Playing to Win Read online

  Playing to Win

  Playing Series #1

  Olivia Sherwood

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Playing to Win

  * * *

  Copyright © 2022 by Ashlie Knapp

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: June 2022

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  * * *

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

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  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

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  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-413-6

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  In memory of my dad, who instilled a love of basketball in me at an early age. I will love you always.

  Chapter 1

  Callie sighed in exasperation as she felt the same hand grabbing her ass for the third time that night. Forcing herself to smile cheekily as she turned to face the culprit, she mentally visualized her shoe connecting with his balls. She eyed his skinny frame, noting that his greasy brown hair was in desperate need of a good shampooing. And he seriously needed to tell his tattoo artist that his rendering of what should be a pin-up girl on his arm shared a remarkable resemblance to Steve-O from MTV’s Jackass.

  “Sir,” she said, the fake smile plastered on her face, “I’ve asked you three times tonight not to touch me. Please, enjoy the game. Looky but no touchy. That’s the rule.”

  “Well, now, girly. I figure that if the owner of this team didn’t want us to handle the merchandise, he wouldn’t have your particularly fine ass hanging out of that skirt of yours,” he told her with a waggle of his much in need of a plucking eyebrows.

  “You leave me no choice, sir.” Callie smiled. “You know that saying, ‘Third time’s a charm’? Well, in your case, the third time isn’t so charming.”

  The uncouth fan, mistaking her smile for a sign of acquiescence, reached in for another grab of her derriere before turning his eyes in the direction Callie now faced.

  Callie gave a slight nod to Nico, the six foot five, two-hundred eighty-five pound, all-muscle bodyguard to the cheerleaders of the Oklahoma City Thunder professional basketball team. Without preamble, he walked with frightening authority down the steps and planted himself in front of the offender. She watched ass man’s eyes go wide as he put two and two together, realizing that Nico was the third time’s a charm Callie previously mentioned.

  “I believe this lady here asked you to stop harassing her,” Nico said in his big, grumbly, totally peeing-down-your-pant-leg worthy voice. “And you didn’t listen. Now you get the pleasure of my company escorting you out of the building.”

  “Come on, man. I was just kidding with her. Besides, don’t you think that ass of hers is just screaming to be grabbed? I know you’ve thought it,” weasel man said with a snarl.

  Callie hid a smile behind her hand, knowing what was coming. Nico grabbed the man by the shirt, lifting him until they were eye-to-eye. “While it may be grab worthy, that doesn’t mean some pesky jerk off who needs his unibrow plucked in a desperate way can touch her. You. With me. Now.”

  Nico, his grip still on the front of the guy’s Kyle Kelly jersey, proceeded to haul him up the stairs amid cheers from the crowd who witnessed the spectacle.

  “Finally, that jerk wad will stop harassing you,” a lady in the stands yelled Callie’s way. “Three cheers for Nico!”

  And with a hip, hip, hooray from the fans sitting in her section and a sigh of relief coming from Callie’s lips, she turned back to the game to do her civic duty.

  Being a professional basketball cheerleader had its perks. Callie did get paid, even though her salary was miniscule at best. Still, it helped pay the bills, so who was she to complain? The real money was actually made when she was required to go to sponsored events like fan meet and greets or hobnobbing with the executives of the team. Besides, it also got her an amazing courtside view night after night without paying for a ticket. For a daughter of a career basketball coach, that was a dream come true.

  Four years ago, when Callie shared with her dad her idea of how to help pay for the expense of her college tuition, he vehemently objected to her doing anything that had her willingly dress in a skimpy outfit, shaking her booty for the masses. One look at her first semester of tuition, however, in addition to a closer look at his annual salary, he reluctantly decided that her having a job that allowed for the flexibility of an NBA cheerleader was something he could tolerate if she promised it would not be a long-term thing. When he realized that another perk of her job was a guest ticket for every home game, he all but drove her to the audition himself.

  Callie was actually surprised when she made the squad. She had no dance experience, unless you counted dancing in the mirror in her bedroom with her high school best friend, Carly. Being raised by a single dad didn’t exactly make her the most girly girl on the planet. But she was blessed with a God-given sense of rhythm and, according to the squad choreographer, Vanessa, a body that only Mother Nature could supply.

  She didn’t see what was so special about her. Gawky all through her junior high and high school years because of her five foot, eleven inch frame, she finally started to develop some curves around high school graduation, but nothing that would cause Hugh Hefner to knock on her door. Her naturally curly white-blonde locks seemed to have a mind of their own and her hazel eyes wouldn’t be in a commercial for Maybelline mascara anytime soon. Still, she knew she wasn’t unattractive. Whatever the reason Vanessa decided to give her a chance, she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as her Nana always said. Whatever that meant.

