Quarterback: Bad Boy Sport Star Romance.

BOOK: Quarterback: Bad Boy Sport Star Romance.
3.04Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Bad Boy Sport-star


Emma Jones

Copyright © 2015 by Emma Jones.

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, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18. All characters in the book are 18+ years of age, non-blood related, and all sexual acts are consensual.







Chapter 1.

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“Hey, Action! Think fast!” The voice rang across the cafeteria, and I glanced up from my lunch just in time to see the apple being launched my way. My hand shot up to catch it without thought, snagging the fruit from the air and chucking it back where it had come from. It hit the culprit square in the chest, and the kid--an underclassman I didn’t know--fumbled it, letting the apple bounce off his chest as he scrambled to control it. He watched it roll across the floor with a look of sheer disappointment as his buddy commiserated by patting him on the shoulder, though he was also laughing.

“You’re losing your touch, Action,” I heard Jude’s voice over my shoulder and a moment later, the receiver came into view, grinning and dropping onto a seat across from me.

“Are you kidding? That was right in the sweet spot. Not my fault the kid catches like you do.”

Jude just grinned wider and tossed a roll my way. I caught it and bit into it with relish.
“Hey,” Jude said. “You hitting the party tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I answered with a shrug. “I thought I might skip it.”

“You’re kidding right? Drew says the girls at his sister house are fine as fuck. It’d be a cakewalk for you.”

I shrugged again. I knew I’d built up a hell of a reputation in my first couple of years in college for working my way through every girl on campus, and it hadn’t been far off the mark. Lately, though, I was starting to get tired of the game. It wasn’t any fun when you could just snap your fingers and have a girl in your lap. Especially when you woke up the next morning absolutely certain you couldn’t stand to have an actual conversation with her.

The morning after with the last girl was a complete disaster. We’d had a great time the night before. We saw a show at the Orpheum. The band was bangin and so was she. A hot night and a cup of coffee later she was boring me to death going on about her shoe collection and the strappy bright pink something-er-others that she just had to get next. I couldn’t believe she had sounded like that the night before, but maybe between the music and the booze there hadn’t been much time for talk. I mean, she did have a great body, but how could a man ever spend any actual time with a woman like that?

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, man,” Jude added. He liked showing off his English lit skills ever since he aced that class freshman year. I put up with it only because I knew Jude only bragged because it embarrassed him a little. Nobody expected him to do well in his classes, nobody expected it of me either. For all that we were officially here to get an education, it was our prowess on the field that was keeping us in the university.

“There are never any rosebuds at those kind of parties,” I retorted.

“So gather your fifty cent carnations. They look just as pretty, and you don’t care if they last that long.”

“You,” I said, punctuating my sentence with a jab of my fork in Jude’s direction, “are the reason people think football players are pigs.”

“Maybe so, man,” Jude agreed. “But you got to take some credit for that your own self, Action Jackson.” My nickname slid off Jude’s tongue as the retriever nodded to a group of girls watching us eat and giggling. One of them seemed to be pushed forward by the others, and she skittered up to our table.

“You’re Malcolm Jackson, right? Action Jackson?” she said, her smile bright, hair blonde, tits perky.

I was about to answer when Jude leaned in to cut me off. “That depends on who’s asking, sweetheart,” he said. “But I’m his social secretary, so you can go through me.”

“Oh!” the girl said, giggling more and tugging at the hem of her just-too-short-to-be-innocent skirt. “You’re Jude Ferris, right? I saw you play last week. That catch you made in the fourth quarter? You were amazing.”

“Well, thanks, sweetheart,” Jude all but purred, and I just sat back to watch him work. “Now...what can we do for a sweet, young thing like you?”

Young was right. Both Jude and I were fifth year seniors, having redshirted our freshman year. This girl had to be a freshman herself, only just 18 by the look of it. “Well...we were just wondering…” She glanced back over her shoulder at her friends. “I mean...my friends and I wanted to know if you were going to the Kappa Kappa Phi party tonight.”

I had a polite refusal all queued up when Jude jumped in again. “If you’re going to be there, baby, you can count in my buddy and me showing up too.”

There was another giggle from her that set off an even bigger one from the group behind her. “Oh, I’ll be there.”

“Then I hope to see you,” Jude said smoothly. I started on his polite nice-to-meet-you smile and then she fished a red Sharpie from her purse.

“Also...would you sign my shirt?”

