Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

  Ten seconds on the clock.

  No time outs left.

  I would not take a knee.

  Fourth down and going for it—for the motherfucking win.

  I handled the snap.

  Heard men grunting. Muscles taking a beating. Growls, taunts, and linebackers closing in.

  I saw the chute.

  Brooks sprinting backward. He had a straight shot to the end zone if I could just make one more long-armed pass.

  Ignoring all the safe plays, I lobbed the ball deep.

  Twenty-Six

  Playmaker

  Peyton

  I SPRANG FROM MY seat as soon as Rafe got into position to take the fourth down.

  The entire second half I’d shouted so loudly my voice was hoarse. I’d heard his locker room pep talk, approving of every word. And I’d seen him put word into action time after time the past two quarters. Chills shot all over my body, and my hands stung from clapping so much.

  This was the man I knew. The one who could get the job done no holds barred, his entire heart in this game and on the field.

  “I can’t believe it! He’s going for it! Macintyre is really going for it!” One of the announcers bellowed with bone-shaking excitement.

  “Some people might call this reckless, but Macintyre’s always been risky. Today it’s paying off.”

  Serena joined me, unexpectedly clasping my hand in hers while Rafe caught the snap and surveyed the field with that strategic mind of his.

  He can do this. I know he can.

  Ten seconds left on the clock.

  “I don’t know what happened during halftime, but Carolina’s been eee-lectric since retaking the field! Drive after drive with no stop in sight! Stalling out Denver’s game. And it all comes down to this moment!”

  Rafe launched the ball.

  My pulse raced.

  “He’s going deep!”

  Lou jumped up beside me, his chest pumping in and out.

  Brooks was the lone soldier downfield, and the ball shuttled toward him so fast it was a blur.

  Seven seconds.

  “Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” I chanted, possibly crushing Serena’s fingers in mine. “C’mon, Brooklyn, do your magic!”

  “Holy fuck. I’m gonna have a heart attack,” Lou muttered.

  The ball sailed toward Brooks. He leaped up, higher than ever, and it tipped off his fingertips, set on a new trajectory.

  “No!” I yelled.

  With one last push of juice, Brooks snatched that ball right out of the air and clutched it tight in his forearm. Defense was on him. Two huge tacklers. He swung out to the left and pushed right past the first linebacker. The second was faster, gunning beside Brooklyn stride for stride, preparing to pull him down to end the run.

  Brooks turned on one more punch of gas. With his head down he hurtled another ten yards, full steam ahead.

  Five seconds.

  The seven-yard line. The five. The Devils linebacker dove for Brooklyn’s waist, but he spun to the right at the last second . . . crossing into the end zone!

  “TOUCHDOWN!”

  We were tied again, the kick for the extra point would be the final play. I wasn’t sure how much more my heart could handle, but I held onto Serena’s hand as the special team took the field.

  It was over in a flash, the try was good, the ball kicked as swift and true as an arrow!

  Whistles blew all over the place because it was Game Over at 35 Carolina to 34 Denver!

  “Talk about a close win! Carolina Crush clinches it against the Denver Devils! Their first game of the season. Way to wipe the slate clean and come out strong, Carolina!”

  “Oh my God!” My heart palpitated in my chest.

  Lou spun me into a ferocious hug, nearly dislocating my arm since Serena still clutched my hand in hers.

  “Fuck yeah,” Lou shouted. “By the way, Fox, congrats on a winning team and for stickin’ to your guns.”

  “Thanks, Lou. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Serena grabbed me as soon as Lou let me go, then the two of them slapped hands together.

  “No wonder Coach D’s bald. I wanted to pull all my hair out tonight,” Serena said after tossing back a glass of champagne.

  I watched the celebration on the field with a massive smile on my lips. Fans unleashed wild applause. Fireworks shot off, lighting the sky in red and white above the stadium. The entire team absolutely jubilant, the guys chest-bumped and ass-slapped and man-hugged one another down below.

  Then they iced Coach D from the Gatorade bucket, and Rafe . . .

