Roughing the Player (Chicago Outlaws Book 2) Read online

  Roughing the Player

  Chicago Outlaws Book Two

  Magda Alexander

  Hearts Afire Publishing

  Contents

  Books by Magda Alexander

  About this book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Dirty Filthy Boy

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Magda Alexander

  Cover Design: Kim Killion/The Killion Group

  Cover Model: Zack Salaun

  Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  All rights reserved.

  The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including, but not limited to, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  ISBN-13: 9781943321070

  Hearts Afire Publishing

  First Edition: August 2018

  Created with Vellum

  Books by Magda Alexander

  THE SHATTERED SERIES

  Shattered Virtue

  Shattered Trust

  THE STORM DAMAGES SERIES

  Storm Damages

  Storm Ravaged

  Storm Redemption

  Storm Conquered

  ITALIAN STALLIONS SERIES

  A Christmas Kiss to Remember

  My Smokin’ Hot Valentine

  CHICAGO OUTLAWS SERIES

  Dirty Filthy Boy

  Roughing the Player

  About this book

  USA Today Bestselling Author Magda Alexander brings you the next FULL LENGTH, STANDALONE book in her red hot Chicago Outlaws series.

  Most Valuable Party Boy

  After a wild party brings the wrong kind of notoriety to quarterback Brock Parker, his team trades him to the Chicago Outlaws. As a backup. At this rate, he'll never make the hall of fame. Brock's one consolation is beautiful, hot Ellie Adams. His new sports agent. His high school tutor. The girl who got away.

  Most Straitlaced Stick in the Mud

  As a teenager, whip smart Eleanor Adams had fallen for Brock with disastrous consequences. But she'd picked herself up, dusted him off, and moved on. Now a sports agent, she won't risk her chance at success. Least of all to the playboy jock who almost ruined her life.

  Most Notorious Scandal

  But when another scandal threatens Brock's spot on his new team, Ellie moves in with him to save his career. Big mistake. Because she still has the hots for him. And the league's most notorious bad boy is quite gifted at giving her exactly what she needs.

  A smokin' hot, STANDALONE, FULL-LENGTH novel with a guaranteed HEA.

  Chapter 1

  Brock

  San Diego

  “I’M GETTING TRADED?” I practically choke the life out of my cell phone, I’m clutching it so hard.

  “To the Chicago Outlaws.” My agent, Marty Chenovsky, jabbers on as if he hasn’t dropped a major bomb on me.

  “The fuck I am.” Last season after San Diego’s way overrated starting quarterback had gone down with a career-ending injury, I’d stepped in and taken San Diego all the way to the playoffs. Given my stellar performance, I’d expected to get the starting position. Instead, the bastards are trading me to Chicago?

  “They need a backup quarterback.”

  “Why? The Outlaws have that kid, Pedro Santiago.”

  “Not anymore, they don’t. They’re trading him for you. He’s coming to San Diego.”

  What???!!! “As their backup?”

  “As their number one.”

  “What the hell?” My job’s being handed to some wet-behind-the-ears kid barely a couple of years out of college? That’s so not right. “He doesn’t have my arm or experience.”

  “But he has God on his side.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Marty clears his throat. “The new San Diego Missionaries owner has a Christian streak in him a mile wide, and Pedro? Well, he never misses church on Sundays, even when he plays out of town.”

  “And the last time I saw the inside of a sanctuary was when I was baptized.” The only reason my parents had done that much was because their country club set expected it of them. Neither had given a damn about religion.

  “It’s more than that. Your lifestyle doesn’t sit right with him.”

  My lifestyle. Chicks and wild parties, he means. “We almost made it to the Super Bowl.”

  “He thinks Pedro can get the team there as well.”

  “Yeah. Right. Good luck with that.” Pedro Santiago may have a golden arm, but can he play hurt? When he subbed for Ty Matthews for a couple of games this season, the Chicago front line kept defenders off him. He could be a pansy for all the San Diego owner knows.

  “I know it’s short notice, but Chicago wants you there tomorrow. They already started training camp.”

  The Outlaws’ rigorous camp is one of the reasons they won the Lombardi trophy last year. Still, I’m expected to jump-to just because they say so? The hell with that. I have things planned for this week.

  Besides, I hate the fucking cold. My entire career I’ve played for warm weather teams. Clemson, the Florida Manatees. Three years into my NFL career, I’d been traded to San Diego. With its perfect weather and year-round mild temperatures, never mind all the bikini honeys on the beach, it had made this southern boy’s heart happy. No way am I trading that for the frozen tundra of Chicago. “I’m not going.”

