Touchdown Baby: A College Football Romantic Comedy Read online

  TOUCHDOWN BABY

  A COLLEGE FOOTBALL ROMANTIC COMEDY

  TABATHA KISS

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  More from the Tabiverse…

  Excerpt: On His Face

  Also by Tabatha

  About the Author

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2022 by Tabatha Kiss

  All Rights Reserved. eBook Edition.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This title was originally published as Whiplash or Bump & Run by Tabatha Kiss. Significant changes have been made from its original publication.

  Subscribe to my Newsletter for FREE books!

  Visit tabathakiss.com/newsletter for more info.

  For Mom

  Thanks for getting knocked up.

  CHAPTER 1

  JUNIOR

  September

  “Cary Pierce?!”

  Ty nods at my reflection in his mirror as he adjusts his bowtie. “Cary,” he repeats, pausing for effect. “Pierce.”

  I blink, forcing my vision to focus, but my head still spins. “No way,” I say. “That’s impossible.”

  “Before he retired, he said he’d like to coach a college team someday.”

  “They all say that on their way out,” I argue. “They usually don’t.”

  “They do this time.”

  “Ty, there is no way Cary Pierce is our new coach.”

  He performs a perfect turn in his shiny black shoes before reaching for his jacket hung up on his closet door. “Wanna bet?” he asks.

  That shit-eating grin. That cocky tilt of his head.

  I’ve known Ty Fisher for two years. Rush Week 2018, to be specific. This, this face right here, is his gotcha face. His I know something you don’t face.

  “What do you know?” I ask.

  He adjusts his collar. Fixes his cuffs. Runs a hand through his trim black hair.

  “Ty.”

  “Nah,” he says, smiling. “I’ve already said too much.”

  “Seriously?”

  “We gotta go.” He grabs his wallet and keys off his desk and passes me into the hallway. “Need to swing by Delta Xi to pick up John.”

  “Oh, come on!” I follow him from the hall to the living room. “You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

  “I can and I shall.”

  “Ty.”

  He ignores me, bolting straight for the front door.

  “Ty,” I say again.

  “Let’s go, Junior!”

  I inhale to argue, but stop as I notice the time. We really are going to be late if we don’t leave now.

  With a huff, I lock the door behind us and follow him to his Charger parked in the driveway behind my van. I suppose if we really are going to meet professional football royalty tonight, then we should arrive in a style that matches our suits rather than… well, my mini-van that looks right at home here on Shanty Row.

  I roll my eyes at the thought. Cary Pierce is not our new coach.

  He’s just not.

  Ty’s grin remains in place for the entire drive across campus. By the time we reach Greek Row, I’m more than convinced that he’s messing with me. That’s what he does, and he knows that Cary Pierce is my childhood hero.

  We park in front of the Alpha Delta Xi house and Ty blares the horn twice. While we wait, I swivel my head, purposefully checking out the girls sprawled across the lawn of the Beta Kappa house across the street. Sunglasses and bikinis.

  God bless end of summer Midwestern heat waves.

  “Good evening, Beauties,” I greet through the open window.

  A few giggles. Bright smiles and lip bites.

  I am Junior Morgan, after all.

  One of them rises off her beach towel. She crosses the lawn in a pair of flip-flops and a yellow two-piece, not even bothering to look both ways before waltzing out into the street. She’s in no danger, though. Everyone knows a Beta Kappa Beauty can stop traffic.

  Especially one like Samantha Jaxx.

  She leans over to peek through my open window. I immediately stare into the crevice of her cleavage. It’s fine. She’s not focused on me, anyway.

  “Ty,” she says.

  “Hi, Sam,” he replies.

  “Long time no benefits, friend-o.” She tilts her head, shaking her sun-bleached locks to the side. “What’s with the ghost?”

  “I didn’t ghost you. I’m right here.”

  “You don’t text. You don’t snap.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy for me?”

  “Yeah.”

  I grimace. Cold, bro.

  Samantha sighs, unaffected. “That’s a pity. Guess I’ll have to find a new plaything this semester.”

  “Okay,” Ty says, also unaffected.

  I sink lower into my seat between them.

  “Hi, Junior.”

  I nod. “Hi, Samantha.”

  Her big blues draw a purposeful line down my body, lingering long on my crotch.

  Ty honks again, keeping his hand on it for several seconds before letting go.

  She licks her lips, still focused on me. “Keep that van gassed up for me,” she says.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say as she stands.

  We watch her walk away. It’s what she wants us to do.

