Ballbuster (A Playing Dirty Sports Romance Book 1)

by Lane Hart

  “It’s my fault,” I admit, swallowing around the lump of regret lodged in my throat. “I ran my mouth to her. I didn’t know…”

  “Fuck,” Quinton grumbles.

  Dammit. Looks like I owe Roxanne one hell of an apology, although that doesn’t seem like enough to repair the damage I’ve done. I have a feeling that she may never forgive me for the shit I said after all she had been through today. And that thought is more agonizing than getting run over by her Jeep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Roxy

  After talking to my dad for almost an hour, he convinced me to stay in town for a few more days to calm down and see how everything will play out. I can spend some time at the beach this weekend and try to relax on my two days off.

  While I’m talking to him, he even gets on his computer and makes reservations for me at an oceanfront hotel in Wilmington. So, that’s where my ass is dragging to at the moment. My dad is right. I’m in no shape to drive all the way back to Tennessee or anywhere else tonight. I’ll try to get some rest, think things through, and then decide what I’m gonna do about everything tomorrow.

  Parking at the hotel, I leave all the boxes of my belongings in the car and just grab my duffle bag with pajamas, a change of clothes and toiletries before heading inside to check-in.

  As soon as I step through the automatic doors, my tired, shuffling feet come to a stop, and my bag falls from my shoulder when I see him – the tall, gorgeous man with his auburn hair combed perfectly to the side, wearing an immaculate, pinstriped suit.

  “Paxton!” I exclaim as my best friend rushes over and sweeps me into his arms.

  “Thought you could use a friend after surviving camp,” he says with a kiss to my cheek.

  His words, his kindness of coming all the way here causes me to collapse into his arms, the weight of the day catching up to me.

  “Aw, what’s wrong, Rox? Rough week?” he asks while I sob into the collar of his dress shirt. I’m not a crier, and Paxton knows it.

  “You have…no idea,” I tell him.

  “Let’s get you up to the room. Hope you don’t mind me crashing with you,” he says as he lets me go and grabs my hand, stopping long enough to pick up my bag from the floor. “Your dad booked the room with two queen beds in my name since he knew I would probably beat you here.”

  “Thanks for coming,” I tell him, leaning my weight against his shoulder while we wait for the elevator. “I could definitely use a friend tonight.”

  “Oh shit,” Pax mutters before yanking me against his chest and stepping in front of me. “Paparazzi alert.”

  “Paparazzi?” I ask, stupidly looking around his shoulder before I see them, two guys with cameras, snapping away pictures of Paxton and me.

  “Shit,” I grumble, using Pax as a human shield. Thankfully, the elevator doors open, and we step inside, Paxton pushing the close button and number four before anyone gets on with us. “They were persistent,” I turn to say to him.

  Paxton’s tan cheeks reddening in anger. “I take it you haven’t had access to a computer or internet this week?” he asks as the elevator begins to ascend.

  “Ah, not really. I’ve had my phone, but we weren’t supposed to use it unless it’s an emergency.”

  “Oh, well, that’s good. But just so you know, you’re a hot topic – the first woman to play with the pros. This afternoon a video of you in an accident came out, so a few are dissing you. But that was totally not your fault. I’ve seen it.”

  “How bad are they coming down on me?” I ask.

  “Some are saying nasty shit, but there’s a lot of positive too, people rooting for you.”

  “Rooting for me to fail,” I mutter, relieved when the elevator doors open and we’re soon inside the privacy of our room. “I’m thinking about quitting,” I tell Paxton after we flop down next to each other on one of the beds.

  “Quitting?” he repeats, rolling to his side to face me. “You can’t be serious, Roxy. This is the chance of a lifetime. I would love to be in your shoes.”

  “One of the players attacked me today,” I admit to him.

  Paxton comes off the bed like it’s on fire, straightening to all six feet, two inches of his lean height. “Tell me who and I’ll go kill that motherfucker!” he growls.

  “You’re not gonna kill anyone,” I tell him, reaching for his hand and pulling him back down on the bed.

