Tackled by the Team Read online

  Tackled by the Team: An MFMM Menage Reverse Harem Romance

  Copyright © 2018 by Sierra Sparks;

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Juliana Conners’ Sizzling Hot Reads.

  Cover Design by Cosmic Letterz.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Lexi

  Chapter 2

  Carey

  Chapter 3

  Jackson

  Chapter 4

  Lexi

  Chapter 5

  Kyle

  Chapter 6

  Lexi

  Chapter 7

  Carey

  Chapter 8

  Lexi

  Chapter 9

  Jackson

  Chapter 10

  Lexi

  Chapter 11

  Lexi

  Chapter 12

  Lexi

  Chapter 13

  Jackson

  Chapter 14

  Lexi

  Epilogue

  Lexi

  SEAL's Virgin: A Bad Boy Military Romance

  First Comes Love: A Navy SEAL Secret Baby Romance (Ramsey’s Story)

  Twice the Fun: A Bad Boy MFM Menage Romance

  Dr. Fake Fiancé: A Virgin and Billionaire Romance

  Perfect Fit: A Modern Day Dirty Cinderella Fairy Tale with a Fake Royal Marriage Twist

  Knock Me Up, Boss: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Office Romance

  Sold to My Professor: A Billionaire and a Virgin Romance

  Their Protector: An MC Outlaw Romance

  Baby Wanted: A Virgin & Billionaire Romance

  Bound by the Billionaire

  Chapter 1

  Lexi

  I was standing outside the Sea-Eagles’ locker room, nervous as hell. The Sea-Eagles had pulled off a squeaker to move up in the playoffs; 14 to 13 over the Hawks. Two birds of prey and only one emerged the victor.

  I was prepping for a stand up shot and checked myself in the monitor. This gig was too important for me not to make a good impression with the network. Sports Ring, the newest name in sports channels, promoted two things: sports and the beautiful people who reported on them.

  Hey, I’m not full of myself— I’m just 23, with a body that many guys have referred to as “the perfect hourglass figure” and a face that was cute enough to win Ms. Baskin County when I was 17.

  On the monitor, I did my beauty pageant check in my head. (You can’t do anything that girly in public on this network!) Legs? Toned and ready. My beige skirt was midway between my knees and my butt. My butt was out there, round, but not so my skirt was strangling it. (This was a sports segment, not a night at the club.) Boobs? Still perky. I was showing a little cleavage between the blue blazer and sky blue shirt underneath, but not a lot. This wasn’t Hooters. Teeth? White. Hair? Black, silky and shoulder length.

  Finally, the face. Yes, this is my money maker. I had that girl-next-door look with just a dash of mischievousness. Plus I had rosy cheeks and dimples. I mean, I could’ve been one of the Campbell Soup kids if they hired models for that.

  Yes, this was my dream job and thankfully, I just happened to fit the look the network had wanted: attractive, tomboy-ish and curvy. I looked knowledgeable about sports. That last part was totally optional in this business, with my looks being a lot more important for this gig, but it just so happened I knew tons about sports. My dad had drilled Sea-Eagles stats in my going back to the 70’s.

  Baker, my cameraman, had worked the field for every network. A consummate camera jockey and freelancer, he had a great eye but the look of Jabba the Hut. (I loved the guy, but he definitely belonged behind the camera.) He was 50-something, with a beer gut, an always unshaven gray beard and a sloppy mess of clothes that looked like they spent time in a heap on his apartment floor when he wasn’t wearing or washing them.

  Baker had just gotten a new camera from the network. It was about twice the size of an iPhone.

  “Jesus, this thing is small,” he said for about the fiftieth time. “Back in the day, I developed real muscle tone lifting a camera. These days, I don’t know whether to shoot with it or download a mobile game on it!”

  “I think you can do both with that,” I pointed out. “How do I look?”

