Game Player

  A Sports Anthology

  Elizabeth Knox

  E.C. Land

  K E Osborn

  Heather Young-Nichols

  Rae B. Lake

  Amy Briggs

  Jen Talty

  Kathryn C. Kelly

  H.J. Marshall

  Elena Gray

  Cedar Rose

  J. Lynn Lombard

  Game Player

  This book(s) is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book(s) may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews.

  Missed Shot. Copyright © 2021 by Elizabeth Knox & E.C. Land

  Push the Limit. Copyright © 2021 by K E Osborn

  Heavy Hitter. Copyright © 2021 by Heather Young-Nichols

  Colt’s Game. Copyright © 2021 by Rae B. Lake

  Slow Burn. Copyright © 2021 by Amy Briggs

  Spinning Wheels . Copyright © 2021 by Jen Talty

  Barebacked. Copyright © 2021 by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Tap Out. Copyright © 2021 by H.J. Marshall

  Front and Center. Copyright © 2021 by Elena Gray

  Surviving Love and Loss. Copyright © 2021 by Cedar Rose

  No Holding Back. Copyright © 2021 by J. Lynn Lombard

  Cover design by: Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations

  Copy/Line Editing by: Jackie Ziegler, Knox Publishing

  Proofreading by: Kim Lubbers, Knox Publishing

  Formatting by: E.C. Land, Knox Publishing

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Missed Shot

  A Crave Series Prequel

  E.C. Land & Elizabeth Knox

  Push the Limit

  K E Osborn

  Heavy Hitter

  Heather Young-Nichols

  Colt’s Game

  Rae B. Lake

  Slow Burn

  Amy Briggs

  Spinning Wheels

  An Aegis Network Short Story

  Jen Talty

  Barebacked

  Kathryn C. Kelly

  Tap Out

  An Amatory Las Vegas Prequel

  H.J. Marshall

  Front and Center

  Elena Gray

  Surviving Love and Loss

  Cedar Rose

  No Holding Back

  J. Lynn Lombard

  Missed Shot

  A Crave Series Prequel

  E.C. Land & Elizabeth Knox

  Prologue

  Tristan

  After ten years of this, it’s taking a toll on me. For ten years I’ve never been signed to a team for more than a year. Sure enough, every time the end of my contract comes around fear fills my body. Why? Because I’ll never know if I’ll get picked up by another team, and everything I could’ve done differently over the last season haunts me. I’ve been with the Los Angeles Shooters my entire career, but they never gave me more than a one-season contract. Meanwhile, they gave my teammates contracts for two, three, sometimes up to five seasons. So, what the hell am I doing wrong?

  My contract’s up and I’m pissed. Yet again, one of my teammates got his contract renewed, but this time it wasn’t for five seasons, it’s six. Don’t get me wrong, Antonio’s a good kid, fresh out of college and this was the first year he played for the team. Fuck, at twenty-three, he has his entire career ahead of him. At thirty-three, mine’s being tossed up in the air yet again.

  Sure, I’ve been smart with my career. I have endorsements from different companies. I’ve done commercials and all the fun stuff my public relations agent told me would help. But something happened right before the last game. I landed wrong and my knee took the brunt of it. While I have a good relationship with my coaches, they all seem to be keeping their distance, and it’s only making me doubt whether I’ll step foot on the court for my eleventh year as a Shooter. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll make it into my eleventh year in general. This could be a silent shove to push me into early retirement.

  Their silence speaks words. They think I’m done, that I won’t be able to play the way I did before my injury. While they’re not wrong, players adapt and overcome injuries all the time. I’m nowhere near done with my career. I haven’t busted my ass in physical therapy to be taken off the court. Hell no. My entire life has been basketball. I’ve been playing since I was five years old, and only ‘cause my momma needed something to keep her kid pre-occupied. If it wasn’t for her, I might never have gotten this far.

  Ever since then, I’ve played. When I was in eighth grade, I was invited to join the junior varsity team after they saw me on the court. They were down a few players and it worked out. In ninth grade, I was able to move to varsity because of my God-given talent. Scouts were checking me out starting my sophomore year. By my senior year, I was offered a full-ride to play ball. My college career was phenomenal, and when it was over, I officially entered the NBA draft.

  “Tristan, a few of us are heading out to a club. We got VIP passes too, you wanna come?” Antonio asks, holding up matte black cards.

  “Who all is going?” I ask, debating if I want to join them as I drop the weight bar back into its slot.

  “Mario, Tucker, and Nathan.” Great. My competition. I’m certain one of them will end up taking my spot as center.

  Do I really want to go to some club with them?

  What the hell, I have nothing else to do tonight. “Sure. I just need to take a quick shower,” I mutter, standing from the bench.

  “Alright. Hurry up, we’ll wait for you outside,” Antonio says, pointing toward the door leading out of the Shooter’s gym.

  “Can you give me ten minutes?” I nod.

