Sidelined: A Sports Romance

C
opyright © 2016 Violet Paige

Cover Design: Madison Silver

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places or events are entirely the work of the author. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or places is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in piracy of copyrighted materials.

T
his book was formally
Dirty Move by Violet Paige.

I
t was
the game that popped the cherry on the season. Monday night football.
The
night. The one that gave millions a taste of what they had been waiting for all summer. And we were headed to Austin to play the fucking Warriors.

I got it. I knew that the schedules were arranged ahead of time. But we were Super Bowl champions. The Wranglers shouldn’t be in Austin for this game. They should have come to us. The hatred between our two teams was palpable and an overnight trip into Warrior territory was an insult to what we had accomplished.

I sat next to Stubbs on the plane. He kept his earbuds in for the twenty-minute flight from San Antonio.

I tried to stretch my legs, but even on the Wranglers’ private jet there wasn’t enough leg room. At six-five, airplanes were uncomfortable as shit. At least I wasn’t in the back with the linemen. Those guys had nowhere to go. I shifted again, banging my knee into the tray table.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

The flight attendant stepped forward in the aisle, handing out bottles of water. Coach Howell had given strict instructions that we weren’t supposed to drink the night before the game. He couldn’t regulate everything we did, but he sure as hell tried.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had told the flight crew to only stock water on this flight.

I smiled at the brunette as I took the bottle from her.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“I think I’m good, darlin’.” I twisted off the cap and took a sip.

The season started tomorrow night and even though it was only my second year with the team, I had a strict policy once the first snap was taken. No women.

I’d made that mistake in college and it messed with my head. I didn’t broadcast it. I didn’t discuss it, but she had done a number on me and almost cost me my senior season. She could have ruined my chances in the pros. I’d never make that mistake again. I had a million-dollar contract, and no woman, no matter how great she fucked, was worth losing that.

I was the highest-rated tight end in the American Football Association. I had a Super Bowl ring and my agent had recently finalized a bonus contract for this season. I couldn’t let some pretty girl get in my head. Wasn’t happening. There was a prize for me come February worth about two million dollars.

I looked out the window as Austin came into view.

I’d spent my life playing Texas football. It was in my heart. In my blood. But this wasn’t my city. The Warriors were our biggest rivals. The fact that we were in constant competition to be crowned the state’s home team was always lingering between us.

But this time we were showing up as national champions, and they could shit talk all they wanted. They didn’t have the title we did.

The captain called over the speaker, “We are approaching Austin. Please prepare for landing.”

I exhaled. I was ready. Ready to get this game over with and take home another win.

As soon as we were on the ground and could unfasten our seatbelts, I stood up to an awkward bent position. None of us could stand in this jet. Wes, the team’s quarterback, was the first to take the steps to the tarmac.

I could hear the press outside the plane hitting him with questions. They loved that guy. He was a champion. He had led the team all the way to San Diego last year. He had earned his place.

One by one, we disembarked. The flight attendant tugged my arm before it was my turn. I looked at her as she tucked a folded piece of paper in my suit jacket.

“I’ve got a twenty-four hour layover,” she whispered.

“Thanks.” I grinned before ducking out of the jet.

“Call me, Sam.”

I ran my hands through my dark hair and shook my head.

I wasn’t going to pretend I couldn’t get any woman I wanted. I knew how they looked at me. How they licked their lips when I walked by. I worked hard for this body. I spent endless hours in the gym lifting weights and working with my cross-fit trainers. It didn’t happen overnight, but I looked like a god when I took the field. There were painful weeks and months of sweat and hard work that went into creating the physical machine I had become. I didn’t care if I was eye-candy to them—the season started tomorrow and they were background noise.

I’d throw her number away as soon as I found a trashcan. No distractions. No women. Tomorrow night the spotlight was on all of us, and I had to show the world Sam Hickson was more than a lucky first-year rookie. I was as much a champion as Wes Blakefield. I had a career ahead of me that would blow all the numbers out of the fucking world.

I smiled at the cameras and walked past Wes. He was still answering questions. There was a bus waiting to take us the hotel. I hopped up the stairs, feeling the coldness of the air conditioning rush over my head. The season opener was all that mattered now.

