All In:Playing to Win

By: Lane Hart
(Gambling With Love Book 5)


Dedication





For all the fighters, survivors and breast cancer angels.





Chapter One




Zack Bradford



Easing down into my jumbo leather recliner, I inhale a deep calming breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth. My aching glutes and quads protest when I pull the lever to lift them in the air, but I assure them that they can finally relax after a long day that started at seven a.m. this morning.

I pop the top on the first of many cold beers, giving my Nazi trainer the proverbial finger while turning on the fourth quarter of the Eagles and Cowboys' game. Unfortunately, the fantasy football ticker rolling across the bottom of the screen distracts me from the action. The repetitive reminder of how shitty I played Thursday night is threatening to kill my moment of Zen. Or it was until my doorbell rings, echoing through the house and beating the mocking performance ticker to the punch.

Fuck.

I'm sure as hell not expecting anyone, but I have an idea who it might be after I failed to reply to his idiotic text messages. Besides, only a handful of people are on my approved guest list at the guard house. I consider ignoring the interruption, but know it's a lost cause. It's unlikely that the persistent bastard will just give up and go away.

Grumbling to myself and apologizing to my muscles, I ease my way up and out of the chair to answer the damn door. Pulling it open I come face to face with Jake Young, my best friend and go-to wide receiver on the field. But of course he isn't alone. A scantily dressed blonde chick is clinging to him tighter than a pair of skinny jeans, rubbing a hand over his chest and down his stomach. Or she was, until she sees me and turns around, immediately dropping her hands from him.

Great, this is an intervention.

"What the fuck are you doing home alone at eight o'clock on a Sunday night when we've got the day off?" Jake asks, while simultaneously reaching around with both hands to grope the bimbo who’s now facing me. The woman has huge fake tits, and it looks like those bad boys are about to float right out of her low cut top.

"Oh my God!" the blonde exclaims, a hand covering her blood red mouth that's painted to match her two sizes too small shirt. "I can't believe Zack Bradford is standing right in front of me!"

I smirk when Jake rolls his soulless, nearly black eyes in jealousy. He should be used to it by now. It's nothing new for me to garner more attention than all the other players. I'm the star quarterback, Heisman Trophy winner, first round draft pick and last season's Rookie of the Year. Oh, and of course I'm also better looking.

While Jake is by no means considered ugly with short cropped brown hair and lean athletic build, I'm several inches taller at six-five, bigger with two-hundred forty pounds of pure muscle, have blonde hair that's earned me shampoo sponsors, and I'm People's Sexiest Man Alive, two years running.

Women rarely refuse Jake, but they can't resist me. That fact, along with my inability to turn them down, is the reason I got dumped four months ago by my ex-girlfriend, Lacy. Possibly my baby's mama.

"I'm not in the mood for this shit tonight, Jake," I tell him, sounding like the biggest fucking chick ever. I should go ahead and add "I have a headache" just to make my pussy statement complete.

"Mandy here is a huge fan, and I'm sure she'll do whatever it takes to get you in the mood. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" he asks the slutty woman. She nods her empty head enthusiastically.

This is the moment where I seriously regret confessing to the bastard that I think my dick is broken.

Without another word, Jake urges the woman forward into my house and follows. I sigh in defeat and have no choice but to close the door behind them.

Heading back to the dark living room lit up by my ridiculously large flat screen, I watch Jake pull out a set of tri-folded papers from the back pocket of his jeans and toss them on the coffee table. We've done this so many times before that he doesn't have to tell me what they are. I know they're our attorney's CYA (Cover Your Ass) forms signed by Big Tits to keep us out of jail and out of tabloids. An agreement that all types of physical contact are allowed and have been consented to, and a non-disclosure agreement guaranteeing the slut will keep her mouth shut afterwards or our attorneys will sue the fuck out of her.

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