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Knoxville Coyotes heartthrob Cohen Campbell is my brother’s best friend. Now, he’s the man posing as my fake boyfriend.
A FOOTBALL ROMANCE SERIES
Knoxville Coyotes
Football
Book 1 of 4
Faked and Fumbled (Knoxville Coyotes Book 1) eBook
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Faked and Fumbled
Knoxville Coyotes Football · Book 1 of 4
Prologue
Brooks’s mouth is moving but I don’t understand the words.
“I think we’ve gotten complacent.” His tone is pleading. His eyes beg me to understand. To agree. To nod and smile and absolve him from the guilt he’s feeling.
But I’m in shock.
“Complacent,” I test the word out. “Brooks, we’ve been together for a decade.”
He sighs. “Come on, Raia. We were fourteen when we got together. Did those years even count?”
I shuffle back half a step as if he pushed me.
“That’s not what I mean,” he backpedals, but it’s too late.
“They meant something to me, Brooks.” I try to keep my voice even.
Behind him, the soccer field beckons. The girls on my team glance over, a range of annoyed, curious, and worried expressions on their faces.
“Of course, they did. For me, too. But, Rai, we never experienced anything else,” Brooks continues.
“Anyone else. Is that what you meant to say?” I shoot back.
His expression twists. Pain flashes through his eyes.
A day ago, hell, five minutes ago, I’d wrap my arms around him. I’d console him and coax him into confiding his thoughts, his vulnerable feelings, to me.
Now, I want to shove him away. Hurt him as badly as he’s destroying me.
I force myself to stand straight. I lift my chin and meet his eyes.
But inside, I’m dying. Coldness sweeps my veins. Icy tentacles stretch from my stomach up into my chest, twisting around my heart. Nausea swims in my head and noises are muffled in my ears.
Brooks shakes the foundation my entire life is built on. His words force me to confront how flimsy that foundation is because I feel like I’m about to collapse like a house of cards.
All it takes is his ending our relationship.
Brooks Spence has been my boyfriend since my freshman year of high school. My first year of boarding school. He’s been my constant, my pillar, my goddamn rock, through high school and university. Soccer team drama and high-pressure nationally televised games. Changing my major and navigating new social circles.
No matter what, I had him. I thought we were unshakeable.
Raia and Brooks. Brooks and Raia. Braia.
Now, nothing.
“How could you tell me this now?” I accuse, tears burning the corners of my eyes. I don’t blink. Don’t let them fall.
He has the decency to look remorseful. “I just, I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“I’m about to play the biggest game of my career,” I remind him, gesturing toward the field. Toward my team who is now huddled together, gawking at me.
“Every game is the biggest game of your career,” he says gently.
What? I straighten, pushing my shoulders back and arching my neck.
“Do you want me to apologize for that? I’m an athlete, Brooks.”
An athlete who takes the game seriously and prioritizes my team over boozy brunches and late-night bonfires. Is he still mad that I left his birthday party early last month?
I turn away, rake my hands over my hair, blow out an exhale.
I apologized for that. Made it up to him by cooking dinner and buying an Armani blazer I couldn’t really afford.
“Rai, after this summer, you’re going to play in Europe,” Brooks reminds me. “Don’t you want a fresh start? Don’t you want to go over there, focus on your team, on your game, and not have…this—” He pauses to gesture between us. “Holding you back.”
I roll my lips together and narrow my eyes. Even though, logically, I understand his point, right now, my emotions are front and center. “I never thought of ‘this’ as a fucking job that tied me down, Brooks. Me and you…we were forever.”
“Callaway!” Coach calls, blowing her whistle to get my attention.
Relief crosses Brooks’s face and that’s the final nail in the coffin. Or my heart.
“They need you,” he tells me, sounding thankful.
“Yeah. And I needed you,” I spit back.
“Raia, we’ll still be friends,” Brooks assures me.
I glare at him. Unless I’m planning to lose my entire friend group, the one Brooks and I have been a part of for ten years, the one that also includes my cousin and best friend, Anna, then yeah, we’ll still be fucking friends. “Yay,” I deadpan.
He squeezes my shoulder. “Good luck today. I’m rooting for you.”
“Fuck off, Brooks.” I shoulder check him as I walk toward the soccer field.
My stomach, previously slick with nerves for today’s game, is now tied in knots at the blow Brooks delivered.
“You okay?” Coach asks as I jog toward the team.
“Fine,” I clip out.
Anna catches my eyes and I note the worry in hers.
I shake my head slightly to let her know I’m cool.
I’m fine. I’m locked in. I got this.
But as I run through the warm-up, my mind is on Brooks.
The first time he kissed me at Anna’s family’s cabin in the Great Smoky Mountains.
The first time we had sex our junior year of high school.
The time he lied for me when Anna and I snuck out and nearly got expelled from boarding school.
Last year, when I brought up marriage.
