Hardest Tackle: A Passionate Romance

By Marianne Lowe

Bethany’s a PhD student putting off familial responsibilities. Simon’s a rugby player who just wants to tackle people and stay out of the spotlight. When their drunken night makes the morning headlines, it threatens to ruin everything for both of them.

So they agree to fake-date for the tabloids. A perfect solution--so long as they don’t kill one another... or develop any pesky feelings first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marianne Lowe
• Release date: Jul 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005556259

Book preview

Marianne Lowe

Hardest Tackle

A passionate erotic romance

Copyright © 2020 by Marianne Lowe

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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Contents

Chapter 1: The One with the Bad Date (and lots of cake)

Chapter 2: The One with the Party

Chapter 3: The One with the Plan

Chapter 4: The One With the Date

Chapter 5: The One with a Confession

Chapter 6: The One With the Practice

Chapter 7: The One with the Season Opener

Chapter 8:The One with the Domesticity

Chapter 9 :The One Where Simon’s Hot and Cold

Chapter 10:The One Where She Cares

Chapter 11:The One Where Chelsea...

Chapter 12:The One With the Trip

Chapter 13:The One with Breakfast and Departure

Chapter 14: The One Where He Knows

Chapter 15: The One With the Shower

Chapter 16: The One with the Snow

Also by Marianne Lowe

Chapter 1: The One with the Bad Date (and lots of cake)

Chapter Separator

Bethany Stanson adjusted her sunglasses and paused at her building so the doorman could let her in. Her condo was of the impressive sort—a glass-faced high rise that looked over a trendy street in West City. A street where colorful handbags sat in the window of designer shops and cold-pressed juice was served by a smiling young woman who knew the names of all the up-and-coming bands.

This was a section of the city where fairy lights wrapped the lampposts in the winter, where tourists flocked to the city’s beaches during the warm holiday months, and where the large, circular towers of West City tossed shade over the wide mouth of West Bay year-round.

However, tonight the city held none of its usual charm. Bethany rode the elevator to the top floor, stomped her way down the hallway, and fished her keys from the bottom of her bag. Shaking with rage, she jammed her key into the lock and tugged it open with more force than was necessary. Once inside, she slammed the door and tossed her bag on the kitchen table. She could hear a celebrity chef’s voice from her roommate’s bedroom and, for the first time in so many hours, smiled.

Cheech, are you watching reality baking shows again?

The TV cut off and her roommate’s voice shot back, Maybe.

Bethany laughed and entered her roommate’s bedroom. It was yellow and cheery inside. A flame danced in a mason jar and made the whole room smell like lemon cake.

Setting the remote beside the modest television, Chelsea asked, How was your date?

With a defeated sigh, Bethany dropped onto her roommate’s bed and scrubbed a hand over her face.

That good, eh?

Bethany peeked through her fingers. I can’t believe I washed my hair for that.

Were the tapas good, at least?

They were… Bethany squinted at the ceiling, at a rare loss for words. She settled with, …tiny. Why can’t I go on a date with actual sized food? And he spent the entire evening talking about his trust fund, like I give a shit about that.

Chelsea laughed. You are Bethany-fucking-Stanson.

And then… Sliding her cell phone from her pocket, Bethany shoved the device under her friend’s nose. Look.

Chelsea yelped. That’s a dick! She bit her lip, not quite able to tear her eyes from the penis staring back at her. Wait. Is that his dick?

Yeah. He sent that to me after I told him I was going to call it a night, as though it were going to lure me into his bed.

Chelsea scrunched her nose, eyes not straying from the screen. It’s so veiny.

With a sigh, Bethany tucked her phone into her short’s back pocket. I haven’t found a decent guy since Thomas and I split. I didn’t think it’d be this…

Hard? Chelsea supplied, still trying not to think of the mystery man’s genitalia. She lay back on her bed, and both girls stared at the ceiling. It’s tough out there.

You know, my dad used to tell me a bedtime story about these magic balls that had the power to grant wishes.

Chelsea lifted a brow in question, but only her ceiling fan could see the gesture.

Bethany continued, At eight, I’d developed a plan to track them down and wish for the perfect boyfriend.

