Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance (Touchdowns and Tiaras Book 3)

by Sosie Frost

  And I still couldn’t believe we had the photos. Every team we played had a folder. Offenses. Defenses. Special teams. Blitz installations. Trick plays. The images were from other teams’ practices, all date-marked before our biggest games of last season. I had no idea where they came from or how Peter got them, and I wasn’t about to Lois Lane this mess to find out.

  If the league president, Frank Bennett, knew the intel we had?

  Hell, if the loud-mouth Sports Nation reporter, Ainsley Ruport, thought something was suspicious?

  There wouldn’t be an Ironfield Rivets anymore.

  It wasn’t heroic of me to take the card, but I had to figure out what to do with it. Any, all, or none of the coaches might have been in on it. God only knew how long the team had been cheating and how many more photos they’d planned to take.

  Until I had the full story and knew exactly who I could go to, the only way I could protect the players was if I kept my mouth shut.

  And that was easy enough—for now.

  I headed to the defense, but that crossed my path with the only douche on the team I tended to avoid. It was best to ignore him, but Bryon made it so damn hard. Sure, the team had trouble-makers—Jack had been the worst before he married Leah, though Lachlan would certainly fill his shoes. But men like Bryon were just trouble. He’d be one of the league’s greatest running backs…if he could stay out of jail.

  Bryon whistled for me. “Hey, Elle. I’m ready for my close-up now.”

  “Not without something slipped in my drink,” I said.

  He posed, lifting the hem of his shirt to showcase his abs. “You sure? How ‘bout a picture, baby? Say the word, and I’ll give you a show.”

  The hump of his hips wasn’t pleasant. That sort of gyrating would transmit six different diseases across the field.

  “Sorry, Bryon.” I reached into my bag, holding up my camera lens. “I don’t have a big enough zoom.”

  His middle finger was anything but gentlemanly. Didn’t bother me. The bigger the asshole, the smaller the prick.

  I’d spent enough time with the team to grow accustomed to the usual alpha-jock behaviors. I knew when to duck out of the way of flying athletic supports, I had a sixth-sense on when to avert my eyes before the entire defensive line dropped their pants, and I definitely knew who not to photograph one-on-one. Over the last couple years, more and more guys ended up on that list.

  Fortunately, the scariest men on the team were some of the biggest teddy-bears. I ducked into the defensive practice and joined a circle of linebackers, huddling before they drilled.

  It was weird to drop to my knees in a group of six men, but ordering around Cole The Beast Hawthorne was probably a worse idea.

  Still, this was an awesome shot.

  “Let your hair down, Cole.” I aimed the camera. He scowled. That was fine—it added that menacing, defensive atmosphere I hoped to capture. “Pretend this is a game.”

  Cole’s shoulder-length blonde hair remained firmly secured in the pony tail.

  “Come on. This.” I gestured around the huddle. “Looks great. The linebacker core—all prepared for battle. Can’t ask for a better image.”

  Paxton, our most senior veteran, grinned his toothy, handsome smile—always good for a photo, though his two gold front teeth usually reflected my flash. “Elle, baby, you just say the word, and I’ll give you all the modeling you could want.”

  “I can’t afford your rates, Pax.”

  “For you?” He flexed his biceps. “I’ll do it for free.”

  “A session like that would melt the camera.”

  “A wet dream come true, Elle.”

  “And yet you’ll wake up the same way you always do—alone and…” I snapped a picture. “Sticky.”

  “Jesus, have mercy.”

  We were still missing one camera-shy, irritated linebacker. I curled my finger for Cole to approach.

  “It’s not the same with you brooding,” I said.

  “Yeah, Cole.” Sean, our third-year outside linebacker, took the opportunity to rest. He puffed hard, resting on his knees. “Take the pic. I need a breather.”

  “Piper says you’re not really that beastly, Cole,” I said. The dozen pictures I had of him hugging his step-daughter on the sidelines proved it. “One picture. Sean, move in a bit.”

  “Don’t think I should.”