My head is all over the damn place. Oscillating between the sweetness of our memories and the bitterness of our breakup.
Shit. Brooks and I broke up.
“Raia! You sure you’re okay?” Anna asks as we move toward the center of the field for kick-off.
“I’ll tell you later,” I mumble.
She wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I lean on her for a full second. Anna and I have been best friends, inseparable, from the month we were born. Our moms, sisters, carried us together and gave birth to us in the same hospital, only three weeks apart.
She’s been as much of a constant in my life as Brooks. Even more so.
“Come on. We got a game to win.” Anna squeezes my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I agree.
We lose the coin toss and I wonder if that’s a sign of things to come.
It is.
Because two minutes into the game, a forward and I collide head on. Pain rips through my shoulder and burns a path that cuts through my chest. My breath stops and I go down.
Hard.
“Fuck,” I swear, as a wave of dizziness washes over me.
In my peripheral vision, I note Anna’s horrified expression. I find Brooks on the sidelines and wince at the shock that twists his face. I close my eyes and roll over as vomit crawls up my throat.
“Hey, hey, you okay?” The referee is at my side, followed by Coach and the trainer.
“Callaway,” Coach says. “Stay still.”
“I’m fine,” I protest, trying to push to my feet. “Let me walk it off.”
Coach Williams gives me a hard, searching look. She nods and the trainer and Anna help me to my feet. Slowly, I walk toward the sidelines as clapping and cheers ring out from the crowd.
“You all right?” the player I collided with asks.
I nod. “Yeah. You?”
“All good, baby,” she replies, jogging back onto the field.
As I turn to watch her, agony blazes through my side and I wince.
“You need X-rays,” Coach says.
Absentmindedly, I nod. I know I need X-rays. I know I’m done for the summer.
And, perhaps most painfully, I know Europe is no longer an option. Not this summer anyway.
I just lost my team, my dream, and my constant.
In one afternoon, my life took a massive detour from the carefully laid plans I’ve been plotting and executing for years.
Everything I thought I knew is over.
I’m now on my own.
Brooks’s mouth is moving but I don’t understand the words.
“I think we’ve gotten complacent.” His tone is pleading. His eyes beg me to understand. To agree. To nod and smile and absolve him from the guilt he’s feeling.
But I’m in shock.
“Complacent,” I test the word out. “Brooks, we’ve been together for a decade.”
He sighs. “Come on, Raia. We were fourteen when we got together. Did those years even count?”
I shuffle back half a step as if he pushed me.
“That’s not what I mean,” he backpedals, but it’s too late.
“They meant something to me, Brooks.” I try to keep my voice even.
Behind him, the soccer field beckons. The girls on my team glance over, a range of annoyed, curious, and worried expressions on their faces.
“Of course, they did. For me, too. But, Rai, we never experienced anything else,” Brooks continues.
“Anyone else. Is that what you meant to say?” I shoot back.
His expression twists. Pain flashes through his eyes.
A day ago, hell, five minutes ago, I’d wrap my arms around him. I’d console him and coax him into confiding his thoughts, his vulnerable feelings, to me.
Now, I want to shove him away. Hurt him as badly as he’s destroying me.
I force myself to stand straight. I lift my chin and meet his eyes.
But inside, I’m dying. Coldness sweeps my veins. Icy tentacles stretch from my stomach up into my chest, twisting around my heart. Nausea swims in my head and noises are muffled in my ears.
Brooks shakes the foundation my entire life is built on. His words force me to confront how flimsy that foundation is because I feel like I’m about to collapse like a house of cards.
All it takes is his ending our relationship.
Brooks Spence has been my boyfriend since my freshman year of high school. My first year of boarding school. He’s been my constant, my pillar, my goddamn rock, through high school and university. Soccer team drama and high-pressure nationally televised games. Changing my major and navigating new social circles.
No matter what, I had him. I thought we were unshakeable.
Raia and Brooks. Brooks and Raia. Braia.
Now, nothing.
“How could you tell me this now?” I accuse, tears burning the corners of my eyes. I don’t blink. Don’t let them fall.
He has the decency to look remorseful. “I just, I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“I’m about to play the biggest game of my career,” I remind him, gesturing toward the field. Toward my team who is now huddled together, gawking at me.
“Every game is the biggest game of your career,” he says gently.
What? I straighten, pushing my shoulders back and arching my neck.
“Do you want me to apologize for that? I’m an athlete, Brooks.”
An athlete who takes the game seriously and prioritizes my team over boozy brunches and late-night bonfires. Is he still mad that I left his birthday party early last month?
I turn away, rake my hands over my hair, blow out an exhale.
I apologized for that. Made it up to him by cooking dinner and buying an Armani blazer I couldn’t really afford.
“Rai, after this summer, you’re going to play in Europe,” Brooks reminds me. “Don’t you want a fresh start? Don’t you want to go over there, focus on your team, on your game, and not have…this—” He pauses to gesture between us. “Holding you back.”
