SEAL's Virgin: A Bad Boy Military Romance

by Juliana Conners

  Is this really happening? Six months ago I thought he was out of my life for good and now he’s proposing to me. Talk about second chances. Life is certainly full of twists and turns.

  “I couldn’t be the man I am today without either of you,” Wade says. “And I want to spend the rest of my life pampering my two princesses.”

  He stands up and walks over to me, and then gets down on one knee. Some other restaurant guests are beginning to notice, as they smile and point in our direction. He’s holding up a small box with a very large ring inside.

  “Emily Jane Mason, I let you go once but I will never do that again. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? And Charity’s step- mother?”

  “Yes!” I exclaim, as he stands back up. I throw my arms around him and openly cry tears of joy. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

  He picks my feet off the ground and swings me around.

  “She said yes!” he announces to the other guests at the restaurants, as if there had been any doubt about what my answer had been. It’s cute though. And I love him so much. “She said yes, she said yes, she said yes.”

  “Hey!” Charity cries out again, looking up at us. “What about me?”

  “Come here, you,” he says, picking her up as well. Now he’s swinging us both around. And this is the best day of my life. I know that now that Wade and Charity are guaranteed to be in it forever, it’s only going to keep getting better from here.

  THE END.

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  Out of Bounds: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  Chapter 1 – Wesley

  Damn it.

  Midway through walk on try outs, I pull something in my leg.

  I’m jumping back into football too soon, too hard, after too much time being away from the field.

  A stupid, avoidable injury like this is the reason I should have been practicing all summer.

  Except I thought I wasn’t going to get to play.

  Scratch that.

  I didn’t just think I wasn’t going to get to play, but I was pretty damn sure of it. Since that’s what the Powers That Be had informed me when they not so nicely dismissed me from Huningdale University and from the Warriors football team I had led to victory during my first season as its quarterback.

  “Run through it, run through it, run through it!” Coach Thompson bellows at me now.

  If only his players were as strong as his lungs.

  I can’t believe I’m trying out for such a shitty football team. The Calton Wildcats haven’t won a game in ages.

  Or at least I’m pretending to try out. Even suffering from a slight injury, I’m clearly better than every player who was on the team last season and everyone else who is trying to make the team this season.

  We all know I’m a shoe in. A deal’s been worked out and I’m already on the team; it’s just a question of whether I get to play or whether I’ll be benched for most or all of the season while I show I can behave when I’m off the field.

  Even without the deal, though, I’d still be a sure bet to make the team. No one else comes close to my talent. To be blunt, I’m too good for this team. The Calton Wildcats are a joke compared to the Huningdale Warriors.

  But thanks to the hot water I landed myself in back at my old school, it’s this team or nothing, or so I’ve been told.

  I couldn’t believe it when they told me I could play at Calton, since it had been months since they’d told me I was a goner for good. I couldn’t believe I was getting a second chance. So now I put up with Coach Thompson shouting at me while I run a bunch of lame, easy drills just for show during walk on try outs for his subpar team.

  He’s yards away, but it feels like he’s yelling right into my ear. I have to admit, he’s a menacing presence, with his large, overbearing figure and his red, puckered-up face.

  I try to remind myself that his scary demeanor and raw anger probably come from losing too many games. And that I can fix that little problem for him.

  I’ve never been afraid of a coach, but this one has the power to make or break what little is left of my college football career— and whatever lies beyond that.

  I pick up the twisted stack of rags on the ground, as required by this drill, and keep running as fast as I can. I tell myself to forget about the pain in my leg, as well as this crazy coach’s screaming.

  “Great job, Reynolds!” he yells, as I touch both lines on the field and finish strong in the drill. “Good explosive steps despite your previous hobbling around with whatever pussy footed injury you’ve given yourself. Keep going, keep going!”

  Of course he’s impressed. I shouldn’t have worried, even for a second.

  Now it’s time for the forty yard dash. I’ve done so many drills in a row today after a long time of not doing much at all. I really should give my out-of-practice leg a rest but I just keep running. And I end up finishing with the fastest time of anyone trying out, while not even breaking a sweat.

  If it weren’t for my damn injury, it’d be a piece of cake. This try out is nothing compared to the warm ups my last coach put us through.

  “That’s it, keep going, keep it up,” shouts Coach Thompson. “Next drill. Next drill!”

  Now I touch orange cones as I run back and forth on the field. Mobility is a big deal and I know that coaches like to see it seamless— partly bum leg or not.

  Coach Thompson nods his head with an obvious mixture of pride and amazement as I continue the drill. I know he’s happy he made the right decision by agreeing to allow me to play for Calton University despite my bad reputation.

  There’s never been a football coach I couldn’t impress. Before I was the star quarterback of my last school, Huningdale University, I was the star quarterback of Piedmont High School. And before that, Piedmont Middle School.

  And I was even the star of flag football, dating way back to my elementary school beginnings. It’s in my blood. In my genes. My father was almost as good of a quarterback as I am.

