Sacked (The New York Nighthawks Book 1) Read online

  Sacked

  The New York Nighthawks

  Fiona Davenport

  Copyright © 2022 by Fiona Davenport

  Cover designed by Elle Christensen

  Edited by Jenny Sims (Editing4Indies)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Sacked

  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

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Sacked

  Prentice Wright was one of the best quarterbacks in the league. He was known for making all the right moves on the field. It was how he led the New York Nighthawks to victory so often.

  Falling for his teammate’s sister wasn’t a smart play. Especially when Naomi Scott was more than a decade younger than him.

  But Prentice was also known for being relentless in the pursuit of his goals…and he’d never wanted anything more than to make Naomi his.

  1

  Naomi

  I’d been to plenty of football games in my eighteen years, but watching my brother play for the New York Nighthawks was something else. I was so proud of what Nixon had accomplished. Getting drafted into the NFL had been his goal ever since he played his first game of flag football when he was five. I’d heard the story time and time again from my parents since I had been too young to remember. My brother was a little more than four years older than me, so I’d only been a baby back then.

  When the game clock ticked off the final seconds of the second quarter with Nixon’s team ahead by a touchdown and a field goal, I jumped to my feet to cheer along with everyone surrounding me. My seat was much better than I’d expected—one of the best in the stadium, club level right at the fifty-yard line.

  Nixon was just a rookie, but his head coach had arranged for my ticket when my brother had told him I was coming to the game today. His wife, Sally, was seated next to me, and she patted my hand. “I’m so glad you could make it to today’s game.”

  I beamed a smile at her. “Thanks for inviting me to sit with you.”

  She waved off my gratitude. “Your first game was the perfect excuse for me to be out here instead of in the suite with local business executives who’d want to talk my ear off instead of letting me enjoy the game.”

  One of the women in the row behind us leaned forward and said, “And as the head coach’s wife, it’s kind of her job to take all of us football wives and girlfriends under her wing.”

  “Oh, I’m just here to watch my brother play,” I explained, my cheeks heating over her assumption that I was with one of the players when I’d never even been on a real date before.

  “Want to come with me? I need to hit up the walking taco stand.” Sally flashed me an apologetic grin as she slid out of her seat and stepped into the aisle. “It’s a tradition.”

  “Say no more. I know all about football superstitions. Nixon has plenty game day rituals.” I laughed and shook my head as I followed her up the steps. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to sit through The Waterboy because he has to watch it the night before every game. It’s been a tradition ever since he was in the eighth grade.”

  “That’s okay. I have to get up early and bake a batch of homemade oatmeal cranberry chocolate chip cookies for Keith before he heads to the stadium for every home game,” she shared. “His mom was happy to pass that ritual over to me back in college when we started dating.”

  I licked my lips. “They sound delicious.”

  “I’ll bring you some next time,” she promised.

  “Thanks.”

  When we reached the top of the steps, she hooked her arm through mine to lead me through the crowd. “Your brother mentioned that you’re staying with him while you’re taking a gap year?”

  “Yeah, my parents weren’t too excited about me deferring my college acceptance for a year, but Nixon was really supportive of the decision. So when he suggested that I come out here, it sounded like the perfect plan to me,” I explained.

  “From some of the stories Nixon has told, it sounded as though they’re a bit overprotective?” she asked.

  “You can say that again,” I muttered with a sigh. “The only reason my dad was okay with me living in New York was because I’m staying with Nixon. Even if I’d decided to go to NYU this year, he wouldn’t have been okay with me living in the dorm.”

  “Parents can be a lot.” She winked at me. “Or at least that’s what my kids used to tell me before they got married and had children of their own.”

  I shook my head with a laugh. “I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”

  “You only say that because I’m not your mom,” she pointed out. “Perspective is everything.”

  “You might be right,” I conceded with a smile.

  “At least your parents can’t complain too much about you slacking off since you’ll be keeping busy by helping Nixon with his social media accounts.”

  I nodded. “Yup, I did a communications program at the high school I attended and got a lot of practice with creating graphics. And since I was part of the arts and literature magazine publicity team, I also got plenty of experience at posting to social. So it seemed like a great way to pay my brother back for letting me stay with him.”

  “Managing his social media presence will be a huge help,” Sally agreed. “With the work you’ve done for your school, you’ve already learned the benefit of being strategic when you post. Used wisely, social media can bring more awareness to Nixon as a player, but a lot of the younger guys don’t do a great job of leveraging their accounts. They use it more as a way to communicate with jersey chasers than anything else.”

  My nose scrunched at the thought of the kinds of things women might send my brother through social media. “Yeah, I’m going to avoid his direct messages like the plague.”

