Filthy Player Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  FAKE WIFE

  Prologue

  Other Books by Stacey Lynn

  Thank you

  About the Author

  FILTHY

  PLAYER

  by

  STACEY LYNN

  Copyright

  Copyright 2017 by Stacey Lynn

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permissions from the author, except for using small quotes for book review quotations. All characters and storylines are the property of the author. The characters, events and places portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks in not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Formatting: Shanoff Designs

  Editing: Ellie at Love N. Books Author Services

  Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey

  Cover Design: Shanoff Designs

  CHAPTER ONE

  PAIGE

  “You’re late. Again.”

  I stared at my boss, Paulie, and tried not to flinch at not only his scowl but also the sweat already dotting his forehead.

  “I know, and I’m really sorry, but my dad—”

  “Enough excuses. If I heard one, I heard a million.” His hand slashed through the air to silence my reason, not excuse. It’s not like it was my fault my dad collapsed out of his wheelchair trying to get into his recliner and it took me twenty minutes to get him re-settled. I needed a weight lifting class.

  I needed the money to pay for it first.

  “Get to work,” Paulie continued. “Annabelle called in sick tonight so we’re down one waitress, and I heard the Riders might be coming in after their press conference.”

  “Great,” I mumbled, at both the Raleigh Rough Riders football team coming in and the fact Annabelle was another no-show. I was late occasionally, but at least I showed. Annabelle was the least dependable waitress we had.

  Least hard-working too, when she did show, and that bugged me more than her not showing.

  “I’m warning you though, Paige,” Paulie said, leaning in close enough I had to lean back. The man was overweight, with a gut that could bounce me into the wall five feet behind us. “This is your last chance. Be on time or don’t come at all.”

  I wanted to remind him this was at least the tenth time Annabelle hadn’t shown at all, only the third time I was late, but it wouldn’t matter. Annabelle was his niece. He had to keep her on the payroll.

  Me, on the other hand…

  He huffed and puffed and shuffled away while I tied my black apron around my waist. When I started working at the Ride’Em Rough Saloon, a pretty trashy name for an American Grill but it worked because we were doors away from the Rough Riders stadium, every waitress assured me Paulie’s bark was worse than his bite.

  I hoped it was true.

  Hours into my shift, I had boob sweat in my shirt, an impressive task considering my boobs were less than impressive. My hair was matted to the nape of my neck, and everyone in the city of Raleigh must have heard the Rough Riders were headed in after the press conference. They had one every year after pre-season, but before week one started. The place was so packed we had a line outside wrapping around the block.

  On busy nights like that, Paulie hired bouncers who could give professional wrestlers a run for their money. The place was so crushed I wondered if one or more of them didn’t show either.

  My feet ached, my arches burned in the wedge sandals we were forced to wear with our cut-off denim shorts and tummy bearing, skin-tight teal shirts—the color of the Rough Riders—and I had had it.

  Had it with men who thought they could brush their hand over my ass because I was wearing a uniform dictated to me. Had it with drunken boys barely old enough to be legal hanging around, waiting for a glimpse of their heroes just because they could throw a pigskin thirty yards like well-aimed rockets.

  I was born with Rough Rider love in my veins, but four hours into my shift, I had had it with them, too.

  My dad loved football. Loved everything about the game and had been good enough to play for Purdue before he moved back to Raleigh to take over his dad’s auto mechanic garage. My mom had wanted the football superstar she’d started dating in college, not the guy who sometimes had two pennies to rub together. When she decided she had enough of being married to an auto mechanic and not the luxurious life she’d grown up in and hoped she’d find with Dad, she took off back to her hometown in Michigan.

  Apparently, she hadn’t wanted me, either. I was four years old when she left. But no matter, Dad and I did just fine.

  At least until he had a stroke a year ago, followed by another a few months later that left the right side of his body mostly paralyzed. He was finally getting some movement back, able to use a walker occasionally, but he still needed help taking care of himself and the house. On top of his paralysis, the strokes had affected his cognitive abilities and he didn’t always make the best decisions.

  Now, I was stuck not only managing the office at his garage but working for Paulie to make ends meet due to our astronomical medical bills.

  I needed help, but there was no way I was asking for it. Nothing good ever came with asking for help, except strings that weren’t worth the help given in the first place.

  “Damn, Paige,” Hannah said, sliding up to me and bouncing my hip with hers to ensure she had my attention. “You are one lucky bitch.”

  “Why, now?” I punched in more orders on the computer screen and didn’t spare her a glance.