  “Well, guess you can always quit, or sit out a year.”

  He has me by the short hairs, and the bastard knows it. I’ve played football my whole life. Love it too much to give it up. “Not doing that.”

  “Well, then, you have no choice.” He gives me a moment to let me come to terms with it. “I know this is not what you wanted. But they need a quality backup, and that’s you.”

  This last season I’d loved the thrill of game day, the roar of the crowd. Hell, I hadn’t even minded the aches and pains because I was their starting quarterback. I won’t get that chance with Chicago. “Like I’d get to play.”

  “Actually, you will. For the entire season.”

  What’s he talking about? I’m good, really good. But Chicago has one of the league’s best quarterbacks in Ty Mathews. Last season, he took them all the way to the Super Bowl and won. Makes no sense they’d drop him for me. “How’s that?”

  “This hasn’t been released to the press yet. They’re waiting until you get to Chicago to make the announ
cement. But Ty Mathews needs shoulder surgery, and he’ll be out for the entire season. That’s why they want you. They know you can take them to the playoffs.”

  To give me time to think, I walk to the fridge, pop open a Corona, slug down a healthy gulp. “Keep talking.”

  “You have one more year left in your contract. You do well in Chicago, and the sky’s the limit. You’ll be able to name your own salary. Every team in dire need of a starting quarterback will want to snap you up.”

  Yeah, but in the meantime, I wouldn’t have a starting position, would I? I’d only be a temporary replacement. Once Ty Mathews heals, he’ll get his position back and I’ll be back to being number two. Seven years into my NFL career, I should be a starter, not a damn backup. “I don’t know, Marty.”

  “I know how you feel. You want to be number one. Well, this is your best shot. The Chicago Outlaws is the best team in the league. Lots of eyeballs will be on you. If you do a good job, other teams will come calling, and you’ll get better endorsement deals.”

  With all the success I’d had this last year, I’d hoped some companies would ask me to hawk their products. But the only thing I’d endorsed this season had been a crappy, no-name razor. I want something bigger, something that will put plenty of zeros with double digits in front of them in my checking account. I also need that number one starting spot, because the way I’m going? No way will I make the Hall of Fame. This move would not be a guarantee I’d get there, but, Marty is right, it’d be a step in the right direction. I finish the brew, crumple up the can, toss it in the recycling bin. “Okay.”

  “Great.” I can almost hear his sigh of relief. No surprise. If I don’t agree to this, he doesn’t get his agent’s cut. “A word of advice, Brock. The Outlaws run a tight ship. So, you’ll need to behave.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “No excessive alcohol. No groupies. No orgies.”

  “Well, hell, what’s the fun of playing football if I can’t drink, screw, or party?”

  “That’s what got you into trouble in Florida, remember?”

  Florida. Four years ago, I’d thrown a party to celebrate the Manatees getting into the playoffs. Security had been tight. They'd searched guests for drugs. But a player had sneaked in an illicit substance, and he'd died from an overdose. Though I had nothing to do with it, I’d been crucified by the social media. When the season ended, Florida couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. They’d traded me to San Diego where I’d played backup quarterback for the last four years. Until this season, when I’d thrown more touchdowns and passing yards than the quarterback I’d replaced. And they pay me back by trading me because the new owner is a born-again Christian.

  I wish I could tell them to go screw themselves. But I have no choice. It’s either Chicago or sit out the season. And that’s the kiss of death. Out of sight, out of mind in the league. No guarantee they’d even remember my name in a year’s time. And I’m not ready to hang up my cleats just yet.

  “When do I leave?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I got you a ticket on the seven-thirty flight to O’Hare. I’ll email you the details.”

  My pit bull nudges his big head against my knee, as if he’s sensed my distress. I scratch his head. No idea if I’m trying to comfort him or me. “I can’t fly out tomorrow. Butch hates flying, and I’m not going without him.”

  “We’ve made arrangements for your dog. Someone will come by later today to pick him up. They’ll drive him cross-country to one of the best dog places in Chicago. Once you’re ready for him, you can fetch him. Expect to get a call in an hour or so to arrange for his pick up.”

  A dog kennel. Butch won’t like that. He hates to be penned up. I’ll need to get him out of there as soon as I can. “What about my furniture, my things?” My memories.

  “They’ll be taken care of. We’ve arranged for movers to pack your belongings and ship them to Chicago.”

  “Where? I don’t exactly have a place there.”

  “We’ve leased a two-bedroom condo for you.”