  “Smart plan,” she murmured as we joined the line for the concession stand.

  Watching as the guy piled cheese sauce, ground beef, fresh jalapeños, and salsa into a bag of corn chips, I decided that I needed a walking taco too. As I reached into my purse to pull out my wallet, Sally wrapped her fingers around my wrist. “Your money isn’t good here.”

  “Oh, but I—”

  “No, really.” She leaned close and whispered, “The guy who runs the stand refuses to let me pay because he loves being a part of the ritual. It makes him feel as though he’s doing his part to help the team win.”

  “I guess I can’t argue with that logic.” I settled my purse over my shoulder again.

  After we got our walking tacos, we headed over to grab some cotton candy—I couldn’t risk the temptation of one of my favorite treats—before returning to our seats. Then we basically ate our way through the next half of the game, celebrating a Nighthawks’ touchdown with a hot dog in the third period and one in the fourth with churros. When Prentice Wright, their quarterback, took a knee to run down the clock for the past thirty-nine seconds, their win was clinched.

  Sally patted my knee when I started to get up. “Let the crowd thin out, and then we’ll head down to the post-game room. It’ll take a while for your brother to showe
r and change, so there’s no need to rush.”

  The woman seated on the other side of Sally leaned across her lap to add, “We don’t have to wait at the player’s lot exit, so we don’t need to worry about all the fans lining up to see the guys as they leave.”

  “The post-game room isn’t fancy, but at least it’s private,” one of the wives sitting behind us murmured.

  The other woman nodded. “And it gives us a chance to catch up with everyone while we wait for our men.”

  “All of the families usually head down there, along with close friends and former teammates,” Sally explained.

  Nixon had told me to follow Sally so he could find me more easily because the parking lot was crazy after games, but I hadn’t expected there to be a crowd. Hopefully I wouldn’t feel too out of place while I waited for him since I didn’t know anyone other than Sally. But I was looking forward to finally getting the chance to meet some of his friends…and maybe even catch a glimpse of some of the famous players on the team. Like Prentice Wright, the hunky quarterback.

  2

  Prentice

  I zipped up my duffel and slung it over my shoulder, then rapped my knuckles on my helmet, just like I did any time I left the Nighthawks’ locker room.

  There was always a high after a win, but I was also tired as fuck. I certainly wasn’t past my prime by any means, but at thirty-two, I wasn’t a young buck either. Going out and partying hadn’t been my scene for a long time. I was looking forward to going home, having a long soak in my hot tub, and going to bed.

  But first, I needed to catch Sally in the post-game room. We were planning a big bash for Chuck, the head coach, and she wanted to give me the number of Emma Hensley, the elite NYC wedding planner she’d used for her daughter’s nuptials. Apparently, Emma had agreed to plan this party as a favor to Sally.

  There was a strange crackle in the air when I entered the room, and I suddenly felt a little off balance. I shook the sense of disorientation off and lifted my chin at Sally when she waved.

  She bustled over with a smile and gave me a hug. “Great game!” Then she handed me a business card.

  “Thanks. To both,” I said with a smile as I slipped the card into my pocket. “I’ll give her a call next week.”

  “Fantastic!” Sally beamed at me and gave me another hug. “I’m going to go find Chuck. Say hello to your brother for me.”

  “Will do,” I replied before she hurried off to find her husband. I was about to leave as well, but as I turned around, my eyes landed on a stunning creature. My breath caught in my throat, and my cock came alive. If I hadn’t been so blown away by the woman I was staring at, I would have been shocked that my dick was showing any interest in a woman, for the first time in years.

  She wasn’t very tall—then again, a lot of people seemed short when you were looking down at them from six feet and five inches.

  Her light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off her gorgeous blue eyes, pert nose, and full, pink lips. My gaze slid lower, to her slender neck, generous tits, soft stomach, and wide, round hips. Fuck. She was made for sex. Made for having babies. Made for me.

  The thought startled me, but it wasn’t as scary as it should have been. Instead, I felt a sense of contentment, mixed with an urgent need to make the beautiful brunette mine.

  As a professional athlete, I’d had a lot of women throw themselves at me. Not once had I ever felt the desire to even take one on a date, but here I was dreaming about knocking up this beautiful woman.

  My mother would be bouncing off the walls with excitement if she knew what was running through my mind. She’d been after me to settle down for a couple of years now. My older brother, Ward—a tech genius and self-made billionaire—was a workaholic and she’d given up on getting grandkids out of him. Our younger brother, Caden, was twenty-five, but he was training with the U.S. Olympic soccer team. And my twin sisters were only eighteen. My dad’s head would probably explode if one of his baby girls got serious with a guy.