I roll my lips together and narrow my eyes. Even though, logically, I understand his point, right now, my emotions are front and center. “I never thought of ‘this’ as a fucking job that tied me down, Brooks. Me and you…we were forever.”
“Callaway!” Coach calls, blowing her whistle to get my attention.
Relief crosses Brooks’s face and that’s the final nail in the coffin. Or my heart.
“They need you,” he tells me, sounding thankful.
“Yeah. And I needed you,” I spit back.
“Raia, we’ll still be friends,” Brooks assures me.
I glare at him. Unless I’m planning to lose my entire friend group, the one Brooks and I have been a part of for ten years, the one that also includes my cousin and best friend, Anna, then yeah, we’ll still be fucking friends. “Yay,” I deadpan.
He squeezes my shoulder. “Good luck today. I’m rooting for you.”
“Fuck off, Brooks.” I shoulder check him as I walk toward the soccer field.
My stomach, previously slick with nerves for today’s game, is now tied in knots at the blow Brooks delivered.
“You okay?” Coach asks as I jog toward the team.
“Fine,” I clip out.
Anna catches my eyes and I note the worry in hers.
I shake my head slightly to let her know I’m cool.
I’m fine. I’m locked in. I got this.
But as I run through the warm-up, my mind is on Brooks.
The first time he kissed me at Anna’s family’s cabin in the Great Smoky Mountains.
The first time we had sex our junior year of high school.
The time he lied for me when Anna and I snuck out and nearly got expelled from boarding school.
Last year, when I brought up marriage.
My head is all over the damn place. Oscillating between the sweetness of our memories and the bitterness of our breakup.
Shit. Brooks and I broke up.
“Raia! You sure you’re okay?” Anna asks as we move toward the center of the field for kick-off.
“I’ll tell you later,” I mumble.
She wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I lean on her for a full second. Anna and I have been best friends, inseparable, from the month we were born. Our moms, sisters, carried us together and gave birth to us in the same hospital, only three weeks apart.
She’s been as much of a constant in my life as Brooks. Even more so.
“Come on. We got a game to win.” Anna squeezes my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I agree.
We lose the coin toss and I wonder if that’s a sign of things to come.
It is.
Because two minutes into the game, a forward and I collide head on. Pain rips through my shoulder and burns a path that cuts through my chest. My breath stops and I go down.
Hard.
“Fuck,” I swear, as a wave of dizziness washes over me.
In my peripheral vision, I note Anna’s horrified expression. I find Brooks on the sidelines and wince at the shock that twists his face. I close my eyes and roll over as vomit crawls up my throat.
“Hey, hey, you okay?” The referee is at my side, followed by Coach and the trainer.
“Callaway,” Coach says. “Stay still.”
“I’m fine,” I protest, trying to push to my feet. “Let me walk it off.”
Coach Williams gives me a hard, searching look. She nods and the trainer and Anna help me to my feet. Slowly, I walk toward the sidelines as clapping and cheers ring out from the crowd.
“You all right?” the player I collided with asks.
I nod. “Yeah. You?”
“All good, baby,” she replies, jogging back onto the field.
As I turn to watch her, agony blazes through my side and I wince.
“You need X-rays,” Coach says.
Absentmindedly, I nod. I know I need X-rays. I know I’m done for the summer.
And, perhaps most painfully, I know Europe is no longer an option. Not this summer anyway.
I just lost my team, my dream, and my constant.
In one afternoon, my life took a massive detour from the carefully laid plans I’ve been plotting and executing for years.
Everything I thought I knew is over.
I’m now on my own.
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THE SERIES
Meet the Knoxville Coyotes
Knoxville Coyotes heartthrob Cohen Campbell is my brother’s best friend. Now he’s my fake boyfriend, my ski-trip savior, and the man sharing one bed with me during a snowstorm. ❄️🏈 Explore Faked and Fumbled →
West Crawford is my ex-boyfriend, a rookie football god, and the man I never truly got over. One Super Bowl celebration later, he’s also the father of my baby. 🍼🏆 Explore Surprised and Sacked →
Talon Miller is charming, protective, and completely off-limits. My dad is his head coach, I’m still healing from heartbreak, and Talon is determined to tackle every demon I’m hiding. 🏈🔥 Explore Trapped and Tackled →
Avery Callaway is a legendary quarterback, my accidental neighbor, and the last man I should marry. But when my visa threatens everything I’ve worked for, his fake proposal starts feeling dangerously real. 💍🦅 Explore Bound and Blitzed →
he's my client, my line in the sand, and the football player who swears i'm his final touchdown. Explore The Final Touchdown →
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Faked and Fumbled
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01
Faked and Fumbled
Knoxville Coyotes heartthrob Cohen Campbell is my brother’s best friend. Now he’s my fake boyfriend, my ski-trip savior, and the man sharing one bed with me during a snowstorm. ❄️🏈
Go to Ebook →Tap to flip
02
Surprised and Sacked
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02
Surprised and Sacked
West Crawford is my ex-boyfriend, a rookie football god, and the man I never truly got over. One Super Bowl celebration later, he’s also the father of my baby. 🍼🏆
Go to Ebook →Tap to flip
03
Trapped and Tackled
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Trapped and Tackled
Talon Miller is charming, protective, and completely off-limits. My dad is his head coach, I’m still healing from heartbreak, and Talon is determined to tackle every demon I’m hiding. 🏈🔥
Go to Ebook →Tap to flip
04
Bound and Blitzed
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Bound and Blitzed
Avery Callaway is a legendary quarterback, my accidental neighbor, and the last man I should marry. But when my visa threatens everything I’ve worked for, his fake proposal starts feeling dangerously real. 💍🦅
Go to Ebook →Tap to flip
05
The Final Touchdown
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The Final Touchdown
he's my client, my line in the sand, and the football player who swears i'm his final touchdown.