  An ear-rattling buzzer sounded, signaling a mandatory commercial time-out. Pom-poms in hand, Callie bounced down the steps with the rest of her squad, ready to dance their new number for the sold out crowd.

  “You ready for this, girly?” Aria, her best friend on the squad, asked her.

  “If by ready you mean ready for my bed and some shut eye, then that’s a resounding yes,” Callie responded as the music started, signaling the beginning of their number. Seeing the local news camera guy, Brian, coming in for a close up of the two of them, she flipped her hair for all she was worth and gave the camera what she hoped was a sultry, not a care in the world smile and not a crazy, deprived of sleep grimace. She also tried not to bend over at an inopportune time and show a bunch of cleavage to all of TV land. While the blue, oran
ge, and white Thunder dance uniforms weren’t as skimpy as some other NBA cheerleaders were, they would definitely not win any modesty contests. It took Callie three hours to walk out of the cheerleader dressing room in the get up at her first rehearsal.

  “Sleep? Who said anything about sleep?” Aria asked, effortlessly flipping her long auburn locks over her shoulder and smiling seductively into the camera like it was second nature, making sure to show off her substantial cleavage in the process. “We have that promotional event with the season ticket holders after the game, remember?”

  Callie couldn’t contain her groan. “Are you kidding? I totally forgot about that! I have a huge test on Friday that I’ve totally procrastinated studying for. Now I won’t get to sleep at all because I’ll have to stay up until then to have any sort of chance to pass it.”

  “Girl, how many times have I told you that college is overrated?” Aria said, throwing her arm over Callie’s shoulders as their number drew to a close and the buzzer signaled the end of the commercial time out. Making their way back to the sidelines, Aria tossed her a grin before making her way to where she always stood. “I always told you I could get you a job at the bar with me.”

  Aria’s dad owned A Shot of Whiskey, a ridiculously cool bar located in downtown Oklahoma City. She had been trying to convince Callie to drop out of college and take one of its lucrative bartending gigs for as long as Callie could remember.

  “And have my teetotalling nana roll over in her grave to come back and haunt us all? No thank you, ma’am,” she said with a grin her best friend’s way. “Besides, what are you going to do when your beauty fades and you have to depend on something else to get your tips?”

  “Easy,” Aria replied with a wicked grin. “I’ll get a boob job so they’ll be looking at my knockers instead of my face.”

  Tossing her head back in a laugh, Callie couldn’t help shaking her head. “Your knockers are big enough as it is. Get them any bigger and they’d be calling you Dolly Parton.”

  “A girl can hope, can’t she?” Aria said with a wink and an exaggerated sigh. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. And besides, what’s one late night? Kelly’s the star of the evening, which means you get to take about a million pictures with the hunk.”

  “Yay, me,” Callie said with a grimace. “I can’t wait.”

  “What do you have against the man? He’s utterly delectable. I wish I were lucky enough to get to pose with him for a few hours.”

  Callie rolled her eyes. “I don’t have anything against the man. I just have many things against basketball playing men in general. I like to watch them play, don’t get me wrong. But that’s all I like.”

  “I forgot that loser, Matt.”

  “You told me you would never say his name in my presence again.”

  “Ouch. Sorry. I forgot about he who shall never be named.”

  “An evil jerk in a basketball jersey.” Callie frowned. “Which is why I will never, ever, ever date an athlete, especially a basketball player, ever again.”

  “He burned you big time, sister.”

  “You could say that again.”

  “He really burned you big time, sister.” Aria grinned devilishly just as the last buzzer sounded. The Thunder had won by a sound thirty points. “And you should never say never, daaahling. Your Prince Charming might wear a blue jersey instead of a suit of armor.”

  “Yeah, fat chance of that ever happening,” Callie responded. “Now let’s go get this over with so I can go home and study. And not sleep. Ever. Again.”

  Kyle wiped the sweat off his brow with the towel slung across his shoulders as another reporter shoved a microphone in his face. Standing probably around five foot eight on a good day, the paunchy, poorly dressed reporter in desperate need of hair plugs really had to stretch to reach the microphone within range of Kyle’s six nine frame.

  “What did you contribute to the win tonight, Kyle? Your teammates seemed to rally behind you when you struggled early in the first half.”

  Like you’ve never had a bad day at your job, ya friggin’ idiot, Kyle thought. He had already been outside the locker room for twenty minutes, answering stupid question after stupid question. He didn’t know how much more he could take before all the manners his Southern momma taught him flew out the window and he started telling these reporters how he really felt about them—that they were all, as his sister like to say, stupid heads.