  “Gorgeous, as always,” he replied, while lining up the shot. “And I mean that both professionally and as a guy who would totally jump your bones if I was 20 years younger.”

  “Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “Baker, as my dad would say, you couldn’t get laid in a whorehouse.”

  “Nah, seriously. I was a looker,” he insisted. “I used to dress nice when I spent money on clothes.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why’d you stop? And where’d you get those clothes you’re weraing?”

  “The thrift store was throwing them out. Can you believe it?”

  “Umm, yeah. Totally.”

  “And in answer to your first question, there’s no use in playing a part I’ll never get. Okay, the studio’s about to throw it to you. Ready?”

  “Always.”

  Baker got quiet and gave me a silent three finger countdown that ended with him pointing towards me. It was his signature move, letting me know it was time to smile and shine.

  “Hey, Sea-Eagles fans! That’s all from Lincoln Financial Field. The final score, Sea-Eagles 14 and Hawks 13. We saw a lot of amazing plays today. Jackson Blake found his groove, especially in the second half. Carey Ellis ran for over 400 yards. And Kyle Fowler score the game-winning touchdown with just 12 seconds left. But the big question is: can the Sea-Eagles make it to the Super Bowl? We’ll find out next week when they play the Miners, right here in their home field! For Sports Ring, I’m Lexi Aaron. Back to you in the studio!”

  Baker signaled that the segment was over.

  “Real nice, Lexi,” he assured. “You nailed it. Only one thing missing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My shoulder harness!” said Baker, finally realizing. “You know if I had that, along with this little gizmo.”

  “Shoulder harness? That would be way heavier than the camera!” I pointed out, incredulous.

  “I know, but that’s what I’m missing. The weight. It’s a shame we don’t have anything else to shoot.”

  “Well, let’s go try and get an interview with some of the players,” I suggested.

  Baker scoffed at the idea.

  “No way,” he insisted. “Look, kid, I’ve been doing this a long time. Sports Ring is like a month old. They never give decent press credentials to a network that new. There are guys with YouTube shows with better access.”

  “C’mon, I’ve talked my way into places,” I said. “Remember that time I almost got an interview with O’Shea Hayes, the famous running back?”

  “You were at the same car wash. You didn’t even have a camera!”

  “Look, if you let me try I’ll wait for you to run back and get your shoulder harness.”

  “Dammit, Lexi,” relented Baker. “But you owe me a beer and a cheese steak after this.”

  “Done. Let’s do it!”

  Baker got his shoulder harness and strapped his new camera to it. It sort of looked like an iPad sticking out of a shoulder pad. He looked ridiculous, but that was something he was used to. We reached the first security guard we’d encounter before we could enter the players’ area.

  “Hi,” I said to the guard, who had his back turned. “I’m Lexi Aaron from Sports Ring. I was wondering if we could get past you?”

  The guard turned around and I re
alized it was a 50-something squat woman with short hair. Weather-beaten and craggy were the two best adjectives to describe her face. She didn’t look too pleased to see me and I immediately got the vibe my sexy hair flip wasn’t going to work with her.

  “Sorry Sugartits, you’re not on the list,” she said bluntly.

  “Emma?” said Baker, astonished. “It’s me, Adrian Baker.”

  Emma squinted at Baker a moment and then a spark of recognition made her smile.

  “Holy shit! Adrian! How have you been? It’s been ages! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a cameraman at Sports Ring now. For Lexi here.”

  “Baker and I go way back,” she explained. “We used to go to Greatful Dead concerts together. Those were some times.”

  “That’s so sweet you two know each other,” I smiled.

  “I guess you wanna get inside,” Emma said to Baker. “Why not? You’re going to charm me anyway!”

  “C’mon. You look amazing. And that’s the truth!”

  “Aw, stop it.”

  “No, seriously. We should catch up with beers.”

  “Yeah, I know what ‘beers’ means to you!” she smiled, knowingly. “That’s the old version of ‘Netflix and Chill.’”

