Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) Read Online Free

crack open the beer, downing most of it before Wingate comes up to me and tries to knock it out of my hand. I twist my body just as he approaches and finish the rest of it. There was a time I didn’t like the taste of beer, a time when I was saving myself for the woman I was going to marry. A time when I was a good old country boy who didn’t get involved in a bunch of bullshit. Before the shame settles in, the beer takes effect, and I’m feeling quite a bit better. Wingate storms out and I hear the porch door clatter shut behind him. I shrug.  
    Typical . He’s no football player. He doesn’t know a damn bit about any of it. Doesn’t know what it’s like to train so hard your muscles feel like they’re going to burst. Doesn’t know what it’s like to be lonely, even though you’re surrounded by women. Doesn’t know what it’s like to do it all on your own , when that wasn’t the plan at all. I shake the last droplet of beer into my mouth and pull on a pair of basketball shorts for practice. I wish Wingate were already making coffee in the kitchen, but I’ve pissed him off good, and he’s probably driving back down the road to his house.
    Figures . That’s how it goes when you employ your cousin. There will be disagreements. There will be spats. But he’s wrong. There’s nothing unusual about what I’m doing. There are a hundred football players out there right now doing the same thing, sleeping with the same number of women, and hosting the exact same number of parties as I am. Hell, maybe even more. I’m done with his bullshit. I’m going to do me , and I’ll be just fine. It’s the last game of the season, after all. What could go wrong before I start next season? Nothing at all. That’s what.
    The pretty blonde who came home with me last night sashays out of the shower and stands on her tip toes to give me a peck on the cheek. It’s empty, that kiss, and she’s silent as she pulls on her little black dress. I nod at her as she leaves, and she smiles sheepishly.  
    Maybe she’ll come back around. Maybe she won’t. Who knows?
    I put on my shirt and rub down my quads with China Gel before I go into the kitchen and make coffee.  
    That feeling from before, though, it doesn’t go away with the coffee or the protein shake or the water. And, as the beer wears off and I start my morning routine, the memory of her feels deeper than ever, like she’s right here, haunting me.  
    “She probably doesn’t think about you at all, Mack,” I say to myself as I start stretching my muscles. “She’s moved on a long time ago. And who would blame her?”
    As I walk toward my door and down to my Escalade, I have the passing thought that if I met her now—if we hadn’t been tangled up together for every second of our lives leading to that day—well, maybe we’d be married now. I’m twenty-eight, after all. Maybe we’d be saying, hey, let’s stop using the birth control and try for a baby. Heat pricks at my eyes when I have that thought, but the tears don’t come. They dried up a long time ago.
    I sigh, and get in my car, thoughts of Renata swirling in my head as I get on the highway and drive to the stadium. I’m only slightly hungover now. And no one will notice. Except maybe for the ten or so players who were at my party last night, and they’ll keep mum. Might not be the best behavior for a professional athlete, but there’s no way the team owner will get wind of this, not before next season.  
    As I drive, I let myself think of her for the first time in months.
    What she’d look like now. If she keeps her hair long like she used to. If her curves are just as kickin’ as they once were. I bet they are.
    What would it be like if she was here with me, in this house that we’d always talked about building together? Would it have been better if she was with me for the games and the workouts and the bruised ribs and that one concussion a couple years back? I even let myself wonder if she’s