“I’d be happy…” Jude started, but the girl offered the pen to me.

I shrugged, giving Jude an apologetic look. Not like this was the first time this had happened to us. “Um...yeah, sure,” I said, taking hold of the pen and uncapping it. “Where do you want it?”

“Right here,” she said, gesturing to a spot right over those perfect, perky tits.

My smile stayed plastered on. I wondered idly if I should be counting how many girls I’d surreptitiously felt up while signing jerseys over the last four years.

By the time the girls headed off to their own lunch, Jude was almost in tears from holding back laughter. I bit into my burger with a growl. “This is why I don’t like eating in the cafeteria.”

I eventually agreed to go to the party, but only because Jude had threatened to sit on the desk under his loft bed singing
It’s a Small World After All
until graduation came, if I didn’t stop with this “lame ass fucking social anxiety phase he was going through” and man up.

”Dudes like you have an obligation to the lowly ones, those who can’t get any chick they want, whenever they want them. You got to go get ‘em for the lesser dude, Mal. You got to get your action back. Come on! Besides,” he added, smirking, “you know it’s my job to catch what you throw at me. All I’m asking is for you to throw a little of that tail my way.” 

As Jude stood up from his seat on the desk and headed for the door, thinking his speech had inspired a change of heart, I picked up my Xbox controller and started playing video games, Jude started singing. After half an hour Jude was
singing, giggling a little here and there when he would confuse a word or lose his breath. He looked just as determined and just as amused at himself as he had when he took a deep breath, shook his head at me and belted out the first note. Jude fancied himself a brilliant baritone. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was fucking tone deaf. I shook his head and laughed, got off his bed, put the Xbox controller down, and went to take a shower and get ready for the party. As I walked into the bathroom with my towel, Jude yelled, “Action, you’re an easy mark!” I just walked away, towel over my left shoulder, right arm in the air, middle finger extended.

Chapter 2.


By the time we arrived at the party, we were, much to my chagrin, fashionably late. When I came to these things, I liked to either get there early, so I could find a place and park it and let my boys come to me, or with an entire posse. Showing up late with just Jude for backup meant that anybody who wanted to could get to me before I found the rest of the team.

I managed to fend off any offers of a drink. Not many people were stupid enough to try and roofie the star quarterback at a frat party--my 220 pounds meant I’d be nearly impossible to wrangle as dead weight--but I still didn’t like the idea of drinking something I hadn’t poured myself.

By the time I found a couch full of guys from the team, though, I also had three girls hanging on my arms and had signed another two jerseys. It was going to be a long fucking night, and I was going to make Jude pay. Forever.

I’d trusted Drew to find me a beer, but I was sticking to just one that night. We had a game tomorrow, and I couldn’t afford to piss Coach off.

By the time I’d gotten halfway through my beer, two of the girls I’d practically carried to the couch were plastered onto my teammates, and I was happy to let them go. The one I hadn’t managed to shake was stroking perfectly manicured fingers over my bicep.

“So this is the moneymaker, huh?” she asked, and I nodded, turning on my charming smile as a matter of instinct.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“You think you could throw me with it?” she continued, scooting closer, all but oozing into my lap.

I was about to give the girl a suitably coy response when I looked up and saw someone I had never expected to see at a party like this. Kasey Jacobs was in my art history class sophomore year. She hadn’t looked at me once during the whole semester. I guess she preferred to keep her head down, furiously scribbling notes and occasionally wiping ink from her nose. I got a bit of a crush, but she didn’t throw herself at me like the other girls did. It was the first time I’d realized that I had no idea how to actually approach a girl.

And okay, I admit it. I basically stalked her for a few weeks, trying to figure out her class schedule and any clubs or activities she was involved in so I could show up randomly in the hopes that she’d recognize me and say hi. I’d even gone to an intramural softball game to see her play once. She was good. Not professional good, but definitely too good to play intramural. She’d pitched a no-hitter. I couldn’t bring myself to wait outside the locker room for her autograph, so I’d scurried away like I was fucking ashamed to be there. Really, I had just felt a little awkward. I took up more of the metal bleachers than the next three people, and everyone looked at me like they were wondering what on earth I was doing there.)

I’d never once seen her at a party, not in the last four years.

