Win Big:A Bad Boy Sports Romance

By: Bella Love-Wins


I nodded over to my teammate, Tre. “Yippe ki-yay, motherfucker.”

He gripped the pull-up bar with both hands. “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.”

We were working out at the gym, exchanging badass movie lines as I pushed him hard through his sets. “Say hello to my little friend.”

One of the guys over at the free weights shouted, “It’s little, all right!”

I gave the whole crew the finger and growled back, “I want you to hold it between your knees.”

They returned to whatever they were doing. Tre clenched his teeth as he pushed hard for the last eight reps. “In this world, there are two kinds of people—those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig!”

“AK-47. It’s the very best there is. When you absolutely, positively gotta kill every motherfucker in the room, accept no substitutes.”

He grinned when he finished the last pull up. “I’m not locked in here, dude. You’re locked in here…with me.”

“Dying ain’t much of a living, boy.” I slapped him on the back as we walked over to start bench presses.

“Take your damn paws off me, you damn dirty ape.”

“You can’t handle the truth!”

“I pity the fool.”

“Wake up. It’s time to die.”

“Go ahead… Make my day.”

“Jesus fuck, man!” Slade called out from the treadmill as he ran. “Quit it with those bullshit movie lines and shut the fuck up. I’m trying to make my time over here.”

“Come on, son!” I barked, ignoring Slade. I was trying to pump up Tre.

These guys weren’t going to be my teammates for much longer, now that the college football season was over. The bowl game post season series was behind us and we had received our formal invitations to the national combine starting in mid-February, and the NFL Pro Day sometime in March. There was one more semester of college coursework to go before the draft, and after that, my graduation from college. And I didn’t have a heavy course load for the academics. As this was my last semester, and because everyone on the football team had to take one or two courses each summer semester, I only had two courses left to graduate.

This semester was all about preparation for my ascension to the NFL.

“You’re highly strung, buddy. You gotta relax. I’m serious,” Tre muttered from his spot on the weight bench where he started doing bicep curls. He was in his sophomore year, so he had a year before all this shit got real.


“And when do you plan to stop calling me ‘son’?”

“Yeah. That ain’t ever gonna happen. You’re not even old enough to drink.”

“I can drink all I want at the frat house, and out on the town when I hang with you guys.”

“Only because some bartenders enjoy seeing you and Pat do dumb shit because you can’t hold your damn liquor.”

Everyone in the team’s gym looked over and gave me a nod. They had all seen Tre and his best friend, Pat, in action. Pat wasn’t on the football team, but he might as well have been the mascot or something. His real name wasn’t Pat either. It was Franko Salvatore. He was some rich Italian kid who insisted on everyone calling him Pappa Thumbs because his father had an extra thumb on one hand.

Big fucking deal.

If the extra thumb thing was true at all.

I got back to my bench presses. The mood in the gym was low. There was no picking up the slackers after they took winter break off. I had the feeling I was the only person here who actually kept up with their fitness training at all. While they were home over the Christmas holidays after our bowl game, I stayed on campus and worked my tail off. My parents were not the least bit impressed, but they did their best to understand.

NFL or bust.

That was my motto.

Everything else was on someone else’s priority list.

I had no other options.

So when everyone came back from their holidays bitching and moaning that they had to get back in shape, I was ready for action. I wasn’t the only one whose college career was over after the Spring semester, either. Slade, Chris, Mo, Chad and I were looking at the draft, which was coming up in just over four months.

“You ready for Indianapolis?” Slade, the quarterback and team captain asked out of the blue when he came over to spot me for my bench press sets.

“I was born ready. I just don’t know how I’ll compare.” I had to admit what was staring me in the face. With over three hundred college football draftee prospects out of thousands across the country, nothing was a guarantee, so we were on top of the world to have all been invited to the NFL’s National Scouting Combine starting in mid-February.

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