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  Recovered Fumble

  Baylin Crow

  Recovered Fumble by Baylin Crow

  Copyright 2019 Baylin Crow

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations and events portrayed in this work are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity is purely coincidental.

  The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording or photocopying without written permission from the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Any images or models shown on covers are for illustration purposes only. The characters depicted and any texts expressed in this story are not reflective of any models shown.

  Cover Design by Baylin Crow

  Proofing by Kathy Kozakewich

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Series Note

  1. Rendon

  2. Nash

  3. Rendon

  4. Nash

  5. Rendon

  6. Nash

  7. Rendon

  8. Nash

  9. Rendon

  10. Nash

  11. Rendon

  12. Nash

  13. Rendon

  14. Nash

  15. Rendon

  16. Nash

  17. Rendon

  18. Rendon

  19. Nash

  20. Nash

  21. Rendon

  22. Rendon

  23. Nash

  24. Nash

  Epilogue

  About Baylin

  Ways To Connect With Me!

  Sugar Land Saints Series

  Also Available: Fling

  Also Available: Risk

  Also Available: Scar

  Also Available: Quarterback Sneak

  Also Available: Broken Play

  Series Note

  While there is a real Sugar Land, Texas, the fictional city this book takes place in is simply that: fictional. Each story in the Sugar Land Saints Series will be semi-standalone and each will focus on a new couple. You can read them separately, but I recommend reading them in order. Characters from previous books in the series will make appearances and be referenced while new characters for future books will also be introduced.

  To start from the beginning check out Quarterback Sneak (Sugar Land Saints Book One).

  Hope you enjoy!

  Baylin xo

  One

  Rendon

  April/NFL Draft

  According to the directions my brother had given me, the red brick duplex that belonged to Nash, one of Shaw’s teammates, sat at the end of a long road lined with cars. As I eased between the rows, I searched for his blue sedan and came up empty. I parallel parked my old white hatchback between two trucks that had left enough space for my tiny car, snatched my phone up from the cup holder and tapped out a message to Shaw.

  “Hey, I think I’m at the right place but I don’t see your car.”

  I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I waited for the reply. The engine whined due to a loose belt so I shut it off and cracked my door open, prepared to climb out. When my brother had invited me for the weekend to roam the campus and possibly meet some people before I started my freshman year in the fall, I’d reluctantly agreed.

  The trip from home where I lived with my parents wasn’t too far, but it was long enough that turning around was just as unappealing as the view from my windshield. As I glanced around at the cars and checked out the scene, I questioned my decision to stay.

  Despite the fact that the sun still kissed the horizon, the party was well underway. I’d only been prepared for a small NFL draft watch party to see if Shaw’s buddy made the cut. Yet the atmosphere seemed much more like the college parties I planned to avoid and not a few football players sitting around a big screen like I’d imagined.

  Several people loitered on the front porch and from where I sat, held what looked like beer bottles. Music thumped from inside, gaining volume each time the door of the right-hand unit opened to let people come and go. I wondered what the neighbor thought about all the noise. The porch was partitioned by a large column, but no one seemed to respect the boundary and the whole space appeared to be fair game.

  Parties weren’t my thing. I’d never been to a real high school party either. That would have required being invited to one. And forget prom. I’d skipped that altogether.

  My phone buzzed in my hand and I shoved my black wire-framed glasses up the bridge of my nose as I glanced down. “Oh, shit. Sorry, I rode with Bishop and forgot to tell you. On my way outside now.”

  I blew a raspberry and wondered if it was too late to change my mind. The front door swung open again and Shaw stepped out and waved.

  As I climbed out of the car, a light breeze rolled over my skin and rustled the mature trees that towered above the homes. My brother, a Saints wide receiver, wore his usual comfortable t-shirt, cargo shorts, and tennis shoes. He dodged the people on the steps and met me halfway up the sidewalk.

  Rethinking my ironed navy-blue short-sleeved button-up shirt and khaki shorts, I hoped I wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Six inches taller and much broader than my five-eight, slim frame, Shaw dwarfed me as he slung a heavy arm over my shoulder. Despite the difference in our height and weight, Shaw and I resembled each other with the bright green eyes and blond hair we’d inherited from our mother.

  Shaw ruffled my hair and I batted his hand away and ran my fingers through the strands to fix them back into place. He chuckled. “How was your drive?”

  “It was fine.” My gaze was drawn to the house again when a few people stumbled onto the lawn and laughed as a girl fell on her hands and knees, giggling as she was helped up.

  My brother released me and stepped back. “I swear we didn’t plan on this many people showing up but word got out. Happens sometimes at these things.” He shrugged. “It’s mostly guys from the team, and some of their girlfriends. A few random people from school.”

  “A few?” My eyes widened.