  “What happened, Roxy?” he asks, pushing the hair that’s fallen loose from my ponytail and tucking it behind my ear.

  I go through the details of the event that lasted only a few seconds but managed to shake the foundation underneath me. The foundation that took me years to rebuild after it was jerked out from underneath me in high school.

  “I can’t imagine how hard that was for you, but you can’t let one asshole take this monumental opportunity away from you,” Pax says after he listens to the whole story quietly.

  “It’s not just one asshole,” I tell him, thinking about Kohen and the harsh words he said to me. “They’ll all think I’m a bitch for ruining the team. None of them will take me seriously, just like in college. Just like high school.”

  “Look, Rox, I get that you’re upset about what happened, but are you sure you’re not just trying to find a way out because you’re scared of failing?”

  “That was a low blow,” I tell Paxton, poking him in the chest with my index finger, which of course reminds me of Kohen.

  The sound of my phone ringing brings our conversation to a halt, so I get up to dig the device from my purse that’s still on the floor. I figure it’s my dad, making sure I got checked in okay, but the number on the screen is an unknown one.

  “Answer it or I will,” Pax threatens when it continues to ring in my hand.

  “Fine,” I grumble, hitting the green button. “Hello?”

  “Roxanne, hi, it’s Robert,” the masculine voice replies. My jaw drops and I mouth “Oh shit” to Paxton, who’s now sitting on the edge of the mattress, when I realize it’s the Wildcats’ owner.

  “Hi, Mr. Wright,” I say when I’m finally able to recover from the shock. It was one thing to speak to the Wildcats’ owner the day I was signed, but I figured that would be the only time I would ever talk directly to the man in charge.

  “I just wanted to call and apologize for what happened earlier,” he says. “Even though I wasn’t there, I take full responsibility. It was my job to make sure that you’re safe. And honestly, I didn’t think one of my players would ever…I’m sorry, Roxanne, but I can assure you that Mr. Adams has been released and won’t play professional ball ever again. I’ll inform the other teams of his transgression, so they won’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

  “I-I’m not sure what to say,” I tell him honestly following the silence after his statement.

  “Give me another chance, Roxanne. Let us show you that our team is more than one bad apple. We’re a family, and I promise I won’t let you down again. My daughters, Joselyn and Amber, are already clambering to meet you. The whole world wants to see you succeed.”

  I blink to try and hold off the tears. Otherwise, I’ll be incapable of having a conversation.

  “I don’t want to cause more problems for the team, and I feel like I already have with everything that happened with Kohen and now Dane,” I tell him.

  “After releasing the video, I’m sure you’ll start hearing some of the knuckleheads in the media beating the whole accident to death, but we’ve moved past that, and I hope you have too. If we keep pushing forward, show them that you’re a true football player, a damn good one at that, I’m sure they’ll get back to talking about games instead of the other nonsense. So, what do you say? Are you gonna help us win some games this season, or let my daughters and me down?”

  “Whoa, that’s a cheap shot there, Mr. Wright,” I tell him even though a smile stretches across my face. Glancing over at Paxton, he’s giving me a thumbs up.

  “There’s a lot more on the line than winning,
and I would hate to see you throw it away.”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me,” I say with a sigh, hoping I’m not making a mistake.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kohen

  All weekend I sulked, feeling so damn guilty about the shit I said to Roxanne. I didn’t even take the boat out. For two days I sacked out on my sofa, alone, and flipped channels.

  It didn’t help that all the entertainment news, even the sports networks, were all showing the video of Roxanne hitting me, and then stalking her during our weekend off. She apparently spent a lot of time at the beach, and she definitely wasn’t alone. Some copper-haired douchebag was by her side every second, and the articles said they were rumored to be sharing a fucking hotel room. Now, I can’t help but wonder who the hell the bastard is.

  Does Roxanne have a boyfriend? If so, what the fuck was she doing kissing me and doing…other things with me? Those are the questions that were hammering into my skull over and over again all weekend.

