James Fitzpatrick might have started out on the wrong side of the tracks, but his skills on the football field have brought him fame and glory. Now he's forgotten where he came from.Hell, he's even forgotten me, the snot nosed brat from next door. So much so that he hits on me when he comes in to eat at the barbecue place I work at to pay my way through school. But the jokes on him when I turn him down in front of all his meathead buddies. No one has ever turned down James. There's a reason he's got a rep as being talented on and off the forty yard line. And now he's determined to make me pay with a pound of flesh. Thing is, I've got some moves he hasn't seen yet. It's going to be a long, hot season. PLAYER is a stand alone book with a guaranteed HEA and no cheating!Goodreads links: https://www.goodreads.com/
“Yo’ Fitz! Your turn man.” I looked up to see Kyle grinning stupidly as the stripper finished grinding on him. The song was ending and Kyle had his hands all over the dancer’s generous ass. The girl, Crystal something or other, was only wearing a g-string. Her tanned skin gleamed in the dim light. I drank deeply from my twenty dollar beer. Thankfully drinks were free for the team. As were the lap dances. And anything else that might arise. Players frequently went home with the dancers from the club. I had myself more than once. The girls were severely hot and more than accommodating. Not to mention flexible. I shook my head. To be honest, I felt kind of disgusting the last time I woke up next to a girl whose makeup was smeared all over the pillow case. And the sheets. And my cock. When I was drunk, then yeah, I didn’t mind so much. But after...
If I was honest, I preferred the natural look. Like that gorgeous brunette in my economy class. She might be a freshman, but she had all the right equipment. Huge green eyes, a cute nose, gorgeous lips, and the best tits I’d seen in my entire life. My God those tits could stop traffic. Not to mention her legs were about a mile long. They’d look nice wrapped around me as I drove in and out of her sweet little box. I adjusted my junk. I was hard just thinking about it. The dancer walked towards me with a question in her eyes. “I’ll pass.” I wasn’t drunk enough to enjoy this tonight. Even after winning yet another game. I should be riding high but instead I just wanted to be alone. The thing was, I was hardly fucking ever alone. My teammates, the fans, girls. I was the center of attention. Non stop. Growing up, I’d had the opposite problem.
My mom had worked two jobs. Sometimes three. And we’d still been dirt poor. Fuck, poorer than that. Mud poor. If you’d ever seen the neighborhood I grew up in, it was probably on the news. Some reporter talking about crime rates. Or how depressed the south side of Chicago was. And how everyone who lived there was either a vandal or a hoodlum. Or both. I’d like to say that I hadn’t been one of those criminals but that would be a lie. I’d jacked car stereos, bikes, anything. The only thing that had saved me from ending up in prison was football. The game of kings.