  I know how to walk on to a team. Just like I know how to win football games. It’s what I do.

  That, and fuck up, apparently.

  Fuck up to the point of getting kicked off my good football team. And then needing my dad to pull strings so that my coach will strike a deal with another coach and allow me play on a shitty team for a season, to prove I can stay on the straight and narrow long enough to come back to my good football team.

  “Awesome,” Coach Thompson shouts. “Last one. Keep going.”

  I know I need to concentrate. Kiss this coach’s ass for giving me the chance to keep playing. Especially because he’s big and scary.

  But I’m in the middle of completing the rope course when I see her.

  The proverbial hot cheerleader.

  Yeah, there’s always a hot cheerleader. And I’ve had my full of them in the past— which is part of what got me in trouble at my last school.

  They loved me until I moved on, and then they’d complain that I’d treated them badly. By breaking their hearts I guess. At Huningdale, I was told to find another dating pool to swim in, to avoid drama between the cheerleading team and the football team.

  And I did, for the most part. There were plenty of other girls to fuck, many of whom came with less drama. I should have learned my lesson.

  But this cheerleader is too impressive to ignore, no matter what life lessons I’ve learned and no matter what else I’m supposed to be doing at the moment— like not blowing my second chance to play football.

  I keep my eyes on her as I hop over the ropes in my drill.

  She’s leading a team of cheerleaders onto the field to start practicing as soon as our try outs are over. She’s b
ouncing around as if she owns the field, and them.

  And she looks so fucking good as she’s doing it.

  Blonde hair, curvy thighs peeking out from under a short skirt.

  Tits peeking out from a low cut top, begging to be devoured.

  Holy shit.

  They weren’t kidding when they said the girls at Calton University were hot. The school’s football team and pretty much its entire athletic department leaves a lot to be desired— hence its willingness to take a chance on a damaged but talented player such as myself.

  But the Calton ladies are well known for their looks. Especially the cheerleaders. And this one is the hottest I think I’ve ever seen.

  I can feel my cock growing hard and I nearly trip.

  Not a good time.

  But damn, all I can think about is fucking her. I want to take her and bend her over and show how what a real athlete can do to her. How Wesley Reynolds, star quarterback, can make her feel. And I want to feel myself inside her.

  What I want, I make sure to fucking take.

  So I vow to myself, in the middle of walk on try outs for the football team on which I’m supposed to be on my best behavior, to take that head cheerleader.

  Chapter 2 – Wesley

  “Very good, Reynolds,” Coach Thompson says, clicking his stopwatch and interrupting my little fantasy about the head cheerleader.

  Despite my distraction, I’d managed to finish strong. And now I’m free to look without risking screwing up my try outs.

  I swear I catch her looking back at me before I turn my gaze back to Coach Thompson’s direction.

  “But you’ve got a wandering eye.”

  He glares at me, as if personally affronted by the fact that I chose to sneak a peek at the hot cheerleader. What’s it to him? As long as I manage to pull it together on the field, which I just did, I don’t see what the big deal is.

  “Keep your eye on the prize,” he continues, in a scolding tone of voice. “I can’t have my second string quarterback distracted by every passing female.”

  “Second string quarterback?” I repeat, forgetting all about his chastisement.

  I shrug as if it’s no big deal. As if I knew it all along.

  And even though I mostly did, it’s always nice to get confirmation.

  Because I need this. I would die if I couldn’t play football. The past six months of thinking my career was over just when it had gotten started had been hell.

  I need to stay on the straight and narrow now. I know that. But it’s so fucking hard. Just like my cock wants to be, inside that head cheerleader.

  “Yes. Second string quarterback. Only if you can prove to me that you can stay focused,” Coach Thompson continues, shaking his head as if he doubts my ability to do that. “Obviously I want you on the team. But you have to show me I’m taking the right risk, putting in a newbie as second string.”

  The other guys on the team make rude remarks.

  “He wasn’t that fast, Coach.”

  “Any one of us could do it better.”

  I do my best to block out the negativity. I understand why they’re jealous. I’m intruding on their territory.

  And it’s not like I’m even here by choice. This is my last chance freeway, and I have to drive steady on it so that I can get back onto the on ramp of my main career path.

  “You sure you can handle the pressure?” asks a calm, quiet voice to my left.

  I look over to see someone taking off his helmet while sandy brown hair spills out of it. He’s almost as tall as I am, and in pretty good shape. My competition in the looks department, if not the athletic department.

  “Christian Lewis,” says the guy under all the hair, extending his hand for me to shake. “First string running back.”

  “Wesley Reynolds,” I tell him. “Newbie intruder.”

  “And apparently, second string quarterback,” Christian says, his tone sounding light and refreshing compared to the gruff grumbles of my other new teammates. “That’s impressive.”

  “Thanks.” I shrug.