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Faked and Fumbled · Synopsis
Faked and Fumbled
Knoxville Coyotes heartthrob Cohen Campbell is my brother’s best friend. Now, he’s the man posing as my fake boyfriend.
Knoxville Coyotes football heartthrob Cohen Campbell is my brother’s best friend. Now, he’s the man posing as my fake boyfriend. Simple, right? Wrong.
I thought my luck couldn’t get worse than when my long-term boyfriend publicly dumped me. Wrong again. Now, my ex is dating my cousin, and our friend group is embarking on an annual ski trip.
Desperate to save face, I beg Cohen to pretend to like me. To bluff wanting me. To lay it on thick to convince my friends that I’m not heartbroken or hurt. I’m not damaged goods. That I have, in fact, moved on.
But during the trip, things change. Cohen’s longing glances make my heart race. His casual, familiar touches stir up new feelings. And his kiss? His kiss makes me yearn for things I’ve never experienced before.
Toss in one bed, an epic snowstorm, and a gossip circle a mile wide, and I’m praying we don’t fumble our fake relationship.
I thought my luck couldn’t get worse than when my long-term boyfriend publicly dumped me. Wrong again. Now, my ex is dating my cousin, and our friend group is embarking on an annual ski trip.
Desperate to save face, I beg Cohen to pretend to like me. To bluff wanting me. To lay it on thick to convince my friends that I’m not heartbroken or hurt. I’m not damaged goods. That I have, in fact, moved on.
But during the trip, things change. Cohen’s longing glances make my heart race. His casual, familiar touches stir up new feelings. And his kiss? His kiss makes me yearn for things I’ve never experienced before.
Toss in one bed, an epic snowstorm, and a gossip circle a mile wide, and I’m praying we don’t fumble our fake relationship.
“This book was engaging and addicting, with the perfect spice and many LOL moments. I absolutely loved this book!” ★★★★★ Kylie Taylor, Amazon Reviewer
“Authentic emotions, witty banter, chemistry, and a fun cast of characters.” ★★★★★ Jennifer Leigh, Amazon Reviewer
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Faked and Fumbled
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Faked and Fumbled — Chapter 1
Continue reading from the Knoxville Coyotes football romance series.
Knoxville Coyotes heartthrob Cohen Campbell is my brother’s best friend. Now, he’s the man posing as my fake boyfriend.
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Faked and Fumbled
Chapter 1
The metal bar rattles as I re-rack it. My hands slip and I swear, reaching for a towel to mop the sweat off my face. I upped the weight today and my body is feeling it.
“Shit, Cohen. How much time did you take off this summer?” My team captain, and oldest friend, laughs.
“None of it,” I say, sitting up. “You?”
Avery Callaway, our cocky quarterback, grins. “I was hitting the gym. Two-a-days.” He flexes obnoxiously. I flip him the middle finger.
“Yeah, okay,” I snicker, knowing Callaway was MIA last week, having an intense sexcapade with a SI swimsuit model from the early 2000s.
Ever since his public breakup with Mila Lewis, another one of my good friends, Avery has spiraled in his romantic life.
Not that I should judge. My situation isn’t much better. I date woman after woman hoping to feel something—a spark, a connection, a desire to want more than the moment—but it hasn’t happened yet. To be honest, I’m done trying.
If Cupid wants to knock me on my ass, he’ll need to send an arrow straight through my heart.
“I haven’t seen you in a minute,” I continue, standing.
Avery slides onto the bench and I move to spot him.
He shrugs. “Things have been hectic.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your MILF call it quits?”
He snorts. “Fuck off.” He completes a set and sits up, taking a swig of water. “Nah, Raia’s home.”
I frown. Last I heard, little Raia Callaway was training to play soccer in Europe. That had always been her dream. Play abroad for a handful of years before coming back to the States to play and inspire little girls across the country that they can be professional soccer players too.
