The Slam: A Romance: Hemsworth Brothers Book 1

By Haleigh Lovell

From the New York Times & USA Today bestselling author, Haleigh Lovell. "A top favorite read of the year!" ~ Read & Share Book Reviews

 

"This really is a beautiful love story." ~ Books & Boys Blog

 

"I have found the BOOK. The Slam was a GRAND SLAM. Charming, witty, funny as hell and very sexy, it had this underlying innocence and depth that completely spoke to my heart. It switched from sidesplittingly funny to thought-provoking and serious, and back again, without giving me whiplash. Just that warm, happy feeling you get when you read a damn good book." ~ Beth, Give Me Books/ One-Click Addict Support Group

 

"The Slam is without a doubt one of my favorite reads of the year! What an exceptional, totally refreshing angle on an already saturated genre. I LOVED IT!" ~ PopKitty Book Reviews

 

"This book captivated me from the beginning. It was funny, heartbreaking, sexy and everything in between." SLB Book Blog

 

"The Slam is a grand slam winner of a romance." ~ Bookaholics Not-So-Anonymous 

 

"A love story with a refreshing twist. The Slam is truly a gem." ~ H. Robinson  

 

THE SLAM : A Romance

by Haleigh Lovell

 

An athlete. An Aspie. A love story.

 

I didn't want her here.

I didn't want to be entrusted with her care.

You see, she has Asperger's and she struggles with social cues.

Somehow, she's convinced me to be her social coach.

Somehow, the lines have blurred . . . 

 

Note: THE SLAM is a deliciously sexy, full-length novel that's packed with heat, heart, and humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Haleigh Lovell
• Release date: May 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386425755

Book preview

Chapter One

ENDER

THE CLOCK ON MY NIGHTSTAND glowed: 12:45 A.M.

Shifting my eyes over the messy bed, I sat up groggily and looked down at the woman beside me.

Fuck. What the hell is her name? Lauren? Or is it Lacy?

Scrubbing my face, I hesitated a moment then lifted the covers.

Lacy, I thought as I stared at her sleeping form. She was naked except for a wispy lace bra, just two pale blue triangles covering her small, but nicely rounded breasts.

Definitely Lacy.

Unable to resist, I reached for her breast, teasing the shadow of her nipple through the flimsy lace cup. Her nipple hardened instantly, poking greedily at my fingers.

I smiled.

Bracing my hands on either side of her, I lowered my head and drew on the pebbled nipple, suckling deep and hard until I felt her rosy bud stretch, pull, and elongate inside my mouth.

Mmm. A breathless moan slipped past her lips. Her eyes were still closed and she began caressing her tits.

I sat back and watched, loving the look of her swollen nipples and large areolas spilling out of her lace cups as she touched herself.

My dark gaze traveled lower, burning at the hint of blonde curls visible through the lace thong.

Desire tore through me as she nudged the thin material away, exposing her moist, pink flesh. As if by their own will, her fingers began moving over her clit, massaging the swollen bud.

Your pussy looks neglected. My voice was thick, hoarse. Let me lick it for you.

Mmmm, she moaned, arching her back as she touched herself. Let me take care of you first. As she fingered her clit, she extended her free hand and started stroking my shaft.

My cock was already hard and heavy, the slit gleaming with a bead of semen.

Yeah. Closing my eyes, I focused on the feel of her soft hands gliding up and down the length of my shaft. Oh yeah, Lacy. A deep groan scraped from my throat as she squeezed on the head.

Abruptly, her hand stilled.

Lacy? she demanded. Who the hell is Lacy?

Your bra... it’s lacy.

To her credit, she didn’t fall for my horseshit. You don’t even know my name, do you?

Of course I do, I insisted. Your name is...

She arched a delicate brow.

Wait! I frowned. Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Then I drew a blank. Shit, tell me.

Leah! The name’s Leah! In a fit of rage, she huffed and puffed, grabbing her clothes off the floor, whipping her hair around like a machete. Damn you, Ender! You’re nothing but a... a cock on legs!

