Table of Contents
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ALSO BY HAYLEY FAIMAN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
SPECIAL THANKS
ALSO BY HAYLEY FAIMAN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
SPECIAL THANKS
Personal Foul
Copyright © 2017 by Hayley Faiman
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Pink Ink Designs Cassy Roop
Formatter: Pink Ink Designs. Cassy Roop
Editor: The Green Pen. Rosalyn Martin
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at
http://hayleyfaiman.com
ISBN-13: 978-1979201605
ISBN-10: 1979201609
Men of Baseball Series
Pitching for Amalie
Catching Maggie
Forced Play for Libby
Sweet Spot for Victoria
Russian Bratva Series
Owned by the Badman
Seducing the Badman
Dancing for the Badman
Living for the Badman
Tempting the Badman
Protected by the Badman
Forever my Badman
Betrothed to the Badman
Chosen by the Badman (February 2018)
Notorious Devils MC
Rough & Rowdy
Rough & Raw
Rough & Rugged
Rough & Ruthless
Rough & Ready
Rough & Rich
Rough & Real (January 2018)
Standalone Titles
Royally Relinquished: A Modern Day Fairy Tale
Personal Foul
Follow me on social media to stay current on the happenings in my little book world.
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As an only child, Hayley Faiman had to entertain herself somehow. She started writing stories at the age of six and never really stopped.
Born in California, she met her now husband at the age of sixteen and married him at the age of twenty in 2004. After all of these years together, he’s still the love of her life.
Hayley’s husband joined the military and they lived in Oregon, where he was stationed with the US Coast Guard. They moved back to California in 2006, where they had two little boys. Recently, the four of them moved out to the Hill Country of Texas, where they adopted a new family member, a chocolate lab named Optimus Prime.
Most of Hayley’s days are spent taking care of her two boys, going to the baseball fields for practice, or helping them with homework. Her evenings are spent with her husband and her nights—those are spent creating alpha book boyfriends.
JESSA
I HOLD THE letter to my chest and close my eyes.
I’m in.
All the hard work, all the sleepless nights, all of the pain, it was worth every single second. I am in. University of Nebraska has accepted me into their school. I am going to be a Husker.
Maybe to some people, getting accepted into a public state university isn’t that big of a deal; but for me, for a girl from Grant, Nebraska—population eleven hundred—it is a dream of a lifetime, an opportunity of a lifetime.
“What’re you doin’?” Trent asks as he walks into my bedroom, unannounced, like he has every single right.
I guess, as my boyfriend, he does in a way. Plus, I am living in his parents’ home, so there’s that, too. But I enjoy my privacy, and Trent doesn’t understand the meaning of the word. It is one of the many things that drives me crazy about him. I would never tell him that, though.
“I got in,” I whisper.
Trent puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head to the side, waiting for me to continue. “What are you talkin’ about, Jess?” he asks, almost exasperated with me, as usual. He’s often annoyed with everything I say and do.
“University of Nebraska. We’re going to be Cornhuskers together,” I squeal as I drop my letter and launch myself into Trent’s strong arms.
He catches me and gives my waist a squeeze before his hands slide down to my ass. He squeezes me there, too. “Let’s celebrate,” he murmurs against my ear before his dry lips travel down my neck.
“Your parents,” I whisper as I press my palms against his chest.
“Don’t get home for another thirty minutes. We got time,” he grunts as he reaches for the front of my jeans.
I let him pull them off. There is no denying Trent when he wants something. He always gets what he wants, no matter what it is. His rough hands slide over my stomach as he lifts my t-shirt off, and then he reaches around to unhook my bra.
I let the fabric fall down my arms and onto the floor as I step out of my panties. Trent takes his shirt off before he drops his pants. He’s hard already—he’s always hard—and I back up until my legs hit the side of the bed.
Sitting dow
n on the edge of the mattress, I scoot back until I’m lying across it, my head almost hanging off of the side and my feet dangling from the other end. Trent spreads my legs and fits his hips between my thighs. He leans down and kisses my neck. He’s sloppy and wet as his saliva coats my skin.
“Condom,” I whisper.
He lets out a sigh as he reaches for my nightstand and pulls out the square package.
“When are you going to get on the pill so we don’t have to do this shit anymore, Jess?” he grumbles.
