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Player Baby Daddy
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I’ve played the game long and hard…
I’m used to going rough on the field and rougher in the bedroom.
But there’s a catch, of course there’s a catch.
I’m the kind of man that won’t be stopped.
She’d better watch out, because I’m getting what I want… mommy and baby.
Another Baby Daddy, better get ready! Player Baby Daddy is a steamy and fun sports romance featuring an alpha hero that won’t back down no matter what, a heroine that refuses to give up with she loves, and the secret baby that drives them together! It’s hot and exciting, so get ready! As always, there’s no cheating and a guaranteed HEA. Enjoy!!
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Another year, another team.
Seems like no matter what I do, I always find myself in a new uniform meeting new faces. They’re always the same everywhere I go: coaches grin and shake your hand and talk about getting you involved, about letting you do your thing, all that crap. The other players, meanwhile, act like they’re happy you’re on the team when really they’re pissed you’re going to take their time away or media attention away or salary cap space away.
It’s always the same. New city, same old shit.
“Glad you’re here, son,” a big, burly guy wearing a baseball hat and a huge sweatshirt says as he grabs my hand. I think he’s the linebacker coach. “You’re gonna really be an asset here. We can’t wait to let you do what you do best.”
“Sure,” I grunt at him and move on. Another coach, another platitude.
First days always suck.
I’ve been in the NFL now for nearly ten seasons. I have two Super Bowl rings with two different teams and I’ve played quarterback for three others. That’s a total of five, if you’re counting, and this new venture makes it six.
Wichita, Kansas. Can you fucking believe it?
The Wichita Thunder, they’re calling this brand-new franchise. If you asked me, I would’ve called it something badass.
Like the Wichita Killers. Or whatever.
But fine, Thunder, good enough. I can wear the stupid jersey and throw the damn ball and they can pay me millions. Not like I’ll last long here. I never fucking last long anywhere.
And I’m tired. I gotta admit, I’m tired.
“So what’d it take to get you here?” this skinny guy in an oversized helmet asks me.
“Money,” I grunt at him.
He laughs and takes the helmet off. He’s got dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes, and an easy grin. “The name’s Chet,” he says. “Kicker.”
“I figured,” I say, grinning back despite myself. “You’re too skinny to be anything else.”
“Hey, good point, but I had the most tackles of any kicker last season,” he shoots back.
“How many? Two?”
“Three,” he says proudly.
I laugh despite myself. I gotta admit, I like Chet already.
“What about you?” I ask him. “Wichita isn’t exactly prime real estate, you know.”
“True enough,” he says, spitting on the ground. “New franchise’s first year means we’re just a bunch of misfits. I get released from the Chargers last season and now…” He shrugs.
“Oh, shit,” I say. “I remember you.”
He laughs and shrugs. “I’m notorious. Almost as bad as you.”
I laugh and shrug a little. He’s not kidding. I heard stories about this guy, about how hard he partied when he wasn’t playing, but he’s a damn good kicker.
Still, he’s right. This team is a bunch of freaks and castoffs, the guys that couldn’t hack it with other teams.
That includes me, of course. Can’t pretend otherwise.
See, thing is, I put my body on the line every season, risk brain injury, risk worse. Every guy out here does. We get paid really good, but still, we risk our lives. So I want to blow off some steam on my free time, I feel like it’s my right.
Maybe I go too far. There was one incident a couple seasons back with a public pool and three cases of champagne. Not my finest moment, but a really funny story at least.
“Hey,” Chet says, nodding across the field. “There he is.”
I follow his gaze and spot the man that’s bringing this all together. His name’s Nixon Davis, some hotshot former college coach that took a backwater team and made it into a dynasty. Now he’s got the reins of this pro team and everyone thinks he can do the same for us.
We’ll see. I’m not optimistic. Davis is a tall man, not as tall as me, but still. He’s broad and he has that former-player look about him, like he used to be solid but now he’s going a little soft. But his eyes are sharp and he wears a ball cap pulled down low over his eyes, so low I gotta wonder how he can even see.
But he’s not what really draws my attention.
Standing next to him is this girl.
Woman, I guess. I don’t know. She can’t be any older than twenty-two at most. Right out of college, I’d bet my pension on it.
She’s fucking beautiful.
I think every man on the field’s staring at her. Long blonde hair, thick as anything, cascades down her shoulders. She’s wearing a team polo and basic slacks, about the least flattering outfit imaginable, but I can still see her curves and soft spots, her beautiful body hiding under those rags.
Her face is pretty with thick lips and a short nose. And her eyes are green, sparkling green, practically flashing across the field at me.
“Who the hell is that?” I whisper to Chet.
“You mean Coach?” He laughs. “You can’t be serious?”
I shoot him a look. “No, asshole. I mean the girl.”