Hell, it’s why she went to that fancy boarding school in New England. It’s why she ghosted our hometown most summers. It’s why I’ve lost touch with her over the past few years…
What would make her change course and come home now?
“Why?” I ask, dumbfounded.
Avery sighs heavily.
A prickle of unease works through me. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’ll be all right,” Avery replies without giving any damn information.
I wait impatiently.
He takes another swig of water. “Brooks broke up with her.”
My face scrunches up in confusion. Raia Callaway came home because some bougey dickwad broke her heart? “And?” I ask, knowing there has to be more to the story.
“Right before a big game.”
I tip my head back and groan. I hope I’m wrong on where this story is headed. “She was distracted.”
“Collided and went down,” Avery confirms.
“How bad is it?” It must be pretty bad if her ass is in Knoxville and not Bologna or Barcelona.
“Broken ribs, a displaced shoulder, and a hyperextended knee. On their own, she probably could have battled through the injuries, but all together…”
“She’s out for the summer,” I conclude.
“Yep,” Avery agrees, laying back down to complete another set.
I spot him, noting how focused he is. That’s Avery. He can push his personal life to the side and home in on football all day, every day, if he has to. Then, he can turn it off and be fully present in his personal life.
It’s why he was such a great boyfriend to Mila for all those years. I mean, until he wasn’t. It’s why he can keep up with his playboy charades while hanging onto his family-man reputation. It’s why he’s one of the best quarterbacks in the country and literally helped our team earn the tagline “the Pride and Joy of Southern Football.”
I don’t have that capability. So, while he finishes another set, my mind whirls.
“When did she get home?” I ask.
“A few weeks ago.”
“How’s she feeling?”
“Hanging in there.”
“And the ex?” I press.
Avery gives me a look. “Brooks was never gonna be it for her. He’s a good dude but…”
“But?” I wonder.
“Boring as hell. My sister thinks she wants that prim and proper New England blue blood type, but she grew bored with him about two years ago. Right now, she’s too hurt to see it, but him breaking up with her is the best thing that could have happened. Just, you know, not before a game.”
“Right,” I mumble.
Avery finishes his last set and I move to a different machine. I try to lock into the exercises, but my mind keeps circling back to Raia.
I haven’t seen her in years but back in the day, she was like a kid sister to me. Annoying as fuck but adorable. I knew Avery didn’t care much for Brooks and to be honest, I never understood what Raia saw in the guy, but she seemed happy.
Man, it rips me up knowing she’s back in town, brokenhearted and too banged up to play soccer. For an athlete, not being able to play your sport is its own kind of hell.
I make a note to drop into the Callaways’ and visit her this week. Cheer her up. I don’t have anything else going on anyway.
I grunt as I start my next set.
Nope, right now, I need to get my head back into the grind. Training camp, preseason, football.
There’s no time for anything else. There hasn’t been in years.
* * *
It’s a few days before I find time to swing by Avery’s parents’ house. My mom requested my presence at my parents’ annual tomato canning tradition. My brother, Cooper, convinced me to join him and his buddies on a day-long biking expedition.
But at the end of the week, and with training camp kicking off on Monday, I ring the Callaways’ doorbell. It’s funny but standing on their front porch transports me to when I was a scrawny nine-year-old and hoped Avery and Raia were home. I used to live for the afternoons when the three of us played hide-and-seek, or manhunt, until the streetlights kicked on.
“Cohen Campbell!” Mrs. C pulls the door wide open. “I haven’t seen you on this porch in ages!”
“I was just thinking that.” I grin broadly before kissing Mrs. C’s cheek in greeting. I thrust a bouquet of flowers into her hands.
“Oh! These are gorgeous.” She beams, studying the pink peonies. “Are they for the patient?”
I laugh and hold up a box of brownies. “No, the flowers are for you. I got chocolate for the patient.”
“You’re a good man,” Mrs. C jokes.
“How’s Raia feeling?”
“Besides being a pain in the ass?”
I laugh. “She always was fiercely independent.”
“Right you are,” Mrs. C agrees as I follow her into the kitchen. “You want a coffee? I’ll let Raia know you’re here.”
“I’ll help myself,” I assure her.
While the Callaways emit Southern hospitality, I’ve been a part of their family long enough to make myself at home.
“Mom has jars of tomato sauce for you. I meant to bring them today, but I’ll drop them off next week,” I promise.
“I can pass by and pick them up. Your mother and I haven’t chatted in too long and now, with all our kids in town…”
“There’s much to gossip about?” I guess.
She smirks. “Raia’s driving me nuts,” she admits before moving toward her daughter’s room. “Raia, Cohen’s here!”
I chuckle as I pour a cup of coffee and kick back at the kitchen table. Everything about this kitchen is exactly as I remember. Eating Popsicles in the summertime, tossing an orange to Avery, right over Raia’s head, while she tried to intervene and catch it. Doing the same thing to Mila years later, when the three of us were thick as thieves, even though I was constantly third-wheeling it.