  “You kidding me, right? Ray just sat the team at your open six-top. What I wouldn’t give for a piece of that beautiful, Grade-A, prime piece of beef.”

  Her voice went soft and I laughed softly. Freaking Hannah. More stars in her eyes than sense in her brain, she was always trying to score a Rider. The problem? She tried too hard and sent off stage-five clinger vibes from the moment she stepped near. I’d seen more than one guy from the team back off, weariness in his eyes even though she was stacked with huge boobs and a slamming bod. She was also sweeter than my grandma’s cherry pie. But she came off too strong, a bit too crazy, way too much fangirl in her br
eath.

  “Freaking hell,” I muttered. “You want them?”

  “I wish. Beaux Hale is here. I swear last time they were in he was totally checking me out. But Paulie would can me if I ever waited on them again.”

  Paulie and his threats. It wasn’t necessarily Hannah’s fault she went all doe-eyed stupid at the sight of NFL players. Wasn’t her fault those men put off so much testosterone a woman’s libido jumped to attention at the mere sight of them. They wore their pheromones like I wore my independence…bright and shining like Times Square on New Years.

  The men just had it.

  I couldn’t lie and say I was unaffected, but the last thing I needed in my life was a football player with more plays than morals.

  “It wasn’t that bad.” I reached for a tray of orders and thanked the cooks.

  “I spilled four bowls of tomato soup all over Oliver Powell, Paige.”

  I snorted. I couldn’t help myself. It had been funny, and the famous Rough Rider’s tight end always came across as a pretty uptight guy anyway. I didn’t exactly feel bad for him getting doused with humble soup. Besides, someone else had bumped her and balancing heavy trays was difficult.

  The guys he was with had laughed their asses off and no one had cared except for Paulie who was afraid he’d lose their business.

  “Okay. So that was pretty bad, but I’ll still give you all my tips if you take them for me. I’ll make an excuse to Paulie if he notices.”

  I’d made hundreds in tips so far, and we needed it, but I was exhausted and serving a six-top of Rough Riders wasn’t my idea of fun.

  She rolled her eyes. “Like I’d do that to you. You need it.”

  See? Hannah was the best.

  I didn’t hide much but I wasn’t an open book. Still, my dad had come in while I was working enough times for most of my co-workers to know his health wasn’t the best and I was the one responsible for him.

  “Do you know what you also need?”

  I steadied my tray of burgers and glanced over my shoulder. “What?”

  “You need to get laid.” She grinned and practically bounced on her feet. “And oh look…a bunch of sexy men are at your table. I’m sure all the single ones would take you up on that.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” I said and walked away to the sound of Hannah’s playful laughter.

  The girl was nuts. She was also right. It’d been so long since I’d had sex I was beginning to think I forgot what dicks looked like.

  But that didn’t mean I was going to be taken by a Rough Rider.

  No way.

  No how.

  Not ever.

  ***

  “Welcome to Ride’Em Rough, what can I get y’all to drink tonight?”

  I tried to keep my voice firm and polite, a feat considering the mountain of men who surrounded the table in front of me.

  Six Rough Riders, all big and strong, all grinning at me like I was their next meal.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d waited on some of the players, but it was never easy to stay calm in their presence.

  I’d been a fan of the team since before I could speak, had the onesie I wore home from the hospital when I was born to prove it. Twenty-six years of watching the guys on television didn’t prepare me for the visceral reaction my body had when I started working here over the summer.

  It was also the first time I’d waited on Beaux Hale, even though he’d been in a handful of times. He was the starting quarterback and now he was seated next to me, close enough I could feel the heat of his body pouring off him through his shirt.

  My gaze roamed the table and all eyes went to Beaux. Heaven help me, the man was undeniably sexy.

  His eyes were blue, a thick pile of blond hair on top of his head. His cologne wafted off him in gentle, subtle waves I barely picked up over the scent of burgers and beer. He was also the only one in the group sporting a simple gray T-shirt instead of dress shirt and tie.

  He totally rocked it.

  By the smirk he gave me, he knew it.

  “Two pitchers of whatever local IPA you have on tap.”

  “We have Vortex and Freak Nature.” There went my voice. So much for strong. It wobbled harsher than our willow tree in the wind.

  I usually didn’t have a hard time being sane and normal around these men. They were guys like everyone else, they just made millions more than I’d ever see and wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of their ailing parents.

  Still, there had always been something about Beaux Hale that got to me in places I didn’t quite hate.

  Sacred, sensitive places.

  “I don’t know about the rest of these chumps,” Beaux said, lowering his voice and leaning close, “but I like a little bit of freaky nature every now and then.”