  Today, we’re on the practice field for the first time this season. I watch from the bench in awe for half an hour as Roxanne kicks ball after ball, my dick getting heavier with each one that sails through the air. Who knew that seeing a woman do what’s as routine as breathing for me would be so fucking hot? And why the fuck haven’t I gone out there to apologize? Probably because I know she’ll never forgive me, and I don’t want to see the hurt I’ve caused on her face.

  “Roxy, bring it in,” Coach Griffin calls out as he takes a seat on the bench beside me.

  “Yeah, Coach?” Roxanne asks after jogging over, standing in front of us in her shoulder pads covered by a navy blue jersey with her yellow number three and white shorts, sweat dripping down her gorgeous face. She doesn’t even glance in my direction, pretending I don’t exist.

  Instead of answering her, Coach suddenly turns to me and starts firing off questions like a machine gun. “How are you getting around, Kohen? I know Jon said you shouldn’t be on your feet more than a few hours a day, right? You got friends or family staying with you to help out?”

  “Ah, I’m getting around pretty well, and I did okay on my own this weekend,” I answer.

  Coach rubs the dark stubble on his chin as if in thought. “Roxy, Kohen here is gonna be your coach, trainer, and mentor for the rest of the season,” he says before patting me on the shoulder.

  “Yes, sir, I’ve heard,” Roxanne answers, sounding like she would rather be skinned alive than suffer through a season with me.

  “So, how’s the apartment search going, by the way? Still looking for a permanent place in Wilmington?” Coach asks her.

  “Oh, well, I’ve just been staying in a hotel room until I can check out a few places…” With some douchebag, I silently add to her response.

  “Well, then this is perfect. Kohen is gonna need help getting around and has plenty of extra bedrooms. Ain’t that right, Kohen?”

  “Ah, what?” I ask, glancing between my head coach and the girl who looks like she walked out of a naughty magazine, a football fan’s wet dream.

  “Your house. How many bedrooms does it have?” Coach repeats.

  “Bedrooms? My bedrooms?” I ask him in confusion. Am I high on painkillers or suffering from heatstroke? I’m pretty sure I only had one over-the-counter pain reliever this morning before I went to PT, and I haven’t been sitting out under the sun but thirty minutes or so.

  “You’ve got several spare rooms, right?” Coach prompts.

  “Yeah, there’s two spare bedrooms.”

  “Roxy’s looking for a place…” he starts, but she interrupts.

  “No, sir, that’s okay. I appreciate the thought, but I really can’t impose on Kohen like that.”

  “But you’re partially responsible for why he’s on crutches,” Coach guilt trips her while I sit there with my jaw hanging open, stunned at the turn of this conversation. “And since he’s gonna be helping you out, don’t you think it’s the least you can do?”

  Roxanne opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water as if she’s trying to formulate an adequate response and is coming up empty. It would probably be funny if I weren't in the same boat with her. Apparently literally.

  “Kohen?” Roxanne asks, her grassy green eyes pleading when they finally meet mine for the first time, hoping I’ll save her because she thinks I hate her after I put my foot in my stupid mouth, calling her out on her manipulative bitch antics. The problem is, if I speak up and say hell fucking no, I don’t want to share the same space with her, I’ll look like an asshole to my Coach. But then, if I say yes, can I really endure this woman prancing half-naked around my house even if she pretends I don’t exist and will never forgive me for the shit I said?

  Fuck yes. Having an angry Roxanne around is better than no Roxanne.

  “Sure, I mean, why not?” I say. There’s also the benefit of having her practically waiting on my every beck and call. I’m almost enjoying the thought of this arrangement except for the look of sheer terror on her pale face. She hates me so fucking much that she can’t stand the thought of staying with me.

  “But…but what about the media? Won’t they think that we’re…you know…wouldn’t they get the wrong idea?” Roxanne asks Coach, grasping at straws. Or maybe she’s worried about what her boyfriend will say about her living with another man.