  Rafe looked bigger and better and cockier than ever until his gaze swerved up to the booth, and even from this far away I could read the longing on his face.

  It matched the swelling in my heart. The need to be down there with him.

  “I cannot believe it. Carolina Crush CRUSHED it! We were wrong, folks. This team is strong and . . .”

  I tuned out the noise from the announcers and their beginning postgame chatter, intent instead on the action below. Both teams shaking hands, slapping backs, showing respect. Keeping it humble despite the bad blood that had ended last season.

  When I couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer, I snuck out of the box. My legs quaked, and it wasn’t just because of the towering stilettoes as I made my way down in the private elevator. I should’ve checked my hair, reapplied my lipstick, rethought my whole plan of attack.

  I couldn’t believe what I was about to do. Every step along the corridor, through the tunnel, onto the field, I was beset by nerves attacking my resolve. The probability of looking like a complete and utter fool almost made me turn around with every step forward.

  But as soon as I saw Rafe—sweaty, his cheeks pink against the swarthy stubble, wavy hair wild, green eyes bright—I wanted to run straight into his arms.

  Immediately magnetized to, hypnotized by, this man, I started the walk toward him.

  Waylaid by kisses, handshakes, hugs, congrats, loud voices booming, “Miss Fox Rocks!” I felt like fainting when Rafe’s eyes locked on me.

  That look. That sizzling look reeled me in.

  He had to know what he did to me.

  He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his tight pants clinging to every single muscle I’d touched and kissed and felt sliding against me. His uniform covered in stains, the black marks beneath his eyes slightly smudged, his smile downright wolfish. His forearms and biceps . . . gahhhh.

  In the middle of the roaring crowd, the two of us stood face-to-face, separated by a fraction of space.

  “That was a damn good game, Rafe.”

  “Owe it all to you.” And it felt like his smile shined into every part of my soul.

  Then I couldn’t help myself. Not anymore. Touching his jaw, I rose to my tiptoes, grazing my mouth across his.

  The flame lit immediately, leaping from my belly to my breasts.

  Rafe’s hungry mouth swooped deeply over mine, his growl ringing in my ears as his arms drew me up and into him.

  His tongue swirled, teasing me, reminding me how good we felt together. I notched my arms around his neck, absolutely wallowing in the taste, the feel, the musk, the sweat, the male of him.

  Only screaming loud cheers broke us apart.

  And that was when I realized our kiss had been broadcast to the JumboTron.

  The announcers were probably already breaking the kiss of the century down, point for point.

  Screw it. I was ready to go all in this time.

  On the field, after the win, on live TV in front of everyone, I pulled slightly away.

  “I know I made a lot of mistakes with you, Rafe.” I grasped his hands in mine, trying to make my voice stop wobbling. “But I never meant to hurt you.”

  I heard cameras clicking as the immense quiet spread around us.

  Rafe was the quietest of all as he peered down at me, turning his hands to thread his fingers through mine.

  I steeled myself for what I was abo
ut to say next. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  That muscle in his jaw pulsing and the green of his eyes turning to brighter embers, he brought our linked hands to his chest.

  “I think I might’ve always loved you.” I suddenly felt his heart beneath my palm, and it pounded as fast as mine.

  Boom boom. Boom boom.

  “Will you marry me, Rafe Macintyre? Be my husband, be a family with Callum and me?”

  The silence ended with an enormous swelling sound—claps and whistles, roars and cheers—bursting all around the two of us.

  Daring to peer up at Rafe again, hope surged inside me.

  “No,” he uttered the one word that dashed my emotions with a slow shake of his head.

  I hadn’t expected it to be easy to win him back but this was . . . I was . . .

  Twenty-Seven

  For the Motherfucking Win

  Rafe

  TOTAL SILENCE REIGNED OVER the entire stadium, the team, the coaches, the announcers.

  Peyton looked devastated.

  Fuck.

  So maybe I could’ve handled that better, but holy fucking shit the woman had surprised the crap out of me.

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she stumbled away from me.