Leah! I said, reaching for my phone. Give me a minute and I’ll call you a—

She marched over to the door, ripped that thing open like she meant to tear it off its hinges, and slammed it behind her before my sentence finished.

Pushing a hand through my hair, I snagged hold of my jeans, shoved them on and stalked into the kitchen to grab a drink.

Edric was leaning against the fridge, arms folded across his chest. A flicker of amusement passed briefly across his face. A cock on legs, eh?

Two cans of beer were already sitting on the counter.

My brother knew me too well.

So you heard. Exhaling hard, I reached for a Budweiser and popped the tab.

A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. What does a ‘cock on legs’ even mean? Is she saying you’re a mobile dick? Or is she implying you’re hung like a rhino?

I shrugged. Who the fuck knows?

Why did she go all scorched earth on you?

I took a swig before answering. I thought her name was Lacy. A pause. It isn’t.

Lacy? He suppressed a snort. How about next time you think of other adjectives you’d use at Jo-Ann Fabrics like... frilly, gauzy, ruffly, meshy, gossamer.

Shut the fuck up. I scowled, rifling through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter.

One of them so happened to catch my eye, mainly because it wasn’t a bill. I slipped a finger beneath the flap and yanked, ripping open the envelope.

Edric, I said absently as I read its contents.

Yeah?

What’s the date today?

The twenty-ninth, he answered. Why?

Fuck, I cursed under my breath. We gotta go!

Edric just stared at me, his eyes questioning. We?

Yeah, we! I swiped the car keys off the kitchen counter, stormed into my room, and threw on a T-shirt. Quit standing there with your dick in the wind, I shouted from the hallway. We need to haul ass! I commanded. Let’s go, let’s go!

SO TELL ME AGAIN, Edric said as I sped down the freeway. Why are you driving like a frickin’ maniac?

Because Camille sent us a letter—snail mail all the way from Oz—when an email would have made a lot more sense.

A letter? Edric sounded mildly amused. Who the hell writes letters these days?

I don’t know, I said, looking for the exit up ahead. The Amish. And Camille.

"The fuuuccck! Edric yelled, as I swiftly jerked the car in front of a semi-truck and merged onto the shoulder of the exit ramp. You trying to get us killed?"

I looked in my rearview mirror. The driver of the semi-truck had applied the brakes too hard, causing the trailer to jackknife. Horns sounded in the early morning traffic and a finger came out of the window.

Edric let out a string of curses. "You are trying to get us killed."

Grabbing the gearshift, I slammed it down into third gear, floored the accelerator and the Maserati lunged forward with a throaty snarl from its V8 engine.

Hold up! Edric exclaimed as I switched lanes and whizzed past a sign for the airport. Why are we going to the airport?

Here, I said, chucking the letter at him. Read it. It should explain everything.

Edric unfolded the letter. In the next breath, he began reading aloud. My dearest Ender and Edric. He tried mimicking Camille’s voice, which meant he sounded like he’d smoked a carton of cigarettes and chased it down with a Brillo pad. I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. And I hope college life is treating you well. I’m writing because Adelaide will be attending UC Berkeley in the fall. You remember Adelaide, don’t you? Jeff Vikander’s granddaughter. Edric looked up from the letter. Adelaide Vikander? He paused. Tomboy with buckteeth and acne... teeth so crooked they looked like they were throwin’ up gang signs? Then he proceeded to make gang signs with his hands.

Yep, I said, popping the P sound. That’s her.

Wasn’t she a little... erm, different?

I kept my eyes on the road and said nothing. She was definitely different.

Edric stared at me before dropping his gaze back to the letter. He continued reading aloud. Adelaide will be staying with you boys. The guest room will be perfect for her and since I’m paying the mortgage, I get the final say, ha ha.

Keep on reading, I instructed. That’s not all.