  “The old version of what?” Baker asked, with a purposefully dumb grin spreading across his face. “There’s only one version of ‘beers’ and that will never change, no matter what these millennials try and tell you.”

  “Well, I get off in 20 minutes,” she said, leaning in closer to Baker. “And maybe we can both get off in 40 back at my place.”

  I guess Baker still had some game left in him, after all— thrift store clothes and all.

  “Okay, yeah. We’ll just pop in and get an interview. You still in that place on Pine Street near Dirty Frank’s?”

  “That’s the one. Go ahead in,” she smiled hungrily. “I’ll see you later.”

  We got inside and I was genuinely impressed with Baker.

  “Wow,” I said. “You really did have it going on back in the day.”

  “I told you,” he laughed. “You would be putty in my hands back then.”

  I laughed too. If anyone heard the kind of banter that Baker and I regularly engaged in, they’d say I should sue him for sexual harassment. But I enjoyed being told I’m beautiful. Is that such a crime? Plus, I knew he was harmless.

  “Well, it’s nice that you’ll pretend to take one for the team.”

  “Pretend? Lexi, Emma was hotter than you back in the day,” he assured. “And she has other talents that, quite frankly, a gentlemen doesn’t discuss in public. So with that, I’m outta here!”

  “Wait! You got me in and now you’re going to leave?!”

  “Lexi, at my age, these offers are few and far between, ya dig? You’ll be fine. Take the camera.”

  “But I’m going into the locker room. I don’t want to capture… too much.”

  “Are you nuts? I thought you were going to wait outside. The team could react very badly to that. I’m out,” said Baker, taking the camera off the harness and handing it to me. “Point and shoot. You’ll do fine.”

  “Aw, c’mon. What about beer and cheese steak?”

  Baker started to head back towards Emma with his now empty shoulder harness.

  “You keep it. I’m going to get some of Emma’s cheese steak!”

  Now I was alone in the hall outside the locker room, doing my own camera. I felt like such an amateur at that moment. I thought about just leaving and forgetting the whole thing. But then I thought about my dad and what a big sports fan he was and how he’d never pass up an opportunity like this.

  “All right, Dad,” I said to myself. “But if I see a lot of penises today, it’ll be partially your fault.”

  I opened the door to the Sea-Eagles’ locker room and it was chaos. There was a sea of green décor, of course, with images of the mascot everywhere. The players were in various states of undress. Most had already gotten out of the shower and were getting dressed, while some were still running around in their football gear.

  Admittedly, I was intimidated. Some of the big time sports reporters were here for Sports Center, Fox Sports, CBS Sports— even the local newscasters, big names inside of Philadelphia, were here covering the event. Most of the sports guys were fast talking guys with an amazing gift to keep players talking about the same one or two plays over and over again.

  Endless analysis was the order of the day. “How did that play make you feel?” “Did you think it was going to unfold that way?” “What does this say about how you’ll play next week?” and so forth.

  I spotted Jackson Blake, the quarterback, wrap up an interview with the ABC local and headed right for him. Unfortunately, a woman from Sports Center intercepted me.

  “I’m sorry, we’ve been waiting for Jackson,” she explained before I could even get in earshot. “We’re next.”

  “Yeah, but I just wanted to ask him---“

  “Why don’t you find your cameraperson? We’ll be a while,” she assured.

  I tried to get to Carey Ellis and Kyle Fowler, but no way. They were both locked in interviews with at least two other sports guys waiting their turn. I didn’t even know who to ask. I just thought they went up to them and started talking. How did they schedule these things so fast? The Sea-Eagles’ center, Dirk Hamantop, flagged me down for an interview, but he had chugged an entire bottle of champagne and kept yelling, “Yeah, baby! Yeah! Super Bowl!”

  After three attempts at trying to get him to say anything else, I thanked him for his time and moved on. Guess I looked kind of dejected, because the next thing I knew, Ron Ignola, AKA Ringo, walked over.

