Read Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3) Online
Authors: Lex Martin
Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3)
ABOUT THE NOVEL:
What’s the worst thing about wanting a sexy NFL football player? Everyone else wants him, too.
After catching my boyfriend getting deep-throated by a skanky cage girl, I’ve learned my lesson – never date a professional athlete. Never. Besides, I have more important things to worry about, like not blowing my shot to make it as a broadcast reporter. I won’t let anything get in my way, not even the new “it boy” of the NFL and my hot-as-hell
neighbor.
What's the worst thing about getting death glares from his new neighbor? It doesn't make him want her any less.
I’ve worked my ass off to make it to the pros. The last thing I need is the complication of a relationship, especially since my last one was a total train wreck. But I can’t stop thinking about the feisty girl next door with the smart mouth. And I’d love nothing more than to show her what to do with that mouth.
Friends with benefits might be the best idea he’s ever had. Or the worst.
KISSING MADELINE, the third book in the
Dearest
series, can be read a standalone novel. This new adult romance is recommended for readers 18+ due to mature content.
ORDER OF BOOKS:
Dearest Clementine
, #1
Finding Dandelion
, #2
Kissing Madeline
, #3
KISSING MADELINE
LEX MARTIN
Kissing Madeline Copyright © 2015 by Lex Martin
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any capacity without written permission by the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This new adult contemporary romance is recommended for readers 18+ due to mature content.
Copy editing by RJ Locksley
Cover design by Twin Cove Design
Cover image © Perrywinkle Photography
April 2015 edition
ISBN 978-0-9915534-4-0
TABLE OF CONTENTS
To Matt & my little bears
“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.”
- Confucius
PROLOGUE
(Early May)
- Daren -
Some people think I have it made. I say looks can be deceiving.
The white lights blare down on me, and I smile. That’s my answer for everything. I’ve broken bones, sprained ligaments, twisted joints, and I always smile. It’s how I get through the pain until the numbness settles in and I can breathe again.
The cameras crowd closer to the conference table, and the answers roll off my tongue. “I’m the new guy. I’m just looking to be a part of this team, to do my part and fill in the gap.” I glance at Coach Reynolds and Shawn Brentwood, the veteran quarterback. “That is, if there is a gap.”
Everyone chuckles, but underneath Brentwood’s grin, I know what he’s thinking. Because I’d be thinking the same thing. That I’m the asshole here to take his job. He’s right. Because what the hell kind of QB would I be if I were content to sit my ass on the bench all day? I’m here to win. It’s what I’m good at.
The coach fields a few questions, and my eyes travel to the back of the room where I spot wives and girlfriends of fellow players. Hell, even my father took time off from corporate domination to come, and he and I aren’t even talking. He’s standing in the back next to my mother, who looks like she might pass out from the euphoria of clutching my NFL jersey.
I should be just as elated. After thousands of hours of practice and games, I have arrived. Achieved my dream. But as I search the room, that numbness swells.
She didn’t come.
My jaw tightens. I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am. Because I’m the dumb asshole who thought that after all this time she’d be different. That she’d actually mean those promises. That she’d change.
She’s probably off buying some Armani luggage or a new Gucci watch or some shit that’s only going to crowd her overflowing walk-in closet.
I never ask her for anything, but I asked her to do one thing for me. One. To be here today, the biggest day of my career.
My temple throbs, and I rub it with my palm.
Deep down, I know I deserve this. What do they say? Payback is a bitch. Yeah, they got that right.
“Daren! As the Heisman winner, do you feel extra pressure to perform?”
Of course.
I shake my head. “Titles mean nothing. Only wins. While I’m honored to have received the Heisman, that award represents my college career. My NFL career starts now. As any athlete will tell you, the only thing you can control is the here and now. So I don’t let titles or previous wins or awards dictate how I think about the game. I play to win. That’s it.”
He nods, ignoring the fact that I didn’t answer his question. They always do because they only see my stats, my completed throws, my touchdowns.
It’s easy to see why people think I have it made. When I look in the mirror, sometimes I think the same thing. That the victories are too easy, that there has to be the other side of the coin, the dark side, the part no one sees. Because no one can walk between the raindrops like I can. I’m a fucking master.
But the tightrope comes with a price. Pride. Hubris. Vanity. Call it what you will. It’s the head game I play to make myself think I’m better. So when the ball snaps, when I can feel the leather stitching between my fingers and my heart pounding in my ears, the training takes over and I actually feel the swell of invincibility. Sure, I put in the time. I sweat. I train. I fight. But at the end of the day, the winners think they can do it, and the losers know they can’t.
Does that sound like total bullshit? Yeah, it is. But if I chant that crap long enough, I believe it. And when I believe it, I win.
So what happens when I don’t believe it? When I know I’m just full of shit?
I fuck up. Big.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and anger surges through me. When the press move on to interview the new wide receiver, I pull out my cell.
Her message is typical.
I got held up. I’m coming.
I can’t type my response fast enough.
Don’t bother.
Thanks for missing the NFL Draft, bitch.
CHAPTER ONE
(Late May)
- Maddie -
After a year-long internship with NBC, I finally did it. I got a coveted position as an on-air reporter. It’s meant long hours at the studio, missing meals, and having no social life, but I nailed it two weeks after I graduated from college.
I wish I could say NBC offered me the job, but my boss told me right off the bat he didn’t have any positions for newbs. So I got the next best thing—a gig with New England News Network, which boasts a reputation for hard-hitting stories. It also means that unlike most of my peers who are trekking off to report the news in bumble, I get to stay in my hometown.
And there’s only one person I want to celebrate with tonight.
Jacob is going to die when I tell him I nailed it.
Walking in to his apartment, I set my bag down in the entryway and kick off my heels. Jacob is probably napping. He always takes a snooze after practice. He’s a mixed martial artist and a gym rat. I’ve never dated a professional athlete before. Usually, I’ve gone for the quiet econ or history major, but I couldn’t resist Jacob’s allure. I was shooting footage for a friend who had to cover a local match last summer when we first met. After Jacob pummeled his opponent, he strutted up to me and asked me out.
Two weeks ago, he asked me to move in, but he’s training for a big fight, so we’re waiting until after his trip to Vegas next week to make it official.
Glancing at my watch, I know I’m a few hours early, but I can’t wait to tell him.
On the bar, next to a dozen roses, a bottle of wine chills in a cooler. Did he find out my secret? My tummy jumps with excitement.
I tiptoe down the hall, ready to strip out of my clothes to give him a proper wakeup call, when I hear the laughter. A woman’s laughter.
I jerk to a stop, my heart suddenly pounding.
“You like that, huh?” His voice cuts through the silence and sends goosebumps up my arms.
“Suck it harder. That’s right. Show me how much you love my cock in your mouth.”
Oh my God.
Trembling, I don’t want to go any closer. I don’t want to see for myself, but my legs move of their own accord until I don’t have a choice but to witness this with my own eyes.