Wild and Free

by Ruby Jenkins

  Copyright and Title Page

  Copyright © 2017 by Ruby Jenkins (Author)

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Thank you very much for purchasing this book.

  Title: Wild and Free

  Sub-Title: American Football Romance

  Author: Ruby Jenkins

  Table of Contents

  Copyright and Title Page

  Wild and Free

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Wild and Free

  Description

  Julie never imagined that life in New York City would be so difficult. She had such big dreams when she arrived from out West. She would have it all: success, a loving husband, beautiful children. She would be looked up to by her peers. But things haven’t quite turned out like that. Yet despite the setbacks, after five years of living in the city, she is finally on the cusp of a major career breakthrough. And her relationship also seems like it is moving closer and closer to marriage.

  Little does she know that a storm is brewing. Within twenty-four hours, her entire life will be upended and she will be left in a state of despair.

  But that's when a certain sexy, tall, blonde, green-eyed professional quarterback gallops into her life. The way he looks at her, the way he smiles, the way he licks his lips, it all drives her wild with desire.

  Is this the man she's been waiting for? Is he the one that will sweep her off her feet and away from her safe, dull life and introduce her to pleasure, danger, and adventure?

  Yes! Yes! Yes!

  Chapter 1

  Trent stretched his arms high into the air and grimaced. The season had ended a couple weeks ago. He was slowly recovering from all the hits he’d taken throughout the year. But every muscle in his body still felt sore. No matter how banged up he got, he never complained, never asked to be rested. That’s not what quarterbacks did.

  “I’m glad you finally got your head out of your ass,” Glenn said. “There’s only so long that you can play the field.”

  “Is that right?” Trent said skeptically.

  As the wedding drew closer, he could feel his entire body filling with doubts. Was he really making the right decision? Was he doing this for the right reasons? Those were the questions that had swirled around his head for the last several days, weeks, months.

  So many people had pushed him into it, at least that's how he felt at the time. Everyone in his life had said that getting married would be the best thing for his career and for his life outside of football. It was time to settle down. That's what they’d said. Time to finally grow up, leave his bad boy, playboy ways behind. He was sick of hearing it.

  “Listen, I'm not going to lie to you,” Glen said.

  Trent frowned and groaned. He hated when people said things like that. In his experience, “I'm not going to lie to you,” was always followed by a lie.

  “Don't give me that look,” Glenn said. “It’s not like you’re going to jail or anything. You're getting married to a beautiful…” Glenn's voice trailed off and he turned his eyes away.

  A wry smile formed on Trent's lips. Yeah, he's not sure what she is either, he thought. Every week it seemed like she was launching herself into some new creative career: modeling, acting, photography, dance. She’d dabbled in all of them, flitting her wings from one project to the next, leaving all of them half finished, quickly losing her enthusiasm once she realized how hard she would have to work. That's how it had always been with her. Hard work, sacrifice, dedication, and commitment just weren't in her blood.

  She’d been spoiled, too damn spoiled, all her life. Parents, boyfriends, sugar daddies, everyone seemed to beg and bow before her. It was hard to blame them. There was something about the way she carried herself, head held high, long blonde hair flowing down her back, emerald green eyes, confident, imperious, alluring. She was a stunner. No question about that. The kind of woman that oozed sexual energy, especially those eyes and those full, pulpy lips. For all of her flaws, and they were certainly legion, Trent had to admit that he still found her incredibly sexy. Whenever he thought about calling off the marriage and moving on with his life, the image of her large pink nippled tits spilling out of her lingerie, as she sauntered around the house in the a.m., surged into his mind.

  Could she even be trusted to cook, clean and maintain the fort while he was at practice, working his ass off, grinding to the bone, either on the field or in the film room? Nope. It didn't take long for Trent to figure out that there was no way that he'd ever be able to trust her to do those basic traditional wifely duties.

  His mother and grandmother had both been strong-willed women who weren't afraid to speak their minds. Neither one would hesitate to put a man in his proper place if he dared step out of line. But despite their strong wills, they never raised any objection to fulfilling a woman’s more traditional role when that was called for.

  “She's out of town,” Trent said. “Another acting role.”

  There was a tinge, or maybe even a little bit more than a tinge, of bitterness and sarcasm in Trent's voice.

  It wasn't that he wanted to control her, make her submit to his will, stay in the house all day baking cookies. Nope, he wasn't that sort of guy –jealous, weak, and insecure, constantly worrying about where his woman was and what she was doing. He didn't have any problem giving her the space she needed to be herself. He just wished that there was a bit more balance in her.

  He wished that she was one of those women who took pride in how well they performed duties around the house, as well as their career ambitions and accomplishments. He’d hope that the prospect of marriage and starting a family would help Pamela slow down her fast Lane lifestyle, just a little bit. If she did, then it would make it easier for him to finally break away from his own wild, over the top ways. Everything he did made the news, the blogs, the podcasts, trended on twitter, and became a hot topic on everyone's burning tongue. He’d always loved the attention, the fame, the adoration, and of course the girls. Girls, girls, girls. They were always around, always offering, tempting, promising so much with their lust filled eyes.

