Bad Business
Standalone Novel
Sports Romance
Available formats: E-book, Audio
Sports Romance
Available formats: E-book, Audio
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SYNOPSIS
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This player’s got a lot to learn if he wants to score . . . with the boss’s daughter.
Stone: Football is more than a game to me. It’s my calling. Becoming the Dallas Wranglers’ starting quarterback before I retire is a dream come true, but with a few wins under my belt, suddenly everyone wants a piece of me. And even though being in the spotlight has its perks—beautiful women, star treatment, more beautiful women—what really gets me sweating is the watchful gaze of my sexy-as-hell PR coach, Savannah Andrews. The catch? Her father is kind of my boss. . . . Savannah: In my family, football is big business. When your dad owns an NFL franchise, you learn a thing or two about schmoozing, and from what I can tell, it’s not a skill in Jason Stone’s playbook. Sure, the veteran quarterback is literally larger than life. With broad shoulders, muscles on muscles, and a mouth made for kissing, he may be one of the hottest men in the league—and I should know. I’ve turned down enough players to start my own all-star team. But those guys just wanted to get close to my father. Meanwhile, Stone is getting temptingly close . . . to me. |
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EXCERPT
Bad Business - Chapter One
To all the football fans out there, ask yourself this: Can a veteran quarterback with two consecutive Super Bowl wins under his belt take a stale team all the way to the Super Bowl when in reality he had intended to retire?
Well, if you ask Jason Stone like I did, his answer is simple. “Why don’t you hang around and find out?”
~Excerpt from Sports Unlimited’s Bad Boys of Sports edition.
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StoneWhen your opponent has possession and you’re down to the last two minutes of the ball game, things tend to get tense. We’re up 17 – 14, which means they’ve got a chance to tie the game and send us into overtime if they can get the pigskin just thirty yards closer.
As I stand on the sidelines, I watch, my body trembling with adrenaline. Ten weeks into the season and this hasn’t gotten any easier for me. Hell, with thirteen years of playing pro ball, this hasn’t gotten any easier. With every game, it seems we’re hanging by a thread right to the very end. Granted, that’s saying something considering we’ve got an 8 and 1 record, hoping to make it 9 and 1 in a minute and twenty-seven seconds from now.
“Take your time!” Coach Hannagan looks calm, cool and collected, but I can hear the insistence in his tone.
The longer we take, the better our chances. The offense is pushing to get on the line of scrimmage with a quickness and it’s our job to keep them from getting to the other end of the field in time for their kicker to trot on out and alter the course of the game. A field goal will tie it up, so at the very least, they need to get to their own 45-yard line.
Worst case scenario, they’ll get a touchdown and steal the win right away from us.
I watch the formation, hear the call Coach hands off and observe as the defense gears up for a blitz. I feel a certain amount of sympathy for their quarterback, Matthew Garrison. Being taken down like that hurts like a mother fucker.
The ball is snapped, Garrison rears back but before he can launch that ball, he’s got three-hundred pound linebackers gunning for him.
“Ooh,” I groan when Garrison is sacked, knocked flat on his back. I can practically hear the wind being knocked out of him.
That probably made him see stars.
“The ball! It’s loose! Grab the fucking ball!” Coach yells at the same time our very own Andrew Moore dives on top of the ball.
The dog pile that resumes makes me cringe. Every guy on that field is trying to take possession. The whistle blows and we all wait, not so patiently, to see who ended up with it. Player after player is peeled back until…
The ref gives the signal.
We got the ball!
“Fuck, yeah!” I yell, jumping up and fist pumping the air.
Now it’s a matter of running down the clock.
9 and 1, baby.
We’re not fucking around this year.
Not even a little bit.
Well, if you ask Jason Stone like I did, his answer is simple. “Why don’t you hang around and find out?”
~Excerpt from Sports Unlimited’s Bad Boys of Sports edition.
***
StoneWhen your opponent has possession and you’re down to the last two minutes of the ball game, things tend to get tense. We’re up 17 – 14, which means they’ve got a chance to tie the game and send us into overtime if they can get the pigskin just thirty yards closer.
As I stand on the sidelines, I watch, my body trembling with adrenaline. Ten weeks into the season and this hasn’t gotten any easier for me. Hell, with thirteen years of playing pro ball, this hasn’t gotten any easier. With every game, it seems we’re hanging by a thread right to the very end. Granted, that’s saying something considering we’ve got an 8 and 1 record, hoping to make it 9 and 1 in a minute and twenty-seven seconds from now.
“Take your time!” Coach Hannagan looks calm, cool and collected, but I can hear the insistence in his tone.
The longer we take, the better our chances. The offense is pushing to get on the line of scrimmage with a quickness and it’s our job to keep them from getting to the other end of the field in time for their kicker to trot on out and alter the course of the game. A field goal will tie it up, so at the very least, they need to get to their own 45-yard line.
Worst case scenario, they’ll get a touchdown and steal the win right away from us.
I watch the formation, hear the call Coach hands off and observe as the defense gears up for a blitz. I feel a certain amount of sympathy for their quarterback, Matthew Garrison. Being taken down like that hurts like a mother fucker.
The ball is snapped, Garrison rears back but before he can launch that ball, he’s got three-hundred pound linebackers gunning for him.
“Ooh,” I groan when Garrison is sacked, knocked flat on his back. I can practically hear the wind being knocked out of him.
That probably made him see stars.
“The ball! It’s loose! Grab the fucking ball!” Coach yells at the same time our very own Andrew Moore dives on top of the ball.
The dog pile that resumes makes me cringe. Every guy on that field is trying to take possession. The whistle blows and we all wait, not so patiently, to see who ended up with it. Player after player is peeled back until…
The ref gives the signal.
We got the ball!
“Fuck, yeah!” I yell, jumping up and fist pumping the air.
Now it’s a matter of running down the clock.
9 and 1, baby.
We’re not fucking around this year.
Not even a little bit.
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e-BOOK
Publication Date: March 27, 2018 Publisher: Penguin-Random House / LoveSwept ISBN: Cover Design : Penguin-Random House / LoveSwept Cover Image Copyright © Penguin-Random House / LoveSwept |
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Publisher: Nicole Edwards Limited
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