* * *

T
here were two different playbooks
. I stretched my legs on the hotel bed and picked up the one designed for Warriors games. We had our own set of rules when we faced them. I had been over it at least twenty times before tonight, but I wanted to review the plays again.

“Sam, you in there?”

I sat up when I heard Stubbs’ loud voice and his fist pounding on my door. I walked over and opened it.

“Hey, man. What’s going on?”

“We’re going out,” he announced.

“Out?”

He grinned. “Hell, yeah. We need to blow off some steam. You’re coming with us.”

I shook my head. “I’m studying.”

“You sure you’re not still a fucking rookie?”

I glared at him. “Maybe I’m the only one who wants to win tomorrow night.”

He laughed in my face. “No, you’re the only fucker who thinks studying will make a difference. We’ve got this game. So come on. We’re going out.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Do you know where we are?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. It was rhetorical, so I waited for him to answer for me.

“We’re in fucking Austin. Where the Warriors live. Where they eat. Where they drink. Where people think they aren’t the biggest dicks on the planet.”

“What’s your point, Stubbs?”

He crossed his arms. “Not only are we going to beat them tomorrow night, but we’re also going to beat them tonight. We’ll drink their liquor. Hit on their women. Party like they could only dream.”

The Wranglers liked to party. No—the Wranglers liked wicked debauchery. We threw the kind of parties you couldn’t mention at Thanksgiving dinner. Last year, as the ring leader of the rookie class, I was responsible for the Dean. It was a tradition to give the veterans a party that satisfied their every sinful need. And I did a pretty damn good job. We had high-stakes poker, strippers, and top-shelf liquor, and no one left without an A-list blowjob. But that didn’t mean I was up for it tonight. Things were different. I wasn’t a rookie anymore. I had to prove myself and I wanted that damn bonus this season.

“Get your ass out here, Sam,” Stubbs ordered.

“I’ll meet you.”

“Like hell you will.” He jammed his foot in the door. “Get your wallet and keys.”

I hung my head. Damn it. This was the last thing I wanted to do right now. Stubbs’ grin said everything when I met him in the hallway. Tonight was going to be Wrangler-level epic.

I
hung
the shirt and clipped the tiny skirt to the hanger and scowled at my uniform. I hated it. Sometimes I didn’t want to even look at myself in the mirror when I had it on. Then there were the boots. Who wore gold metallic knee-high boots? I had wiped the scuff marks from them and placed them under the dance ensemble.

Calling it dance was a stretch. It was basically a stripper’s outfit. I didn’t know how anyone could feel Warrior pride wearing that thing, but the other girls on the squad did. They loved it. They loved the W on their chests. They loved the mini stars on their skirts. They didn’t care that half of the shirt was missing and the only reason they got attention was because of their bodies. It didn’t seem to bother any of them. Except me.

And I would have to put it on again tomorrow night for the game. I’d parade around showing off my toned thighs and stomach. I’d wave my hands in the air and dance to the techno music with a huge Texas-sized smile on my face. After all, I was a Warrior Goddess.

I was trained to be a professional dancer, but this wasn’t what I had in mind. I could win a Tony for the acting performance I gave on the sidelines.

I let my fingers trace over the satin ribbon dangling from my pointe shoes. They were on the second shelf of my closet. I hadn’t tried them on again since the accident. I was tempted to slide my feet into them and pirouette around my living room, but it wouldn’t help my mood any. It would only remind me I wasn’t doing what I loved. The knots in my stomach wound tightly.

It had been nine months since I had worn them, and I didn’t know when I’d be ready to try them on again. I hesitated for a second, thinking this could be the moment, but I stopped myself. I didn’t want to face what it might mean if my leg gave way. The shoes I loved had made me a prisoner to fear. I was scared my supporting leg would never hold me again.

It was one thing to shake my hips and do kicks toward a crowd of Warrior fans. It was something completely different to put all my trust in the ability of my hamstring to withstand the intense pressure of dancing with pointe shoes. My entire body relied on my right leg to work in perfect unison, and right now I didn’t have that trust in myself. I couldn’t try on the shoes.

Instead I turned off the closet light and pretended there wasn’t a dance squad uniform hanging inside. I would trade it out for a hundred tutus any day.

