Dirty Game:A Secret Baby Sports Romance

By: 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.

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