Ballbuster (Playing Dirty Sports Romance, Book 1)

Roxanne

To say I’m nervous would be a drastic understatement.
My best friend and my dad both offered to come with me, or more like begged, but I made them stay home since showing up with a buddy or parental escort is not exactly how the first woman signed
by a professional football team should start her career with the big boys. Besides, my dad has his own season to worry about. Although the private college he coaches is small, the team depends on him to keep up the winning streak they’ve been on for three years now. The pay isn’t all that great, so he doesn’t have the extra cash to spend on plane tickets.

Thankfully I’m about to sign a two-year, million-dollar contract, which will not only provide me with enough money to live on but will ease my dad’s financial stress. It’s the least I can do for all that he’s sacrificed for me over the years, including up and moving us to Newtown my sophomore year after what the high school team did to me in White Falls.

Accelerating forward and brushing aside the reason I refuse to ever think twice about dating another teammate, I ease closer to the
towering structure that lurks in the distance. The enormous parking lot is nearly empty since it’s the summer and only players and staff are probably milling about inside the facility. But in just a few weeks, thousands of fans will fill the stadium, and I’ll be down there on the field in the center of it
all.

Not that I’ll ever actually get a chance to play, but this is still one small step for womankind and all that. What’s important is that I’ve made it onto the team! I’ll get to wear a jersey with my name on the
back. And maybe someday, in a few years, after the first and second-string kickers retire or get traded,
they’ll sign me as the first-string kicker, and I’ll have a shot to prove my worth. Until then, I’ll just work my ass off to become the best damn kicker ever while happily riding the bench of one of
the best football teams in the league. God, I can’t wait!

Thump!

My excitement shatters right along with the glass of my front windshield when something massive lands on the hood of my Jeep. I slam my foot down on the brake to stop and try to figure out what the fuck just happened, causing the large object to bounce off the hood.

And then the realization hits me.

Oh dear God!

No, no, no!

Shoving the gearshift into park, I undo my seatbelt and throw my door open to run around the front of the fender. That’s where I find a dark-haired man plastered face down on the pavement.

“Oh shit!” I shriek. “Did I hit you?”

“No,” the man groans. “I do pushups…in the parking
lot. Motherfucker! Yes, you hit me!”

“It was an accident! I didn’t see you!” I tell him.

Jeez, he’s grumpy, but okay, I guess he’s entitled to a bit of snippiness since I just ran him over. His face is pinched with pain as he rolls to his side, holding his knee that’s awkwardly bent. Despite the less
than stellar circumstances, I can’t help but notice that he’s young and
handsome, the dark scruff along his jaw the same color as his damp, wavy, chocolate hair that’s in need of a cut. Wearing a white tank top and black athletic shorts, it’s obvious his body is long and lean with cuts of muscle up and down his powerful arms and legs, not enough fat to pinch. Although, I would
need to see all the covered bits to be sure. That seems highly unlikely at the moment since he’s muttering a string of curses, each one making me feel even worse, if that’s possible. There’s also something about him that seems
familiar…

“Oh my God! Kohen?” I ask, kneeling down next to him in my jeans, both of my shaking hands covering my mouth as I get a closer look.
This cannot be him! Without my
permission, my right hand shoots out and sweeps his hair back from his forehead for a better look at his face, making him flinch. “Ah, fuck!” I groan. “You’re Kohen Hendricks!” 

No, no, no! Of all the people in the world, please tell me that I didn’t just run over Kohen fucking Hendricks, the Wildcats’
starting kicker!

“What the hell? You a crazy stalker or something?” he grits out between groans before he finally pushes himself up into a sitting
position. His palms and legs are scraped bloody and heavily dusted in dirt and tiny pieces of gravel.

Again, I lose control of my motor functions. My fingertips start swiping at the debris embedded in his knees and the thick, powerful thighs revealed just below the hem of his shorts.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he mutters, wrapping his strong hand over the top of mine and yanking it up and away from his thigh to halt my
forward progress. At the sudden, harsh contact, a gasp parts my lips, and I nearly choke on the excess oxygen when I glance up, my green eyes meeting his fiery melted chocolate and caramel swirled
ones only inches away from mine. “Whoa,” he repeats softer, deeper than the others, and holding a completely different meaning. The first utterings of the word I’m pretty sure he meant for me to stop touching him, but the last one
sounded more like…astonishment.

“You’re her, the girl from the screen.”

“I’m so…so sorry,” I stammer, not sure if he hit his head too since he’s talking nonsense. Why,
God, did I have to hit him today of all days? I didn’t even step foot
into the stadium, and now I probably never will because no one is ever gonna believe this was an accident.
Fate is one cruel jackass.

“You drive like shit,” he says before lowering my hand that’s still in his tight grip back down to his muscular thigh. Of all places in the universe he could’ve put it, why did he choose there? He doesn’t let go.
Instead, he squeezes the top of my hand as if for comfort, right before his eyes widen like a light bulb is going off in his head. An instant later he suddenly shoves my hand away like it’s burned him while those narrowed dark eyes thin even more, glaring at me. “You conniving little bitch!”

My breath catches in my throat at the harsh insult. I’ve been called plenty of horrible things over the years; but for some reason, this man’s words are more brutal than
all the rest combined. The burning sensation behind my eyes reminds me that I’ve stupidly let my guard down.

“It was an accident,” I repeat, although I know it’s useless. He’s already decided that I intentionally ran him over and won’t be
convinced otherwise.

“You said my name! You knew exactly who I was --- your competition!”

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