I was thinking about taking a walk to the park near my condo and picking up a salad on my way home for dinner when I heard my phone ring.

I grabbed it from the kitchen island. “Hello?”

“Natalia, what are you doing, girl?” It was Heather from the dance team.

“Not much. I was just headed out to pick up dinner.”

“Good. Then you can meet the rest of us for drinks.”

“Oh no, I’m not up for that. It’s Sunday night.”

“You’ll be the only one not there. You have to go. It’s a Goddess tradition.” She sounded bubbly and excited.

I rolled my eyes. “And what tradition is that?”

“We always go out the night before the first game of the season. Just the girls. It’s so much fun.”

“We’ve already had games,” I protested. “It’s not the first one.”

“Those were pre-season and totally do not count.”

I was tired of the constant lectures on football terminology and rules. I didn’t know anything about the sport. I didn’t really like it. I didn’t understand why thousands of people paid two hundred dollars a ticket to watch men try to bash each other’s brains in. For me, it was only a paycheck and a way to get me back on stage where I belonged. I tolerated as much of it as I could.

I knew I didn’t make much per game. No one would be able to survive on a salary as a dancer. We were never paid for the amount of practices we had to attend, but the pay out came from the promotional events. Warriors fans knew no limits when it came to reserving the Goddesses for birthday, bachelor, or retirement parties.

I was promised a substantial bonus for appearing in the two calendars the squad printed each year. There was the holiday edition as well as a summer swimsuit collection. There was a rumor floating around that we were going to start wearing patches on our uniforms for advertisers. I didn’t know that I agreed with being a dancing billboard, but if that happened, each dancer would make a small percentage each time we wore it. The only way to make sure I profited as a Goddess was to dance at every game.

“I might have to sit this one out, Heather. But I appreciate the invitation. Call me next time.”

“Oh no. You are
not
going to be the reason the guys lose tomorrow night.” Her voice lowered an octave. It was her mother hen tone.

I huffed. What was she accusing me of? “Of course not. I always want them to win.”

I was praying she wasn’t going to tell me about some crazy powder puff tradition where I’d have to run on the field wearing a set of shoulder pads and a helmet during the halftime show.

“Then you have to go. You have to be there or they’ll lose. This is what it means to be a Goddess. You have a duty to the team.”

It was absurd. The traditions these girls came up with, or maintained for however many years, were ludicrous. It was completely illogical that the Warriors would lose if I didn’t go out for one drink.

Out of the forty girls on the dance squad, Heather was the one I had spent the most time with. We had been paired together at summer training camp. Sharing a room with her hadn’t been all that bad. She took dancing seriously—we had that in common. It just wasn’t the same kind of dance.

I learned quickly that the other girls didn’t want to hear about my training in ballet. They didn’t care who I studied under. They were here because it was a lifelong dream to be a Goddess dancer. Some of them were third generation legacy girls. Unlike them, I wasn’t trying to get a modeling contract or snag a spot in a player’s bed.

I had bills to pay, and when no one would take an injured ballerina, the Warriors took me in. I did appreciate the money. I couldn’t shake the rest of it. When I took the job in May, I thought eventually I’d wrap my pride around the concept of being on a dance squad, but my pride never backed down. I was a ballerina, and a respectable ballerina wouldn’t do what I did, even if it meant not getting evicted.

I sighed. If I didn’t go tonight, the girls would blame me. They would glare at me in the locker room, and every time I walked in the practice studio, they would hold me accountable for the game’s outcome. I wasn’t ready to start off the season that way. We didn’t have to be best friends, but we did work together.

“Fine,” I agreed. “Text me the bar’s address and I’ll meet you there.”

She squealed. “Awesome!”

“But one drink,” I warned. “I want to be home before ten.”

I wasn’t going to bother changing out of my workout clothes. I liked the fitted yoga pants and the lavender top. It reminded me to always move through space with graceful intention. One of the skills Madame Collette had drilled into me.

“That’s all you have to do. I promise. One drink with the girls, and there’s no way they can lose. And you know how they like to win.” I heard the giggle in her voice.

Again, this was silly, but I had joined silly. I was a part of team silly. I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.