  He’s thought of everything, hasn’t he? But that’s not going to work. At least not long term. “I have a four-bedroom house. Where am I supposed to put all my stuff?”

  “The movers will handle it, Brock. Any extra furniture will be put in storage. It’s only a short term-rental, so if you don’t like it, we’ll help you find another place. But you won’t be there at first. You’re reporting right to training camp.”

  I’ll be staying in a condo, instead of a house. Butch will be penned up in a dog kennel, instead of running free. My stuff will be delivered and any extras will be put in storage. He makes it sound like everything will be peachy keen. Like hell, it will.

  “I’m sending someone to meet you at the airport, one of our newer agents. She’ll be waiting in the luggage claim area. Her name is Eleanor Adams.”

  Eleanor Adams? In an instant, the years roll back to the Eleanor Adams I once knew. The girl I never forgot. The one who got away. I rub the spot above my chest that always aches when I think of her. But Marty’s junior agent can’t be her. My Eleanor was headed for medical school someday.

  “We don’t want the public to know about your arrival, so she won’t be holding a sign with your name.”

  “How will I know her?”

  “Don’t worry. She’ll know you.”

  Makes sense. I’m pretty well known. But I’ve never heard of a chick sports agent, at least any that represent football players. A wild notion pops into my head. What if Marty’s trying to get rid of me? “You’re not pawning me off on her, are you, Marty?”

  He barks out a laugh. “You’d be lucky to get her. She’s hardworking, dedicated. A stellar junior agent. But no, I’ll continue to represent you. You’re my cross to bear.”

  Damn right I am. As much as I’m bitching, I wouldn’t want to lose him. He’s one of the best sports agents out there. “So why aren’t you meeting me at the airport?”

  “I have an appointment. One I can’t break. Don’t worry. She’ll take good care of you. Feel free to ask her any questions about your contract with the Outlaws. Or anything else for that matter. She’s thoroughly familiar with your situation.”

  My situation. Yeah, my well-and-truly-fucked-up ‘situation.’

  No sooner do I hang up with Marty than the phone rings. It’s the dog service. Not taking Marty’s word about its reputation, I pepper them with questions. They assure me they do this all the time and provide references, mostly military, for me to check out. After a few phone calls that reassure me Butch will be in good hands, I call back the dog service and ask them to come by in a couple of hours.

  Butch glances at me, his big, brown peepers worried.

  “Don’t give me those sad puppy eyes. I can’t help it, boy.” I scratch the top of his head, right on the spot he loves to get rubbed. But his tail doesn’t wag. Damn if he doesn’t know something’s up.

  “Look I know Chicago is no San Diego. No sun. Cold enough to freeze your nuts off. Well, if you had any.”

  “Woof!”

  “You’re never going to forgive me for giving you the big snip, are you?”

  “Rawr!”

  “You’ll love Chicago. You’ll see.” I don’t know if I’m trying to reassure him or me. But I do know one thing that will make us both feel better. I grab his leash and head out with him. Gotta take my best boy for a run on the beach one last time.

  Chapter 2

  Eleanor

  “ELEANOR? CAN YOU STEP INTO MY OFFICE?” Marty Chenovsky, my boss at Platinum Sports Agency.

  “Be right there.” Not knowing how long it will be, I grab my coffee and iPad and head to his corner suite, wondering what assignment he has for me.

  As soon as I step into his office, I shut the door. Marty’s fanatical about keeping his discussions private. No need to have prying ears hear whatever he’s got to say.

  Over his half-moon glasses, he pins his gaze on me while I take a seat. “How long have yo
u been here, Eleanor?”

  Odd question. He hired me, after all. But I’ll play along. “Just over a year.” During that time, I’ve kept him informed about up and coming college jocks, worked on endorsement deals for his clients, and anything else he throws at me. So far I’ve come through with flying colors, but then, failure is not an option.

  “You’ve done good work for me.” He seems relaxed, but I can tell he’s got something up his sleeve. His pleasant smile gives him away.

  “Thank you.”

  “Which is why I believe you’re the right person for this job.”

  I’ve witnessed his modus operandi loads of times before. So I know what comes next. Now that he’s buttered me up, he’s moving in for the kill.

  “You’ve heard of Brock Parker.”

  My breath cuts short. My heart skips a beat. But I can’t let Marty know how the mention of Brock’s name affects me if I want to keep my job. So I dial back the panic and pin on a smile. “Yes, of course. San Diego Missionaries first-string quarterback.”

  “Not anymore, he isn’t. He’s been traded to the Outlaws.”

  “The Chicago Outlaws?”