Dirty Game:A Secret Baby Sports Romance
Violet Paige
Prologue
This was the last place I should be. The absolute last place. I'd woken up this morning in hot and dusty Dallas, and now here I was standing outside of the Dock House while boats rocked in their slips.
My heel made a hollow sound as it hit the parking lot pavement. I slammed the car door behind me and inhaled, taking in this place and all the memories we had made.
The wind whipped through my hair. I hesitated. This was all wrong. I shouldn't be here, but I had to know. I had to see him again.
I pushed open the door, my heart in my throat, my palms dewy with perspiration, my breath fevered.
Was any of it real, or had it all just been a flash of summer heat?
1
Blake
I had been called a brooder, and at times much worse. I liked beer, an occasional dip, and I loved to fuck. At twenty-six, I valued my time and space more than the warmth of someone sharing my pillow. I didn't have time for relationships.
And what quarterback did? I didn't need a girl to get in my head or under my skin. One climbing into my bed was an entirely different story.
I closed the locker under where Wiley was engraved into the wood.
"You headed out?"
I turned to see one of the conditioning trainers behind me.
"Yeah."
He shook his head. "You're the only guy on the team who isn't going to Cabo or Rio. You know that, right?"
"Fuck." I laughed. "I don't need that shit. I get enough of it during the season. The last thing I want is the fucking press following me around."
"Going to your fishing hole?"
That's what the guys around here called it anyway. They didn't know shit about where I was from. I was ok with that. I kept my personal life personal. I never took them. Never even invited them.
"Something like that." I pressed my lips together.
Jones strolled through the locker room. "Dude, you're not going to Cabo with us?"
"Not this time."
I got enough of these fuckers during the season. I only had one break a year. And I wasn't going to waste it in the spotlight.
"Too bad. The girls are hot as fuck down there."
"So I hear," I answered.
"We'll miss you." Jones slapped me on the back.
The trainer bumped my fist. "Keep up the stretching and don't tweak that knee."
It had been giving me problems since spring training. One twist the wrong way and I had been on the ground gripping my leg. The last thing I wanted was for any of the guys to see me down. There was no room for weakness on the field.
I had put off having surgery, but I was working through a vicious therapy regimen.
"Got it." I lifted my bag to my shoulder. "See you guys way too soon."
I walked out of the locker room ready for my time off to start.
It was only a month until practice resumed. It wasn't like I had months to travel the world and party my ass off like these other mother fuckers.
My job required meetings. Strategy. Planning. While they were drinking their asses onto the floor I was watching tape. I was writing plays and studying the competition. I dealt with the Sports Now speculation. I had to meet with rookies. QBs never slept.
So I took my month off. And I made sure nothing interfered with it. Nothing.
I carried my 6'5" frame with confident strides across the sandy parking lot, and threw a six-pack of beer into a cooler. Beads of perspiration started a slow trickle down my forehead. If I didn't get on the water soon, the fish would be running from the sun just like I was. Damn it. This Fourth of July was hotter than hell.
I didn't practice in fucking heat like this. That's why we had an air conditioned facility. But I wasn't in Orlando. I was back home for most of the summer. If there was one place that didn't give a fuck that I was an A-rated American Football Association QB, it was this island. This tiny piece of land where I grew up.
I guided my truck under the water oaks, keeping the shoreline in sight. The road seemed to follow the curvature of the small coastline where years of ebbing and tiding had crept up on the pavement. I couldn't tell you a spot on the island where you couldn't see the water. As far as I was concerned, if it did exist, it wasn't worth mentioning.
This was my place. The only town on this planet that didn't bother me for pictures or autographs. I could do exactly what I was doing today-go fucking fishing with my cousin without worrying about a mob of fans.
I slowed the truck to turn onto the grassy path leading to my boat.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her. I'd recognize those legs anywhere. I wasn't sure if it was the lips, the blond hair, or that attitude of hers I wanted to break. I'd always wanted to break. Fuck.