  Taking a deep breath, Kyle mustered up those deeply bred manners and responded with the requisite, generalized comment that was expected of him. “Yeah, they really had my back. I’m lucky they rallied and held off the Grizzlies for me in the first half. We all have bad days and today the first half was mine. Luckily, I was able to come back strong in the second half and get back in my groove, made a couple of lucky shots and we pulled out the win.”

  “This puts you a solid four games ahead in the conference heading into the final leg before the playoffs. How does that make you feel?”

  Where do they come up with these idiots? Kyle thought. I wonder what they would say if I said I couldn’t care less because all I wanted was for them to leave me alone so I could sleep for a solid week straight.

  “I think this gives us the confidence we need heading into the playoffs. Hopefully it’s a downhill slide from here that will land us closer to the championship series. Now if you guys will excuse me, I have a long overdue shower that’s calling my name.”

  Pushing his way through the crowd of reporters blocking the dressing room door, Kyle finally managed to make his way to his locker, and with a sigh, plopped down on the black leather cushioned bench in front of it.

  “Did they finally get enough of pretty boy Kelly?” his best friend and point guard, Jamal Jenkins, asked him as he took off the towel from around his waist and popped it in Kyle’s direction.

  “Man, put that thing away,” Kyle said.

  “The towel or the fine specimen God gifted me with that you are constantly in envy of?” Jamal asked, eyes shifting to his nether regions as he wagged his eyebrows and pretended to smoke an imaginary cigar.

  “Both,” Kyle said with a sigh. “Your fine specimen is too close to my eye level for comfort. Besides, I’m too tired to do much of anything besides take a shower and go home and fall into bed. Maybe eat some ramen, if I have the stamina to stir it in the pot.”

  “Whatcha talkin’ ’bout, man? We got that promotional gig in about…ten minutes. The one with the season ticket holders. Meet and greet. Smile for the cameras and all that shit. It’s gonna be so much fun,” Jamal said, a fake grin plastered on his face.

  Kyle groaned. “Man, I just got finished talking to reporters for half an hour. You’d think they’d give me a break tonight.”

  “Nah, man, you the man of the hour. Er’body wants a piece a Kyle Kelly. That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

  “Last time I checked, that Rolex you sport on your wrist and that Mercedes you drive weren’t paid for with a blue collar salary.”

  “Hey, now, I ain’t complainin’ ’bout my salary,” Jamal responded, pulling a pair of jockey shorts up his legs. “I’m just sayin’ me and the other guys know who butters our bread. Which means very rarely do I have to talk to them vultures out there. So thank you for the bread, my man. Now go take a shower. You stink somethin’ awful.”

  Kyle walked in the bathroom, which was empty except for him. All his other teammates had already showered and headed out to their families, to party or to do something else entirely. Kyle and Jamal were lucky enough to spend another two hours in the center, schmoozing the big-wig season ticket holders who all thought they were entitled enough to claim their minute of fame with the players. One jerk off last time had the audacity to offer to pay Kyle to take his daughter out on a date so she could be seen in public with a celebrity. One lady tried to get him to sign her silicon-enhanced boobs.

  Some days Kyle thought of calling it quits. He wasn’t like other players. He was smar
t with his money. He lived well, but not extravagantly. With his investments as well as the celebrity marketing he had done with a few products, he could walk away and never want for anything else for the rest of his life. But the athlete in him, the one growing up who spent every spare minute of his day on the dirt basketball court in his backyard, yelled at him not to quit until one thing was marked off his bucket list—winning the NBA championship. Even if he did win it all, he doubted he could quit until he was too old to play. He loved the game too much.

  “Hey, man! You ’bout done in there? Grant is ’bout to pop an aneurism in his brain, yellin’ that all the people are waitin’ on us to arrive,” Jamal yelled from the hallway.

  “Tell him if I didn’t have to talk to reporters for thirty friggin’ minutes after the game I would already be there,” Kyle yelled back, stepping in the scalding hot water he had started as soon as Jamal started yelling. “He doesn’t want me sweating all over the uptight, entitled people we’re about to schmooze. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  “A’right, but better make it snappy. He’s not a happy camper.”

  “When is he ever?” Kyle muttered.

  “Never, but that don’t matter,” Jamal said, ripping open the shower curtain.

  “Jamal! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Relax, cupcake. Ain’t nothin’ I’ve never seen a hundred times before. Now, get that pretty ass out of that shower before he comes in here and gets you himself.”