Chelsea grinned. Because hunting for mythical wish-granting balls sounded easier than looking for a nice guy to settle down with?

It still does, honestly.

Patting her friend’s bare thigh, Chelsea said, You’ll find someone.

And when I do, you’ll make my wedding cake?

Sure, Bee. And maybe I’ll be running my own shop by then and won’t have to answer to the Queen of Cakes.

Bethany laughed. Sounds like a plan, Cheech. She still heinous?

Yeah. Chelsea’s eyes darted to her phone where four missed messages from her boss were waiting for her. I have to open for her in the morning, so I’ll miss HIIT class tomorrow.

No problem. I’m planning on missing, too. Bethany made a face. She’d never made gym-time as much of a priority as Chelsea, anyway.

Oh? Lots of studying to do?

Bethany sat up, her blue bob swinging around her shoulders. Nah. I had a shitty date. I’m going to watch a horror flick and drink an entire bottle of wine. Care to join me?

I hate scary movies and you know I have to get up at 3:30 am to start baking. Bethany shrugged. Your loss.

Chelsea pulled herself into a sitting position and looked at her friend. Bethany was gorgeous and funny and too smart for her own good. But she always flitted through life with no sense of urgency and no real direction. They’d been roommates as undergraduates, and now, ten years later, Bethany was still reluctant to settle or be tied down by anything too permanent, so here she was, getting a second PhD at West City University and going on bad first dates.

Bethany sighed. Well, Pinot and murder mystery are calling. Fine. Chelsea shifted her jaw to one side. One glass.

……………………

Madame Cakes was a cozy shop only a couple blocks from her condo in West City. Working for Madame Cakes, known to Chelsea’s friends as ‘The Cake Bitch’, had been a dream come true out of college. She was the ‘it’ woman of the cake world. Madame Cakes designed wedding cakes for all the elite, and she kept a small, tidy storefront with scones and petite fours in the window. There were three cake flavors a day that you could buy by-the-slice, and sometimes, when Madame Cakes was in a spectacularly good mood, or couldn’t be bothered with mundane things, Chelsea was able to pick the flavors herself.

Today was one of those days.

Humming to herself, Chelsea detached the bowl from the stand mixer and evenly spread the batter for her pistachio vanilla cake into three round pans. After she’d popped them into the oven and set the timer, she went to work on her taro cake made with her signature cream cheese frosting. Last up would be the chocolate hazelnut cake, one of Madame Cakes’ recipes.

Once the cakes were all baking, she washed her hands and checked her face. Wiping a bit of flour from her left cheek, Chelsea exhaled and set to work opening the store. She turned the sign and unlocked the door. She set out the day’s scones and started a second pot of coffee. In an hour, Amanda would come to help run the register and fill customer orders, but the early mornings were usually slow, and Chelsea liked the down-time.

She munched on a blueberry scone, the lemon glaze still warm, and read over the West City Gazette . When the bell rang, she smiled and automatically greeted, Welcome to Madame Cakes, how can I—

Her words died as Madame Cakes removed her sunglasses and frowned. Yes? Do go on.

Chelsea smiled. Sorry. The cakes are cooling. I’ll frost them in a bit. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.

I had a last minute wedding cake booking. Apparently they’re in a race to the altar. Some model who needs a cake from me but probably won’t bother to try it. What do you have for me today?

Chelsea listed the day’s cakes, even though she’d written them out in chalk on the sign outside, and Madame Cakes nodded.

Fine, fine. I don’t like taro, but that will do. And then she marched to the back, shouting, When the couple comes in, fetch me.

Chelsea rang up an order for a pistachio cake and wrapped a scone for the road. She poured one of her regulars a coffee, and glanced over as the bell above the door chimed.

A couple entered the shop hand-in-hand. The woman was tall and leggy, her aqua hair in a messy twist at the top of her head. Her eyes took in the room with eager, vapid blinks, and Chelsea fought the urge to cringe. The man at her side, however, beamed with pride. He stood almost a foot shorter than the woman he clung to, but he carried himself with the sort of blind, foolish love that made Chelsea’s heart flutter with hope.

