Eligible Receiver (Men of Fall Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books by S.R. Grey

  Chapter One: Lonely Hearts Club

  Chapter Two: What Movie?

  Chapter Three: A Woman Left Lonely

  Chapter Four: Take That, Cupid

  Chapter Five: Consolation Prize

  Chapter Six: I Kind of Like Crazy

  Chapter Seven: Wait, I Know You

  Chapter Eight: The Biggest Catch of My Life

  Chapter Nine: You and How You Make Me Feel

  Chapter Ten: Friend-Zoned

  Chapter Eleven: Harder Than I Thought

  Chapter Twelve: She’s Not Fooling Me

  Chapter Thirteen: Missing Out

  Chapter Fourteen: Drowning in Dresses

  Chapter Fifteen: Running Still, but Slowing Down

  Chapter Sixteen: Road Trip

  Chapter Seventeen: No, Not Snow!

  Chapter Eighteen: The Love Nest

  Chapter Nineteen: Temptation

  Chapter Twenty: Love Her

  Chapter Twenty-One: Will I Let Him Love Me?

  Chapter Twenty-Two: At Last

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Yes, I Freaking Love Snow

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Looking to the Future with a Smile

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Making Dreams Come True

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Mini-Camp Surprise

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Potential Disaster

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Devastating Blow

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Keep On Running

  Chapter Thirty: Swimming with Sharks

  Chapter Thirty-One: And So It Begins

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Bad Decisions

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Go Fuck Yourself, Lars!

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Damage Control

  Chapter Thirty-Five: A Tough but Necessary Decision

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Backing Off

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: What a Jerk!

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: Next Moves

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Holding Out

  Chapter Forty: Desperately Seeking Becca

  Chapter Forty-One: History Rewritten

  Chapter Forty-Two: A Sexy Detour

  Chapter Forty-Three: There Is Nowhere Else I’d Rather Be

  Epilogue: Forever Promises

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Forward Progress

  Copyright Notice

  Boys of Winter series

  Destiny on Ice

  Resistance on Ice

  Complications on Ice

  Caution on Ice

  Player on Ice

  Vows on Ice

  Illusion on Ice

  Forbidden on Ice

  Men of Fall series

  Forward Progress

  Fair Catch

  Eligible Receiver

  Judge Me Not series

  I Stand Before You

  Never Doubt Me

  Just Let Me Love You

  The After of Us

  Inevitability duology

  Inevitable Detour

  Inevitable Circumstances

  Promises series

  Tomorrow’s Lies

  Today’s Promises

  A Harbour Falls Mystery trilogy

  Harbour Falls

  Willow Point

  Wickingham Way

  Laid Bare novella series

  Exposed: Laid Bare 1

  Unveiled: Laid Bare 2

  Spellbound: Laid Bare 3

  Sacrifice: Laid Bare 4

  Lonely Hearts Club

  I ask myself, Where do lonely hearts go?

  The answer is this: They go here, Becca.

  With a quiet snort of acceptance of my lot in life, I make my way down the dimly lit center aisle of the old retro movie theatre on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio.

  With my oversized tub of buttery popcorn balanced in the crook of my elbow, I slip my black leather gloves into the pocket of my khaki trench coat. It’s hanging loosely on me since I unbuttoned it after I bought my ticket out in the lobby.

  Stopping, I stare at the big movie screen.

  A projection of the movie poster for a classic romance flick, one from the middle of last century that is playing tonight, flickers in the low light.

  I’ve never heard of the film, but I needed something to do.

  Otherwise, I may go crazy.

  Why?

  Because it’s freaking Valentine’s Day, my least favorite holiday of the year, and I have no one to spend it with.

  Par for the course, Becca.

  Sighing, I glance around.

  I pretty much have my choice of seats, as the theatre is mostly empty.

  I guess only us lonely hearts, losers-in-love types are here to watch a sad, sappy old black-and-white movie on a day devoted to love.

  The smell of popcorn wafting up to my nose distracts me, and I gingerly dig in, grabbing a healthy handful.

  Hey, don’t judge.

  A girl needs to treat herself once in a while, especially when she’s feeling this sad and alone.

  That is definitely me right now.

  As I eat popcorn in the middle of the aisle, like a misfit fool, I try to figure out where I’d like to sit.

  There are two middle-aged ladies at the end of a row close to the front, so yeah, not there.

  There’s also a really old dude to my right, seated in a center spot.

  No, not there either.

  I glance over my shoulder to assess what’s available in the back half, and that’s when I spot someone in the last row, middle seat.

  Hmmm…

  It’s a guy, for sure. Though it’s hard to tell what he really looks like, especially since he’s dressed in dark clothes and has a ball cap pulled a little over his brow.

  Still, I can see he’s young like me.

  I’m twenty-five, and I’m thinking he can’t be that much older.

  There’s an air about him too, a palpable sense of confidence, expressed in the way he’s seated, leaned to one side with a kind of cocky smile on his face.

