Hard Count (Men of Fall Book 5) Read online

  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

  Bet on Ice

  Dare on Ice

  Men of Fall series

  Forward Progress

  Fair Catch

  Eligible Receiver

  Down by Contact

  Hard Count

  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

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books by S.R. Grey

  Chapter One: Last Night in Paradise

  Chapter Two: You Only Live Once

  Chapter Three: Hell Yeah

  Chapter Four: Goodbye, Paradise

  Chapter Five: Training Camp Blues

  Chapter Six: Putting My Best Foot Forward

  Chapter Seven: Stalling

  Chapter Eight: Get Me Outta Here

  Chapter Nine: Wait, What?

  Chapter Ten: I Think I Could Learn to Like Football

  Chapter Eleven: Building the Sport

  Chapter Twelve: We Have So Got This

  Chapter Thirteen: Going Home

  Chapter Fourteen: Surprising Dad

  Chapter Fifteen: Keeping It Real

  Chapter Sixteen: This Football Thing is More Fun than I Expected

  Chapter Seventeen: I’ll Never Stand in Your Way

  Chapter Eighteen: Pretense Dropped

  Chapter Nineteen: Fireworks

  Chapter Twenty: Your Place or Mine?

  Chapter Twenty-One: Slowing Things Down

  Chapter Twenty-Two: The Best Part of Waking Up

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Close Call

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Fast Thinking

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Into Her

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Game On

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: All You Need Is Love

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Chickening Out

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Dinnertime Decision

  Chapter Thirty: Initiation

  Chapter Thirty-One: Coming Clean

  Chapter Thirty-Two: The Best-Laid Plans

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Swift Action

  Chapter Thirty-Four: The Moment of Truth

  Chapter Thirty-Five: That Makes a Few Jaws Drop

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Promotion

  Epilogue: The Next Chapter of My Life

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Destiny on Ice

  Copyright

  Last Night in Paradise

  I’m feeling good tonight, really good. It’s not entirely because of the party atmosphere, though this raucous club at this all-inclusive resort in the Dominican Republic certainly plays a part.

  Mostly, though, my pumped-up vibe has to do with the fact that this is my last night in paradise. I intend to make the most of it too. And I have, by dancing a bunch of times already.

  Hitting the packed dance floor all by myself is not my usual way to have fun, but on this vacation, it’s how I’m rolling. It’s all about having a good time and living life to the fullest, tonight especially.

  You only live once, right?

  You bet your ass.

  So yeah, I may be here all alone at this beautiful resort, but I’ve been YOLO-ing all week long.

  I’ve swum in the crystal-clear blue ocean every fucking day, went boating and snorkeled a few times, and hit up this little club—exclusive to the VIP guests—almost every night.

  Tonight, however, I’m mixing it up. Instead of hanging at the bar and people-watching, like I’m doing right now, I’ve joined the throng of sweaty bodies on the crowded dance floor too many times to count.

  Yeah, I’ve had a blast shaking my faded jean-clad ass like there’s no tomorrow.

  Ah, but there is a tomorrow, one where I’ll leave this island escape and return to the real world, my world, a world of football. Training camp with my new team, the Columbus Comets, starts in two days.

  I can’t believe how fast this summer flew by. I spent most of it finding a rental house in Ohio and making the move from Delaware, where I played at the quarterback position for the Dover Sharks for the past couple of years.

  With all that upheaval, I needed this break and some time away before returning to real life.

  Man, it’s been crazy these past few months.

  After a less-than-stellar season with the Sharks and an early exit from the playoffs, I was traded to the Comets…to be their backup QB.

  From starter to backup.

  Talk about a demotion.

  But what can you do?

  I’m a realist, and I can see the writing on the wall. I have for a while now, as I’m thirty-three. I can still throw the ball like nobody’s business, at least most of the time, but I’m not where I was at, say, twenty-two.

  Some guys have more longevity, but me?

  I really don’t see myself playing all that much longer.

  For now, though, I’m just happy another team picked me up, even if it is in a backup role.

  It still feels good to be wanted.

  Speaking of feeling wanted, a stunning beauty is smiling at me from across the bar.

  Well, hell, I smile right the hell back.

  She must have arrived at the resort recently, as I haven’t seen her all week. I don’t think I would’ve missed her. In fact, I know I would remember her.

  She’s pretty with long, shiny auburn hair and a heart-shaped face. She’s a little curvy too.

  I like that.

  When I catch her laughing with the bartender, clearly teasing his ass over something with the way he’s rolling his eyes, like yeah, okay, you got me, I see that she’s sassy, as well.

  I chuckle to myself and think about how it’s a shame I’m leaving tomorrow. I could’ve maybe gotten to know this spunky chick.

  But all is not lost.

  There’s still tonight, right?

  Yes, yes there is.