  “I saw the last movie she was in,” Glen said, looking up and away from Trent's piercing eyes as if he were searching for an answer on the ceiling. “What was it called…you know the one I'm talking about.”

  Trent couldn't remember the name of the film either. There was nothing memorable about it, absolutely nothing, except for how amateurish the whole thing seemed. He couldn't remember the name, nobody could, but he had no problem remembering how enthusiastic Pamela had been when she came home with the reel. She wasn't onscreen along, barely had two lines of dialogue, but the director had made sure that she would be half-naked for the duration of the cameo.

  Trent was past the point where he would bother to get angry or annoyed about that kind of stuff. He’d always known that she had a touch of sluttiness in her. He knew that from the moment he laid eyes on her. He could see it in the way she moved her hips, could hear it in her sultry southern voice. He couldn't help himself. He'd always been attracted to those types of women. The wrong types. That's what his mother had always told him. He loved his mother but never spent much time listening to her dating advice.

/>   He'd always been attracted to women who vibrated with a wild, unbridled feminine energy, the type of woman who would scream, kick, hurl objects and insults, and then fuck your brains out. It was common knowledge: crazy women had the best pussy. And that's why they could get away with unpredictable, erratic behavior. They were the kind of women that men would try to break away from, only to be dragged back between their magical thighs by the undeniable power of the pussy. They were the worst and the best. They were the bane of his existence. They were also the only type of women that seem capable of holding his attention.

  “I don’t remember what it was called either,” Trent said. “But don't worry about it. By this time, she's probably forgotten the name too.”

  “Trent, you’re becoming a little too cynical,” Glen said. “That’s not good for your image I'm afraid. The fans want you to smile and succeed. No sweat on the brow. Cool as ice. That's what they want. The fans and the sponsors.”

  That word sponsors always got a rise out of Trent. He didn't need the fucking money. Not one dime of it. He hated all that image stuff. He was sick of having to worry about his image. He just wanted to be free.

  He could feel the desire for a road trip welling up inside. Maybe he needed to get out on the open road. He was sick of having to walk around on eggshells, like the next wild stunt he pulled would bring his whole career crashing down, even though that was certainly a possibility. He couldn’t continue getting into trouble and relying on other people to drag him to safety. He'd already done that one time too many.

  “You guys are going to be a power couple,” Glen said. “I'm sure of that.”

  Trent was relieved when the meeting with his agent was finally over. Everyone in his life seemed to be saying the same thing. There was only so much that he was going to be able to tolerate.

  He spent the rest of the day at the practice facility, attending team meetings and watching a ton of film for the next game.

  He hadn’t heard from Pamela all day. He’d sent her several texts and hadn’t yet received a response. Not a word. It shouldn't have bothered him, at least that's what he tried to tell himself. But it wasn't true. All throughout the film session, he’d been checking his phone, expecting to hear from her at any moment. He was her freaking fiancé. Maybe he was getting a bit of his own medicine. Over the years, he hadn’t been the nicest in his dealings with women, ignoring them, getting on with his hectic, hedonistic life, pretending as if they didn't exist, until of course he needed something, wanted something from them again. When Trent got home that night, his two pit bulls greeted him enthusiastically, barking, wagging their tails frantically, and jumping up on him.

  He smiled and petted them. He didn't know what he would do if those dogs weren’t in his life. Their love, their enthusiasm, their dedication, their commitment was unconditional. They would never betray him. That was foreign to their nature. They were the exact opposite of the women that he constantly found himself entangled with.

  Trent pumped his fists in the air. He still had his strength, his mojo, his fighting, warrior spirit.

  Actually, he'd already started doing that, investing in real estate in the Southwest. This was another source of tension between him and Pamela. He would have preferred that she limit her modeling and acting and focus on growing his business. But she didn't have the discipline to sit down and work all day.

  After struggling in his first few years in the league, most people had given up on the notion that he would ever be successful. So many people had ridden his coattails for so long, kept their hands out and their mouths open, always willing to receive something.

  Trent didn't know where his career was going. He had no idea. Just a couple of years ago everything had seemed so clear to him. He was going to be a top draft pick. Number one overall. He was going to be the star of that night at Radio Music Hall in the heart of Manhattan. His 6 foot five, muscular frame, and perfectly tailored suit, caught all the eyes.

  There was an energy, a charisma that just seemed to emanate from him. He was the type of guy that made women swoon and made men red in the face with jealousy and envy.

  That's who he was. The big man on campus. He'd always been that. It was his daddy, Big Daddy Daniels, oil tycoon, billionaire, mogul, who had given him that confidence and swagger. And unfortunately, for Johnny, his daddy had also passed on a few vices as well. Drinking and women. And on some occasions he would mix and mingle with some harder stuff.