  “Just between you and me—” he lowers his voice. “Our first string quarterback isn’t very good. I think Coach has been looking to replace him, and you’re probably just the guy to fill the slot.”

  I nod, even though I already knew as much. Calton hasn’t been known as a good football team in years, and none of its players stand out as being particularly talented. That’s the whole reason I’m even allowed to be here.

  But I let Christian continue without interrupting.

  “He just has to make it look kosher, you know? Can’t up and put in a brand new player right off the bat. He expects you to prove yourself, and for there to be no doubt that you’re the best player for the position.”

  “I see,” I tell him, torn between thanking him for sharing the intel I already knew, and wondering why he’s so eager to help me out.

  I say nothing. I could use a friend, and I shouldn’t assume that everyone has bad motives.

  I know I’ll be moved up to first string and that I can help pull this team up from the gutter. But I have no intention of oversharing information with this teammate I just met, even though he’s clearly trying to be friendly for some reason.

  “I’ll see everyone tomorrow for practice,” Coach Thompson says, dismissing us. “Thanks to those of you who have come to try out. I’ll get you my decisions shortly.”

  “Nice, you’re the only one of the candidates who got an automatic yes,” Christian says. “Impressive.”

  “My coach back at home was really demanding,” I tell him, as a way to deflect my embarrassment.

  Even though I’ve been told I always come off as confident— cocky, even— I can’t take compliments well.

  “If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be nearly as…”

  “Good,” Christian finishes my sentence for me, nodding as if it’s a given. “That’s great about your old coach. You know, I’ve heard about you.”

  “You have?”

  I wonder whether what he heard about me was good or bad. I assume it was bad, under the circumstances and just because it was about me. I’m not about to ask him, though.

  “Sure, when they said you were transferring here and would be trying out, I knew you’d get the position. You’re all the rage at Huningdale. And you’re from Piedmont, right? Not too far away.”

  “Just about an hour,” I nod, ashamed to be returning so close to the home I couldn’t wait to get away from, but not wanting to show it.

  Christian might assume I couldn’t hack it in a bigger city, but my problem was that I was doing a little too well. I was a little too popular for my own good.

  “Yeah I thought so,” Christian continues. “I’m from here in Calton. Since our high schools played each other sometimes, I knew you were a beast on the field.”

  “Oh yeah. Of course,” I say, trying to act as if I’d also heard of him or remember playing against him in high school, even though neither of those are true.

  “I don’t know if you remember the homecoming game where afterwards I congratulated you on your winning pass?” he asks.

  I squint at him, not knowing what to say.

  I finally decide on, “Uh oh. Kind of.”

  He smiles, seeming content that I at least semi-remember it, even though I don’t.

  “I heard you went on to do great things for Huningdale,” he continues. “And I heard you pull major tail, too.”

  I shrug, not wanting to confirm or deny. There’s no doubt I’m known as a bit of a player. At my old school, it was a good thing; chicks lined up to get with me. I had a little fan club wherever I went.

  But now, I worry that it’ll be an additional reason for all the other guys on my new team to hate me.

  “I guess you could say that. You a sophomore?” I ask him, to change the subject.

  I want the spotlight off of me in this conversation. I hate not knowing where one is going.

  “Yep. Engineer major. I’m h
eading to a Biology 201 seminar next.”

  “No way. Me too,” I tell him.

  “Shouldn’t you be headed to the athletic trainer’s office?” he asks, eyeing my leg.

  “Nah,” I say, beginning to walk in the direction of class while hoping I’m not slightly limping. “I’ll go later.”

  “Tough guy, huh?” he asks.

  I just nod, letting him think what he wants. The truth of the matter is that I can’t afford to miss any classes. I have to keep my grades up as well as keeping my ass out of trouble.

  “I have a pretty hardcore math and science curriculum this semester,” Christian says, continuing the light banter as we begin to walk off the field together.

  But I’m not listening. Because we’re passing her. The head cheerleader, with the blonde hair and all those fucking curves.

  “Holy shit,” I say, out loud this time.

  Christian looks in the same direction, and sees what— who— has caught my eye.

  “No way, Wesley,” he says, laughing.

  “What?”

  I’m still staring at her. Can’t take my eyes off of her. And this time I’m sure she returns my glance, before bouncing over to another one of the girls on the team.

  “I know you probably think you can have any girl you want, and I’m sure that’s usually true. But not her,” he says. “Not Chelsea. She’s off limits.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  I shrug. His warning sounds pretty serious, but I’m thinking this Chelsea chick is probably the leader of the College Virgins until Marriage Club or something. I’ve known chicks like that before. They like to wear cheerleading uniforms and tease and flirt, but not actually give it up.

  At least not until they meet me.

  She’ll just be one more challenge, like all the rest.

  Until I pop her cherry and leave her begging for more.

  “That’s Chelsea Thompson,” Christian says, and my ears perk up at the sound of the coach’s last name.

  “Oh.”

  I get it now.

  The coach has a daughter? And it’s her?