Forbidden Player (Forbidden Small Town Bad Boys) Read online

  Forbidden Player

  Holly Jaymes

  Copyright © 2020 by Holly Jaymes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. No Booze, No Women, No Bad Press

  2. In Walks Trouble

  3. On the Path to Nirvana

  4. He Makes Me Mean

  5. Trying to Behave

  6. Traitorous Hormones

  7. The End of My Career

  8. The Run In

  9. Confusion

  10. Underestimated

  11. Seeing Stars

  12. Tumbling Head Over Heels

  13. Life Is Good

  14. The Bubble Bursts

  15. Taking a Chance

  16. Loving Tucker

  17. Home

  18. The Retreat

  19. Betrayed

  20. Ruined

  21. Time to Move On

  22. The Choice

  23. Sneaking Home

  24. Checkers

  25. Skinny Dip

  26. Full Circle

  Author’s Note

  Epilogue

  About Holly Jaymes

  Also by Holly Jaymes

  Introduction

  No booze. No women. No bad press.

  Seems easy enough until I wake up to my naked ass plastered all over the internet...

  These are the rules I need to live by if I want to win back my position of starting quarterback.

  With my dream on the line, I’m keeping my pants zipped up…

  That is, until I meet Emma, who has a dream of her own to start an artist’s retreat.

  She lights me up in places I didn’t even know had gone dark and so who could blame me for breaking one rule?

  She’s forbidden, and yet the more I have her, the more I need her. I’m willing to give her everything. I even pose naked for her art.

  So when pictures of my private parts end up all over the internet, my dream is once again jeopardized.

  There’s only one person who has access to these private photos sold to an online celebrity gossip site.

  Now I’m left wondering if the woman I fell head over heels for sold my dream to pay for hers.

  1

  No Booze, No Women, No Bad Press

  Tucker

  I woke up feeling like there were rocks in my head and cotton in my mouth. It was how I’d woken up most days since finishing my shoulder rehab a month or so ago. But who was counting? What month was it anyway?

  I opened my eyes, and then shut them against the glare of the southern California sun beaming into my penthouse condo.

  “Fuck.” I rubbed my hands over my face and turned over in my bed fully expecting to find a blonde beauty naked next to me. Nope. No blonde beauty. No brunette or redhead either. Was I losing my touch?

  The events of the night before flickered like a movie in my brain. Like most nights, I was out clubbing with my buddies and everyone who wanted to get up close and personal with Tucker McLean, quarterback of the Pacific Coast Sea Lions. I indulged in booze and women, but apparently I hadn’t brought one home. I hadn’t brought one home in a long time. Not since my brother’s wedding nearly two weeks ago.

  I was genuinely happy for my brother. Shocked, for sure. Not that he’d gotten married. Mason had always seemed the family type. No, the surprise was his marrying Willa Haynesville. The McLean and Haynesville families had been feuding for generations, but like some Romeo and Juliette, my brother and Willa fell in love. And fortunately, they had a better outcome. They married and were starting a life of wedded bliss.

  Happiness couldn’t have come to a better man. Mason was my older brother, but he’d been a bit of a geek growing up. I’d been the golden boy of the family, getting the most attention and girls at school. He was brilliant, but sacrificed going to college so that I could go instead and pursue my dream of football. After I’d trained him a bit at the end of high school, he’d joined the military and became a SEAL, until a head injury led to his discharge. After a few years in Los Angeles helping me train, and training a few celebrities for superhero roles, he’d decided to move back to our home town of Eden Lake, California. He lived an unassuming life, running a billion dollar empire online, volunteering as a firefighter. Now, he was also a husband.

  Honestly, when I saw Mason at his wedding, I was a little envious of my big brother’s new found happiness. I don’t think I’d ever seen him so relaxed and carefree. And the way Willa looked at him…I’m pretty sure no woman had ever looked at me like that. Sure, women liked my looks - the muscles, the long, thick dick - but mostly I think they liked the money and fame.

  That thought brought on an empty feeling that I’d spent the night before drinking to get rid of. Pushing it aside, I rolled from bed, waited for the room to stop tilting, and then made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the water and stepped in before it got warm, letting the cold stream jolt me awake.

  With my palms resting against the tile in front of me, I put my head under the spray, washing away the fog.

  I doubt Mason woke up with a hangover these days, assuming he ever had. He’d always been fairly straight-laced. Thinking of him reminded me that I’d planned to head back to our hometown when he and Willa got back from their honeymoon so he could train me.

  Boy, I really needed to get training too, I realized as I rolled my shoulder under the warming water. Five months ago, I separated my shoulder when an opposing team drove me into the turf. The good news was that I’d gotten the ball off, and the tight end had been able to run it in for a touchdown. The bad news was that I needed surgery and I was out for the season. I might have been able to come back for the playoffs, but Joe Lang, my backup, played well and got us to the playoffs, which meant I was on the bench.