  “You got it, Tristan,” Antonio says. He’s a good dude but damn, if I’m not jealous he got renewed. I guess I’m a little bitter about it all. I get my career is short-lived since the injury, but I’m not ready to give it up just yet. I refuse to be pushed into a retirement I don’t want.

  Making my way to the locker room, I shower and change. Grabbing my bag, I head for the door and catch up with the guys.

  Tonight may as well be the last time I party with them.

  Who knows?

  Maybe I’ll take things into my own hands and find another team to play with. There’s gotta be someone else that wants me. I’m a damn good player. All they gotta do is take a look at my stats and they’ll see the proof of it there. Sure I’ve made mistakes, but we all do. It’s the nature of the game.

  Meeting the guys outside the gym, I head to my car to follow them. If I end up getting smashed, I’ll call for a car to drive me home. There’s no way I’ll be riding with any of them. Not when my mind is where it is. Once I get to the club, I’ll join them and party the night away.

  I’ve heard about this club from a few of the guys, typically the single ones. It’s one of those elite clubs, but it’s got some flare to it. Not anyone can get VIP access, so the fact we could makes me breathe a little easier.

  Getting drinks from the bar, Antonio and I find a seat in some booth while a few of the other guys find women to mingle with.

  “I still can’t believe they haven’t renewed your contract,” Antonio mutters. Taking a sip of his beer, his gaze shifts from me to one of the girls.

  “It is what it is.” I shrug. Knowing he doesn’t really want to talk about my career. Hell, I don’t want to talk about it at this point.

  What I wanna do is drink and maybe find a woman’s legs to fall between. For once, I’d like nothing more than to lose myself and not worry about a damn thing. During the season I never let myself get distracted, but now it’s over, I can get as distracted as I damn well want.

  The rest of the guys join Antonio and me at our table. We spend time bullshitting around for a while, drinking and talking about random shit. No one brings up basketball which I’m grateful for.

  Time passes and the night wears on. I can say I’m feeling a nice buzz. One of the women dancing gives me a lap dance. She sticks around and we talk. She flirts with me, rubbing her hands along my chest, and gives me the ego boost I need right now.

  With the drinks that I’ve consumed, I’m not drunk but relaxed enough to allow myself to enjoy the moment. I’m not worrying about what the future holds. I’ll deal with it when the time comes.

  Chapter One

  Evie

  Putting the key in the lock, I turn it to the left and the deadbolt moving behind the mechanism makes this all sink in. This is my reality. I suck in a deep breath and bite my bottom lip. Being here in Las Vegas is so new to me. The only time I’ve ever been here was to visit Diem, one of my closest mates, and now I moved here? God, I’m insane. I’ve lost my bloody mind.

  But have I? I’m thirty-six, recently left the job industry I’d worked in for almost twenty years, and now I’m starting a new life. God, a new life. What a joke. I could’ve moved back to Australia, but I didn’t want to be in a plac
e where my family always resented me. I’ve never been the type of chick who wanted to be stuck in one place for too long, so working in the music industry made sense.

  I started at sixteen, working behind the merch tables, and while I stayed there until I finished my schooling, I made sure to get the best grades. I applied for every scholarship under the sun and focused my search on music-oriented degrees. Ultimately, it landed me at the University of Southern California. I received a full-ride and graduated with my Bachelor of Music (BM) nine months early.

  While completing my last year of course work I decided to take it a step up and intern at a local record label. They were starting up the year I joined and needed extra help, and sure enough, within two years I was promoted. I figured out quickly the office life wasn’t for me, so I then fell into managing musicians. While I managed many Grammy award winners, the two I’m most commonly tied to are The Stones and Bellamy Mason.

  Bellamy now lives out in Tennessee with her husband and kids, only going on tour once every few years, and the guys in The Stones are all figuring their lives out. I think when Bells settled down, the guys started to realize they wanted it too. Not that I could blame them. We’d all been out on tour together for ages, and then life came and went.

  After so long in the industry, always being on the road, I decided maybe it was time I settled down too. Which led me to Las Vegas and where I am right now.

  I push the door open to my two-bedroom apartment, seeing it for the first time in the flesh right now. I walk in through the door, pulling my luggage behind me, and am in complete awe. Sure, I’ve seen pictures on Zillow, but it’s nothing in comparison. The floors are a dark walnut with wide wooden planks, and the walls of the hallway I’m walking down are a cement gray.

  As I reach the end of the hallway, I spot a door to the right and then one to the left. In front of me is my living room, dining room combination, and if I walk a little bit further my kitchen will be on my right, tucked behind the second bedroom. I never had much furniture, so I paid a company to come in and furnish the apartment for me, and it looks so full of life.

