Show Time: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Read online

  Show Time

  A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  By KB Winters

  Copyright © 2016 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Show Time

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  More from KB Winters

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  BONUS BOOKS!

  What The Luck - The Complete Series

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  What The Luck Book 1

  Chapter One — Dylan

  Chapter Two — Ellie

  Chapter Three — Ellie

  Chapter Four — Ellie

  Chapter Five — Ellie

  Chapter Six — Dylan

  What The Luck Book 2

  Chapter One — Dylan

  Chapter Two — Ellie

  Chapter Three — Ellie

  Chapter Four — Ellie

  Chapter Five — Ellie

  Chapter Six — Dylan

  What The Luck Book 3

  Chapter One — Dylan

  Chapter Two — Ellie

  Chapter Three — Ellie

  Chapter Four — Ellie

  Chapter Five — Dylan

  More from KB Winters

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  Carson

  So, that was the sound of the world ending. Or at the very least—the season.

  The scene on the field played out like a stop action shot from a movie. A horror movie. The roar of the crowd silenced, as if 80,000 fans all sucked in a collective gasp. Clay Vex, the star of the Bitsburg Cannons hit the deck, crushed under the weight of a three hundred plus pound lineman and there was nothing any of us could do but watch from the sidelines as he went down and the ball went tumbling right into the hands of the Stormers. I sent a wide-eyed prayer to the sky that he’d get to his feet, shake it off, and continue to play. That somehow, someway, it wasn’t as bad as it looked—or sounded. I looked for any signs of a penalty flag before turning my attention to the jumbo screen to watch the replay in slow motion.

  But the seconds ticked forward, each one rolling slowly over the next. The refs raced in, separating angry men as they disputed foul play, and with the flick of a wrist, our medical staff raced out, on to the field.

  My eyes squeezed closed as the team doctor knelt down beside Clay and his face went dark. “Shit…”

  “Yep…we’re fucked.”

  I shot a scowl at Matthew Banks, the rookie kicker standing to my left. “Eloquent, Banks.”

  He shrugged, his expression unchanged. “Just stating the fact, Stiles. This games a wrap without Clay. Fuck man, our season just ended!”

  I dared another glance at the scene unfolding on the twenty-five-yard line. Damn it. Banks might be an idiot in most things—but in this case—he was probably right.

  Coach “Wheels” Wheeler looked like a nervous school maid, waiting for word, as the medical staff scraped Vex off the turf. He couldn’t walk on his own. That was the final nail in our coffin. Something was fucked up and it wasn’t going to get fixed with some athletic tape and a shot of pain killers.

  We were done. This game was the last shot for us to make the playoffs. And it just fluttered away in an icy blast of wind over the field as Vex headed to the locker room and the Stormers offense took the field to try and close out the game.

  Coach clutched his clipboard, scratching his jaw as he looked over the options. A nervous energy rustled through those of us on the sidelines. Coach looked up and glanced at me and then landed his eyes on Wilson Peters. The two remaining options to take Vex’s spot. I’d played less than thirty minutes all season, mostly late in the fourth quarter when the game was out of reach.

  I was a third string nobody. Most of the diehard fans would be pressed to even know my name. Let alone my stats. And there wasn’t a chance any of them would remember the killer stats I’d racked up during my four years at Arizona State. No, it had been a bad year to be a quarterback. There was an onslaught of talent and even with my record—I was pushed down the pack and handed a third string spot, riding the Cannons sidelines.

  Coach jerked his chin at Peters and it was done. I knew it wasn’t going to be me but it still stung as Peters strapped on his helmet and quickly started to warm up along the sidelines with a coach in each ear.

  I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed off or relieved.

  I didn’t have much time to sort it all out. Instead, we watched in agony as the Stormers slowly moved the ball down the field and chewed up precious seconds on the clock. We had a one point lead and it was becoming very clear that the Stormers were near field goal range and trying to set up a shot for a game winning field goal. My own stomach was churning like I’d just taken a ride on Death Trap, the roller coaster at my favorite amusement park. With seconds remaining, Rose picked off a pass across the middle and scrambled sixty yards for a touchdown as the clock expired. The noise went from zero to deafening when Rose crossed into the end zone. Holy fucking shit, we were going to the playoffs!

  I couldn’t fucking believe it, even when the scoreboard flipped over to reveal the final score.

  We’d done it! We were going to the fucking playoffs. After four long ass seasons, I finally had a shot at going to the Super Bowl. Hell, even if I never took a snap in the big game, I could die a happy man.

  Streamers and confetti fell down onto the field and we all raced out to dog pile on top of Rose. He was the rockstar of the night, the gladiator that stepped up to the plate to save not only the day—but our entire season. We’d won the League Championship and we were all looking at a chance to win big in the playoffs.

