowing how you just saw your ass.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. You win. Happy?”