Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Read Free Page B

into the darkened garden. My mom used to love that garden. I remember planting things with her when I was a kid, before she got sick. No one ever would’ve called my dad cold or robotic if they could’ve seen them together — they’d been sweethearts their whole lives, and even after all these years I can still remember the soft light in my dad’s eyes when he looked at her. He’d never even brought up the subject of remarrying.
    I sigh.
    I know my dad’s not the cold man most people see him as. But since my mom died… I don’t know.
    I want to help my dad. But I’m not sure if this is the right way to do it.
    No, scratch that — I know it’s not the right way to do it.
    Right now, though, it’s what my dad is asking me to do. And I’ve always been a dutiful daughter.
    Would it really be so bad? I ask myself. My dad is right — we’ll both be going to Blaketon. All we really have to do is hang out. Even if Riley Knox is the last kind of boy I’d date ( with his carefree grin, his gorgeous blue eyes, his sculpted abs, his tight ass… ), maybe it won’t be all bad. With him playing football and me studying, how much time would we have to spend together, really?
    Taking a deep breath, I focus my attention back on my dad, looking him straight in the eye. “All right,” I say, not even believing the words that are about to come out of my mouth, my jaw feeling tight. “I’ll do it.”
    My dad starts to smile.
    “But I have some conditions,” I continue.
    My dad’s smile freezes. “Like what?”
    I take a breath. “Number one, I get my own apartment,” I say. “I want some independence. I’ll get a roommate, but I want my own space.”
    Dad hesitates, then nods. “Number two?”
    I lick my lips. “Number two, no more trying to make me switch my degree. I’m sticking with chemistry. I don’t care if you think business would be better. It’s what I want.”
    For a long moment, my dad simply sits there, looking at me. “All right,” he says finally, “I agree. To think about it.”
    For a moment, I consider withdrawing my agreement, but I’m not stupid, and I know my dad: this is likely the best I’m going to get. Gritting my teeth, I smile.
    “All right,” I say, reaching across the table to shake his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
     
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
    RILEY
     
     
    “You have an image problem.”
    I squint up at Coach Jackson, trying hard to get my eyes to focus. Pretty sure this is the first day since the playoffs I’ve been sober, and even then it’s only because Coach called me and said I had to come see him this AM, and honestly, when Coach calls, you come running. Whatever charming bullshit I can use to wriggle out of trouble with anyone else, it doesn’t work on him. And from the expression on his face, I can see it’s a bad idea to even try — he looks like he could kill a man with his bare hands right now.
    But seeing as I have literally no idea what kind of bug has crawled up his butt, it’s probably better that I stay quiet ’til I find out what exactly it is I’m supposed to be apologizing for this time.
    That, and I have a hangover that could kill a bear.
    So I sit, starting up at Coach Jackson, and try to look like I’m paying attention.
    Without another word, he reaches forward, snatching up a newspaper from his desk and holding it up.
    There’s a picture of me on the front page, a blonde under each arm and a beer in my hand, laughing wildly, under the headline, ‘HARDLY A SAINT’.
    I can’t keep myself from grinning at the memory — it’s a little hazy, considering how much beer I’d put away by that point, but there’s some things you don’t forget. I mean… except whether I actually nailed those two chicks or not. I mean, probably? But I can’t be sure. All I really remember is waking up on someone else’s couch.
    I try to smother my grin as Coach’s expression goes even further south, but it just can’t be done.
    “Oh, c’mon,” I