Page 3 of Offsides

But that didn’t matter. She was a reporter. And Cowboy knew firsthand just how much damage they could do.

If only this one wasn’t so damn pretty.

Turning his attention back to the pitch, Cowboy narrowed in on Hector “Dash” Lazaro, the Rising’s hotshot striker, who was currently blazing his way toward the opponent's goal, bobbing and weaving around the visiting team as he went. The kid was fast, there was no doubt about it. His nickname fit—something Cowboy was more than a little thankful for in this moment, since the Rising had recently lost its other major goal scorer to a season-ending ACL injury. Dash had been picking up the slack these last few games, but they needed to fill the vacancy that Tiago had left. And soon.

Dash gave the ball a tap, sending it into open space as he spun around a defender. Cowboy shook his fist in triumph, loving the agility from the kid. All it took was another subtle movement from Dash, one that if you weren’t familiar with him as a player wouldn’t have looked like he was winding up to take the kick, and the ball was headed full speed toward the goal. Cowboy’s heart leapt as it hit the back of the net, New York’s goalie simply watching as it whizzed by him.

“Yes!” Cowboy hollered, pumping his fist in the air. The sound of a train horn filled the stadium as the rest of the crowd roared with excitement over the goal, filling Cowboy with a joy that he couldn’t explain. What they had created here, and in such a short time, was nothing less than amazing.

Cowboy’s eyes drifted over to the spot on the sideline where he generally stood, right next to his best friend, who was currently taking the opportunity to discuss something with the team’s physical therapist, Avery Houghton, their stares trained on the team as they sauntered back to their half of the pitch. Gunnar held his hand over his mouth, making it impossible for Cowboy to try and make out what they were chatting about, but ten bucks said it had to do with the ever-so-slight limp their other forward, Boone Jarrett, was currently sporting.

“His finishing might not be perfect, but damn, does he put power behind his shots,” Theo commented.

Cowboy whipped around, finding her right next to him, where Keaton had been just a moment ago. When did she slide into that spot? And where had Keaton gone? Cowboy’s heart kicked up a notch, feeling the pull between them. Why was resisting her becoming so damn hard?

“But he’s really stepped up his game since Tiago’s injury,” she continued.

It was a statement that Cowboy couldn’t disagree with. Dash did put some serious power behind his shots, even if they weren’t always accurate. And hadn’t he just been thinking about how the kid had started to flourish since his teammate’s injury? A shiver zinged through him, making Cowboy even more uneasy. He loved hearing a woman as beautiful as she was talk sports. There was something so fucking sexy about it. Until he remembered what she did for a living.

“He has,” he responded, trying not to sound as tense as he was feeling. Her presence here was unnerving him. He was never tense. Free and easy—that was his motto. That was how he lived his life. That was a promise he had made a long time ago. One he wasn’t going to let someone like Theo Kappas make him break.

He needed to get out of here. Fast.

Surely Felicity would understand if he headed down to the pitch. He wouldn’t have to tell her it was due to the sexy brunette who was making his whole body seem to vibrate. No, he would simply make a polite excuse and be on his way.

Without bothering to acknowledge Theo any further, Cowboy took a half step back, starting his pivot toward Felicity, who it seemed was still being held hostage by Isaac Peters. Maybe he needed to rescue her first. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

Yes, rescue the boss lady. Then make his way down to the pitch where he could get his head on straight and focus on what matters. His team, his players, and how they were currently up one-nothing over Washington. That was the plan.

Until that melodic voice rang out.

“So, when does Beau Blackwood arrive?”

Chapter Two

The whole room seemed to come to a halt as Cowboy froze in place behind Theo. She hadn’t thought her question was that pointed. Although, maybe it was.

It was one that up until now Cowboy had refused to answer. No matter who was doing the asking.

Theo didn’t believe for one second that he didn’t know the answer. He knew. The man just felt the need to keep his cards hidden. It wasn’t like it was a secret that the Atlanta Rising had acquired Beau Blackwood. The thirty-six-year-old attacking midfielder was finishing up his season in Hamburg before coming to join the Rising—or at least that had been the plan while Tiago was still healthy. Now with the Brazilian out, Theo was sure that Cowboy was trying to get Beau here sooner. She just wished he wasn’t so tight-lipped about it.

“As I have said, he’s finishing up in Hamburg and then will be here,” Cowboy answered her. His body was still, his voice was tight, and his normally sweet Texas twang suddenly had an edge. She'd gotten to him.

“So you’re not going to try and bring him in early?” she asked, continuing to push.

Pushing was what she did best. One didn’t host the number one sports talk show in the region by not going after what they wanted. Sports journalism was a tough business, no matter who you were. Even tougher as a woman. But it was a battle Theo knew was worth it. And one she was winning. After almost a decade—more if you counted college—she knew she had what it takes. She’d come by her reputation honestly for getting the story that no one else could. Through hard work, determination, and never compromising. By pushing and prodding and being the one who was always asking questions. Even if they were questions no one wanted to answer.

“Why do you wanna know so bad?”

“It's not me. It’s the fans. They want to know what the team’s plan is now that one of the big-name players is out.”

“The fans want to know? Or you need a bump in the ratings?” he asked, his eyes wide. There was something in them she couldn’t place, like he was holding something back. And damn, did she want to know what it was.

Theo watched Cowboy inhale deeply, his broad muscular chest expanding as he did so. His normal happy-go-lucky cockiness was gone, and in its place was a fire she’d only ever seen from him on the pitch. It was that fire that had made him so much fun to watch as a player. That had her glued to the TV every time the national team was playing and had her following along with Liverpool’s stats online.

To say nothing of the killer body he showed off post game by whipping off his jersey. That was what had landed a photo of him on her dorm room wall in college.

Theo’s stomach flip-flopped. Gazing into Cowboy’s deep brown eyes, she swallowed hard, reminding herself why she was here talking to him. Despite his nickname, there was nothing cowboy about this man. The suit he was wearing in this moment—one that was tailored perfectly to his stocky, muscular frame—was a game day special. Britt Callahan was known for his laid-back appearance, showing up most days to work in jeans, the leather boots that matched his motorcycle, and the tattoos that covered him. He had bad boy written all over him. That was, until he opened his mouth and one hundred percent pure southern gentleman poured out.