I looked at my teammates. They were covered in smears of shiny lip gloss, and one of them had his head thrown back, eyebrows arched, as he guided a girl’s head down to his belt buckle. The girl was clearly drunk, her eyes squinted and her mouth was upturned in a lazy smile--just the two corners perked upward toward the downward furrow of her brow and she fiddled with the buckle. She giggled a little when she managed it. I shook my head and looked back to Kasey. Squinty Girl was wearing a tight little black number that had cutouts in all the right places--just enough fabric to keep the legal bits covered. Kasey looked hot. But she wasn’t quite as intentional about the whole thing. Her hair was pulled back in a quick bun thing. She was wearing a green flannel shirt and jeans that hugged her enticing curves in a way that managed to be casual rather than contrived. I was thinking about how gorgeous her green eyes were as they contrasted with her auburn curls when I realized that without thinking I had gotten up and away from the burgeoning orgy that had started around me and had walked myself right up to Kasey.

For once, she wasn’t looking down. She met my gaze, and her eyes widened a little, as though she hadn’t expected to see me there, and then my eyes turned steely, determined. I was more than familiar with that look. It was a look I saw all too often from an opposing linebacker determined to get the sack. I wasn’t sure what to make of it coming from those bright green eyes I’d fantasized to more than once.

“Hey,” I said, giving her a smile, still not sure if she remembered that art history class or just knew my face from the TV. I knew I had a memorable face. I had a memorable a lot of things, actually. My fingers traced along the curl of one tattoo where it swept around my neck, and they stopped to tug at the zero gage plug in my ear.

“Hey,” she said, sounding breathless and still determined. The sound went straight to my dick, and I unconsciously leaned closer. “Jackson, right? Action Jackson?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, now rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s Mal, actually.” I had no idea why I said that. I never really cared if my hook-ups just called me Jackson, or even just Action.

“Mal,” she repeated, and my name rolling around in her mouth like that made it impossible for me not to stare at her lips. They tugged up into a smirk that I told myself was pleased, like she approved of my name and the way it felt.

“Yeah.” Her smile was contagious, and I found myself answering it with a wide grin. “Kasey, isn’t it?”

“You remember me?” she asked, and I felt a warmth spread through him that she remembered too.

“Of course I remember you. Hard to forget a pretty…” I stopped there. I didn’t want to do this with her. I didn’t want to pull out the lines I knew would get her to bed. If we got there, I wanted it to happen naturally. Besides, this wasn’t the kind of girl I was used to talking to, maybe those lines would just make me look like a dumb jock. I really didn’t need to do anything to bolster that stereotype. “I just mean, it’s hard to forget a girl who tears up when she hears her professor read a few translated pages of Pliny the Elder in Art History Class.”

She smiled at my recovery, “Are you calling me a nerd, Mr. Action?”

Was she flirting with me? “I mean, is there something wrong with being a nerd?” I asked smiling right back.

Her eyebrows raised, and she leaned in close, close enough that her breasts pressed lightly against my abdomen. It was only then that I realized just how small she was next to him. On the diamond, she’d been a powerhouse, a finely tuned machine. I’d imagined that she felt the way I felt facing down an offensive line: invincible, on top of the world. “So you know what interests me. What...piques your interest?” she said, giving the same smile she’d had before, the one that warmed my already heated blood. I thought I must be imagining her gaze flicking down to my crotch and back.

I cleared my throat and leaned against a wall on his right to steady himself. “What piques my interest?” I asked as I inched closer, the soft scent of soap reaching him from her warm body. “I want to know what you see in old Pliny. What’s his secret? How does he have you so distracted?”
How do you have me so distracted?
I thought but didn’t voice.

“Do you really want to talk about Pliny?” she asked, leaning closer still, her smile a little nervous but with the same confidence I’d seen from her on the field. Her hand came up and rested on my chest, light and easy, and my blood pulsed through my veins as she added, “Or are you just trying to get me alone?”

I could feel the soft swell of her tits through the flannel of her shirt, and my own hips canted forward at the same time as hers, bringing them together unexpectedly. I sucked in a sharp breath. It seemed like she really was determined to get the sack. Kasey was still as smart, as witty, and as hot as I remembered, but something was definitely different about the girl standing in front of me than the girl I’d watched in class, and I couldn’t wait to find out what. I took a deep breath. I hadn’t felt this good about leaving a party with a girl in a long time. I leaned, put my hands on her hips, pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go.”

BOOK: Quarterback: Bad Boy Sport Star Romance.
3.04Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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