  ****

  Less than an hour later we were all back in the locker room, and the noise and buzz came to a sober stop at the news that Clay Vex had fractured his ribs and had a nasty sprained ankle. He was out for the rest of the season. Coach spoke to us and then dismissed us to hit the showers and get ready for the postgame rodeo
.

  I sat on the bench in front of my locker and laced up my boots when Banks crashed down beside me, grinning from ear to ear. “Can’t fuckin’ believe it! Damn.”

  Banks was one of the babies of the team, a rookie, and while I didn’t personally care much for him, he’d decided I was his buddy and ended up at my side more often than not.

  “Not a bad year to get in on the action, huh?” I asked, flipping the top off my water bottle. I downed half the contents, my throat scratchy from all the celebrating.

  “Nope! Can you imagine if I got a ring my rookie year? Damn!”

  I laughed and finished off the bottle.

  The cold hard truth to the matter was that our chances looked bleak at best. Our starting quarterback went down hard and the playoffs were no time to bring in a forty-year-old aging veteran. Peters had been in the league for sixteen seasons. He’d played for three other teams prior to signing with the Cannons at the start of this season. He had skills, he had one trip to the Super Bowl under his belt, even though he got blown out by the Generals four years ago. Since then, he’d strictly been in a back-up role and was brought to the Cannons just for that purpose.

  A parade of players clustered up at the doorway, and Banks pushed up to join the team. “You coming, Stiles? Gibson’s buying everyone a round at La Vie.”

  “Nah, man. I’m gonna get some dinner and call it a night.”

  Banks rolled his eyes. I guessed he couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to go spend hours in the VIP room of the upscale strip club in the heart of Bitsburg. “All right, man. But you need to get your balls back from whatever bitch has ‘em locked up in her purse.”

  A wave of anger rolled over me but I managed a tight-lipped smile as he chuckled at his own joke. “See ya, Banks.”

  The locker room cleared out and I sat in silence. After a while the motion sensor decided no one was left behind and all the lights shut down.

  “Guess that’s my cue to leave…” I muttered to myself.

  I pushed up from the bench and the lights flickered back to life. I slung my thick coat over my shoulders, and grabbed the messenger bag that contained the team’s playbook, my laptop, and the hardcover crime novel I’d been working my way through. The guys ribbed me for constantly having my nose in a book—either fictional or the playbook—but I needed to up my study even more now that Vex was out.

  When I arrived for practice at the team facility three days before our first playoff game, I noticed something very strange. There were news vans everywhere.

  I knew it was playoff time, and news vans weren’t anything to worry about. It was the number of media outlets that was weird—something big had to be going down. I hurried across the parking lot to get inside and when I approached the front door, a group of reporters rushed me and the questions came so fast I couldn’t think straight.

  “Carson, are you ready to take over the offense?” one reporter called out.

  “What was that?” I asked

  “Peters just blew out his ankle about an hour ago, and you’re listed as the starting quarterback. How do you feel about that?”

  “Can you take this team to the Super Bowl?”

  “Have you ever played in a real game?”

  My head spun at all the questions flying at me. I stood there for a second, took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera and grinned, even though my heart was beating out of control. “I just got here and I was unaware Peters got injured. If I get the call, I promise the folks of Bitsburg I’ll be ready to go. I know this offense inside and out and have a good feel for the plays and am confident I can execute them. Thank you.”

  I excused myself before I shit a brick right there in the parking lot on live TV and made my way into the team’s facility. When I pushed through the door, the first thing that hit me was how eerily quiet it was.

  The news wasn’t good for Peters and could end his career since he was pushing forty. Clay, our starter, was done for the year and the fate of the season now rested on my shoulders. Not only was I the guy, but I was the only guy still standing.

  I’d be hitting the field in the playoffs and the entire country would be watching.

  Fuck me. No pressure or anything.

  Chapter Two

  Gwen

  It had become a daily ritual—one that probably had all the neighbors wondering what on earth was going on at the Bristol house—but I couldn’t help myself. Every day at three fifteen, the little white mail truck would amble around the corner and come to a stop at the navy blue box in front of my parents’ house. I’d be standing by the front window, one hand on the door, Uggs on my feet. As soon as the truck shimmied back to life and started for the Kleeson’s’ house next door, I’d bolt out the door like a starter’s pistol had just gone off behind me. A flat-out sprint to the mailbox, tearing open the front, and grabbing the stack of envelopes like a junkie getting their next fix.

  And every day I shuffled back to the house, mail dangling from my fingertips, my shoulders slumped.

  “Well?” my mom, Veronica, asked as I trudged back inside and kicked the door closed with my heel.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, Gwenie. Tomorrow. I’m sure of it.”