  Oh goodness. I’d fan myself if it wouldn’t make it too obvious. So much for my ability to stay unaffected by these guys. Hale was on a different plane than the rest.

  I’d seen too much of him on Sportscenter and the covers of People and GQ. He was Raleigh’s new hero, leading the team to their Super Bowl victory last season.

  There were claims they were ready and able to do it again this year. They certainly had the talent.

  I knew because I watched more ESPN with my dad than any other channel on television. And all summer long, the news since the draft and last year’s win had been if the Rough Riders could come back for a two-peat.

  So far, Vegas odds were pointing toward yes due to the fact they had just won all four of their pre-season games.

  “Okay then,” I said, and my voice had gone soft. Dreamy. Good grief, thirty seconds around the man and I’d turned into Hannah.

  “Anything else?” I asked the table forcing my gaze to move from Beaux.

  “I think we’re good,” one I didn’t recognize, said.

  “Oh,” Kolby Jones, one of the team’s wide receivers, said. “I think I’ll have what Hale’s having.”

  “No one’s getting what I’m about to have.” The firmness and richness of Beaux’s voice startled me and I looked at him. “I don’t share,” he continued. His glare turned to the table before coming back to me. Then the glare evaporated, the blue eyes sparkled at me, and he winked.

  Ruining my fantasies and snapping me back to reality.

  Right. This man took a two-week long RV trip every summer and based on tabloids my dad had shared, because he shared everything Hale related, he’d had quite the summer. His adventures pictured him partying with various blondes and brunettes and a few redheads. Apparently the man didn’t discriminate. All of them were dressed in barely there bikinis while Beaux’s board shorts fell low on his hips, showing off a bare chest and a stomach that put washboards to shame.

  He might have had an arm like a rocket and accuracy better than any Olympic archer, but this guy played the field of women faster than he threw a pass.

  It was the last thing I needed.

  “I’ll be back with your drinks and to take your orders in a few minutes,” I said, refusing to look at him. Around the table, men wore smirks as well as they wore their loosened ties.

  No amount of tips was worth this stress. I’d give it to Hannah and work a double next weekend.

  “What if I already know what I want?” Beaux asked, turning in his chair. One of his arms draped over the back of his chair, one rested on the table. Both of his hands were close enough he could brush his fingers over my thigh or against my ass.

  My body shivered with anticipation before I scowled, his meaning clear.

  “I’m pretty sure whatever you want isn’t available.”

  I turned and hurried away to the bar and placed my order, refusing to look back, refusing to see if I had his attention.

  I already knew I did.

  I felt his eyes on my ass as I walked away so strongly it felt like his hands were already on me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BEAUX

  “Crash and burn, huh baby Hale? Man, that sucks. Probably doesn’t happen
much does it.”

  I shoved Kolby’s elbow off the table, pushing him away from me.

  “In your dreams. And who are you calling a baby?” But damn, he was right.

  When was the last time I’d gotten such a quick brush-off? I’d seen the interest in our pretty waitress’s eyes when she first saw me. It was impossible to miss the way her cheeks turned pink or how her breath went soft.

  All of that happened about point two seconds before my dick hardened when she stepped close to me. She was fucking gorgeous and it wasn’t the first time since I’d been in to Ride’Em Rough I noticed her.

  She’d tried to hide it, but I’d had enough women throwing themselves at my feet over the last few years to recognize the signs.

  I was also getting sick of it. This summer’s vacation, one I took every year to blow off steam before I had to report back for pre-season training, had made me realize how tired I was getting of the fan-girling. The boobs thrust into my face, the autographs demanding to be signed, the constant touching my body like they had a right to it just because I was on television for three and a half hours every week.

  Whatever happened to common decency?

  I’d cut my trip early when I found myself missing my sister and the guys on my team who had become more like brothers than teammates more than usual.

  Not that Shannon had missed me much. She’d fallen in love with Oliver Powell, our tight end and resident asshole team captain.

  Fortunately, he’d fallen for her too. They were now engaged, planning their wedding for as soon as this season was done.

  As much as I might have been tired of women shoving their boobs into my face, being so quickly rejected by a woman who blushed and went breathy in my presence was something new.

  I kinda liked it.

  Grinning, I rubbed my bottom lip and took a drink of my water while we waited for our drinks.

  “I know what you’re going to be dreaming of later tonight,” Brian Matthews said. He was our center, and he and I were tight. Had to be considering I shoved my hands near his balls on every play of the game. He was my first in line protector and every time he saved me from a sack on a blitz, I owed him my life.