A moment later, my childhood buddy, the one who was as attached to me as she was to her brother, leans against the doorframe.
And I freeze.
Because little Raia Callaway is all grown up.
She’s wearing a pair of black biking shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Her hair is swept back from her face, twisted and secured at the back of her head with a clip. Her face and feet are bare. She looks casual and comfortable…and fucking beautiful.
“Hey, champ.” I stand.
Raia winces as she steps into the kitchen, and something pulls in my chest. When I get closer, I note the fading bruises on the underside of her jaw.
I reach out tentatively and swipe my thumb over the yellow-green patch of skin. “Got you good,” I mutter.
“You should’ve seen the other girl,” she claps back.
I grin and open my arms. Raia falls into them and lets me hug her while she grips the back of my T-shirt.
“Glad you’re home,” I tell her truthfully.
She nods but doesn’t reply. It’s obvious she would much rather be in Europe, playing soccer, living her dream, than sweating her ass off in Tennessee in July.
I hold her a moment too long and am surprised she smells so damn good. Feels so damn soft. She’s exactly the same and opposite all at once.
I pull away and gesture toward the bakery box. “I brought you brownies.”
Raia smiles and her face opens, like a flower blooming. “They’re my favorite.”
“I remember,” I say softly, opening the box and plating one for her.
She slips into a kitchen chair and lets me pour her a cup of coffee.
She gestures toward the hallway. “Don’t tell Mom I let you serve me.”
I snort and place down her mug. “Yeah? What else is new? My entire childhood was spent waiting on you hand and foot.”
Raia nudges me with her bare foot and her hot pink toenails run against my calf. “Give me a break, Cohen. I’m recuperating.”
“Banged up pretty good, huh?” I take a sip of my coffee.
Her hand moves to the center of her chest, and she presses there, as if holding her heart in place. I’m not sure she realizes she does it. “Yeah. This was a tough setback.”
I nod, wondering if she’s talking about soccer or Brooks.
But I don’t ask because a part of me doesn’t want to know.
A surge of protectiveness runs through me as I watch Raia curiously.
Is she pining for Brooks? Or mourning the loss of starting her soccer career abroad this summer?
Are she and Brooks still talking? Trying to work things out?
Fuck. A bead of anger pulses in my temples.
Why the hell do I care this much?
I clear my throat. “What’s the plan now?”
Raia narrows her eyes. “You mean now that Europe isn’t an option?”
I shrug.
“I was angling for Spain,” she admits, sucking melted chocolate off her thumb.
Shit. I shift uncomfortably in my chair as I watch her. The things is, Raia isn’t trying to be seductive. She’s not trying to be anything.
And yet, I’m attracted to her in a way I shouldn’t be. In a way I don’t want to be.
“I’m going to heal, hit the gym hard, and go after a spot for next season with everything I have,” she grits out, resolve lining her face.
I smirk at the determination in her tone. “Good.”
“I’m not a quitter, Campbell,” she reminds me, lifting her chin.
“Never took you for one, Callaway.”
The corner of Raia’s mouth turns up and she takes another bite of her brownie. “What about you? Are you ready for training camp?”
I stretch out in my chair, relaxing now that we’re talking about a safe topic. Football. “I’m ready. I’m looking forward to the season starting. We’ve got a solid team this year.”
Raia quirks an eyebrow. “And a talented rookie.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “West was drafted from UCLA. He’s lightning fast. I won’t be surprised if he breaks the record for rushing yards during his career.”
Raia grins. “Are you planning to smash any records?”
I smile back. “Just my own. I was shy of 1,800 receiving yards last season. This year, I want to prove to myself I can beat that.”
“Then you will,” she says simply.
“You think so, champ?”
“Know so, Cohen. You’re capable of whatever you set your mind to.”
I dip my head in thanks. I’ve always had a great support network but hearing the sincerity in Raia’s tone hits differently.
Her belief in my football capabilities, in me, is motivating. It adds to my thirst to prove myself. To be enough.
I can’t remember the last time a woman had this effect on me.
I never thought it would be little Raia Callaway.
The metal bar rattles as I re-rack it. My hands slip and I swear, reaching for a towel to mop the sweat off my face. I upped the weight today and my body is feeling it.
“Shit, Cohen. How much time did you take off this summer?” My team captain, and oldest friend, laughs.
“None of it,” I say, sitting up. “You?”
Avery Callaway, our cocky quarterback, grins. “I was hitting the gym. Two-a-days.” He flexes obnoxiously. I flip him the middle finger.
“Yeah, okay,” I snicker, knowing Callaway was MIA last week, having an intense sexcapade with a SI swimsuit model from the early 2000s.
Ever since his public breakup with Mila Lewis, another one of my good friends, Avery has spiraled in his romantic life.
