by Aubrey Irons
Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance
Aubrey Irons
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Also by Aubrey Irons
Mailing List
About the Author
Special Edition Bonus Books:
Cockney: A British Stepbrother Romance
Heat: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance
Copyright © 2016 Aubrey Irons
Cover & Interior Design: Aubrey Irons
Cover Photos: VishStudio, Nejron
Editor: Sennah Tate
Formatting: Vellum
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The school, team, and town involved in this book are entirely fictitious.
The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please do not continue reading this book of you are under the age of 18 or are offended by content of this nature.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older and are in no way blood relations. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
CLICK HERE to find the rest of Aubrey Irons’s catalog on Amazon!
To 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.
This book is for all the Tami Taylors out there.
Author’s Note
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 ;).
Trigger 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.
1
Hailey
Oh 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.
2
Hailey
I’m standing there frozen to the spot with the dripping wet, smirking, practically naked Dalton Cole just grinning at me as the full gravity of this hits me.
I whirl to my dad. “You what?”
He frowns. “Kiddo, maybe we should talk about this later.”
Heather puts a hand on his arm. “Jim, let her talk.” She turns to me and smiles warmly. “Speak your piece, honey, this involves you too.”
I shake my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
My dad laughs, “Well, I was going to-”
“Dang, I’m sorry, Coach,” Dalton cuts in with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He shakes his head remorsefully, but when I look up at him, I can see that little smirking glimmer in his eyes.
He thinks this is funny.
I’m blinking rapidly, opening and closing my mouth like a fish as I search for words before finally they just come tumbling out of me. “But- why?”
Dad laughs, “Because we love each other, and that’s what grown adults who love each other tend to do, kiddo.”
Gee, thanks.
Heather’s cheeks go a little pink at my dad’s words, which would be cute in literally any situation but this one. “Well, and also because your dad is an amazing man, Hailey,” she smiles at me as she reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “And we’ve both lost partners, we’re both single parents, we’re both teachers, and we just sort of clicked, I guess.”
“But you’re a coach, not a teacher,” I turn and spit out at my dad, regretting it instantly and realizing how childish it sounds.
Dad frowns and turns to Heather. “Would you, uh- would you give us a minute?”
She nods. “Oh, of course.” She yanks the bottle of tequila out of Dalton’s hand and goes to pull him inside, but he steps forward.
“Coach? I just want to say it’s a real honor to get to play for you this year, and well, if I can just say personally,” he beams that charming, disarming, farm-boy smile. “I’m real glad you’re with my mom.”
You little suck-up.
How are either of them possibly buying this? I’ve never even met Dalton before, and even I know what a legendary little shit he is. Even I know about the trail of models and actresses and any number of football groupies he’s left in his wake of destruction. I know all about his much-publicized party-boy antics - the charmed, gilded, X-rated lifestyle of a sports “star”.
Dalton Cole is a gross, overly-macho, arrogantly pompous manwhore of a human being, but Dad and Heather seem to be eating this “charming southern boy” bullshit right up.
“It means a lot, son, thank you,” Dad says with an easy smile and a firm nod of his head. Dalton stumbles off for the garage - still towel-clad - and Heather and my dad exchange another
look before she ducks into the house.
Dad’s smile fades as he turns his attention to me. “Hey, c’mon, Hails!” He shakes his head. “I know I should’ve told you sooner, but you couldn’t have been totally unprepared for this.”
I shrug sullenly. “I guess.”
“Look, honey, I know you’re upset with me for not telling you before I popped the question. And I know your first semester of college isn’t starting the way you planned, but try not to take any of that out on Heather, okay?”
Not starting the way you planned.
Yeah, no kidding.
The plan was Columbia University. The plan was finally getting the heck out of Georgia, and away from football, and finally starting my life as an adult.
Of course, that plan changed with one simple letter - the one that “regretted to inform me” that even though I was “highly qualified” for their pre-med program, they were deferring me one semester due to class-space reasons.
Deferring - that’s college-talk for not “getting the heck out of Georgia”, not “getting away from football”, and not “finally starting my life”.
That’s college-speak for letting you loose in the wild with zero back-up plan about a month before you thought you were going.
So instead, I’ve got a boring state school where I don’t know anyone, a new stepmom, and a new stepbrother who’s somehow nationally famous for football and his…
…Yeah, that.
“Georgia State College is a great school, Hails,” My dad runs a hand through his silvered but still full head of hair. “And hey, can’t beat that free tuition, huh?” he says with a sheepish shrug.
Perks of the lauded new head football coach being your dad - and I suppose of your new stepmom being the Dean. That is, if you want to call giving up your dream of Columbia University and New York City for a state school in Dixon, Georgia perks.
“How soon is the wedding?” It feels bizarre to even say out loud. Dad and I have been our own little two-person team for so long, it seems strange to think about that expanding to include Heather.