  I had to salvage this pronto.

  “Peyton, wait!” I grasped her hand. “Just wait a second.”

  She stood uncertainly, dashing away the tears cresting her eyes.

  Whistling to Coach D, I caught his eye. He gave me a wide grin before launching a small projectile at me. I snagged the little leather box from the air and returned my gaze to Peyton’s.

  “No, Peyton. Because I was gonna ask you tonight.” I stroked a sole finger across her bright pink cheek.

  The surrounding silence held except for Pey, who gasped.

  “You’re NFL royalty, and . . . damn, woman, you’re the queen of my heart.” Carrying Peyton’s palm to my chest, I dropped to one knee—the standard move to signal the end of a play, but this time it was just the beginning of everything. “Will you make me the proudest man and marry me, Peyton Fox?”

  More tears spiked her eyelashes, and her free hand hovered near her mouth.

  “Pretty sure I know the answer since you just proposed to me, but kinda need to hear you say yes, darlin’.” My heart banging harder than it had during the entire game, on one knee in my dirty, stained uniform, I popped open the box. “Maybe you wanna see the ring first?”

  I hit Peyton with full dimples and a big rock.

  Swiping at the tears that kept coming, she held out her shaking hand. “Yes! Of course, yes! The ring doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Just you.”

  I slipped the ring home, mumbling, “Hope it matters. Cost a fortune.”

  But I wasn’t anywhere near as cool as I made out to be. Felt like I’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment.

  Peyton’s fingers trembled and so did my fucking legs when I rose to my feet. Her hand curled in mine, and I brushed my thumb across her lips before slanting my mouth against hers.

  I caught her gasp, heard her moan, wondered if I could get away with fucking her on the forty-yard line. When her tongue lingered around mine, I groaned. Leaned away.

  “So in love with you, Pey.” I cupped her face.

  “I wanted to tell you—”

  “Think my heart’s about to jump out of my chest.”

  She wiggled against me, a naughty glimmer in her tiger eyes. “Is somethin’ else about to jump out?”

  “Don’t tempt me. Wicked woman.” I pulled her against me, nuzzling her neck.

  Cue the fans going wild. The team getting rowdy. And even more fireworks cascading across the night sky.

  I’d won the game. Won her heart.

  And nothing could rip me from basking in Peyton’s glow except when she pulled a slightly beat-up drawing from her pocket.

  “Callum drew this for you because he wanted to be here tonight,” she hushed against my ear.

  I unfolded the picture and, as soon as I saw Callum’s drawing, I rubbed a hand across my mouth.

  Hapy Frist Game, Daddy!

  Okay, and right then, I knuckled beneath my eyes. He’d colored the three of us together. Pey with giant red hair and me in my gear and him, in the middle, holding both our hands.

  “Shit.”

  “We’re still working on spelling,” Peyton softly intoned.

  “I know.” I sniffed, looked at the drawing again, then I held it up to the cameras. “From my boy!” Kissing Peyton’s cheek, I said, “Our boy.”

  Whoops. Hollers. Questions shot at us from the reporters invading the field. In the middle of it all, I only had one focus.

  Peyton.

  I barely registered my teammates’ congrats because I was single-minded. And she gave short shrift to the sports newshounds, keeping her hand tucked in mine.

  We finally turned away from the bright camera lights, and I folded my arm across her shoulders.

  “Come home with me?” she asked.

  Leading her from the ongoing commotion, I finally had the chance to get my fill of drinking her in. And hell no, I couldn’t stop the wicked smile climbing up my lips.

  Peyton had done something different to her hair, and I’d definitely never seen those specific sexy high heels before. The skirt was hot-for-it-secretary-style, and the lace of her bra left an impression on her blouse, as did her tight nipples.

  Aaaand prepare for jockstrap-trapped-cock agony . . .

  I ran plays in my head in order not to throw her down on the field immediately. Because we still needed to solve some issues about the future since we were officially engaged and all.

  “And stay the whole night?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And we can take Cal to kindergarten tomorrow morning together?”