I ignore him. I am on the pill, I’m just extra cautious. If I told him that I was, there is no way he’d wear a condom. I lie by omission, and I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it. I refuse to end up like my mother did—a teenage parent. I’m going to college and I’m going to graduate.
Once the condom is on, I wrap one of my legs around his waist as he pushes inside of me. I’m dry. I’m always dry when we start, and he never tries to rectify that. I pinch my eyes closed as he thrusts in and out of me. Luckily, the friction helps my issue, and I let out a moan after about the fifth pump of his hips.
My body heats and my hips lift to meet his. I can feel myself slowly climbing toward my release, and that’s when he lets out a long groan and stills inside of me.
I sigh, knowing that it’s over. Once again, I didn’t get there—not that I ever do, or have. Trent presses his lips to mine before he pulls out of me and walks over to my bathroom trashcan.
“I got practice until nine tonight. You coming with me?” he asks as he walks over to his clothes and starts to get dressed.
Shaking my head, I sit up. “No, I have those papers to write, one for English and then one for Civics,” I murmur.
Trent picks up my clothes from the floor and tosses them onto the bed next to me.
“That paper for Civics due tomorrow?” he asks as he rubs his cropped hair.
The football team shaved their heads together. Though the season is over, they’ve kept it short as a team all year long. His head isn’t smooth and round. He’s got knots and dips and grooves all over it, so he looks foolish with cropped hair, but I’ll never tell him that.
“Yeah,” I nod.
He grunts before he puts his fists on the bed next to my hips and then gives me a chaste kiss. “Thanks for doin’ that, babe.”
Trent turns around and walks out of my room, leaving me still naked and on the middle of my bed. I sigh as I pull my clothes on, and then I walk over to my backpack and take out my papers. I get started on the Civics paper, Trent’s Civic paper, first. I can’t remember him ever doing his own homework, not once.
We’ve been together since we were fourteen years old. I’ve been doing his homework for that long, insuring that his grades stay up for football. It’s paid off, too. Trent was given a football scholarship to the University of Nebraska. He’s going to be a Husker.
Picking up the paper off of the floor, I stare at it for another beat before I smile. I’m going to college. A giggle escapes my lips at the thought of moving out of this tiny little Nebraska town and to the city of Lincoln. We’ll be over four hours away and on our own, just me and Trent.
“Hey there, honey, you didn’t go to Trent’s practice?” Margie, Trent’s mom, asks from my doorway.
Shaking my head, I explain that I have two papers due tomorrow. She smiles her kind mom smile and nods. “When you’re hungry come on down. I’ve got pot roast in the crock pot,” she offers. I tell her that I’ll wait for Trent, and she nods before she turns and walks away.
Margie and Jim are Trent’s parents, but I love them as though they are my own. They took me in when I was fifteen years old, gave me a roof over my head, and have never once complained that I was a burden to them. I owe them everything—my safety, my happiness, and my life.
My father left the minute I was born. The doctors announced I was a girl, he said, I’m out, and walked away from my mother and me. He’d wanted me to be a boy. If I were, maybe he would have stuck around for a few more days, but I have a feeling he would have left eventually anyway. That’s the story my mother told me, at least.
I’ve always pushed thoughts of my father to the back of my mind, assured that I would never find out his identity. Does he matter anyway? He’s gone and he’s never even attempted to contact me, that I know of. For all I know he is living another life somewhere, with his very own family.
Stephanie Peterson, my mother, wasn’t extremely affectionate. She honestly was busy working and trying to take care of a house and me. She was always rough around the edges, but I didn’t need for anything. I had second hand clothes and leftover food from the restaurant where she waitressed. I had everything I needed in life.
Until the day I turned fifteen. I walked into our crappy, run down trailer and found a note on the kitchen counter.
Jess,
Life is hard. Too hard. Sorry.
Stephanie
Life is hard, hell yes it’s hard, but you don’t just walk away from your fifteen year old child and abandon her. Life is definitely hard, a lesson I’d learned easily from watching my mother.
Rather than make me go into the system and possibly have to move out of Grant, Trent’s parents took me in. They care for me like their own daughter, and I am forever in their debt for it.