  The problem was, she’d been sure of it for the last two weeks. Not that it was her fault. The Michigan Bar Association was the one dragging their feet. My test results were probably locked away on some server, just waiting for someone to push print, and stuff into an envelope.

  I nodded anyway, choosing to buy into her assurance—at least for the moment. “Thanks, Mom.” I avoided her sympathetic brown eyes as I handed her the stack of mail. “I’m just eager to get started to work.”

  “I know, baby. You’re in a rush to get a paycheck and abandon us old fogies,” she joked, patting my shoulder as I crossed through the front room and swung into the kitchen.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” I replied with a laugh. I tossed my long, mahogany hair behind me and pulled open a cupboard. “I think it’s safe to say you and Dad are stuck with me for a while. Between student loans and the cost of apartments in this town, I’ll be lucky to get out before I’m thirty.”

  My mom laughed softly and opened the fridge. I grabbed two glasses down from the cupboard and took them to where she was waiting with a pitcher of raspberry iced tea. She filled both glasses and then put the pitcher away. “I’m fine with that,” she said. “Especially this time of year. Speaking of, are you going with us to the Jensens’ Christmas party tonight? I wasn’t sure if you were interested.” I pulled a face and she laughed. “Guess that answers that question.”

  “Sorry.”

  My mom waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Your dad doesn’t want to go either. But he promised he’d go with me for at least an hour.”

  “I’m working at Aunt Maggie’s tonight, anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s right! Do you need a ride?”

  A wisp of self-pity curled up in the pit of my stomach. Three weeks ago, my Civic had gone belly up and I hadn’t been able to afford to get it fixed yet. The estimate from the local auto body shop was a little—okay, a lot—steeper than I’d imagined. “Aunt Maggie is picking me up. I’m not sure if she’ll be able to give me a ride home though. Kind of depends on the weather…” I glanced out the kitchen window, a boxy, three paneled garden window that overlooked the backyard. Mom kept little potted plants on the sill and even though it leaked air like mad, she refused to let Dad replace it with a dual paned upgrade. The sky was grey and overcast and if the sneak preview I got on my little sprint to the mailbox was any indication, we were in for a frosty night. It hadn’t snowed in a couple of days but every night it dropped well below freezing and left a slick coat of ice on everything.

  “How that woman still has her license is beyond me,” my mom muttered as she crossed over to put her empty glass in the sink.

  My lips quirked into a smile. “Like anyone would be able to take it from her.”

  My mom s
coffed and I laughed. Aunt Maggie was a force to be reckoned with. It would take a lot more than a letter from the DMV to get her to stop driving her land tank of a Buick around town.

  “Good thing you’re about to be a lawyer. You can bail Aunt Maggie out once she’s caught driving without her license when the day finally comes.”

  I giggled and finished off my own glass of tea. “Well, if I ever get my test results.”

  “You will, honey.”

  I didn’t add in the secret doubt tucked in the back of my mind that silently added: if I even pass. I’d taken the bar exam back in July and the results were supposed to be sent by Thanksgiving. Well, it was almost Christmas and I still hadn’t heard anything. I’d been plagued by that little voice telling me I hadn’t studied hard enough, long enough, or that I wasn’t smart enough to be a lawyer. Most days I could shut it out, but as I wandered off to my childhood bedroom to get ready for the diner, I wondered if I was ever going to get back out on my own again.

  ****

  “Order’s up, child!”

  I whipped around at Aunt Maggie’s barked command, marveling that the petite woman with the knitted sweater and bifocal glasses could still sound as sharp as a drill sergeant. “Yes, ma’am!” I surged forward and grabbed the dishes waiting on the metal shelf between the kitchen and front counter of Maggie’s Homestyle Diner. “Table five?”

  Aunt Maggie shot me a look that answered my question and I stumbled off in the direction of the couple at the front table.

  “You’re distracted today, child. What’s up?”

  I smiled at Aunt Maggie. She was a town favorite, for more than just her killer homemade food. Wisdom and spunk mixed together behind her crystal blue eyes. She took her food and business seriously, but was always willing to drop everything to lend an ear when she sensed someone was in need. My father’s mother had passed away when I was young and Aunt Maggie had become a surrogate grandmother to me. I sagged against the counter. “I’m still waiting for my test results. I should have had them by now. The website says they haven’t been sent out yet, but the wait is killing me.”

  Maggie smiled and patted my back. “Oh, child. It’s all going to work itself out. You’re too young and beautiful to worry so much. Enjoy your life! You went off to that fancy school and haven’t taken any time for yourself! Even now…two weeks before Christmas and you’re here working.” She made a tsking sound under her breath. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but surely there is some holiday party to go to?”