Home Run Baby: A Sports Romance (59 page)

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to settle
again
for agreeing that Connor can choose for himself.”

I pause. “Connor?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

I sit back, letting the name sink in. “I like it.”

“Me, too.”

“Good choice.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s about time,” I joke. “I thought for sure they’d have to assign him a number in the hospital.”

“That’s what you get for letting
me
name him,” he chuckles.

“I’ll just do it myself next time.”

He raises a brow.
“Next time?”

I cringe. “Did I just say
next time
?”

“You did. I thought we were done having kids.”

“We better be.” I stare at my giant stomach. “As soon as this guy comes out, I’m having my vagina fused closed.”

Junior tilts his head. “Well… we don’t have to go
that
far. I’m a little attached to your vagina. Sometimes, in more ways than one.”

I laugh. “Okay, I’ll call the doctor tomorrow morning and cancel the vaginal fusion procedure.”

“Excellent.”

He slides up the bed and lies beside me, raising his arm to guide me against his chest. His lips graze my head and I feel him smell my hair, as he always does.

“It’s good to be home,” he whispers.

I cling to him, resting my head on his thick shoulder as he lays a hand on my belly. Connor stirs inside, reacting to his loving touch and I smile.

“Any day now…” I look up at Junior and he kisses me.

“He’s going to be perfect,” he whispers.

“Promise?” I grin.

He draws an X over his chest.

“Cross my heart.”

Please enjoy

Johnny Deeper: A Sports Romance

as a bonus read!

Thank you for reading!

xoxo

TK

JOHNNY DEEPER

A SPORTS ROMANCE

TABATHA KISS

Copyright © 2016 by Tabatha Kiss

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All characters detailed within are eighteen years of age or older.

No characters engaging in sexual acts are blood-related.

WARNING:
This novel contains explicit descriptions of

erotic and sexual acts that some may find offensive,

including perverse adult language.

Reader discretion advised.

tabathakiss.com

To sign up for exclusive updates on

upcoming novels, giveaways, and more (plus a FREE book!),

please click here:
hyperurl.co/tabathakiss

JOHNNY DEEPER

A SPORTS ROMANCE

BY TABATHA KISS

How deep can he go?

All the way.

ROSE

John Kirby. Just another big, dumb jock with a real big…
you know
.

I swore I’d never get involved with another man like him again.

He’s crude and loud. Vulgar and unsophisticated.

But he knows exactly what he’s doing when he touches me.

I can’t let this happen. I’m a TA at our university and there are rules about this kind of thing.

If we get caught, my entire world will fall apart.

But I’m already in too deep.

And I like it.

JOHN

Rose Hawthorne. Just another hot, blonde babe that gives me a real big…
you know
.

I swore that by the end of the football season I’d make her mine but I wasn’t expecting that to be so hard.

She’s uptight and boring. Frigid and prude.

But I know exactly what to do to melt that ice.

I have a reputation to maintain. I’m a player, both on and off the field.

If I don’t seal the deal, my entire world will fall apart.

I’ll just have to go a little deeper.

And she likes it.

An irresistible womanizer. A forbidden teaching assistant.

College football’s quickest halfback is about to go deep.

SEPTEMBER

Chapter 1

John

“Hike!”

The center snaps the ball back to the quarterback, Junior Morgan. He spins around to hand it off to me and I smile as I grip that tight pigskin in my fingers.

Time to go deep.

I take off to the right, dodging the extended hands of the defensive linemen, each one of them missing me by a wide margin.

I’m John
fucking
Kirby.

Ain’t nobody faster than me.

I throw one foot in front of the other, speeding down the field quicker than anyone else until my toes meet the end zone.

Touchdown!

I spike the ball and throw up my hands, listening to the screams and shouts of the crowd as they echo in my head.

It’s easy to imagine them now. We heard them shake the earth last season when Cary Pierce (yeah,
the
Cary Pierce — four-time professional football champion,
Cary Pierce
) nearly coached us to a college football championship. Unfortunately, a little
family matter
took our star quarterback out of commission and we crumbled to bits under the pressure but there’s no way I’m going to let that happen again this year.

This year, I’m owning this field. I’m owning this season and at the end of it, I’m bringing home a damn championship.

I dance in the end zone, shimmying my hips and twerking while the rest of the team watches from sidelines.

“John…” someone shouts. “It’s just a scrimmage!”

They laugh at me but I keep dancing despite the fact that the stadium is empty and it’s noon on a Sunday.

“Life ain’t no scrimmage, boys!” I shout, waving my helmet over my head like a cowboy. “Make every moment count!”

Coach Bob shakes his head but I see that crooked smile on his old face. “Hit the showers, guys. And John…”

I pause. “Yes, sir?”

“You do you, son.”

“Thank you, Coach!”

I follow them down the ramp, dancing to myself like everyone is watching — because they will be watching.

Might as well show them what I got.

***

“It’s called
the trifecta.
”

I walk along the bench in the locker room wearing nothing but a towel and wet skin, speaking to the team while they dry off from their showers.

“This challenge is for seniors
only,
” I say, pointing a finger. “Sorry, juniors, your challenge is next year.”

I’ve been preparing for this for three years. Three years of learning the moves. Three years of studying the art of seducing the lady folk. Dozens of girls have come (and come again) and gone. I’ve been slapped. I’ve been teased. I’ve been tested and cleared. All in preparation for this challenge.

The trifecta
has been a staple at this school for decades. My father did it. Hell, even old man Coach Bob did it when he was an undergraduate.

“You have until the end of the season to sleep with these three…” I count on my fingers as I list them off. “A freshman, an alumnus, and a teacher.”

The room erupts with hoots and hollers. They all echo back at me through the steam-filled air and I breathe in that satisfying, sinful aroma of manly body spray.

I raise my hand. “Show of hands, boys. Who’s in?”

I wait, scanning the room from face-to-face, expecting a little bit of enthusiasm but all I get is fucking crickets.

“Oh, come on, guys!” I point at Junior’s handsome mug. “Morgan, you’re in, right?”

“Uh…” He slides his deodorant under his armpit.
“No
.”

My finger goes limp. “Why the fuck not?”

“I don’t think my fiancée and daughter would approve,” he smirks, running a comb through his short, dark hair. “I’ll sit this one out.”

I roll my eyes. I almost forgot how off-the-market Junior Morgan was. Last year, he was a fucking sex god. He even had a damn sex van, loving dubbed The Junior-mobile. Then he went all domestic on us. Oh, well. More ladies for me.

“Fisher…” I point at Ty and his trimmed black hair peeks out from behind his open locker door.
“Fisher….
Come on…”

“No,” he says. “I’ll pass.”

I deflate. “You know, you’ve become super boring since you started kissing men, dude.”

He winks up at me. “Duly noted, Johnny.”

“Don’t call me Johnny. Only girls can call me that.” I hop down from the bench. “No one else is in? It’s just gonna be me?”

I take in the team’s faces. Each man looks away as I pass them by, either too jaded or too taken to face
the trifecta
. I don’t get it. I really don’t. College isn’t about finding your true love and settling down. College is supposed to be a numbers game and during your senior year, that number is
three
.

“I’ll accept the challenge.”

I spin around, following the voice and I grit my teeth the second I realize where it came from. Douglas Floyd. The cornerback.

If I were a superhero, my nemesis would be
Douglas Floyd.