  “But there’s a gap—”

  Sean wavered. “Breakfast isn’t sitting good.”

  Paxton snickered. “You ate eight hard-boiled eggs. Can’t imagine why you’re sick.”

  “That was cause…” He swallowed. “I already ate leftover…left…over…”

  “What?”

  “Corn…chowder.”

  Oh, God.

  Mistake. Huge mistake.

  The sun beat down on the field, and even in my white shirt and shorts, I roasted in the huddle. The guys sweated, exhausted, working on their drills and routes all morning in the heat.

  One wavering step, and Sean nearly crashed into me. His muscles weren’t the only things bulging. Nothing cute was coming out of those chipmunk cheeks.

  Paxton shouted. “Oh shitttt….”

  I tried to bolt, tripped over my feet, and tumbled into the grass. Cole reached for me.

  Too late.

  My life might have flashed before my eyes, but I couldn’t see it, not while staring directly into the remains of Sean’s egg and chowder disaster.

  The hot day was made hotter by the splash of liquid hell on earth. But, somehow, I froze.

  I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t try to brush away an unfortunate chunk of egg that had rolled onto my shoulder.

  The field silenced.

  Well, except for Sean. He had the decency to heave away from me this time. Nothing came up. The big guy got most of it out on the first go-around.

  On me.

  All over me.

  Hair. Clothes. Skin. I panicked and pushed the camera away before it landed in the pile of misfortune that was my life.

  And then…the chorus began.

  Paxton had the first solo, diving beyond the fifty to gargle his breakfast with the team. A harmony of retching coughs cascaded down the field, like a single domino toppling the entirety of the Rivets in a wave of ninja-quick sickness. Blitzed from the shadows…and the stomach.

  The only thing worse than throwing up? Watching someone else do it.

  Or, in this case, the entire organization.

  First the linebackers. Then the corners. The safety.

  It crossed into the special teams when our punter tried to do the right thing. Unfortunately, he projectiled his politeness beyond the garbage can on the sidelines.

  From there the bile bomb spread, barraging unsuspecting players in the early-afternoon heat until the only sound echoing over the field was Jack Carson’s bewildered bellow.

  “What the fuck just happened?”

  “Elle, I’m so sorry…” Sean collapsed into the grass.

  It was Cole who helped me up, surprisingly resilient. I held my arms out and pretended I wasn’t…dripping.

  Instead, I silently screamed in abject horror while I faced the team with a smile.

  This day could not possibly get any worse.

  Whistles blew, trainers burst onto the field, and I reevaluated the life choices which brought me to this moment. It had taken a long time for karma to find me after running away from home at sixteen, but here it was. Fate was one chunky come-uppance.

  “Elle?” Louisa was the team’s only female trainer, and she understood most of the difficulties women faced on the team. Usually. This was not one of those moments. She handed me a towel the size of a dishcloth. “Are you…ew.”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s a lot of…”

  I didn’t want to look at myself, but I felt it on me. Tried not to smell it either.

  “Wow.” Louisa and the linebackers stared at me. “You should…go clean up.”

  “Yeah...”


  The team didn’t have enough water bottles on the field to fix this. Jumping in a tub full of hand-sanitizer wouldn’t fix this.

  “Why don’t you…go take a shower?” Louisa couldn’t even look at me. “I don’t think anyone’s in the locker room.”

  And it wouldn’t matter if they were.

  Nothing could be worse than quivering in the sick of a three-hundred-pound linebacker and his foolhardy choice to eat eight hard-boiled eggs for breakfast on one of the hottest days of the year.

  I hobbled off the field, ignoring the squish that followed me. It wasn’t the grass. Something soggy mushed in my shoe, but keeling over dead was preferable to fishing out whatever trespassed around my tootsies. The squeal of a baby stopped me.

  Leah Carson bounced her son, Sammy, on her hip as she took a phone call. Sam gave me a devilish grin, inherited from his father.

  She lowered her phone, too busy to look up. “Hey, Elle, do you have those pictures of Lachlan? We were going to give them to the Sports Nation producers for his interview today…” Her words choked. She stared in horror, her mouth gaping as she backed away. “What…what happened?”