Hi! he greeted. I’m Oliver, and this is Jessie—my fiance. There was a West City Dragons logo on his polo. He must’ve been a fan, because he looked far too short for professional Rugby.

Welcome to Madame Cakes, both of you, Chelsea greeted. And congratulations!

Thanks. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

Yep. He definitely is! The model giggled.

His grin was so genuine; Chelsea’s heart sunk all the way to her knees.

Later that day, the bell above the door chimed, and Bethany slid into an empty seat. The after-lunch crowd had evaporated, and the shop was empty, so Chelsea plopped across from her best friend, slid a slice of cake across the table, and exhaled.

While it wasn’t strawberry cake, there was still dessert to soften the blow, so Chelsea opened with, Thomas sent me a text.

His quarterly check-in?

Chelsea tried to smile through Bethany’s glare. He just wants to make sure you’re doing okay.

I’m great, she huffed. Tell him I’m going on tons of dates and guys are texting me dick picks left and right.

The tip of her nose crinkled. No, Chelsea started, then made a face. No. I’m not telling him any of that.

Since Bethany wasn’t sure what else to suggest, she pushed her fork into the cake and watched the icing well up between the utensils slits. She and Thomas had parted ways years ago. He’d been her first boyfriend, first everything, really, but they hadn’t had ‘it’—whatever it was.

And Thomas had been good to her. Nice. Probably too nice, really, when she thought back to their years together. But good to her and nice only went so far, and instead of going out with a bang like Bethany pictured all five-year commitments doing, their relationship had ended amicably with barely a sizzle.

I’ll tell him, ‘She’s got cake. She’s fine’, Chelsea said, and Bethany rolled her eyes. Late night tonight?

Yeah. Amanda called in, so I’ll be closing by myself. Don’t wait up. Chelsea stood and adjusted her top knot, straightened her apron, and grinned at her friend.

The after-work dessert crowd started filing in, and Chelsea found herself swamped with cake-by-the-slice orders and frosting an office-wide birthday cake for an uptown PR firm.

A frazzled secretary rushed out the door, cake box balanced precariously on her bangle-clad arms, and Chelsea watched her go with a smile. When the shop was finally blissfully still, Chelsea plopped into a chair in the back to rest her overworked feet, just as the bell above the door jingled, signaling a new customer. She hid a groan in her cupped hands and then injected some fake cheer in her voice as she said, I’ll be with you in just one moment!

And when she entered the front of the store, wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled politely at the tall, affable man salivating over the display cakes.

I’ll have a slice of the chocolate, and two of the taro to go, please, he ordered, his eyes gleaming.

Chelsea grinned, trying not to check him out, and boxed up the trio of slices.

I haven’t been here before, but… Smile lines crinkled his eyes. I can eat a lot of cake.

As he reached for his wallet, Chelsea couldn’t help but notice the way his biceps stretched the fabric of his short-sleeved shirt.

Neatly, she stuck a sticker on the seal of his boxed cakes and placed a bamboo fork wrapped in a purple napkin on top. As she extended the cakes over the counter, their knuckles brushed and Chelsea felt the box slip from her grip. The little bamboo fork clattered to the floor, and the box sat upturned on the countertop.

I-I’m so sorry, she heard herself saying before she’d formed the thought in her mind. The man’s smile never dimmed. Chelsea opened the box and the three slices of cake were mostly intact, but the icing was a mess. She flushed; Madame Cakes would be appalled.

Let me box you up some new slices.

She’d never felt less put-together. Less sure of herself. She wasn’t clumsy. She wasn’t—

It’s fine, he laughed. They’ll still taste like cake, yeah?

Chelsea exhaled. Yes. But they’re on the house. She tried for a smile, but it felt forced.

Well, I promise to make it up to you and be a repeat customer, he said with a wink. Then he left, and Chelsea forgot to ask his name.

……………………

Chelsea considered herself a patient person, all things considering. She patiently waited by Bethany’s side while her friend figured out whether she wanted to take over her family’s company or not. She held her best friend’s hand through the ups and downs of her relationship with Thomas. She was there, again and again, after all Bethany’s crummy first dates.

She was always patient with customers—helping them through tough decisions like whether to opt for 75