Dirty Player – Stacey Lynn.pdf

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Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Thank you
About the Author
DIRTY
PLAYER
by
STACEY LYNN
Copyright
Copyright 2016 by Stacey Lynn
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without permissions from the author, except for using small quotes for book review
quotations. All characters and storylines are the property of the author. The characters, events and
places portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is
coincidental and not intended by the author.
Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered
trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked
status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and
use of these trademarks in not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Formatting: Shanoff Formats
Editing: Amy Jackson
Proofreading: Emily A. Lawrence
Photography: Big Stock Photos
Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Designs
Chapter ONE
SHANNON
I slid my fingers through my hair, smoothing back the wavy tendrils that had escaped my ponytail.
The sun beat down on me, the glare so bright through my sunglasses I had to squint to see him.
He stood at the fence and signed autograph after autograph. Fathers with their sons and daughters
boosted onto their shoulders. Women in shirts twisted up and tied between their breasts, baring almost
every asset they had—and not because of the late summer heat.
I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
My brother. He’d done it. Drafted right after college, he’d spent the last three years playing backup
quarterback, but last year, as the Vikings played the final few games of the season and their starter got
hurt, Beaux had been put into the game.
He hadn’t just delivered when the team needed him to—he’d kicked ass.
I had shouted so loud my voice was hoarse for a week afterward.
After the season ended, he’d been traded.
Now, he was the new starting quarterback for the Raleigh Rough Riders. The fans packing the
stadium at their last day of Summer Training Camp hooted and hollered all afternoon every time he
made a great play. Beaux Hale was projected to be their savior, to pull the team that ranked in the
middle of the pack for the NFL into the top team.
I’d been hearing whispers of “Super Bowl-bound” all afternoon while I sat in the stands, close
enough to overhear conversations but removed enough to not have to talk to anyone. The tips of my
fingernails were now ragged—not that it was uncommon.
I had spent years and hours and uncountable minutes dragging him to football practices while our
mom worked three jobs to put food on the table before she became too ill to work. I had been the one
to drive him to practice and toss the ball around with him in our tiny backyard. I’d taken him
shopping for his shoes and helmets and pads at secondhand sporting goods stores. I’d taken on
summer jobs to pay his registration fees. Then I’d stayed home and gone to community college
before commuting the last two years to finish my degree, so I could stay home and take care of Beaux
and my mom when her illness prevented her from working. I’d foregone most of my teenage years
and early twenties in order to be the caretaker for my family. Now, at twenty-eight years old, I was
finally seeing my brother accomplish the dream he’d had his entire life.
I didn’t regret a single second of my sacrifice.
Football had been in Beaux’s blood since the moment he could walk at ten months. He picked up a
football, toddled around our small living room, and never set it down. He kept it in his lap at
mealtimes and cradled in his arms at bedtime. At five, he’d declared he was going to be on TV
someday, playing as quarterback. It was all he’d talked about. All he’d craved.
I’d craved seeing someone in my family finally succeed at something for once. It might as well
have been Beaux.
He was the best of us, anyway. He was determined on the field, full of hard work and focus, but

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