  “We had a little incident on the field,” I said.

  “Is anyone left alive?”

  “It was touch and go for a while. I gotta…shower.” I faked a smile. “Hi, Sammy.”

  Even the baby kept his distance. Leah let me pass as Sammy attempted one of his daddy’s quarterback sneaks out of her arms.

  “We can…” She grimaced. “Meet up for the pictures later.”

  Yeah. Lachlan’s pictures. Leah’s PR firm could spin the hell out of a handsome, first-round draft choice signed to a championship team. That was easy. But I didn’t want to think what would happen if I gave her the other photographs, the ones so burned into my skull the league would subpoena my head for evidence. Leah was good, but even she couldn’t silence that potential scandal.

  Despite the eye-candy that filled the locker room, both the toweled and non-toweled varieties, I usually avoided the space. Muscles were nice. The occasional peek even better. But fifty-three alpha-male, testosterone-fueled, sweaty men did not make for a great picture.

  Or smell.

  Though I wasn’t exactly a bouquet of spring flowers myself.

  Thankfully, I was alone. The only other silver lining? A change of clothes in my office.

  I stripped off the shirt and shorts and plopped the soggy mess into the garbage can.

  Soap. I needed a cauldron of it. And shampoo. Hopefully conditioner.

  I didn’t have any toiletries…but Lachlan had plenty. My turn to haze the rookie, but at least when I stole his stuff, I wouldn’t refill it with mustard or hot sauce. I grabbed the soaps and took a step further into the locker room than I had ever gone.

  Until today, the showers were a No-Elle land—especially when it was my butt that was bare.

  I clutched a towel and crossed the tiled floor, past the first two dozen shower heads and behind the partial wall that offered another row of showers. Good enough to hide in. I hunkered down, turned on the water, and used half of Lachlan’s soap to lather up.

  Dumb move.

  Scent was a strong memory, and I had a lot to remember from my weekend with Lachlan. His spicy, regal tease was just as potent out of the bottle as it was blended with his skin.

  I should have stolen Jack’s stuff.

  Within seconds, I immersed myself with Lachlan. The bubbles were a poor substitute for his hands, mouth, and other parts of him that I’d fantasized about ever since that incredible weekend.

  So not the thoughts to have naked in the middle of the Rivets’ locker room.

  Especially as the second shampooing dripped soap into my eyes just as the doors opened.

  Uh-oh. Someone banged through the lockers.

  I wasn’t alone or nearly sanitized enough.

  I rinsed the soap off, but my hair transformed into one big tangle of suds. I spun and hid against the wall. The damn shampoo stung my eyes. I couldn’t see which player headed straight for the showers.

  I groped for my towel and shouted into the steam.

  “Hey…could I have another minute? I’m…kinda a walking horror show right now.”

  That laugh.

  Of course it’d be him.

  I didn’t need the cat-call whistle. Lachlan’s amused chuckle echoed off the walls. I might have flailed and attempted to smack him, but missing would have entertained him too much.

  “So you’re the one who took my stuff…”

  I peeked open my eyes just as Lachlan tossed his towel away.

  Holy shit.

  He grinned at me. I was lucky my gaze stayed on his dimples.

  “I never thought I’d be jealous of soap,” he said. “I’d trade places with those bubbles any day.”

  He flipped on the water beside me, winked, and ducked under the stream.

  Naked.

  He was naked.

  And I struggled to catch my breath in the sudden heat.

  Impressive didn’t begin to describe his body. Muscle on top of muscle. Lachlan decorated his perfect form with tattoos on his biceps and one very sneaky, very sexy tribal pattern that curled below his belt and twisted around the part of him that didn’t need any more attention.

  That tattoo had been a surprise when I’d found it. The team probably gave him hell for it, but I assumed Lachlan’s only fear in the locker room was tripping over his massive cock. It defied gravity. He glanced at me, enjoyed what he saw, and somehow moved heaven and earth to raise that monstrosity until it nearly hit his bellybutton.