  “Hey, you look a little lost,” said Ringo, smiling. “Perhaps I can be of assistance. They call me Ringo.”

  Ringo was a Latino guy with a mustache. Not quite six foot, but solid muscle, Ringo currently had a towel around his waist, gold chain on his neck and a sports jersey draped around his shoulders. He had gotten out of the shower only a minute ago, but already look perfectly groomed. Handsome, but with a dangerous air about him, the guard was a talented player but caused problems for the coach and the team with his rowdy behavior off the field.

  “I know you, of course!” I said, hoping not too awkwardly. “I’m Lexi Aaron from Sports Ring.”

  “Oh, that new channel,” he said.

  “You’ve seen it?” I asked.

  “No, not yet. If a hotel doesn’t have it, I usually don’t see it. I don’t think you’re in a lot of hotels yet. But I’ve heard of it. Online, right?”

  “Oh, sure. Who isn’t? Right?” I laughed nervously. “It’s not like we’re a YouTube channel or something.”

  “Right,” he agreed. “So did you have a specific question or…”

  “Well, I noticed they didn’t play you the entire game…”

  Ringo bristled at the question and I sort of faded out and didn’t finish it.

  “Ya know it’s kind of loud over here. Why don’t we move to the next row of lockers?” he suggested.

  “Good call,” I agreed.

  At that moment, I realized I hadn’t even turned on the camera. While I followed Ringo to the next row of lockers, I pressed the icon and we were rolling.

  “Okay, let me try that again,” I said, restarting. “Coach Brenner brought you in and out of the game more so than during other games you played this season. Was that to keep the Hawks off balance?”

  “Yeah, when you take out your star player, then the defense has to realign. Know what I’m saying?” explained Ringo with a wink, liking my rewording of the question.

  “How are you enjoying your new position as guard? Do you miss being halfback?”

  “Well, you know, the coach is the chess player, we’re just the pieces,” laughed Ringo, suddenly very charming. “I just get out there and do my thing, you know? That’s why I recovered two fumbles tonight.”

  “Yes! Those would’ve been crucial turnovers for the Hawks!” I said. �
��That second recovery, especially, you just seemed to stretch your arm out right past the defensive lineman.”

  “What can I say? I’m an amazing human being,” laughed Ringo.

  I turned off the camera a moment.

  “Some great sound bytes, Ringo,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. “And speaking of amazing, may I say that you are an amazing human being as well.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I said.

  That’s when I got a bad vibe from Ringo. He wasn’t giving me an interview to be nice. He wanted to get into my pants.

  Immediately.

  “Why don’t we continue this interview back at my hotel suite,” said Ringo, turning on the charm. “There’s a great view of the Philly skyline from my hot tub.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “I have to interview some other players.”

  Ringo moved in closer. I backed away and found myself against the lockers. The room suddenly seemed small. I felt trapped and far away from the other players on the other side of the locker room.

  “C’mon, Lexi,” said Ringo, mildly annoyed. “You just said I gave you some great sound bytes. At least have a drink with me.”

  Ringo was a nice looking guy, professional athlete, but something about him just screamed “creep.”

  “I’m sorry, Ringo, honestly,” I said. “Another time, maybe?”

  He punched a locker, not enough to do damage it, but enough to startle me with the noise.

  “Bitch, what’s wrong with you?” he snapped.

  Ah. There it is. Creep.

  “I’m about to win a Super Bowl and you don’t want to get with this?” he said, incredulous. “After I do you a favor? C’mon, now.”

  “You just called me a bitch.”

  “Well, stop being one and at least have the drink. Damn.”

  “I think you’re very attractive, but—”

  “Damn right I’m attractive! I’m a professional God damn athlete!” he pointed out, taking the shirt from around his neck. “Look at these abs. I am cut! Feel them muscles.”

  “I don’t think I—”

  Ringo grabbed my hand and rubbed it across his chest.