  I lifted my head so the spray hit me directly in the face hoping to get rid of the feelings I had about being usurped. It was no secret that I was going to have to compete to re-earn my spot as the starting quarterback. I worked my ass off for that team and now I was back where I started. It wasn’t fucking fair. I slapped the tile with my hand.

  I’d show them. I’d train hard until July and once in training camp, I’d make Joe Lang look like he played Pop Warner.

  I finished washing up and exited the shower. With a towel around my waist, I looked at myself in the mirror.

  “You look like shit, McLean,” I said to my reflection. Still in my towel, I headed out to the kitchen to get coffee, but once again, I forgot to set it the night before, so I had to go through the tasks of brewing a pot.

  While it brewed, I tossed on sweatpants and a PC Seal Lion t-shirt and checked my phone. I had several notifications. I went through the social apps.

  “Ah fuck.” There was a picture of me with a clearly inebriated woman giving me a lap dance. It was shit like that, that made me look like the player everyone thought I was, and I wasn’t talking about football. At least it wasn’t a dick pick. I was more careful now after that old fiasco.

  My phone pinged with a text from Lauren Moore, my agent.

  Be up and coherent in 30 minutes. We have to talk.

  She was a most excellent agent, except when she acted like she was my mother. Since she was only a few years older than me, and at one time I’d wanted to fuck her, it really grated on me when she talked to me like I was a child. This text was one of those types of messages. I thought about being contrary, but
she was my agent and with my career in a bit of a freefall, I needed her on my side.

  I’m up. Coffee is brewing.

  She didn’t respond. Just as well. She’d just repeat it once she got here.

  True to her word, she was at my door thirty minutes after her text.

  “You look like shit,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Thank you. Coffee?”

  “Yes.” She followed me to the kitchen.

  I poured her a cup and handed it to her. She sipped, her piercing gray eyes scrutinizing me and I nearly squirmed.

  “What the fuck to you want, Tucker?” she asked in her abrasive manner.

  “Peace on earth?”

  “Then join the military or the diplomatic service.”

  I sighed and leaned back on the counter. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re on the cusp of losing your—”

  “I know I need to compete for first string.”

  “Not first string. Your job, Tucker.”

  I flinched. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the manager and owner are tired of your playboy bullshit. Joe Lang isn’t as good as you, but he’s dedicated and he got the job done. He’s not out screwing every vagina in town. He’s not waking up hungover every damn day.”

  “He’s ugly as sin,” I said defensively.

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to play football?”

  My jaw tensed. “Yes.”

  “Then you need to get your shit together. If you want to even have a chance to compete for your job - no booze, no women, and no bad press. That means no lap dancers giving you a hardon.”

  I tried to look tough. I was six foot four, over two hundred pounds, but under Lauren’s heated stare I felt like I was six years old.

  I shrugged. “I’ll go somewhere else. I’m a good quarterback.”

  “Were is the operative word. You were a good quarterback. No team wants to take a chance on a has-been quarterback with a bad boy reputation after an injury. At least no one that will put you first string or pay you what your worth. And you can kiss endorsements goodbye. I hope you have a backup plan, because right now, football is a distant dream again unless you straighten up.”

  I was sure she was being overly dramatic, and yet, I knew there was truth to her words.

  “No booze. No women. No bad media,” she repeated. “From now until camp. Can you do that.”

  “Yes.”

  She arched a brow like she didn’t believe me.

  “I can. I was planning on going home. Mason will train me. He’s married now.” I hoped she’d think that he’d be a good influence on me since she knew Mason and his boy scout reputation.

  “Good. Because I’d planned to make a fortune off you and you’re fucking it up.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You can do so much better, Tucker.”

  “Yes, I know.” I turned away to pour myself more coffee even though I hadn’t finished what was in my mug.

  I heard her sigh. “Have you considered seeing a shrink or something?”

  “What? Why?” I asked, turning to look at her. “I’m not crazy.”

  “You’ve lost your…I don’t…nerve? You still have your arrogance, but you don’t have the confidence. The job is yours to lose Tucker, but you act like you’ve already lost it.”

  “I’m fine. I just need to get back into my regular training routine. That’s it.”

  She studied me. “When you do leave?”

  “Mason should be back from his honeymoon this weekend.”

  “Don’t wait. Go to Eden Lake now. You’ve got a place there already. Don’t go out. Don’t let those tourist women get after you.”

  “It’s April, too early for the tourist season.”

  “Go find yourself, Tucker. Get your head right. Go today. No more clubbing. No more lap dances.”

  I held a hand up. “I heard you. I’ll go today.”

  “Good. I’ll be out to visit you in a week or two. See how it’s going.”

  I nodded.

  “And I’ll be in touch with Mason.”

  “I’m not a child that you need to report on me to my brother.”

