Free Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance by C. M. Stunich

life.
    I won't let Tyce make me feel defeated.
    I'd moved to Eugene to start a new life, not mourn the old one I'd left behind. That would've been a nice thought to have last night, before you … you … I sat down on one end of the couch, next to a girl who looked about as short as me. The ache between my legs was still there, a constant pulsing beat that both scared me and aroused me. When I thought of Tyce's hard, warm body pressing into mine, the firm planes of his chest, that perfect 'V' of his hips … it was difficult to think straight.
    I was focused on my plate, trying to organize the messy tower of my hamburger when Melia squealed and came to sit on the pink beanbag in front of the couch, a joint pinched between her fingers.
    “There he is!” she exclaimed as the camera zoomed in on Tyce's face and the announcer started talking stats. I didn't hear a word of it, my gaze trapped on those blue eyes of his, on the dark smudges that lined his cheeks. His face was shuttered, dark, that full mouth of his tight and determined. I wished that some of that expression was for me, imagined for a split second that maybe it was. But then one of his teammates approached him and he smiled. No, no he smirked. This smug confidence rode on Tyce's shoulders as he held his black and gold helmet under his arm. “That's my future husband right there,” Melia joked as she reached back and played with her fall of long, dark hair.
    “Sure thing, Melia,” the blonde on the opposite end of the couch joked. I think her name was Risika. Or maybe she was Vienna. I couldn't quite remember, and right now, I didn't care to.
    I was too focused on Tyce's face, the determined set of his jaw, the fabulous cut of his body in that black and gold uniform. There was a Pac-12 patch above the number eight, the color popping against the dark fabric that wrapped Tyce's wide chest and slender waist. And the tight fit of those black pants? I could scarcely breathe, seeing him there in his element. You clean up good, Tyce Winship, I thought as the camera stayed focus on the team's star player.
    I didn't blame them; I didn't want to look anywhere else either. No wonder I've avoided watching him all this time, I thought as I stared at the screen, completely and utterly mesmerized. Not once in his two previous years on the Ducks had I seen a single game. It wasn't that I hated football or that I hated him (at least not back then), but I knew. Somehow, I knew that if I'd seen him, I'd fall head over heels all over again.
    “Do you think he has a big dick?” Melia asked, looking over her shoulder and raising her eyebrows at me. Something must've shown on my face as I pulled my gaze from the black and gray tattoos spilling out from beneath Tyce's jersey.
    “Huh?” I asked as I blinked to clear my vision, my hamburger clutched tight in my hands, dripping sauce all over my plate. “What did you say?”
    Laughter erupted from all around me, but it didn't matter. I set my food down and wiped the grease from my hands. I wanted to run away, head home and bury myself in my schoolwork. Why, why, why did I have to bump into him in the park? And why, why, why did he just happen to show up at Jia's party?
    I'd spent a long time trying to get over Tyce's betrayal and now, here he was, gracing an HD TV in all his gorgeous glory, his bronze skin gleaming beneath the lights of Autzen Stadium. In truth, he was just a half dozen blocks away from here, less from my actual apartment. But to me, it felt like he was a million miles away.
    When the kickoff finally started, I watched from my spot on the couch, detached and hurting, my body throbbing and my heart breaking. It shouldn't have been like that. I shouldn't have felt like that. And I wouldn't have if I hadn't slept with him. The Tyce I knew and loved was gone, replaced with an arrogant jerk that cared more about a sport than he did about his own family.
    I hate him, I thought and I meant it. Even as I watched him make