  “Okay, a lot. But this was about meeting people before you start in the fall and a lot of these people won’t be around during the summer. Maybe it worked out for the best,” he suggested with a hopeful smile.

  I nodded but inwardly grimaced as the noise seemed to escalate. “His neighbor doesn’t complain?”

  “Nah. Most of the housing around here is for students and they don’t care. Jesse is a cool guy. He was actually inside earlier, may still be.” He pursed his lips then dismissed the topic. “Come on and I’ll introduce you to some of the guys.”

  When I hesitated, he frowned.

  “I don’t think I’m going to fit in here,” I admitted.

  Shaw crossed his arms. “You might be surprised. They aren’t bad guys, I promise.”

  Though I’d likely recognize most of his teammates from attending his games, I didn’t know them personally so I’d have to take his word for it. And I couldn’t tell him that after he’d left our hometown, my experience hadn’t been the same as his. Being responsible for taking the football team to state year after year had given Shaw a get out of jail free card for being bisexual. No one had given him crap when he’d come out. Well, no one did it to his face anyway.

  High school hadn’t been fun for me. When I came out, I hadn’t received the same pass. Maybe because I was gay and not bisexual, but I doubted it. They wouldn’t have cared. Liking dick in any way was social suicide for a guy. Rumors and goss ip followed my every step. My few friends vanished at the first whispers of any connection to the geeky queer boy. And a lot of it had been started by the hometown heroes wearing football pads and helmets on Friday nights. The moment I realized I could graduate a semester early, my full focus turned to that goal so I could escape the walls that echoed with taunts and made my life miserable.

  I zoned back in on what Shaw was saying. “Most of them are watching the draft still so they are going to be preoccupied.”

  My brother’s teammate, Rush, was the star center for the Saints and everyone expected him to be drafted. But if everyone was still watching, I wondered if it hadn’t happened yet. At least one day of the draft had already come and gone. Selfishly, I’d hoped he’d go first round so I could avoid the party altogether and spend the weekend with Shaw and maybe a few of his closest friends.

  I squared my shoulders and promised myself I’d keep an open mind despite my reservations. “Okay, let’s go.”

  He turned and I followed him up to the porch where he paused. “I’m glad you agreed to visit. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. I wish I had known a few people going into my freshman year.”

  Shaw led the way inside the unit. There wasn’t much of an entryway so we stepped straight into the living room where a black leather couch and two matching chairs were packed with huge guys rubbing elbows.

  Girls sat in the laps of a few guys and the arms of the furniture were used as seats. Many more sat around on the carpeted floor. Some held beer bottles, others water bottles or energy drinks, and the scent of pizza and alcohol hung in the air. Plates were scattered across the wood coffee table laden with chips and uneaten crusts. The TV was at top volume so they could hear the draft over the music. I winced at the assault on my eardrums.

  The open concept floorplan afforded a view of the small dining room to my left where four guys played cards and had started quite the collection of beer cans. The kitchen opened up off the dining room and was separated from the living room by a tall bar. Three raw-wood stools, each holding one of my brother’s hefty teammates, matched the countertop. To my right, a short hall led to two doors, one open, to which I assumed was the bathroom, and one closed that must have been Nash’s bedroom. And the back door was located directly across from where I stood.

  Shaw was right. In the living room, other than a few girls messing around on their phones, almost everyone’s eyes were glued to the huge TV mounted on the wall. And the others were absorbed in drinking games, poker and conversations. Not many spared us a glance.

  “We have food if you’re hungry.” Shaw dragged me into the kitchen and motioned toward a huge stack of pizza boxes covering one half of the counter space. “Drinks are in the refrigerator.”

  With my brain screaming to make a break for it and run back to my car, the last thing on my mind was food. Still I managed a grin for my brother. “Thanks. I’m okay right now.”

  “Suit yourself, but it’s there if you want it.”

  I followed him back out into the main room, but stood a step behind him.

  “Hey, guys,” my brother yelled, trying to gather everyone’s attention. I wanted to find a hole to hide in rather than have so many eyes on me. “This is my brother, Rendon.”

  Three or four guys glanced up. I received distracted chin nods and careless waves. Brow raised, I looked up at Shaw as if to make my point. Not my crowd.

  He gave me a sheepish grin. “They aren’t always this bad. It’s the third round and everyone is getting worried for Rush because he hasn’t been drafted. It’ll happen though. He’s too valuable.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” I scanned the room, searching for a quiet corner to settle in. No luck. While I wasn’t claustrophobic, there were a lot of people packed into a small space and the tight confines put me on edge. I eyed the back door across the room and nudged Shaw’s shoulder. “Does this place have a back porch?”

  “Yeah, why?” Shaw cocked a brow.