  Looks like I’ll have to take one for the team.

  I returned my perusal to her face and stared at her, mesmerized when she laughed at something someone said to her as they left. Damn, she was so fucking beautiful.

  She looked young, but not enough to be one of my teammate’s daughters. I hoped. Glancing around, I tried to figure out who she might be with, but there were only a handful of people left, and they were talking to the players they’d been here to meet.

  I moved toward her as though she was metal and I was a magnet. Her eyes came to mine and widened for a moment, before they sparkled as she returned my smile.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said when I was less than a foot away. “There’s no way I would have forgotten you.”

  Her blue eyes filled with humor, and she put her hands on her hips. “Does that line ever work for you?”

  I inched closer, keeping my steady gaze locked with hers. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never used it before. Because I never say a thing I don’t mean.”

  Her expression flitted with shock, then her face flushed with pink as a pleased smile curved her lips. “Um…” She shuffled her feet nervously. “No, we haven’t met.”

  “Prentice,” I said, moving just a tad closer, so I was invading her space but not touching her.

  “Naomi.”

  “That’s a beautiful name. It suits you.”

  Naomi dipped her head as she blushed again. “Thank you.”

  I played football in high school, was recruited by Notre Dame for college, then was drafted when I was twenty-one and spent the past eleven years playing for the Nighthawks. I’d done hundreds of press conferences, speaking engagements, and numerous other things that required me to talk. But for the first time that I could remember, I felt tongue-tied.

  Before I could come up with something to say, our wide receiver, Hale, and his wife, Lisa, stopped to say hello. I nodded in response to their greeting and gritted my teeth in frustration while they introduced themselves to Naomi. After a few minutes, they said goodbye and I breathed a mental sigh of relief.

  “So who are you—”

  “Naomi!” Dana, the girlfriend of one of our rookies, called out. “See you at the club!” I frowned, irritated at yet another interruption, and wondering who the fuck she was going to a club with.

  Once they were gone, we were finally left alone, and I opened my mouth to try again. But clearly, our win was the only luck the universe was going to give me that night because Nixon, one of our newer defensive linemen, came barreling into the room and right up to Naomi.

  “What a game, Mims!” He shouted as he picked her up and spun her around. “We crushed the other team!”

  I clenched my fists so I wouldn’t snatch her from his arms. She laughed at his antics, and jealousy burned in my chest. I ground my jaw, telling myself not to be a bastard—I had never been the kind of guy to go after another man’s woman. But Naomi had me questioning my ethics.

  Nixon put her down after a couple of twirls and dropped his arm around her shoulder. “Hey, Prentice,” he greeted me with a grin. “I see you met my baby sister, Naomi.”

  Sister? Thank fuck she wasn’t there with anyone else.

  However, considering how young Nixon was, I couldn’t help wondering if she was legal. I doubted he would bring his sister around if she were under eighteen. But the worry lingered.

  3

  Naomi

  It turned out that my concerns about being uncomfortable while waiting for my brother in the post-game room had been unnecessary. Sally had taken me around to introduce me to everyone, and I’d fit right in. Only nobody warned me that Nixon would be one of the last players out of the locker room. Or that I wouldn’t care how long he took because I’d have the best distraction in the world.

  It was difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that I’d been having an actual conversation with Prentice Wright. And that he was even hotter in person, which shouldn’t be possible. Not wh
en he was already insanely attractive in all of the commercials and magazine spreads that he’d been in.

  Prentice was the epitome of masculine beauty with his dark hair, beard, brown eyes, chiseled jaw, and muscular body. At five-foot-five, he was about ten inches taller than me, and I loved how feminine I felt standing next to him.

  But what I appreciated the most was the way his attention was wholly on me while we talked. How a muscle in his jaw would jump and irritation would flash in his eyes anytime someone interrupted us. Including my brother.

  Even though I was only here because I had wanted to see Nixon play, I had felt the urge to stomp my foot in frustration when he came rushing into the room.

  And I could’ve sworn that I had seen a flash of jealousy in Prentice’s dark gaze when my brother had spun me around, then flung his arm around my shoulder. But that was probably just wishful thinking on my part, considering he was way out of my league.

  “You ready to hit the club?” Nixon asked.

  At first, I thought he’d been talking to Prentice, but then I realized his focus was on me. My excitement about going out to celebrate their win dimmed at the thought of my time with Prentice coming to an end. “Are you coming with?”

  Before the sexy quarterback could answer, my brother shook his head with a laugh. “Nah, he’s old and has to go home. It’s past his bedtime already.”

  Prentice scowled at Nixon, and I assumed it was because his response had pissed him off until he growled, “Is your sister old enough to go to a club?”