Not that I should judge. My situation isn’t much better. I date woman after woman hoping to feel something—a spark, a connection, a desire to want more than the moment—but it hasn’t happened yet. To be honest, I’m done trying.
If Cupid wants to knock me on my ass, he’ll need to send an arrow straight through my heart.
“I haven’t seen you in a minute,” I continue, standing.
Avery slides onto the bench and I move to spot him.
He shrugs. “Things have been hectic.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your MILF call it quits?”
He snorts. “Fuck off.” He completes a set and sits up, taking a swig of water. “Nah, Raia’s home.”
I frown. Last I heard, little Raia Callaway was training to play soccer in Europe. That had always been her dream. Play abroad for a handful of years before coming back to the States to play and inspire little girls across the country that they can be professional soccer players too.
Hell, it’s why she went to that fancy boarding school in New England. It’s why she ghosted our hometown most summers. It’s why I’ve lost touch with her over the past few years…
What would make her change course and come home now?
“Why?” I ask, dumbfounded.
Avery sighs heavily.
A prickle of unease works through me. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’ll be all right,” Avery replies without giving any damn information.
I wait impatiently.
He takes another swig of water. “Brooks broke up with her.”
My face scrunches up in confusion. Raia Callaway came home because some bougey dickwad broke her heart? “And?” I ask, knowing there has to be more to the story.
“Right before a big game.”
I tip my head back and groan. I hope I’m wrong on where this story is headed. “She was distracted.”
“Collided and went down,” Avery confirms.
“How bad is it?” It must be pretty bad if her ass is in Knoxville and not Bologna or Barcelona.
“Broken ribs, a displaced shoulder, and a hyperextended knee. On their own, she probably could have battled through the injuries, but all together…”
“She’s out for the summer,” I conclude.
“Yep,” Avery agrees, laying back down to complete another set.
I spot him, noting how focused he is. That’s Avery. He can push his personal life to the side and home in on football all day, every day, if he has to. Then, he can turn it off and be fully present in his personal life.
It’s why he was such a great boyfriend to Mila for all those years. I mean, until he wasn’t. It’s why he can keep up with his playboy charades while hanging onto his family-man reputation. It’s why he’s one of the best quarterbacks in the country and literally helped our team earn the tagline “the Pride and Joy of Southern Football.”
I don’t have that capability. So, while he finishes another set, my mind whirls.
“When did she get home?” I ask.
“A few weeks ago.”
“How’s she feeling?”
“Hanging in there.”
“And the ex?” I press.
Avery gives me a look. “Brooks was never gonna be it for her. He’s a good dude but…”
“But?” I wonder.
“Boring as hell. My sister thinks she wants that prim and proper New England blue blood type, but she grew bored with him about two years ago. Right now, she’s too hurt to see it, but him breaking up with her is the best thing that could have happened. Just, you know, not before a game.”
“Right,” I mumble.
Avery finishes his last set and I move to a different machine. I try to lock into the exercises, but my mind keeps circling back to Raia.
I haven’t seen her in years but back in the day, she was like a kid sister to me. Annoying as fuck but adorable. I knew Avery didn’t care much for Brooks and to be honest, I never understood what Raia saw in the guy, but she seemed happy.
Man, it rips me up knowing she’s back in town, brokenhearted and too banged up to play soccer. For an athlete, not being able to play your sport is its own kind of hell.
I make a note to drop into the Callaways’ and visit her this week. Cheer her up. I don’t have anything else going on anyway.
I grunt as I start my next set.
Nope, right now, I need to get my head back into the grind. Training camp, preseason, football.
There’s no time for anything else. There hasn’t been in years.
* * *
It’s a few days before I find time to swing by Avery’s parents’ house. My mom requested my presence at my parents’ annual tomato canning tradition. My brother, Cooper, convinced me to join him and his buddies on a day-long biking expedition.
But at the end of the week, and with training camp kicking off on Monday, I ring the Callaways’ doorbell. It’s funny but standing on their front porch transports me to when I was a scrawny nine-year-old and hoped Avery and Raia were home. I used to live for the afternoons when the three of us played hide-and-seek, or manhunt, until the streetlights kicked on.
“Cohen Campbell!” Mrs. C pulls the door wide open. “I haven’t seen you on this porch in ages!”
“I was just thinking that.” I grin broadly before kissing Mrs. C’s cheek in greeting. I thrust a bouquet of flowers into her hands.
“Oh! These are gorgeous.” She beams, studying the pink peonies. “Are they for the patient?”
I laugh and hold up a box of brownies. “No, the flowers are for you. I got chocolate for the patient.”
“You’re a good man,” Mrs. C jokes.
“How’s Raia feeling?”
“Besides being a pain in the ass?”
I laugh. “She always was fiercely independent.”
“Right you are,” Mrs. C agrees as I follow her into the kitchen. “You want a coffee? I’ll let Raia know you’re here.”
“I’ll help myself,” I assure her.
