Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (black books to read txt) 📗

Law #3: Don’t Fall for the AthleteLaws of Love Series

Agnes Canestri

Contents

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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

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Author’s note

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About the Author

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OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

Laws of Love Series

Law #1: Never Bet on Love

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Law #3: Don’t Fall for the Athlete

He broke her heart. She won’t let him do it again...

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Law #4: Don’t Trust the Bad Boy

She thought she knew what she needed in her life. Can this bad boy show her she might have she been wrong all along?

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Loving the Boss

It could be her fresh start. If only she can avoid falling for her boss…

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Gambling with the Billionaire

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Fake-Dating the Single Dad

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Saving the Brother’s Best Friend

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Falling for the Undercover Agent

She was just a job. Until she wasn’t …

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Chapter 1

(Wyatt)

I stare wide-eyed at the name on my phone display. Then, without thinking, my thumb presses the red decline button.

Not once. Not twice. But three times.

Then, I turn the whole thing off for good measure.

My heart races as I shove my mobile back into my sports bag. I curse myself for checking who the caller was. During practice we’re not supposed to get distracted. I should’ve just ignored the darned beeping.

I forbid my brain from dwelling on it. Whatever it is my father wanted, I couldn’t care less.

I grab my bottle and squirt the back of my neck with cold water. It drenches the tips of my dark blond hair and steam rises up from under my jersey.

Heaven bless the NFL regulations prohibiting the use of padding in phase three offseason. If I had to wear shoulder pads with Georgia’s late June weather, the vapor rolling off me would impede my vision.

I lift my eyes to the field and spot Joe, my best buddy on our team, the Kites. As he waves at me, his dark arm cuts through the air with the velocity of a black panther. Typical Joe. Our running back speaks and gesticulates almost as fast as he races—quicker than a knife fight in a phone booth, as he loves to brag. At the speed of light, his fleshy lips mouth something at me, and I have a hard time understanding what he wants.

Ah, the pause is over. Okay, then.

I ditch my bottle on top of my bag, then throw it all beneath one of the benches in our gridiron. I fetch my helmet and amble back to the green grass.

I pass a defensive coordinator who’s in the face of our linebacker, Greg, telling him to keep “outside contain” if and when the quarterback breaks the pocket.

“We can’t let him get outside of us. It’s 3rd-and-long!” he exclaims. The “him” the guy’s speaking about is me, of course.

We’re doing an 11-on-11 as part of our OTAs (organized team activities), and when the coaches picked the team members, I landed on the team opposite to Greg.

Greg catches me ogling them and throws me an ‘I can’t wait for this last drill to be over’ glance.

I give him an understanding nod because he’s my pal, even if he’s temporarily playing my enemy.

I march farther to my starting spot and squeeze my head into the tight confines of my helmet. Luckily, the sweat from the day’s action has lubricated this often-uncomfortable process. It almost feels like the real deal when I slide it on. There’s even that typical clicking noise in my jaw when the firm ear pads press against my cheeks—a reminder of the hits I banked in a few plays ago.

Officially, there’s no contact during OTA games.

Technically, this should mean no risks, either. That’s a joke, though. Even without aiming for bodily encounters, accidents happen. Players run into each other. Knees buckle at sharp angles. That’s why we all use protective headgear.

Young Jamal, my back-up QB, who plays my opposition in today’s game jogs past me. He flashes me a full-toothed smile, one that’s just a hint too cocky for my taste.

I clench my teeth.

The kid is right to brag. He delivered a pretty spectacular touchdown just before the break. I, on the other hand, haven’t done many eye-catching tricks.

Which is a real sucker.

Many believe that OTAs are the watered-down equivalent of spring football in college, but trust me, this isn’t the case in the NFL. You can’t dilute the surrounding talent