  I glance back over at her, and she catches my eye. Lowering her chin flirtatiously and batting her long, dark lashes, she raises her tropical-looking drink in a mock cheer.

  I do the same with my beer bottle and give her an accompanying nod.

  That’s it—I’m going to go over and talk to her.

  But just as I’m pushing my bar stool back, with that intent in mind, some douche slides in next to her, instantly chatting her up.

  Dick.

  I scoot back in.

  I don’t want to stare over at them like some sort of creeper, so I look anywhere but across the bar, sipping the last of my beer.

  Downing my final gulp, I set the bottle down.

  I’m ready to go.

  It’s time to call it a night, as I have an early flight back to Columbus, Ohio.

  I push the empty bottle away, and when the bartender catches my eye, I shake my head, indicating “no more.”

  But it’s like he didn’t even see me.

  Instead of snatching the bottle up and walking away, th
e bartender replaces it with a fresh beer.

  “Wait, hold up.” I jerk my chin to the beer bottle. “I didn’t order this.”

  The bartender points over to the woman I shared a smile with just moments ago before dickhead stepped in.

  Oooh, but wait, dickhead is gone.

  She must’ve blown him off.

  As I chuckle to myself, the bartender says, “That pretty lady over there”—he continues to point over to her—“sent this beer to you.”

  “Oh? Ohhh…”

  He steps away to wait on someone else, and as I peer her way, I’m met once again with that flirtatious smile.

  The “pretty lady” mouths with her full, pouty lips, “For you.”

  Damn, she really is a beauty.

  And you know what?

  Fuck that I have an early flight.

  This week, and especially this night, it’s all about YOLO-ing, right?

  Damn straight it is.

  So I’ll be a little tired tomorrow?

  Who cares?

  I can sleep on the plane.

  Lifting the bottled beer she sent me, I mouth back, “Thank you.”

  Though the drinks are all paid for at this all-inclusive resort, it’s the thought that counts.

  Speaking of which, I should probably send her a drink in return.

  Yeah, I think I will.

  I signal for the bartender, but it takes me a minute to get his attention. When I glance back across the bar, shit, the pretty woman is gone.

  Damn it.

  Where’d she run off to so quickly?

  That sure ended fast.

  I hold up my hand and shake my head to indicate to the bartender that I don’t need him after all.

  Sighing, I mutter a dejected “Another one gets away.”

  It’s just an expression, but someone from behind me clears their throat and says, “Ahem. ‘Another one gets away’ huh? Are there a lot of women who send you beers that, uh, ‘get away’?”

  I start smiling.

  I know it’s her before I turn around.

  Not just because of her words, but her voice. It’s sexy and seductive and completely what I’d expect from her.

  I spin around on my bar stool to face her, and before I can even stop myself, I blurt out, “Wow.”

  She just smiles.

  Damn, this woman is even prettier up close. She’s lightly tanned, has high cheekbones, and vivid green eyes that are beyond mesmerizing.

  I can barely pull my gaze away to check out how good she looks in the multicolored tropical print sarong dress she has on. It fits her every curve like it was made for her.

  But it’s those eyes of hers I keep going back to.

  Locking gazes once more, and drowning in sparkling emerald depths, I finally answer her question. “No, there aren’t a lot of women sending me beer or drinks of any kind. You’re the first of the week, so technically that makes you the first who got away as well.”

  “Ahh, I see.” Smiling, she flips her hair back and says, “Well, I’m here now.”

  I like her.

  She really is sassy.

  Chuckling, I murmur, “Yes, yes you are.”

  Gesturing to the open stool next to me, she asks, “Mind if I join you?”

  “No, not at all. In fact, I’d be sad if you didn’t.”

  That makes her laugh.

  Damn, even her chuckle is sexy.

  I pull the stool out for her, noticing that as I do, she’s checking out my muscular arms in my tight black tee.

  I think she likes what she sees, as I catch her biting her full bottom lip.

  I resist the urge to smile and bust on her.

  Once she’s situated, I say, “Hey, thanks for the beer.”

  She pshaws, “It’s not like it cost me anything.”

  “No, I know.” I shrug. “It’s the thought that counts, though, right?”

  Nodding, she concurs, “It is. And that’s the spirit in which it was sent.”

  Softly, I ask, “Can I repay the favor?”

  “Sure.”

  I jerk my chin to her drink glass, which is just about empty. “What are you drinking?” I ask.

  In a sultry tone, she replies, “Sex on the Beach.”

  I just walked right into that one.

  I swallow hard. “Uh, okay, great. Sex on the Beach it is.”

  I summon the bartender and order the lady what she wants, the title of which I’d love to engage in with her.

  I’m not a pickup kind of guy, not at all, but this is my vacation and I am YOLO-ing like a mofo. Might as well go all in. Not to mention, I’m prepared too. I have protection up in my suite, plus a condom in the pocket of my jeans.

