Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (86 page)

E
very person has
a story to tell, and try as you might, it’s never one you write alone.

Believe me, I’ve tried.

It’s also never just about
one
person, either. You don’t get to pick the characters in your story, because they just
happen
, and the ones that are meant to be there are going to be there no matter what; even if you pretend to ignore them for a year.

I squeeze Bryce’s hand harder as we watch Logan all but leap down the stairs from the plane and run across the tarmac towards Quinn. And right there behind them is the rest of their- I stop and shake my head; no, right there behind them is the rest of
my
family, the only one I’ve got and the best one I could have ever hoped for. Hudson and Reagan, with Christine clinging to her dad’s good shoulder are grinning as they close in to wrap their arms around Logan, and then there’s Javier, actually
crying
as he grabs the man he once wanted to kill into a big bear hug as Chelsea grins away behind them.

And then we’re watching the introductions as Logan beckons a suddenly shy-looking Sasha over to their little group; one more new face to the crowd.

“You ready?”

I turn and grin at Bryce, threading my fingers into his. Am I ready to finally take the step we meant to take a year ago? Ready to finally join a family and stop pretending I’m the only one writing this story?

Hell yes.

“So, I guess this means I’m in the cool Archer club now?”

He rolls his eyes, knowing I’m teasing him; “Yeah, I’ll make sure to get you that membership card and the jacket with your name on it pronto.”

“Guess this means we need get married or something, huh?” I grin at him, seeing him arch an eyebrow at me; “Probably have some kids, something normal like that?”

Bryce laughs; “Well well, is stone-cold Peyton Rivers ready to
settle down
?” He makes an overly dramatic shocked face at me; “So I guess this means you’re ready to be my good little housewife? Get all domesticated? Cook my dinners, bring me my slipper-”

I slug him in the arm; “I’d like to fucking see you try!”

He laughs; “
There
it is
.
” He kisses me; “How about you stay exactly the same,” he murmurs; “I like you wild.”

“Only if you stay crazy,” I say with a grin.

“Deal.”

But of course, there’s never a “final chapter” to anyone’s story, because the story is always moving forward. Every day is an empty page, and it’s our job to fill them with life; with laughter, with tears, with struggles, and with triumphs. We may stumble and fall, and we may bend and break under the winds and tides of the fates that move us, but no matter what, the story will always find it’s way through.

Because that’s life.

S
tandalone Stepbrother Romance
:

Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

Secret: A Military Stepbrother Romance

Cockney: A British Stepbrother Romance

Crude: A Stepbrother Romance

S
oldiers of Fortune Series
:

Heat

Burn

Scorch

Roar

A
ubrey Irons enjoys writing
about bold, sassy, and intelligent women and the dominant, cocky, and quite typically forbidden alpha males who love and lust for them; gripping stories, happy endings, and enough heat to keep things extra steamy!

In the real world, Aubrey is kept plenty entertained by her own tattooed Marine husband, their precocious and adorable three year old, and one
very
ill-behaved puppy.

O
h 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.