  “Nah. Kohen’s boat is the only place that’s off the radar, with no actual address, which is perfect. No one will be able to find you there. Even if the media was to eventually track you down, we could easily spin it, showing that despite what happened on the first day, you two have made amends and are not only roommates but friends,” Coach says. “Well, I’m glad that’s all worked out.” Getting to his feet, he places a slap on Roxanne’s shoulder pads, unaware or uncaring that she looks like a scared colt about to make a run for the hills. “I’ll let you two work out the details after practice. Roxy, get back over there to the left hash mark and keep backing up from the forty yard line a yard at a time until you miss,” he tells her. After a stunned moment, Roxanne finally jogs away.

  “There’s another reason I need you to be her roommate and shadow, besides trying to hide her from the press hounds,” Coach says quietly to me once Roxanne’s out of earshot. His tone is more serious as he takes off his ball cap and rubs his sweaty head while pacing in front of the bench.

  “Her shadow?” I repeat. Isn’t it enough that I’ll be spending my days with her on the field and nights with her in my home?

  “You’re a good guy, Kohen. One of the best on the team. I’ve never questioned your moral compass.”

  “Huh? My moral compass?” I ask, not sure where he’s going with this. Especially since Roxanne’s so goddamn sexy on the field that I’m gonna be throwing wood in a hurry if I don’t think about dead fish or something else equally revolting very soon.

  “Roxy has a bullseye on her. This is between you and me only, you hear?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

  “Sure,” I assure him.

  “The lawyers are terrified of a harassment or assault lawsuit. If another player says the wrong thing or touches her…well, that would be a nightmare.”

  “And what exactly do you expect me to do on crutches?” I ask, trying not to think about the times I’ve touched her inappropriately so my cock doesn’t get any harder. Thinking about her being touched by that asshole Dane or another player without her permission douses the heat quickly, though.

  “Your presence should be enough to keep the bastards away from her. The rest of the guys will be busy on the field, but you won’t have anything to worry about except her. Making sure she’s the best damn kicker she can be and that no one else lays a finger on her.”

  Crutches or not, I would kill any fucker who tries to paw at her without her permission. Oddly enough, I sort of want to do the same to any of the ones she does give permission, like the dickhead who spent the whole weekend on the beach with her.

  What the fuck is my deal with Roxanne? I barely know her, she
ran me over, and yet I’ve somehow ended up wanting to protect her.

  Roxy

  Oh my freaking God!

  Of all the players on the team, Coach wants me to live with Kohen? Seriously? That’s like my worst PR nightmare. I can already see the tabloid heading, “Football floozy sleeping with Hendricks to steal his starting position since running him over didn’t work.”

  But it wasn’t like I could tell my head coach no without looking like a bitch. He’s right. It is partially my fault that Kohen’s hobbling around on crutches. It can’t be easy for him to do the regular everyday things like cooking and cleaning, and it didn’t sound like he had anyone to help him.

  Besides, Kohen has signed the same no contact agreement as Dane and all the other players. Not that he kept his hands off me the first day we met, but he’s never set off my perv alert. No, he’s one of the first men I’ve met who sets off my holy-hell-he’s-hot alarm. And what did I do? Run him over, hurting him and our team.

  If I had to be attracted to one of my teammates, why couldn’t it at least be Quinton? He’s been chatting with me every chance he gets; and while he definitely hasn’t been lewd or sleazy about it, I think he’s been subtly flirting with me. Like right now, standing in the middle of the practice field, Quinton’s telling me about a restaurant downtown that has the hottest wings and a million television sets with every sport imaginable. In fact, he sounds like he’s seconds away from asking me if I want to join him one night, either with a group of friends or just him and me.

  While I’m certainly flattered, because I’ve been fangirling over him for the past few years watching him play on television, there’s not even an ounce of desire flaring, nothing like the searing heat that I feel in my panties watching the lean, dark-haired hottie limping over to us on his crutches. But then I remember Kohen’s asshole comments from Friday when I was down in the dumps. And the sexist ones before that, asking if I was giving handjobs and blowjobs to the other guys. The bastard has no idea what it’s like to be the only woman on a football team. I’m sure he’s always been Mr. Popular with the guys on the field and with plenty of ladies off of it.