I work hard, I help Trent with his homework, I do all of his major assignments, and I am the perfect girlfriend. He always goes out partying after football games, and I’m usually his designated driver. I never complain about anything, and I’m there for whatever he needs.
Margie Keller works at a bank. She’s the head teller and has been for as long as I’ve known her, which is my entire life. Trent and I have gone to school together since kindergarten. She’s tired on the weekends, and the last thing she wants to do is be on her feet cleaning, so I pitch in and take care of those things for her. I clean the Keller’s house every week and do all of Trent and mine’s laundry as my way of helping out around the house. However, she never lets me into her kitchen, not that I know a thing about cooking.
Jim Keller runs the only hardware store in town. They are hard working, good people, but they aren’t rich. Nobody is in Grant. We’re all just regular people—but me and Trent, we’re getting out. He is going to live the dream, play ball for the Huskers, and get on the draft for the NFL. He’s convinced that he’s destined for fame and fortune.
I don’t know what I want to do for a career, but I don’t care what it is, either. All that matters is that I am going to college, I am going to make something of myself. Trent dreams of money, fast cars, and fancy houses. I just want to be able to pay my bills, live a good life, and be happy.
Fame and fortune doesn’t really mean much to me. I want to be comfortable, not have to scrimp and save to buy something at the second-hand store. Maybe one day I will be able to treat myself to a brand-new pair of shoes from Macy’s or somewhere fancy like that.
Now that would be a dream, come true.
COLE
LOOKING DOWN AT the roster of incoming freshman, I cringe. A new year and a new crop of cocky little fucks to drop down a peg or two. They’re all the best at their local high schools, the kings of their little towns, and celebrities in their own right. That is, until they hit my field. Then they’re one in dozens. They don’t realize that only one of them might make the NFL; and if they do, their chances of playing in an actual game are even slimmer.
“How’re the new recruits looking?” my friend, John, asks as he stands in my door frame.
John is the assistant coach for the running backs, and I’m the offensive line coach. Every year is the same and every year is a fucking thrill. Who will improve and who will fucking skyrocket? Looking up from my notes, I give him a grin. “All best players in their high schools,” I state.
“Egos enough to fill the stadium, then?” he chuckles. I nod. “When do you start training?”
“Two-weeks,” I say as I furrow my brow, looking at my calendar. We start on my thirty-eighth bir
thday.
Fuck.
When did I get so goddamn old?
John leaves and I grab the thick stack of files to learn everything I can about my new recruits. It’s what I do. I look at their personal files and I teach myself about them. I learn about them as much as I can so that I can figure out what makes them tick and what they need for motivation.
First recruit: Trent Keller. Eighteen. Born and raised in Grant, Nebraska. Only child—oh, fucking great. He’s going to be a goddamn joy. Spoiled rotten, no doubt. Full-ride scholarship. He has to maintain a B-average to keep his place in the college, with a minimum of twelve units a semester. Mother works at a bank, father a hardware store.
My eyes drift to his picture. He’s a good-looking kid, and he knows it, too. Not quite six-foot-tall, one hundred and seventy-five pounds of mainly muscle. Dark brown hair shaved and cropped neatly, dark brown eyes. Cocky as fuck grin.
Yeah, he knows he’s hot shit. Well, he thinks he is. One week with the other dozen cocky-hot-shit football players and he’ll know he ain’t shit, as will the rest of them.
I check my phone and see that I’ve got a message from Brittany. I also have a new email. I open the email first, since it’s more important than anything my ex has to say. It’s a reminder of a staff meeting tomorrow mid-morning. Then I reluctantly pull up my texts.
Brittany: Want to come over 2nite?
I roll my eyes. 2nite; like she’s still in high school and can’t text the whole word. It’s only a couple extra characters and she can’t add them? I run my hand over my face, thinking about the million and five reasons I shouldn’t go over to her place.
We aren’t together.
She’s a raging bitch.
She’s immature and selfish.
But then I think about the fact that I haven’t had sex since the last time I was inside of her, two months ago. Training is starting soon, and I could use the release of her body. She’s good at sex; good at giving head, too.
If I go over there, she might think it’s more than it is. It took me a whole month to shake her last time I fucked her. But she’s convenient. I could go out to a bar in town and try my luck, but she’s a sure thing.
Personal Foul Page 1