Please look out for Adelaide, Edric went on. My dear friend, Jeff, passed away last year and he appointed me her legal guardian. I love her dearly like my own child... my own blood. Now I know Adelaide’s not like other girls. About ten years ago, she was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. These days they call it Autism Spectrum Disorder. Her doctor says she’s on the far end of the spectrum, or high-functioning autism, so to speak. But I prefer to call it Asperger’s and Adelaide’s my little Aspie. She’s a highly intelligent girl who’s tuned into some people more than others. Sometimes she just needs some help understanding a social or emotional situation, and that’s where you boys come in. Ender, since you’re the older and more mature one, I’d like you to look out for her. College life is, in large part, about the social scene, and I’m afraid Adelaide might have a tough time adjusting. I need you to be her safe place or, rather, her safe person... someone she can seek out to calm herself if she becomes too overwhelmed. Edric stopped and slanted his gaze at me. Adelaide has Asperger’s and Camille wants you to be her safe person? He sniffed like a disapproving aunt. "You—you—of all people?"

I cocked an eyebrow. Why do you sound so surprised?

He scrunched up his face, looking like he’d just sniffed a fart. Because you’re a dick who avoids affection like it’s the plague—or worse, a computer virus.

I frowned. I don’t see how that makes me a dick.

That girl who lost her shit tonight—you didn’t even know her name.

I know her name, I said coolly. Leah.

Last Friday, Edric pressed on. You hooked up with Mindy, and instead of giving her a ride home after she spent the night, you got her an Uber.

I shrugged. Your point? was clearly implied even though it wasn’t verbalized.

Hello? Edric said pointedly. "The walk of shame has been replaced by The morning after Uber."

But she didn’t walk home, did she? I countered. I got her an Uber.

Edric simply shook his head and resumed reading the letter. Please don’t treat Adelaide as if she has a disability. To me, a disability is about what is missing. But with Adelaide, it’s more about what is abundant than what is missing... an over-expression of the very traits that make us all unique. He paused and took a sharp intake of breath. What the fuck does that even mean?

Don’t know.

He narrowed his eyes at me. What do you mean you don’t know?

Shit! I jammed on the brakes and cut across two lanes. The tires squealed as I swerved into the parking lot. Almost missed that turn.

So she’s here? Edric stared at me. Adelaide’s here?

Yep. I swung into an open spot and threw in the clutch. The car gave a sudden jerk, the front wheels screeching to a halt. Her Qantas flight arrived about an hour ago.

As I cut the engine, Edric finished reading the letter. Please take good care of Adelaide. I trust you boys will. Ender, please be good to her... the two of you used to be inseparable. Bosom buddies, I used to call you two. And Edric, please make sure she has lots of fun at college. I’ve enclosed her itinerary. Love from Down Under, Camille.

WE WALKED DOWN THE baggage claim of the international terminal, but there was no sign of Adelaide.

Maybe she left? Edric offered. Maybe she—

Erm... excuse me, came a lilting voice from behind us. Is that you, Ender?

I spun around and almost did a double take. Adelaide?

That’s me! She gave a little wave. Wow. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hardly recognized you.

She hardly recognized me? I hardly recognized her.

Adulthood had hit her like a sexy brick.

Yeah, she was dressed like a skater girl—T-shirt, jeans, and Converse high tops—but she no longer struck me as a tomboy.

Gone were the buckteeth; gone was the haircut like a mushroom cloud.

She had freckles running along the bridge of her nose and perfectly straight white teeth. Her dark hair now poured down her steep cheekbones, tumbling past her shoulders in waves. She glowed with a rare kind of beauty. A natural beauty.

Adelaide wore no makeup, not a trace of it, and she was in crazy good shape. With her athletic physique and golden tan, she had the look of a sexy beach volleyball player who’d just stepped foot from the sand. A competitor who played rough and tough and could probably take a guy out using a volleyball.

But there was also a softness to her features, an unguarded sweetness to her smile.

My brother cut me a look. I knew that look.

An unspoken message passed between us. Adelaide’s a babe.

Meanwhile, her gaze flicked past me. Edric? It’s good to see you. Then she caught my eye and smiled. And you, too, Ender. Just like old times, eh? It’s great to see both of you.