  “Or you can take him by yourself because I’m gonna sleep in.”

  “Oh you are, huh?”

  She glided up against me. “Because I imagine you’re going to keep me up late tonight.”

  Her whisper made me instantly greedy for her body.

  But . . . “I’m making breakfast because your pancakes suck.”

  “What?” She reared back. “Cal loves ’em.”

  “He just doesn’t wanna hurt your feelings, darlin’.”

  * * *

  In the locker room, I had the fastest shower on record and tried to cut out before Peyton had a chance to change her mind. Or the dudes decided to haze the newly engaged man. Or reporters had a chance to pin me down for more questions.

  That shit could wait.

  But I couldn’t wait for Peyton.

  I walked Pey to her car then couldn’t resist pressing her against it. Skimming my lips along her neck, I groaned into the soft skin when she dragged me closer, rocking her hips against me. She tugged on my hair, pulling me to her plump mouth. As soon as our lips touched, her tongue met mine, and the silken warmth inside had me instantly hard.

  Gripping her long sunset-colored hair, I yanked her head back and nibbled along her throat.

  I looked up when she whimpered, the sight of her biting into her bottom lip, her eyes half-closed, made my cock jerk.

  “Think we better stop now,” I said roughly.

  Her fingers drifted through my hair then along my shoulders. “Probably. Or I’ll be too shaky to drive.”

  “I’ll follow you to the house.” I helped her into the car, seething inside my skin when her long curvy legs angled inside.

  “Do you need to get anything?”

  “Got what I need.” I winked at her.

  “I meant clothes or—”

  I lifted my gym bag. “This’ll do. For tonight and tomorrow.”

  With one last drugging kiss, I loped across the parking lot to my truck.

  My leg jittered the entire drive, and my fucking boner kept me on edge. I cursed every stop sign and red light on the way, wishing I’d plowed her right on the hood of her car at the stadium. Hadn’t had Peyton for over a month
, and I ached to be inside her again. Get her naked. Taste her sweet pussy.

  I’d barely gotten my hard-on under control when I pulled up behind her in the driveway. The house in Mt. Pleasant was big but not huge—nothing like Marquis and Charmaine’s almost-palace—and flowers rioted all over the place. Lights shined inside, and Peyton started stepping out of her car before I could get to her.

  Just another chance to admire those long legs I’d have wrapped around my hips soon.

  As long as Callum was already in bed.

  Jesus. I rubbed a hand across my mouth. This was it. What I’d dreamed about. A family. My family. My heart did some serious knocking around inside my chest, and I was grinning by the time I grabbed Peyton’s hand.

  “You look happy,” she commented.

  “I am happy.”

  “Just you remember that in the morning.”

  “C’mon. Cal can’t be that bad.” Taking the keys from Peyton, I unlocked and opened the front door, and ushered her inside.

  Aaaand I stopped short when Phil—Auntie Phil who was babysitting for the evening—strolled into the entryway. “Saw the aftershow. And I gotta say, way to really own it.

  “Also”—she paused for a few beats—“about damn time.”

  I accepted her hug. “Thanks, Phil.” Glancing at Peyton for a lingering moment, I announced, “I’ll, umm, just go check on Callum then.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to be privy to their girl talk. Turned out I didn’t get much of a choice. As soon as I hit the first few steps leading upstairs, Phil started in:

  “So, since I figure y’all are gonna stick with the fidelity thing and be bo-ring traditional after marriage . . . what about that threesome?”

  “After fighting for my man, no way in hell am I sharing him.”

  “Dayum, girl. Way to play hardball. But if you’re sure you don’t wanna share the beefcake . . .”

  “He’s one hundred percent mine. And I’m his.”

  Damn right.

  I carried my bag upstairs, quietly stealing into Callum’s bedroom. He was all splayed out on his bed, and the nightlight shined off his auburn hair. I crept in, listening to his soft little snores. Crouching down, I touched his forehead. He kind of half smiled in his sleep. I kissed him on his cheek and breathed in his scent.