  Staring was bad, but so was guiltily twisting away for peeking.

  I didn’t bother reaching for my towel. If he wasn’t covering up, then I wasn’t hiding.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” My demands still sounded shocked. “Shouldn’t you be on the field?”

  Lachlan winked. “I’ll get your back if you get mine.”

  Oh, for the love of God.

  I angled away from him, huffing as I beat the shampoo from my hair as quickly as possible without appearing like I was intentionally drowning myself.

  Might have been a preferable situation.

  I wouldn’t let him get me angry. “Can you please give me a minute to finish?”

  That was a no.

  “This is the team’s locker room.” Lachlan was loving this. “Maybe you should respect my privacy…or at least offer to soap me up.”

  “Not a chance. Sean went full Exorcist on me. I’m not leaving until I am squeaky clean.”

  Lachlan made no apologies for his receiver which happened to go long. “Funny. Having you here makes me feel very dirty.”

  “You’re always dirty.”

  “You’d know best.”

  “And maybe I prefer to forget?”

  “Ain’t gonna happen, Red. You’ll never forget me, not after all that kissing, licking, touching, and fucking we did.”

  I silently groaned. “You hardly leave a girl anything to her imagination.”

  “If you can imagine it, I can make it happen. I love a challenge.”

  “Okay…I’m imagining you…” I twisted my hair in my hands, ringing out the suds. “Staying quiet. Keeping your eyes ahead. Remaining professional about this particular shower.”

  Lachlan faced me, his excitement so obvious the pointing almost felt rude. “One fantasy at a time. This one is mine.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll act out yours next time.”

  Now I would drown. “Next time? No thanks…I’ll pass.”

  “Red, I’m a tight-end. I’m used to getting blocked.” He winked. “But I always win in the end.”

  My kingdom for a toilet to flush and scald his ass. “Good thing I’m not a game to win.”

  “No, Elle.” Lachlan’s voice lowered. “You’re the prize.”

  The warm flutter inside me was not welcomed. I angled away from him, hiding as much as I could withou
t looking like I was hiding.

  Most men might have turned as well. Not Lachlan. He took in the sight while offering his own show, cocky and carefree, as usual.

  “Did you just…follow me in here to hit on me?” I asked.

  “Think that little of me?”

  Now I did glance down. Briefly. Nothing little there.

  “I have an interview in a few minutes, gotta look my best.” His smile was too damn proud. “Pass the soap?”

  I shook my head. “I’m almost done. You can wait. In fact, you should wait on the other side of the wall.”

  “I’ve seen you naked before.”

  “But you shouldn’t be seeing me naked now.”

  Lachlan shook his head. “Don’t be shy.”

  “Don’t be a pervert.”

  “Don’t be a prude.”

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed.” He didn’t know when to quit. It might have been some of his charm, but it made him entirely infuriating. “You look really good wet.”

  I reached over, adjusting his shower to spray ice cold. “Maybe you should focus on your interview?”

  Lachlan leapt away before the icy water struck him. “You think I can focus? Hell, you’re lucky I’m still on my feet.”

  “Then maybe you should sit, dog.”

  “Leash me up, make me beg. Bark. Come.”

  “You really do have a one track mind.”

  He shrugged. “Only around you.”

  “So why is it that you’re focusing on my tight end?”

  Wrong question.

  Lachlan dropped the soap and edged a little too close, encroaching into my shower. He leaned against the wall, one arm up, muscles tensed. That troublemaker between his legs poised for the attack.

  “Do you have any self-control?” I asked.

  “Not around you.”

  I held my breath and squared my shoulders. I stood tall, but not nearly tall enough. Lachlan towered over me—strong, fierce, and totally naked. The water struck his body, raining against bulging and pitted muscles, tattoos and hardened skin. It dripped from his cock. Thick. Hard.

  Pulsing.

  “You’re not a very subtle man,” I said.

  He liked that I noticed. “I don’t have to be. I’ll let you in on a little secret, Red. I want you.”

  I glanced down. “Obviously.”