The pleasure is ours, Edric said theatrically. Stepping forward, he reached for the handle of her carry-on. Just one bag? he asked.

Correct, she said, gesturing to the giant backpack on the floor. Everything else I need is in there.

Here, I offered. Let me help you with that. I lifted the monstrous backpack and slung it over my shoulder. What you got in there? A dead body?

Huh? She blinked.

So how was your flight? I swiftly changed the subject as we started for the exit.

Awful, she said, barely containing a shudder. I hate being in planes.

Why? You have a fear of flying?

Well, she said. My issues with flying aren’t related to a fear of a crash or an accident. I’m mildly claustrophobic, intensely averse to the unwashed masses, and generally uncomfortable with most kinds of changes which flying represents. So you coop me up in a small metal tube with a bunch of strangers who invariably will include no less than one toxically over-perfumed woman and two screaming children, and I’m not exactly in my comfort zone. Not to mention, my ears pop because the plane is flying forty-five thousand feet above sea level. Factor in time zone changes wreaking havoc on my internal clock and circadian rhythm, and I end up getting zero rest. So to answer your question, I don’t have a fear of flying. It’s more like an extreme aversion bordering on hatred.

My brother and I exchanged identical raised eyebrows. Okay, I said at last.

Silence stretched until Edric broke it. You know what? he said. That’s exactly how I feel about flying!

A smile touched her lips. Well, as much as I hate flying, I find it far more pleasant than being in a car with someone else at the wheel.

Oh yeah? Edric said. Why is that?

I prefer to be the one behind the wheel.

Ahem. Edric cleared his throat loudly and elbowed me in the ribs. You heard the girl. Hand over the keys to the Maserati.

I expelled an annoyed groan. You’ve driven a stick shift before?

Yes, she replied. And I’ve got my IDP.

I frowned. IDP?

International Driving Permit.

Reluctantly, I tossed her the keys, which she caught neatly even though I’d given her no warning. Just don’t ride the clutch, okay?

I’ll do my best, she said brightly.

AW YEAH, SMOOTH AS liquid butter! Edric marveled as Adelaide rounded a sharp turn, downshifting using minimal braking.

To my surprise, she was an exceptional driver. As soon as we hit the freeway, she floored it and I heard the sweet sound of that perfectly timed blip of the gas pedal, effortlessly matching the revs to the wheel speed, and downshifting crisply into the preceding gear.

I could tell she had some real track experience, or a good deal of karting experience, which was how most racers started.

And it wasn’t that she was driving fast—any idiot could do that. It was how she drove with incredible control and precision, easing in and out of speed with deep concentration. She was in the zone.

Thank you, Adelaide said simply. I like to take my Porsche out onto the racetrack at least once a week. I just love the track, you know... how everything is amplified... the speed, the noise, the inertia, the body roll, pitch, yaw, everything. And nothing beats that feeling of my car slipping, gripping, stopping and moving in ways I’m just not used to.

Adelaide’s still an adrenaline junkie, I thought.

You drive a Porsche? Edric couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

It’s a vintage 911. She glanced at the rearview mirror, meeting Edric’s gaze briefly. Jeff left it to me when he passed away. There was a hint of sadness in her voice.

A new silence settled in. I’m sorry about your grandfather, I said at last.

Adelaide kept her eyes on the road and gave the smallest nod. Then she said nothing more of it. When we came to a stoplight, she applied the handbrake and shifted into neutral.

You don’t have to use the handbrake, I informed her.

Worry creased her brows. But if someone rear-ends me and my foot gets knocked off the gas pedal, the car will go out of control.

I shrugged. If there are stopped vehicles in front and behind, you won’t go very far if you’re rear-ended, so I wouldn’t bother.

She thought about this for a second. Not using the handbrake would result in a failed driving test back home.

I shot her a quick sideways grin. Do you always follow the rules?

Always, she deadpanned.

You know what? Edric’s voice boomed from the backseat. There’s a time and place to break the rules. It’s called college.

What are the rules? she asked.

The rules are... Edric let out a large yawn. There ain’t no rules.