  Afterward, I look at Ty. “What was that about?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he says before honking again. “Come on, John…”

  “I thought you guys were still seeing each other.”

  “Samantha Jaxx and I were never seeing each other. In fact, I haven’t seen her since May.”

  I furrow my brow. “Then, who have you been hooking up with every weekend this summer?”

  “Finally.” Ty bangs out a few more honks as John appears at the front door. “Let’s go, Kirby! We’re gonna be late!”

  John steps down the porch, but morphs his quick strides into a slow strut as the Beta Kappa Beauties catcall him for his outfit. And his new side cut. Can’t blame them, though. John Kirby is totally rocking that suit. And the side cut.

  Ty turns to me, clearing hi
s throat. “We’ll talk about it later,” he says. “Okay?”

  John throws open the back door and slides into the back seat. I nod at Ty, zipping my mouth and tabling the question.

  “About time, Johnny,” Ty says as he shifts gears.

  “Don’t call me that. And relax.” John reaches for his seat belt. “Cary Pierce won’t start the festivities until the quarterback shows up and—” he gestures at me, “he’s right here.”

  I twist in my seat, my head spinning at the name again. “Wait, Cary Pierce? Where did you hear that?”

  “Ty told me three hours ago.”

  Ty laughs.

  “Okay, dammit.” I deflate as John joins in at my expense. “What is going on?”

  “All right, all right.” Ty waves a hand. “I’ll tell you. In a minute.”

  John chuckles. I bite down, impatiently waiting as Ty drives us through Chicago. We avoid the high traffic streets, hoping to make up a little lost time.

  “So, you know Sal,” Ty finally says.

  I nod. “Yes, I know Sal.”

  “He’s a real estate agent.”

  “Yes, I know,” I say when he pauses for far too long.

  “He just sold a big house just outside the city.” He points to his phone mounted on the dashboard. “This big house.”

  I glance at the GPS map on display. ETA twenty minutes. “Okay.”

  “He had to sign a non-disclosure agreement before meeting his client,” Ty continues. “But we went out for drinks last night and he said…”

  He stalls on purpose.

  “What?” I ask.

  A sinister smile. “He said that he’d kill to be in my cleats this season because our new coach is a retired four-time pro champion.”

  “You are so full of shit, dude.”

  “Nope.”

  I turn to look at John. “Do you actually believe this crap?”

  He shrugs. “Why not?”

  “Even if Cary Pierce wants to coach a college team, why would he pick Chicago North? We—“

  I stop myself from saying it out loud. We all know what I was going to say.

  Suck.

  We suck.

  “Make a right turn,” the GPS says, filling the silence.

  Ty barely slows down to make the turn. I pull my seat belt a little tighter, reminded once again why I don’t let Ty anywhere near my van.

  “Who knows why?” Ty says. “And who cares? All I know is that we’re on our way to meet the new coach right now… at Cary Pierce’s new house.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” I say.

  He hums an affirmative.

  I shift to get more comfortable. A suit and tie aren’t my usual style, but the invitation the team received insisted on us looking our best to meet the new coach and to pay our respects to the last one, Marty Duncan. He’d been Chicago North’s football coach for the last three decades until he died last week — just two weeks before the first game of the season. The gentle, relieved sighs of the board were heard throughout campus for days as they celebrated the idea of bringing in some new blood after begging him to retire for years.

  But Cary Pierce blood? Not a chance.

  Still, a bit of doubt seeps in as we leave the city behind. A long, winding road takes us out to the suburbs, then another road takes us even further out than that. Soon, houses drift farther and farther apart until the GPS finally tells us to take a left. Beyond the trees, I see it. It’s not a house. It’s a damn mansion with a large, black gate surrounding it.

  “Holy shit,” John says from the back seat. “I didn’t even know this was out here.”

  “Me neither,” I mutter.

  Ty just grins.

  We come to a stop at the front gate. A security guard steps down from the hut by the driver’s side and scans the three of us with a grin.

  “Welcome!” she says. “Come to meet the new coach?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ty says as we flash our phones, displaying the invite we all received.

  She bobs her head, and the gate opens. “Straight ahead.” Another wide smile. “Have fun!”

  “Thank you!” we say.

  The gate slides open slowly, adding even more annoying anticipation toward finding out who this mysterious new coach is. As Ty drives forward, his smug smirk dances a little more on his face. Could he be right? Could we be driving toward professional football royalty right now?

  I shake the thoughts away, not wanting to get my hopes up. Chicago North is a good school, but it’s not good enough to attract someone like Cary Pierce. He’s from New York and, last I heard, he retired there along with his millions. He could coach anywhere. Why would he ever choose this place?