  We make eye contact.

  Eek, he’s caught me looking back at him.

  At least, I think he has.

  In any case, I pretend to be deeply interested in the projector window way up high.

  I’m so smooth.

  Or so I think.

  I guess I’m not, though, as when I venture another furtive glance at the man, it’s clear he’s smirking.

  Whatever, dude.

  I roll my eyes at him, hoping he can see.

  I can’t lie, though.

  My interest is piqued.

  I mean, come on, this dude is at a theatre on Valentine’s Day, sans date, just like me.

  Maybe we can start a lonely hearts club?

  Sounds like a plan to me.

  So rolling back my shoulders, I start toward the back row.

  I may as well sit near this new potential inductee into my make-believe club.

  As I close in, I’m afforded a better view of the guy.

  And whoa, he is hot.

  His eyes are dark in the shadows, so it’s hard to tell the exact color. But the little bits of hair sticking out from under his ball cap show me the shade is chestnut-brown.

  And this guy has a nice muscular build.

  I’m more interested now.

  My best friend, Jodi, would be so proud of me, taking charge like this.

  She’d probably say, “Go for it, girl. Sit right the hell next to him. You never know what could happen.”

  Jodi is pretty much all about me finding a man these days. She’s worried there’s something wrong since I haven’t gone out on a date in months.

  I sigh.

  There i
s something wrong—I’ve lost my go-love mojo.

  See, I used to be the biggest romantic, like, ever. I was a hardcore serial dater, looking for love, convinced I’d find it online. I belonged to so many damn dating sites that it wasn’t even funny. Some of them were downright bizarre.

  One of the wackier ones was devoted to meeting your match via a blind date.

  Looking back, it’s probably for the best that I removed my profile from that particular site.

  Before I did, it actually worked out for Jodi.

  Not that she was on it.

  No, she just took my place on a blind date one fateful night and inadvertently met a man named Caleb. He’s a football player for the Columbus Comets, so score one for her.

  He’s the true love of her life.

  Some people have all the luck.

  Jodi used to talk about setting me up with one of Caleb’s teammates. She still does sometimes, but I quickly change the subject.

  There’s no point.

  Remember, I don’t believe in love anymore.

  Or rather, I don’t believe in it for me.

  And that’s a truly sad state of affairs when I happen to co-own a wedding consultant business with Jodi.

  When we first started, I was such a hopeless romantic.

  But that was then.

  And this is now.

  That’s why it’s weird that I’m heading to the last row of the theatre, so that I can sit close to the good-looking guy in the ball cap.

  I guess a part of me is finally taking Jodi’s advice and saying what the hell.

  Or maybe there’s another part of me—and this is probably closer to the truth—that is freaking tired of being lonely.

  It’s Valentine’s Day, people!

  I can at least pretend to have a date.

  Still, I proceed with caution, as it may appear weird for me to just plop down right next to the guy, especially when we’re dealing with a nearly empty theatre.

  I don’t want to come off as a complete creeper.

  That’s why I stop about halfway down the row.

  The guy looks up.

  Ooh, I was right.

  He’s beyond gorgeous.

  Look at those chiseled features, those delicious full lips.

  I shake my head.

  Get a grip, Becca.

  He nods.

  I nod back.

  I do so coolly, though, so he doesn’t think I’m back here for him.

  Though I totally am—hee hee.

  Lingering a few seats away, I say, “You don’t mind if I sit in this last row with you, do you?”

  He smirks knowingly—smug ass—and I hastily amend, “I don’t mean with you, with you. It’s just that I, uh, get vertigo if I sit too close to the screen.”

  “Well, this is definitely not close,” he says, his voice smooth and cool.

  “No, no it’s not,” I babble back, not smooth and cool at all.

  Shrugging, he says, “I don’t mind the company.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  I sit down, leaving two barrier seats between us.

  See, I’m prudent.

  After a beat, I hold out my cardboard tub of popcorn, shaking it lightly. “Hey, I’m open to sharing,” I say.

  That makes the man chuckle.

  But then the smartass holds up a hand and retorts, “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “Whatever.” I pull the popcorn back, huffing. “Suit yourself.”

  I’m not sure how to take my, er, uh, neighbor.

  He is insanely good-looking, yes, especially up close, but he’s also rather cocky.

  Lucky for him, I’m a sucker for arrogant pricks.

  What Movie?

  Thank Christ this chick has no idea who I am.

  I was worried at first that she may have recognized me as a pro football player, and that’s why she was heading back to my row.

  Now I think she’s just lonely.

  Like me.

  Why the hell else would I be at this old retro theatre on fucking Valentine’s Day?

  I’m not the least bit interested in the ancient movie that’s playing. I just couldn’t stomach the idea of sitting alone in my big ole empty house.

  Not tonight.

  You’d think playing football as a very skilled wide receiver for the Columbus Comets, I’d have a lot of women wanting to go out with me.

  I do, but they’re not the type I’m interested in.