She was the kind of girl who thought she was too good for the island. The kind that only cruised with champagne in her hand, and nothing was ever good enough. But she might just be the sexiest woman I'd ever known.
When had Sierra Emory got back in town? And why was she here this summer? And why the fuck was she leaning over the bridge?
In the meantime, Cole was probably revving the boat impatiently and already a few beers ahead. We had a full day of fishing ahead of us.
My cousin sat on the bow with a goofy grin and a beer in hand. "Let's go, man. Where in the hell have you been? I've been sitting out here thinkin' you weren't going to show."
"You know I'm not going to bail on you." I smiled and popped the top of my first beer. "I had a lot of shit to get done today. I'm ready now."
I loaded the cooler, a box of tackle, and a bag of sandwiches I had picked up from the Seaside Café into the toolbox at the stern of the boat.
She still didn't have a name. I knew it was bad luck not to name my boat, but I wasn't superstitious. For now, she was nameless, but I trusted her. I had handpicked every limb of her frame and driven every nail into her seams. My father had tried to help, but I'd refused the free pair of hands when I had them.
I felt the back of my throat clutch at the thought.
"Can you believe it's already the Fourth? Man, this summer is flying by." I positioned myself behind the steering wheel. "I have to report to fucking camp soon."
I rubbed the back of my neck. I loved this place, as much as I loved football. And right now, I didn't know which one I needed more.
"Hey, did you know Sierra Emory was on the island?" I asked.
Cole shook his head. "No. Hadn't heard that."
I didn't want to make a fucking big deal about it. "Let's get out of here."
"Yeah, we better steer clear of the cape today. It'll be full of those damn ski boats, scaring off the fish," Cole agreed.
Cole loosened the sailor's knots and tossed the ropes up on the dock. With one hard shove, we started drifting in the creek, and I cranked the engine. The creek was alive with jumping mullets. I steered us under the bridge and headed east.
2
Sierra
From the small peak at the top of the bridge, the island didn't look like much. In fact, it really wasn't much at all. It never had been. No coffee shops. No yoga classes. There wasn't even a gym. I didn't know how I was going to manage the rest of the summer here.
It always felt like time travel when I came home. Home. It was a weird word to associate with this place.
I might as well have jumped in a time machine. I gripped the bridge's railing. Damn, this island was hot. I shielded my eyes from the reflection and tried to focus on the two fading figures laughing and sipping from koozies.
The island wasn't more than two miles wide and five miles long. When I was a kid I'd known every square inch of it. That seemed like a million years ago now. Exploring this place was the last thing I wanted to do anymore. That girl no longer existed.
I shouldn't be here. Leave it to Aunt Lindy to pass her estate to me in the heat of the summer.
The boat was on the horizon now. I probably had known those guys in my past life. There'd been a time when I'd known all the island guys. They wore T-shirts, deck shoes and most of them walked around with a cigarette.
Sweat trickled down my neck, and I piled my hair on my head, hoping a breeze would find me. I had wandered a little farther than I'd planned. My mission had been to jog to the store and pick up some ice for the cooler, but once I'd reached the market, I'd kept running. Maybe I was trying to outrun the heat or just outrun this feeling that I was going crazy.
I didn't know if I could handle opening one more drawer only to find it was stuffed to the top with moth balls.
I turned from the bridge and wondered why I had ventured this far without a car. I still had to stop by the store and walk home with a bag of ice. The ice maker was broken and nowhere among the piles of Tupperware and casserole dishes had I found any ice trays.
A gust of cold air hit me as I pushed open the door to the market. Immediately, the smell of turpentine, fishing tackle, and candy bars hit my nose. It was such an odd combination to my senses. The hardwood floors had been worn from years of fishermen and islanders waiting in line at the counter for their handwritten receipts. As far as I knew, this was the last place in the world that didn't electronically print receipts.