  “Whoa-o-o!” Ty laughs as we swing into the circle drive. His eyes flash around, taking in the perfect lawn and the enormous fountain at its center.

  John sits forward in the back. Even my jaw sags a little. I grew up about a half a block from the bad part of town in a neighborhood that pretends to be nicer than it really is. My family got by just fine, but never in a million years did I think I would ever set foot in a place as nice as this.

  A man in a vest charges down the front steps and meets us, signaling for Ty’s keys as we climb outside.

  Ty passes them off. “Valet parking,” he remarks, staring at me.

  “It’s not Cary Pierce’s house, man,” I say, although I’m not even sure what to believe anymore. The valet drives off. “For all you know, that guy just stole your car.”

  The front door opens, cutting off Ty’s reply.

  “It’s about time, guys! The team is waiting for you!”

  My jaw drops. John’s does, too. Even Ty stands a little taller.

  Cary Pierce. The Cary Pierce. Four-time champion Cary Pierce, a man I’ve looked up to since I was ten years old, is standing in front of me. He looks exactly the way he did when I was a kid, with the small exception of his black hair looking a little thin around the edges and the slight wrinkles taking hold of the skin around his eyes.

  No fucking way.

  He waves us in with a thick hand. “Well, don’t just stand there. Let’s go!”

  Ty takes the lead, shoving forward to shake hands with a legend. “It’s awesome to meet you, sir,” he says. “I’m Ty Fisher, wide receiver.”

  “Fisher?” Pierce asks. “You know a Sal Fisher?”

  “Sal’s my cousin.”

  “Good man! He got me a decent deal on this house.”

  “And what a beautiful house it is!”

  Cary Pierce gestures him inside and his eyes fall on John.

  “John Kirby, sir,” John says, thrusting his hand forward.

  “Halfback.”

  “That’s right.”

  He looks John up and down. “You’re a little lean, John.”

  John smirks. “Just means I move fast.”

  “Can’t wait to see it.”

  Cary Pierce waves him inside, then turns to me. I swallow hard.

  “And you must be Junior Morgan,” he says.

  I blink, taking his hand. “How did you know?”

  “Process of elimination. You’re the only one I haven’t met yet — and you’re gonna have to work on that grip if you’re going to be my quarterback.”

  My cheeks bleed red. I just gave the world’s daintiest handshake to Cary freaking Pierce.

  “Sorry, sir!” I laugh, giving him a hard squeeze. The steel band of his championship ring presses into my skin.

  “That’s much better! Maybe the tales of your legendary arm are true after all.”

  He pats my shoulder and I feel like a little kid. He’s so much taller than I thought he was. I’m six-foot-two myself, making him nearly six-six by my estimation and close to two-hundred and fifty pounds. He’s a damn truck.

  “Well, I don’t know about that.”

  “Never tone down your strengths, Junior,” he says, leaning in. “Even if you have to fake it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He shakes his h
ead. “None of that sir stuff. Coach is fine.”

  I beam like a damn jester in the king's presence. “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Come on out back,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to go over tonight.”

  I follow him through the foyer toward the back, passing through a huge kitchen before stepping out onto the lawn. The air is thick with the scent of barbecue and burning charcoal. A perfectly landscaped garden rests in the center, along with a large pool and a pool house on the other side of it. String lights and soft classic rock music.

  Our teammates linger around with sodas and plates stacked with burgers and chips. Ty and John instantly dart over to grab their own plates while I stand back, taking in the moment.

  I’m in Cary Pierce’s backyard.

  “Hey, Junior.”

  A light hand brushes my shoulder and I lock eyes with Bob, our assistant coach. He’s been around the university for nearly as long as Duncan was. “Hey,” I greet him.

  He chuckles at my expression. “Bit of a shock, eh?”

  I laugh. “I thought for sure you’d be our new coach.”

  Bob waves his hand. “With this old mug? Nah. I mean, I did, too, but when the Dean himself called me about this… I didn’t argue with it. It’s what’s right for you boys.”

  I nod. It hasn’t sunk in at all yet.

  “Hey, guys!” Coach’s voice booms across the lawn, instantly grabbing our attention. He claps his hands together and scans the crowd, making eye contact with each one of us at least once. “I can tell by the looks on your faces that I don’t have to introduce myself or list off my qualifications. But who I am isn’t important — tonight’s about you. It’s an honor to meet you all. I look forward to getting some one-on-one time with each of you and, hopefully, being the coach you deserve.”