  I have no desire to waste time with annoying sports groupies who are only looking to land a professional sports player—any professional sports player.

  They don’t care who it is, or what they play.

  As corny as it sounds, I want someone to want me for me.

  I guess that’s why this girl who is standing a few feet away from me, not knowing who I am, is so refreshing.

  Nervously, she asks, “You don’t mind if I sit in this last row with you, do you?”

  Do I mind?

  Hell, no.

  I smirk at the way she’s worded her query.

  Hurriedly, noting my wry smile, she retorts, “I don’t mean with you, with you. It’s just that I, uh, get vertigo if I sit too close to the screen.”

  Sure, pretty lady.

  You’re not fooling me.

  You may not know who I am, but it’s clear you like the way I look. And that is why you came back to this last row. Don’t deny it. I see it in your pretty aqua eyes.

  Playing it cool, just to keep her on her toes, I say, “Well, this is definitely not close.”

  “No, no it’s not,” she stammers.

  More gently, I tell her, “I don’t mind the company.”

  I don’t.

  Not if it’s her.

  She’s attractive in an understated kind of way.

  I like the way her faded jeans hug her slender hips. And the swell of her breasts under the fuzzy purple sweater she has on beneath her open coat has caught my eye.

  And my interest.

  She’s not wearing much makeup. Not that she needs any. This girl is naturally pretty. Her hair is a honey-blonde shade, and she has it pulled up in a high ponytail, making her appear fun and sporty.

  I like it.

  I like her.

  When she sits down, she leaves two seats between us.

  I almost laugh.

  But I don’t.

  When she offers me popcorn and I decline, she yanks it and snaps, “Whatever. Suit yourself.”

  Crap, I didn’t mean to offend her.

  We sit quietly then, waiting for the movie to start.

  When it doesn’t—I mean, hell, not even the previews are playing yet—I try to explain. “Look, it’s just that I don’t like it.”

  “Like what?” the girl states dryly, staring straight ahead.

  “Popcorn. I’m not a fan.”

  “Oh? Ohhh…”

  She smiles over at me then, and it feels like the ice may be breaking.

  Thank fuck!

  With the initial awkwardness out of the way, we engage in small talk about insignificant things like what we’ve heard about the movie—pretty much that it’s old and in black-and-white—and other mundane stuff like how nice it was today.

  Great, we’ve resorted to chitchat about weather.

  Breezily, she says, “I know. It was so mild earlier. I loved it. I’m hoping it stays this way.”

  “Uh, I don’t think that’s happening,” I warn.

  “No? Why not?”

  I give her the bad news. “They’re calling for snow this evening.”

  “Wait, what?” She scowls, a piece of popcorn poised halfway to her mouth.

  She’s so cute.

  I can’t help but smile.

  And then I go on. “I’m afraid so. You know, it is only February, and we live in Ohio. Not exactly a tropical paradise.”

  “No, far from it.” She laughs. “Even though I’ve lived here all of my life, I swear I’ll never get used to the stupid snow. I actually kind of hate
it.”

  “Huh,” I counter, “I sort of like it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “But that’s probably because snow is still fairly new to me.”

  Appearing genuinely curious, she asks, “You’re not from around here?”

  “No.” I twist in my seat to face her more directly. “I’m originally from Florida. I’ve lived in Columbus only a short while. Before that, most of the other places I lived in were warm too.”

  “Wow, lucky you,” she says with no hint of sarcasm. “I would’ve stayed in one of those sunny states.”

  To explain to her why I didn’t would blow my cover—I moved to Ohio when I was picked up by the Columbus Comets—so I just smile over at her.

  There’s no way I’m divulging that football brought me here, nor do I plan to share that I bought a house and am staying in town during the off-season.

  No, I like that this chick has no clue who the hell I am or what I do for a living.

  I plan to keep it that way.

  That’s why I don’t mention my name, not even my first.

  Even if I didn’t offer up my last name—Samuels—my first name, Lars, is pretty unique. She could easily put two and two together.

  Hey, she hasn’t told me her name either. Though I suspect her omission is due to the fact that we’ve been too busy talking.

  Hmm, the conversation has flowed rather nicely.

  But then the lights turn all the way down to almost complete darkness and the previews begin.

  We fall silent.

  Though my new friend is still a couple of seats away, she leans towards me.

  I do the same, shifting in her direction.

  Whoa.

  That’s when I feel it—an electricity, a current running between us.

  If I feel it, she must too, right?

  I think she does, as I catch her pressing her lips together.

  So I take a chance.

  Patting the seat next to me, I whisper, “You should move closer.”

  She looks over at me, her expression indiscernible in the darkness.

  Finally, she says, “Okay.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief that I haven’t offended her.

  “Cool.”

  Once she sits down in the seat next to me, she sets her popcorn down on the floor.

  When she leans back, her arm brushes mine.

  Shit, that current of electricity that’s been humming soars off the charts.

  I take a deep breath.