While the Callaways emit Southern hospitality, I’ve been a part of their family long enough to make myself at home.
“Mom has jars of tomato sauce for you. I meant to bring them today, but I’ll drop them off next week,” I promise.
“I can pass by and pick them up. Your mother and I haven’t chatted in too long and now, with all our kids in town…”
“There’s much to gossip about?” I guess.
She smirks. “Raia’s driving me nuts,” she admits before moving toward her daughter’s room. “Raia, Cohen’s here!”
I chuckle as I pour a cup of coffee and kick back at the kitchen table. Everything about this kitchen is exactly as I remember. Eating Popsicles in the summertime, tossing an orange to Avery, right over Raia’s head, while she tried to intervene and catch it. Doing the same thing to Mila years later, when the three of us were thick as thieves, even though I was constantly third-wheeling it.
A moment later, my childhood buddy, the one who was as attached to me as she was to her brother, leans against the doorframe.
And I freeze.
Because little Raia Callaway is all grown up.
She’s wearing a pair of black biking shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Her hair is swept back from her face, twisted and secured at the back of her head with a clip. Her face and feet are bare. She looks casual and comfortable…and fucking beautiful.
“Hey, champ.” I stand.
Raia winces as she steps into the kitchen, and something pulls in my chest. When I get closer, I note the fading bruises on the underside of her jaw.
I reach out tentatively and swipe my thumb over the yellow-green patch of skin. “Got you good,” I mutter.
“You should’ve seen the other girl,” she claps back.
I grin and open my arms. Raia falls into them and lets me hug her while she grips the back of my T-shirt.
“Glad you’re home,” I tell her truthfully.
She nods but doesn’t reply. It’s obvious she would much rather be in Europe, playing soccer, living her dream, than sweating her ass off in Tennessee in July.
I hold her a moment too long and am surprised she smells so damn good. Feels so damn soft. She’s exactly the same and opposite all at once.
I pull away and gesture toward the bakery box. “I brought you brownies.”
Raia smiles and her face opens, like a flower blooming. “They’re my favorite.”
“I remember,” I say softly, opening the box and plating one for her.
She slips into a kitchen chair and lets me pour her a cup of coffee.
She gestures toward the hallway. “Don’t tell Mom I let you serve me.”
I snort and place down her mug. “Yeah? What else is new? My entire childhood was spent waiting on you hand and foot.”
Raia nudges me with her bare foot and her hot pink toenails run against my calf. “Give me a break, Cohen. I’m recuperating.”
“Banged up pretty good, huh?” I take a sip of my coffee.
Her hand moves to the center of her chest, and she presses there, as if holding her heart in place. I’m not sure she realizes she does it. “Yeah. This was a tough setback.”
I nod, wondering if she’s talking about soccer or Brooks.
But I don’t ask because a part of me doesn’t want to know.
A surge of protectiveness runs through me as I watch Raia curiously.
Is she pining for Brooks? Or mourning the loss of starting her soccer career abroad this summer?
Are she and Brooks still talking? Trying to work things out?
Fuck. A bead of anger pulses in my temples.
Why the hell do I care this much?
I clear my throat. “What’s the plan now?”
Raia narrows her eyes. “You mean now that Europe isn’t an option?”
I shrug.
“I was angling for Spain,” she admits, sucking melted chocolate off her thumb.
Shit. I shift uncomfortably in my chair as I watch her. The things is, Raia isn’t trying to be seductive. She’s not trying to be anything.
And yet, I’m attracted to her in a way I shouldn’t be. In a way I don’t want to be.
“I’m going to heal, hit the gym hard, and go after a spot for next season with everything I have,” she grits out, resolve lining her face.
I smirk at the determination in her tone. “Good.”
“I’m not a quitter, Campbell,” she reminds me, lifting her chin.
“Never took you for one, Callaway.”
The corner of Raia’s mouth turns up and she takes another bite of her brownie. “What about you? Are you ready for training camp?”
I stretch out in my chair, relaxing now that we’re talking about a safe topic. Football. “I’m ready. I’m looking forward to the season starting. We’ve got a solid team this year.”
Raia quirks an eyebrow. “And a talented rookie.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “West was drafted from UCLA. He’s lightning fast. I won’t be surprised if he breaks the record for rushing yards during his career.”
Raia grins. “Are you planning to smash any records?”
I smile back. “Just my own. I was shy of 1,800 receiving yards last season. This year, I want to prove to myself I can beat that.”
“Then you will,” she says simply.
“You think so, champ?”
“Know so, Cohen. You’re capable of whatever you set your mind to.”
I dip my head in thanks. I’ve always had a great support network but hearing the sincerity in Raia’s tone hits differently.
Her belief in my football capabilities, in me, is motivating. It adds to my thirst to prove myself. To be enough.
I can’t remember the last time a woman had this effect on me.
I never thought it would be little Raia Callaway.
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