Thirty minutes later he was fast asleep with his mouth open, snoring like a congested walrus. The lights caught the reflectors on the road as Adelaide drove up the long and windy street leading to our house.

Turn up there, I said.

The headlight beams lit the front of the house as she pulled into the driveway.

Edric woke himself up with his own snoring. We’re home, he mumbled groggily.

We’re on a driveway, Adelaide corrected. Then quickly, as if catching herself, she said, Sorry, I should probably stop blurting out whatever I’m thinking.

Edric smiled politely, but he sent me a look as if to say, She’s a strange one.

As she killed the engine, I reached forward and my hand brushed hers in the dark.

Eeeps! she squeaked like an overwrought mouse.

The keys, I said calmly. I need my keys.

Oh, she said, her shoulders relaxing a little. Sorry. I’m just a little tired and that makes me jittery sometimes.

Hey, don’t worry, Edric teased. He won’t bite.

Neither do I. Adelaide bared her perfectly straight teeth. Unless you ask me to.

Edric sent me another look that said, Should I fear for my life? Will she be wearing my skin tomorrow?

Puzzled by his reaction, Adelaide flashed him another toothy grin, one just as menacing.

Jingling the keys in my hand, I got out of the car, jogged down the flagstone path and unlocked the front door. As I switched the lights on and looked over my shoulder, I caught Adelaide taking in her surroundings. Good gravy! Her eyes swept through the wide expanse of the front hall. This looks like Wayne Manor.

Wayne Manor? Edric said, dragging her suitcase across the foyer.

Stately Wayne Manor, she added. Where bachelor millionaire Bruce Wayne was able to give houseroom to his youthful ward, Dick Grayson, without attracting the attention of social services.

Oh! Edric said with a sudden flash of comprehension. You mean Batman and Robin’s crib?

Correct, she murmured, her head rotating on a swivel. How do you guys even afford this place?

It’s called Mom and Dad. Edric grinned broadly. They help out with our tuition. And Camille helps out with our room and board. Actually, he added, this is Camille’s place.

I see. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. So did Camille ask you to let me stay here?

More like strong-armed, I muttered under my breath.

More like insist, Edric said diplomatically.

She gave an apprehensive smile. So you don’t have a problem with me staying here?

Instead of answering her question, I led her to the guest room, which also doubled as our home gym. This will be your room, I said. Sorry, I didn’t have time to move all this crap out of your way. I only got Camille’s letter today.

It’s okay. She shrugged off her backpack. There’s a bed and a desk. That’s sufficient.

In a sudden flash, the orange tabby cat hopped off the bed, sashayed over to Adelaide and arched its back, rubbing up against her ankle.

That’s Mimi, I said. She’s Edric’s cat. She likes to sleep in here sometimes.

Hello there, kitty. Adelaide reached down to stroke the feline’s head.

The cat purred in response and nestled closer. Adelaide scratched her behind the ears and the cat rolled onto her back, spreading her legs wide open.

Look! Adelaide cried with delight. She’s presenting herself!

That cat’s a slore! Edric shouted from the living room.

A slore? She tilted her head slightly. What does that mean?

Edric yelled again, It means she’s a slut and a whore!

My brother has supersonic hearing, I said without expression. He can hear everything.

Oh, she said, giving the cat a belly rub. I see. Then she spoke to the cat in confidence, her voice dropping to a smoky whisper. Don’t you listen to your Uncle Edric, Mimi. The cat purred in response and she went on, I think you’re a charming pussy who’s terribly misunderstood.

While Adelaide and the slore got acquainted, I began moving the barbells and weight bench out of her room and into mine.

It didn’t take me long and when I was done, I said, I’ll dismantle the pull-up bar tomorrow. She nodded, and after a pause, I added, Can I get you anything?

"Just water. I need to stay hydrated. Then I just want to take a shower and go right to bed. I have to factor in one day of recovery for every time zone crossed for my body to adjust to the local time. Which means it’s going to take me thirteen days to fully recover from my jetlag. I need as much sleep