  “You’re an investment. I plan to make sure my investment isn’t screwing me over.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  She walked to my sink and put the coffee cup in. Then she hugged me. “You know I love you, Tuck, right?”

  “Ah…if you say so.”

  She patted my face and then pointed her finger at me. “No booze. No women. No bad press.” Then she marched out of my penthouse.

  It took me a minute to catch my breath after that. Then I went to my room. I changed into jeans and a polo shirt, and packed a bag. I knew Mason had the equipment we’d need to train such as pads and a helmet, but I did bring my lucky ball.

  Thirty minutes later, I was down in the parking garage. I considered driving over in the Porsche which would have made a funner ride, but I was supposed to avoid flashy. Plus, if I wanted to drive out into the middle of nowhere, I’d need a four-wheel drive. So, I took my Range Rover instead.

  I headed east toward the San Bernardino National Forest. Two hours later, I was entering Eden Lake. I opened the sunroof and rolled the windows down, sucking in a deep breath of air. I looked up, letting the sun hit my face, and then returned my gaze to the road. I enjoyed living in Los Angeles, but I couldn’t deny the feeling of lightness that came over me when I came home. There was space, clean air, and natural beauty.

  I turned into the condo community where Mason and I owned a unit that I usually stayed in when I was here. I parked and dragged my bags up to the condo. Maybe I’d go for a run along the lake, I thought, as I tossed my bags on the bed.

  Yes, it was good to be home. I’d do what my agent asked. I’d get my shit together. No booze. No women. No bad press. I’d miss the booze a little bit. I didn’t have a relationship so really, the thing I’d miss most about women were the orgasms. Since I hadn’t had one with a woman in a couple of weeks, clearly, I could do without that. There was no rule about jerking off, so I could do that if the need struck. And no bad press. I wouldn’t miss that at all. So yes, I could do this and regain my reputation as the best quarterback in the league.

  In Walks Trouble

  Emma

  I hung my newest watercolor painting on the wall of Paradise Java where I worked as a barista. It was a great job to meet people while giving me a schedule that allowed me time to pursue my passion of painting. Even better, the owner let me hang some of my work on the walls in a consignment arrangement. I wasn’t making a living with art, but I had sold a few pieces. It was a small step toward my goal of owning a studio-gallery for local artists. I’d even recently begun to think about hosting an artist retreat.

  Nana would say I was living my best life; although, I was certain my mother was waiting for the novelty of living in the small mountain resort town of Eden Lake and serving coffee to wear off. I felt very content at the moment, so I hoped she wasn’t holding her breath.

  It was mid-afternoon, so the place was empty as the post-lunch crowd left, and the late-afternoon need-a-pick-me-up crowd hadn’t arrived yet. The bell on the door jingled and I turned with my signature smile that immediately dropped when I saw Tucker McLean walk in.

  He looked around and when he saw me, he smiled. “Emma, right?”

  “You remembered. I figured you only remembered the names of women you slept with.” If that. It was rude and I was surprised at how easily he brought out the snarky side of me.

  He took it good naturedly. “I remember the names of all the beautiful women I meet.”

  Tucker was probably the most handsome man I’d ever seen in person. I’ll admit, when I first met him at his brother Mason’s wedding, I was a little taken by his easy smile and charisma. The problem was he knew he was good looking and so he acted like God’s gift to women, which for me, spoiled the appeal. My disdain grew when he acted genuinely flabbergasted that I had no clue who he
was. In my defense, I didn’t follow football, so how would I have known?

  Even so, I had to admit, he was still looking good, albeit he’d lost some weight. He still had sculpted muscles as the contour of his tight t-shirt indicated. His legs in running shorts were perfection. He could be a model for Gray’s Anatomy, the book. I’d heard there was a show with that name, but since I didn’t watch TV, I wasn’t sure.

  I headed back behind the counter and gave myself a mental talk to be nice. He was a customer, after all. Plus, chances were that he wouldn’t hit on me again. My experience with men like him was that they didn’t take rejection well and would avoid it in the future.

  “What can I get you?” I plastered on a smile.

  He looked up at the menu. “Passion fruit smoothie with banana and whey protein.”

  “Coming right up.”

  The bell rang again and a family of four I didn’t recognize walked in. Tucker turned to see who it was.

  The man stopped dead. “Holy shit, it’s—”

  “Kyle, language,” the woman said.

  “Hey, you’re Tucker McLean,” the boy who had to be around eight or nine said.

  Tucker flashed them his megawatt smile. “Hi. You’re Sea Lion fans?”

  “Oh my God, Dad! It’s Tucker,” the boy said again.

  “Sure is, Dylan.” The man reached out his hand. “What an honor. We’ve been following you since your college days. We live outside of L.A. and go to as many games as we can.”

  Tucker shook his hand. “True fans. I appreciate it.” Tucker then squatted down to look at the little girl, who had to be five or so. “Do you like football?”