  “Just going to grab some air?” The statement had come out as a question and earned the suspicious look Shaw gave me.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re uncomfortable and I feel like an ass now. I swear I thought it would be okay.”

  “No, it’s fine. Just need to make a call,” I lied. The environment was overwhelming and I needed to reset my expectations.

  He narrowed his eyes and studied my expression, clearly conflicted on what to do. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Oh, no. You go watch the draft. You’d hate if you missed it. I’ll be back inside in a minute,” I assured him and his expression relaxed.

  “You sure it’s okay?”

  I scrunched my nose, causing my glasses to slip. I pushed them back into place. “Of course.”

  “Okay, but come find me when you’re done with your call.”

  “Will do,” I promised.

  He crossed the room and plopped down on the carpet in front of the chair Bishop had claimed. I recognized Bishop from seeing him on the field. He was a huge guy that played defense. With striking black hair and eyes—and a matching dark disposition—he was intimidating and the opposite of Shaw in every way. I’d never seen the guy crack a smile, even when he made a highlight-reel play during a game.

  Bishop’s eyes stayed fixed on Shaw for a moment and my brother glanced up at him, wearing a dirty grin. Gross. I wondered if everyone was aware they were hooking up or if they were all completely blind.

  Rather than crossing everyone’s view of the TV, I slipped through the kitchen and slid by a group of girls laughing, one gesturing wildly with her hands mid-story, and snuck outside.

  Like the front, the large connected back deck was split into two halves and divided by a column.

  The last rays of the sun had disappeared and the temperature had dropped as night replaced day. The only light breaking up the darkness was provided by the indoor lights slanting through the windows.

  Facing the acres of open field behind the fenced backyard, I leaned against the wooden railing that wrapped around the porch. Two sets of stairs, one for each unit, led down to the shared lawn where a few people milled around.

  Tendrils of smoke curled up in front of my face at the same time the scent of a cigarette hit my nose. I glanced over and found there was a guy sitting on the top stair on the neighbor’s side of the porch. He sat in shadow but his face was awash with the glow from the lights inside. Eyes dark and hooded stared back at me. His brown hair was shaved close, facial hair groomed and with only a white tank covering his sculpted chest, the dragon tattoo that wrapped around the full length of his arm was visible. His motorcycle boot-clad feet were propped one on top of the other as he sat back with stretched out legs. He was the epitome of a bad boy.

  “Hi,” I squeaked.

  His lip quirked. “Hi.”

  He took a drag of his cigarette as his gaze raked me head to toe. The smoke left his lungs in a cloud. “Haven’t seen you here before. You with Nash?”

  The question was odd considering the number of people inside, but I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m just visiting. My brother is on the team.”

  He continued to smoke but shifted his gaze up toward the dark sky.

  After an awkward silence, I stepped away from the railing to go. “It was nice to meet you.”

  He glanced back at me and his lip quirked again. “I’m Jesse. And you are?”

  Shaw had mentioned Nash’s neighbor, so I recognized the name. “Rendon.”

  Jesse tossed his cigarette in a ceramic pot and stood. “Enjoy the party.”

  He crossed the deck to his unit and as the door closed behind him, I frowned at the strange conversation but pushed it aside. Minutes ticked by as I composed myself and prepared to rejoin the group.

  I was in the middle of giving myself a much-needed pep talk when sudden shouts and the sound of utter chaos broke through my musings. Curious, I opened the door a sliver.

  “I knew it!”

  “That lucky shit. How’d he land Te xas?”

  “Damn, dude. I told you not to worry.”

  The voices rose as they continued to talk over each other, making it impossible to tell who was saying what, though it was clear Rush had made the draft. I found a spot against the wall and looked on while everyone huddled in front of the TV. Enough of the screen was visible that I saw Rush take the stage and pose for a photograph with his new jersey and cap.

  After the first burst of excitement died, Nash stood in the center of the room, raised his hand and hushed the crowd. The music cut off and silence enveloped the room. “Pipe down. I’m calling them.”

  My stomach flipped as he flashed a wide smile at the people crowding around him. It was the first time I’d seen Nash up close and in street clothes. Seeing him on TV or from the distance of the stands on game day hadn’t done him justice at all. He was tall—well over six feet—the ideal height for a top wide receiver. With short black hair, light brown skin pulled tight over sleek muscle and a voice like rich velvet, Nash was the kind of guy you couldn’t help but notice. And I did. With my gaze trained on him, I bit my lip.

  He shook his head and lowered the phone. “Voicemail.”

  “Give them a minute. They are probably busy and it’s got to be loud,” Shaw said.

  Nash agreed but soon grew impatient. “I’m going to call Torin.”

  Torin was the Saints quarterback who’d also be graduating this year. And Rush’s boyfriend.

  This time Torin must have answered.