Page 4 of Protecting Player #73 (Portland, Settlers #1 | Gridiron Warriors)

T.K

T ypically, on days like today, I’m the first guy out of the locker room, ready to warm up and work my ass off. I love football; it’s been the cornerstone of my life for as long as I can remember, but this week has been one giant fucking clusterfuck, and the more I discover, the angrier I become.

I’ve had to hire a private investigator to locate the woman who released that video because no matter how much I’ve been searching, I can’t find her, and I was too fucking drunk to remember her name. Coach and Alex were right, I’m a fucking screw up.

Slamming my locker door shut, I get to my feet when I hear a feminine voice, and that anger boils over into a rage as she continues speaking. “Well, here we are, as promised. The Portland Settlers’ locker room. Where secrets are confessed, plans are made, and the guys get personal.”

“What the fuck.” Is this chick off her rocker? Stalking through the lockers, I stealthily move in behind her to find that she’s recording on her phone as she speaks. “What the fuck are you doing?” She jumps at my barbed tone, nearly dropping her phone before spinning around.

“I’m so sorry; I thought the team had already cleared out. I never meant to interrupt anyone. I’ll leave.”

She tries to move past me, but I slam a hand against the metal door and trap her in here. It’s an asshole move, but as I get a good look at her crystalline eyes, I’m fucking lost.

“Why the fuck are you in here at all?”

Her slender blonde eyebrows pull together, creating the cutest damn wrinkles between her eyes as she scrutinizes me. Her pearly white teeth bite into her plump lower lip, and I get the sense she wants to rip me a new one, but, surprisingly, keeps her cool.

On an exasperated breath, she lifts her phone to show me the video she was taking and explains, “I work for the team. I was doing a locker room tour for the fans so they could get a more personal look behind the veneer of the team they see on the field.” She grumbles on about how now she’ll have to do some major editing before posting.

“You?” I scoff. “Work for the team. In what capacity, and why didn’t we know this would be happening?”

Her tiny hands ball into tight fists as she slams them onto curvy hips that make my mouth water.

Fuck.

I can feel it, the obsession crawling along my spine and sinking deep into the belly of the beast that perpetually lurks inside me.

Claws gripping my heart, strangling my peace of mind until all I see is this beautiful little pup laid out beneath my body in all her naked glory.

Bite marks mar her skin. Bruises from my fingers glow like beacons of ownership and possession, and my scent assaults her pores so no one is confused about who she belongs to.

Son of a bitch.

This is the exact kind of shit I’m supposed to be avoiding right now, so I do the only thing I can think of…

I lash out.

“Seriously, whoever let you in is getting fucking fired, and you are going to be banned from the stadium for life.” Tears well in her eyes as her cheeks bloom red with her own anger.

My craving for her amps up, as does my nastiness.

“Unless, of course, you want to make it up to me so I keep quiet.” My eyes drift down her body, watering for a taste I’ll never have after this.

I just fucked up royally in so many damn ways.

“You’re a disgusting pig.” Her hands touch my chest as she shoves me away, and I suppress a shiver while biting my tongue so I don’t unleash a moan that will give me away. Thank god for my groin cup, or she’d really see how much I want her.

“Maybe so, but I can make it worth your while.” The girl storms off after I suggestively lick my lips. I don’t bother hiding my admiration of her pert ass, which I’d like to grab two fistfuls of while pounding her from behind.

I’m so damn fucked.

Not only will Alex kick my ass if she finds out I’m lusting after some chick working for the team, but Coach will have me running suicides until I die.

Never mind the fact that I’m already kicking my own ass for how I spoke to her.

I can’t allow her to get into me, though.

Falling for someone when I’ve already screwed up so badly won’t help anyone with anything, and I don’t want to fuck my future with the team because I can’t keep my dick in my pants.

“Weston! Let’s go!” Defensive Coach Ryan Becker slams the door shut as quickly as he opened it.

“Coming!” I respond, but he’s gone and likely would have ignored me anyway. I’m in shit with the entire team right now, and I don’t blame them one bit. My fuck up screws with the look of the entire team, not just me.

I need to do better. To be better. And remember the reason I’m here. The reason I want to continue to be here.

Grabbing my helmet, I head out to the field through the tunnel and into the sunshine on what feels like it should be a gray and cloudy day. Whistles assault my ears as the sounds of bodies slamming together clash in the quiet afternoon.

The echo of a smile graces my lips as I remember my mom cringing every time she heard the sound of shoulder pads clashing.

She always described it as a slow-moving car accident that made her ears ring.

When I was in pee-wee football, she would inspect my body as though I had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

Sometimes there would be bruising, other times nothing at all, but each time, she would treat me like fragile glass. Especially after a concussion.

With the risk to my brain, I’ve gotten better at avoiding hits to the head. I can’t play football forever, and I’ll need a career when I retire. My brain is the way to get me there.

“Well, look who has decided to join us.” Coach Ryan crosses his arms in disapproval.

“Three hundred suicides. I’m on it.” Laying my helmet down, I move my ass.

“Make it five hundred.” He lifts his chin in challenge, daring me to argue. Instead, I smile, nod, and hustle my dumb ass.