  But wait, I’m getting way ahead of myself.

  Let’s just see how this goes.

  Starting with the basics, I ask, “So what’s your name?”

  She crosses her tanned legs.

  Twisting my way, resting her elbow on the bar, and placing her chin on her hand, she says, “Lexi. And yours?”

  “I’m Mike.” I offer her my hand.

  Reaching out, she shakes with her free hand. “Nice to meet you, Mike.”

  “Likewise.”

  With our hands touching, it’s impossible not to notice how good this feels. Talk about instant chemistry.

  Lexi clears her throat, and with her hand still in mine, she murmurs, “Wow.”

  “Right,” I rasp.

  When we finally let go of each other, she sits up straight and takes a sip of her drink, as if to cool down.

  I get it, honey.

  I blow out a breath, surprised, but in a good kind of way, that my skin is still warm and tingly where her hand was touching mine.

  I’ve heard of connections like this, but I’ve never actually experienced one, and definitely not with a stranger.

  I take a long pull from my beer, and as Lexi’s fresh drink arrives, the aptly named Sex on the Beach, she sips from the straw—once, twice, three times.

  Yeah, it was intense, wasn’t it?

  Pushing the straw back down into the glass, she says, “So, anyway… What brings you to the island? Are you here all alone?”

  “I am,” I confirm. “And as for why I’m here, I wanted to get away for a few days.”

  “Same here,” she says, laughing.

  Leaning forward, her shiny locks framing her face, she takes a small sip from the straw bobbing in her drink.

  When she sits back, and in an effort to procure more information, I ask, “Man trouble at home?”

  Thankfully, she replies, “No, nothing like that. I’m actually unattached.”

  Yes!

  Eyeing me carefully, she asks, “What about you? Is there someone special waiting for you back home? A girlfriend…or maybe a wife?”

  I swear she’s holding her breath, waiting for my reply.

  Sure enough, when I say, “No, none of those. I’m unattached, as well,” she exhales audibly.

  Nodding once, she says, “Good. As for why I wanted to get away, it’s more of a case of family drama.”

  “Ahh, I see. Care to share any details?”

  She sighs. “Not really. It’s just that my pushy father has been driving me nuts lately. He wants me to take over the family business at some point and would like to see me more involved right now. Problem is I have no real interest in the business.”

  I don’t ask what their business is. She can tell me if she wants. More importantly, I’d prefer not to delve too deeply into personal information. If we do, it’ll probably come out that I’m a professional sports player. Women get weird sometimes once they learn that, often treating me like I’m some sort of a prize to be pursued.

  I’m not bitching; it just is what it is.

  Tonight, though, I just want to be appreciated for me just being me.

  So we’ll keep this simple.

  In an effort to do exactly that, and upon hearing a song with a good beat starting up, I ask Lexi if she’d like to hit the
dance floor.

  That’ll keep us from revealing too much about ourselves. Not to mention, I’d like to see her moves out there.

  That’s why I’m pumped when she says, “I’d love to dance.”

  “Great, let’s go.”

  Taking her hand, and reveling in our smoldering connection once more, I lead her out to the dance floor, where we bump and grind to the beat.

  Lexi is hot and sexy, and, damn, I fucking want her.

  If all I do get is a few dances with her, then so be it.

  But if she’s up for more, I’m more than down for that.

  You Only Live Once

  After the crappy week I just had, filled with day after day of my dad bugging me to take an interest in the family business, I just had to get away.

  My father, Mitch McCully, a former professional football player, owns a stupid-ass professional sports team—football, of course. They’re called the Columbus Comets.

  I really don’t know much more than that, as I don’t follow football, particularly not the annoying Comets.

  See why I don’t want to be involved?

  I have no interest, okay?

  Problem is my dad wants me to take over the team and run the daily operations someday. I have no siblings to take the reins, and my mom and dad divorced a long time ago. Not that Mom ever would’ve wanted the business. She lives in Europe now and does a lot of traveling with her newest, and fourth, husband.

  So yeah, it’s pretty much fallen on me to carry on the McCully legacy.

  I know I can’t put him off forever, but I can for a while.

  And that’s what I intend to do.

  I’m sowing the last of my wild oats before I settle down in any way, shape, or form, including with work.

  “Can’t this wait, Dad?” I asked my father before I left town.

  It was about our seventh conversation on the subject in as many days.

  “No,” he replied, frustrated. “It can’t, Lexi.”

  “Ugh.”

  We were in his office at the Comets’ football complex, and I swear it was taking all his willpower not to pound his big, meaty fists on his fancy solid oak desk.

  Yeah, I frustrate him that much.

  There was no fist-pounding, though, of course. That’s not his way.

  My father just sighed and said, “Lexi, look, it feels like we keep having this same conversation over and over again.”

  “Um, that’s because we do,” I retorted.