Bad Boy's Downfall Ebook

Dedication:

To all the girls who ultimately brought the bad boys to their knees, only to help them grow into incredible partners and wonderful fathers. 

Chapter 1: River

Lola Daire shouldn’t be hot.
I mean, she wears shapeless dresses that hide her figure. Or fucking overalls.
Her nose is usually in a book, her face often devoid of makeup, and sometimes, I wonder if she’s living in reality or in her own head. She’s always thinking, caught up in her thoughts or brimming with ideas and possibilities.
By normal standards, she’s quirky, at best. She shouldn’t be hot.
By my standards, she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s annoying. Distracting. Infuriating.
“Can you pass the potatoes?” she asks.
I heave out a sigh like reaching across the table is a big inconvenience but it’s not. I just hate the way her father, my teammate, Axel Daire, also known as Brawler, shoots me dirty looks for talking to his precious kid. Ever since I sat down at this Friendsgiving dinner, I’ve been on the receiving end of Axel’s glares, or his fiancée and my fucking friend Maisy’s warning glances. I pass Lola the stupid potatoes.
Our fingers brush and even though I know I should pull back, I don’t. Instead, I hook my index finger over her middle one and hold for a moment too long.
Her chocolate eyes pierce mine, sparking with surprise and curiosity.
I flash a wicked smirk before releasing my hold. Of course, she’s curious; she’s a bookworm. Founder of a “girls who code” club on UT’s campus. Her curiosity is insatiable, and I like that I intrigue her.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
I dip my head and turn my focus back to my plate. The turkey and mashed potatoes remind me of Gayle’s Thanksgiving dinners. All homemade pies and cloth napkins, good wine and football in the background.
My foster parents are good people, hell, they took me in and put me on a better life path when I was floundering. Even though I’m missing Thanksgiving this year since the Bolts have an away game, I’ll swing by next week to visit with Gayle. Although I can never give her what she really wants—a loving and forthcoming son—I can make conversation for an hour over coffee cake in her cozy kitchen.
“Who needs another drink?” Damien asks, standing from the table.
Our team captain, Devon, holds up his nearly drained bottle. Maisy grins and says she’ll take another. Harper, Damien’s woman, stands to help him as more teammates call out drink orders.
When Lola begins to add her order, her father clamps a hand over hers and gives her a stern look. “You’re driving,” he mutters.
She drops her head and I fucking hate that he won’t let her loosen up and have a good time. She’s with his team—with him—for fuck’s sake. What does he think is going to happen? She can’t get into any trouble here. Besides, I’d be happy to give Lola a ride home.
I drop a hand to her thigh under the table, give a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes jump to mine, shocked. A spark flares to life in my gut. Her surprise encourages my bad behavior. Even though it’s stupid, messing with her feels good. Her reactions kick-start responses in me that feel half like memories.
Wanting, yearning, desiring. But more than a quick fuck. More than a fleeting moment.
Shit. What is wrong with me? I pull my hand from her thigh, the heat of her skin seeping through her jeans and into my fingertips as I remove my touch.
She’s completely out of my league, the kind of girl that would never look at me. The type of woman who knows, with one glance, that she’s too good for the type of bullshit I flip. But hell if I can’t stop thinking about her.
It’s been a year and a half since I met Lola. She signed her dad and herself up to be part of the welcome committee as the Thunderbolts team formed and players from out of state arrived.
Since I’ve been living in Tennessee for years now, having come up through the developmental league and being part of a feeder program to secure my spot with the Bolts, Lola had asked if I wanted to volunteer to greet players.
I scoffed and shut that shit down real fast. Since Lola’s smart, she kept her distance. But over the course of the past year, something shifted. I’d catch her out with her friend Jasmine, grabbing drinks at Corks, and we’d chat. I made her laugh twice at Maisy and Axel’s engagement party. When I came down with the flu in September, she dropped off a care package on my doorstep. It was the only time I’ve had a woman, save for Gayle, try to take care of me and it felt as good as it was unsettling.
Because, as the guys I grew up with would quickly point out, I’ve got no shot with her.