  In college, he’d been able to cover it up. He’d been able to get by on talent alone. He wouldn’t think twice about staying out all night the day before a big game. And there was no bigger game than the one against Alabama. He was up till four in the morning, woke up a few hours before the game with two naked women laying in his bed, their legs and arms intertwined with his. The room reeked of cigarettes, and sweaty, stinky, hot breath sex. There was an ashtray full of butts. The floor was covered with bottles of vodka, whiskey, beer, wine. And they were all empty. Every single one of them. That's how he'd always wanted to do it. Do it in style, his way. Once he’d shaken off the hangover and few bad throws in the first half, he went on to throw three touchdowns and lead his team on a last-minute 95-yard touchdown drive.

  That was the day that cemented his legacy. He would never be forgotten in Texas. Never. It was also the day that he locked up the Heisman Trophy.

  But now he couldn't help feeling that he’d squandered so much. He’d wasted his time and his talent, two things that he would never get back. He’d become a joke, a laughingstock, the biggest bust in the history of the NFL. Ryan leaf. JaMarcus Russell. He made those guys look like overachievers.

  He couldn’t stand sitting on his couch, nervously flipping through the channels, afraid that he may end up hearing more scathing, mocking criticism.

  He didn’t know what he was going to do next with his life. He was without a team and the season was two weeks away from starting. Nobody had even invited him to camp.

  This was supposed to be his comeback season. He was going to put his past behind him. He’d gone to rehab, gotten his life together. He felt great.

  Trent grunted as he pumped the 200 pounds of iron 1,2,3,4 times. He put it back on the rack. He felt pumped up and let out a loud roar. The guys in the gym clapped their hands, hooted, and howled.

  “Not bad for a quarterback,” a big burly said. “Not bad at all.”

  Trent was used to being the center of attention. Whether in the weight room, on the field, at the club, or at the bar. He was always the center of attention. Wherever he went people seemed to surround him. His energy seemed to infect everybody. But that same energy also attracted a fair number of enemies, people who hated him without even knowing anything about him, beyond what they’d read on Twitter, heard on the radio, or seen on TV.

  Maybe they’d seen a few crazy party pics on his Instagram account and now they thought that they were entitled to judge him. He couldn't stand that. For a long time, he'd taken all the criticism personally. He’d challenged journalists and teammates whenever a disparaging word was said about him. There had always been plenty of guys who wanted to knock him out, put the cocky blonde hunk flat on his ass.

  But no one had ever dared put a hand on him. Was it fear or respect that kept them from cold-cocking him? At the end of the day, it really didn’t matter. Every teammate he’d ever had knew that if they did lash out at him, they’d be cut from the team within the hour. That's the type of power that he'd wielded all his career. But that appeared to be over.

  He was still so young. Only 24. But those college days, running around stadiums in Texas, Oklahoma, Alabama, Florida and Georgia, all that was over. The pageantry, the wild celebrations and after parties. Over.

  Trent was definitely a longhorn. He had a longhorn. He also had a pair of big balls. Monkey balls. The kind that got him through tough situations, the kind of balls that helped him stay in the pocket on a third and seven, two crazed looking 300-pound line defensive lineman, bearing down on his
ass, breathing down your neck, and just before they could get their claws on him, he would juke left, then right, dip and dodge and slip out of the noose. Then he’d scramble, looking for a receiver. Then he'd spot a teammate wide open, all the way on the other side of the field. It was a dangerous throw, the kind of throw that his coaches were always telling him not to make. But Trent had never been one to listen to wise counsel, whether on the field or off it. That’s who he'd always been. So of course, he made the risky throw. That’s how he’d always lived his life.

  While the ball sailed through the air, the entire stadium held its breath. There was a loud gasp when the ball landed in the receiver’s hands. And then one section of the stadium went wild, jumping up and down, clapping their hands, and screaming, piercing the Heavens with their cries.

  Touchdown!

  Trent screamed and pumped his fists in the air. All of his teammates mobbed him, slapped him on the ass, slammed their helmets into his and grunted.

  After that dramatic third-down touchdown, everything seemed to come together for Trent and his Longhorn teammates. He made one great play after another and before any of the so-called experts could wrap their heads around what was happening, a 15-point underdog had won the National Championship. David slayed Goliath.

  From that day forward, Trent was a legend.

  He couldn't help smiling every time he watched the replay of that game that had changed his life forever. He’d finally cemented himself as the best player in the country. Maybe one of the best college football quarterbacks of all time.

  Trent turned up the volume. The announcers were praising him, laying it on real thick. He loved that. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

  Trent hopped off the couch, clapping wildly, hooting and howling in the darkened room. The viewing room.

  “Hell yeah!” His deep masculine voice resounded off the walls. It was the booming voice of a leader. An alpha. He could feel his mojo coming back, the blood coursing through his veins.