  Being a thirty-six-year-old woman, I thought they might give me dull colors, quite possibly things I hated, but I’ve never been more happy to be proven wrong. A deep-sea green sectional faces the balcony, and off to the left there’s an eggplant purple swivel chair. On the back of the sectional lays a hopefully faux fur pelt with black and gray running through it. Meanwhile, the accents are gold, giving the space a mid-century modern appeal.

  I make a left and head into the master bedroom, smiling widely at the black and white striped comforter. Just like the sectional, there are sea-green pillowcases with matching striped ones behind them. The flooring in here is a shaggy white carpet. A desk is on the right of my bed with the same gold accents as the living room, and I smile to myself.

  I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do here. For the first time in twenty years, I’m unemployed, though I’m sure I’ll find something soon. I’m not rich, but I didn’t spend all my cash. I invested it, playing into the stock market. A lot of people in Los Angeles invest their cash so I picked up on it too. That being said, I can live a comfortable life, but I don’t live over my means.

  I slump back on the bed and allow my back to hit the sheets, and for the first time since being here, I shut my eyes and simply breathe. I’ve done one of the biggest things in my life. I signed a twenty-four month lease agreement with this apartment complex, and I’m literally tied down to Las Vegas for two years. Hell, I can’t remember staying in one place more than the few years. My parents drove us around the country when I was a kid. We went from state to state, Queensland, New South Wales, and even to Tasmania.

  My phone buzzes in the back of my jeans pocket, so I fish it out and see Diem’s calling. “Hey,” I say upon immediately answering.

  “I know your flight got in an hour ago, but I wanted to call and see how you like the place.” Diem, who isn’t usually a woman that shows excitement in her voice, is obviously showing it now.

  “It’s great, thank you for helping me.” While I was still in Los Angeles getting the bands I was still representing over to new managers, Diem helped me narrow down apartments and took a couple tours for me. She’s the person in Las Vegas who was my contact for the furnishing company, got my electric started, and everything. Without her, I probably would’ve walked into a shitshow.

  “Thanks for asking me. I love this type of crap, but I was thinking about something earlier today, something I think you might be interested in.”

  “Okay,” I say to her comment, not sure what’s going to come out of her mouth.

  “You don’t have a new job secured, right?”

  I told her last night I didn’t have anything lined up. “Nothing has changed in the last twelve hours, Diem.” I end up sliding a hand over my face, both amused and horrified at my friend.

  “Okay, well, I wasn’t sure. You’re like me. We both tend to keep busy.” She’s not wrong.

  “Cut to the chase, girl. What’s on your mind?”

  “I spoke to the ladies today and we’ve all agreed to hire an event planner, so I threw your name into the bucket and sent your resume in. Now, I know this isn’t what you’re used to doing, but I think it could be a lot of fun.”

  Diem is one of the few owners of Crave, LLC.

  Crave, LLC: where every craving is met.

  A company that literally and physically makes money on the embodiment of sex.

  “You did what?” I ask, flabbergasted beyond my wildest dreams.

  “You’ll thank me later. I wanted to let you know I did it and you didn’t say no, so I’m gonna run now. I’ll call you tomorrow!” Diem maniacally laughs and hangs up the phone before I can get another word out.

  I plop the phone down on the bed next to me and let out a pent-up breath. Everything is going to be okay, and I need to trust in it.

  As much as a knot forms in my gut, I know I made the right decision. I’ve always been a woman who would run after her dreams no matter how far it would take her. Little did I know the music industry would chew me up and spit me out. Now, this is a new opportunity, a new life, a new journey. While I’m afraid, I know good things come to those who’re open to receiving them. So, I’ll be here in this apartment for two years and see how the city of sin meshes with me.

  The world is my oyster, or whatever, and nothing will keep me down. Absolutely nothing.

  Chapter Two

  Tristan

  “I’m so sorry to tell you this, Tristan. We spoke to the owner of the Shooters, and unfortunately, he’s adamant that we aren’t renewing your contract this season. I hate to see you go, but it’s his decision. My hands are tied so I hope you understand. Maybe this is the universe saying it’s time for better things, that it’s time to retire,” my coach says, finally breaking the news to me as we’re sitting in his office.

  Shaking my head, I don’t even bother giving him a response. Not when his words confirm my future with the Shooters is over. Instead, I let out a breath and leave his office. There’s no way I can talk to him right now without losing my temper. I know it’s only business, but I’m not seeing reason. All I feel is fury.

  All because of a damn knee injury.

  Dammit!

  As much as I’m pissed, I overheard him before I walked into his office. He mentioned the Las Vegas Chips coach is in town and I’m gonna see if I can figure out where he is and meet up with him.

  The Chips have been a newly recognized team in the NBA. My best friend, Toby, was drafted to be their point guard about two years ago when it happened. The two of us went to high school and college together. We’ve always stayed in touch and found time to hang out with each other, even when we played for different teams.

  Pissed about the news coach gave me right now, I pull out my phone and make a quick call to Toby. Maybe he can help me out with this one. I’m sure he’ll know where his coach might be in LA.