Damien and Harper return with another round of drinks and my teammates start to push away from the table, too full to keep eating. Little pockets of conversation break out, clustered in groups around the kitchen and living room.
Brawler and Maisy join Turner and his Hollywood-famous girlfriend Celine near the fireplace. Without her father’s presence, Lola gives me a long look.
I stare back, waiting for her to tell me to knock it off or stop screwing around with her. She doesn’t.
I let out an exhale. “Excited for senior year?”
She smiles. “Yeah, it’s hard to believe I’m graduating this year.”
“And you’re thinking about moving to California?” I ask, even though I’m just repeating things she mentioned to Devon earlier.
“Silicon Valley has a ton of great IT and tech jobs,” she explains.
“So does Texas,” I toss out, recalling something my brother Cullen recently mentioned.
A dash of surprise darts over Lola’s face. “You’re right. I’m keeping my options open, casting a wide net.”
“But you don’t want to stay here?” I press, wanting to know that she’s leaving. Wanting to know that she’s got a big, bright future away from here.
Lola shrugs, glancing around Damien’s penthouse. “It’s not that I don’t want to stay more than I want to know what other options exist. My mom and stepdad, my brothers, are in Seattle.”
“Right.” I nod.
“Your family’s local, right?” she asks, turning the tables.
I drop my chin. I hate talking about my family. Not because I don’t care and admire them for taking me in, but because I’ve never truly felt like I belonged. How could I? Gayle and Ken are those parents you see in movies, the types who should win awards for being so damn generous. They already had a son, Cullen, when I entered their lives. Still, they gave me every opportunity they gave him, including their unconditional support. Their love.
I never deserved it. I never earned it. Hell, half the time I was too angry to fucking appreciate it.
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“That’s nice,” Lola says. “It’s always good to be near family.” Her eyes cross the space to snag on her dad and Maisy. “I’ll miss them if I leave.”
I clear my throat again, feeling like something is clogging it. I tug at the collar of my crewneck. I’ve seen enough of the relationship between Axel and Lola to know that they’re close.
That Axel will come for me in my fucking sleep if I make a pass at his daughter.
Lola glances at me, her midnight eyes drawing me in. She flips her hair over her shoulder, and I notice, not for the first time, how silky it is. While she inherited her dark eyes and hair from her father, her petite stature and delicate bone structure must be from her mom. “Do you have any plans for the holidays?”
I take a swig of my beer. “Not really. I’ll visit with my family, catch up with some friends, and that’s about it. You?”
She frowns at my half-assed answer, but I’m not used to this, confiding and sharing. I’m cool with the team but only as deep as I’m willing to go. I don’t overshare like the Rookie or give my two-fucking-cents like Damien Barnes. I’m more like Turner, but not as polite or genuine.
“I’m going to Seattle. I haven’t seen my mom since summer, and I miss her. Besides”—her gaze skates over her dad again, her expression wistful—“my dad and Maisy should have some time to themselves, without me blowing up their spot.”
I tilt my head, considering her words. Out of everyone I’ve met through the Thunderbolts, save for Lola, I like Maisy best. As much as Lola and Maisy click, I guess it would be weird to see her dad date and develop a relationship.
“Too bad,” I mutter.
She glances at me.
“If you were staying in town, I was going to see if you wanted to kick it over winter break,” I toss out, testing the waters.
Lola smirks and gives me a little shove. “No, you weren’t.”
I snort. “I was,” I swear, even though it sounds like bullshit.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah right.”
I shake my head. “Why do you think I wouldn’t want to hang with you?”
She sobers, her eyes growing serious. “Because I’m nothing like you, River.” She gestures toward the living room where the Bolts players and their significant others are hanging out. “You belong to this, this world.” She shrugs. “And…I don’t really fit in.”
I stare at her for a long beat before nodding in understanding.
Even though Lola isn’t saying anything I don’t know, the resignation in her tone gives me pause. But she’s right; we belong to two separate worlds. In fact, they’re so far apart they shouldn’t even be in the same solar system.
But she’s also wrong. Lola Daire could fit in anywhere; it’s me who’s lacking.
It always has been.