PRAISE FOR JEANETTE MURRAY’S SANTA FE BOBCATS SERIES
LOVING HIM OFF THE FIELD
“Engaging . . . Jeanette Murray writes a believable story that drew me in from the first page.”
—Cocktails and Books
“I was pleasantly surprised at this modern romance because along with the obvious love story the author developed the characters enough that the story shone through the chemistry and subsequent steamy ‘sex scenes’ between them.”
—Open Book Society
“Well-written.”
—Bookpushers
“The ending of Loving Him off the Field was everything that I hoped for.”
—The Reader’s Den
ONE NIGHT WITH A QUARTERBACK
“The heat between them is hot . . . This one delivers fast and long and yummy . . . For the romance and sports lovers out there.”
—Stuck in Books
“A real hit . . . It was a fresh idea with a tried and true genre, and I loved that. I can’t wait to see what she has in store for us next.”
—Bookpushers
Titles by Jeanette Murray
FIRST TO FIGHT
BELOW THE BELT
AGAINST THE ROPES
Santa Fe Bobcats
ONE NIGHT WITH THE QUARTERBACK
LOVING HIM OFF THE FIELD
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
AGAINST THE ROPES
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2015 by Jeannette Murray.
Excerpt from Fight to the Finish by Jeannette Murray copyright © by Jeannette Murray.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY SENSATION® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
For more information, visit penguin.com.
eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18634-7
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / October 2015
Cover art copyright © Shutterstock/159790454/Alessandro Guerriero
Cover design by Rita Frangie.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
To those teachers who not only lectured, but explained; who showed, as well as told; who forced me to think, see, hear and experience in new ways, and who opened my eyes and my heart to new paths.
Thank you.
Contents
Praise for Jeanette Murray’s Santa Fe Bobcats series
Titles by Jeanette Murray
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Special Excerpt from Fight to the Finish
CHAPTER
1
And now, he was officially one of the team.
Gregory Higgs turned from the list on the door of Coach Ace’s office and scrubbed a hand over his face. That was that. He was officially on the Marine Corps boxing team.
Oo-rah and all that.
“Hey, is it up yet?” Graham Sweeney jogged over, beating the crowd. “The list, it’s up?”
“Yeah.” Greg stepped aside to let Graham by. “I forgot to check for your name. Sorry.”
“No problem. You were checking for your crew. I totally get it.” His friend’s finger slowly scanned down the list, pausing every so often as he noted a member of his own unit. “Damn, Monticino didn’t make it.”
Greg wasn’t sure who that was, exactly, so he said nothing.
“And . . . there.” He breathed deeply. “There we go. I’m in.”
Because he knew it mattered greatly to his friend, Greg slapped his shoulder. “Well, look at it this way, even if you’d have been cut, the commute home would have been simple.”
“Back gate, five minutes into Hubert.” Graham grinned and punched Greg’s shoulder. “Congrats, man. We did it.”
“No shocker you two managed to pull through.” Walking carefully, Brad Costa ambled toward them. From one hand, a black knee brace dangled.
Just to mess with his roommate, Greg stepped in front of the list. “Pull through what?”
Brad made a face and stopped in front of him. “Move.”
“Why?” He glanced at Graham. “What’s he want?”
“He,” Brad said sarcastically, “wants to see the list. Move.”
“It’s like he cares,” Greg added, eyes wide. “Grandpa, are you ready for your nap yet?”
Brad bent over as if he were ready to charge and Greg sidestepped, laughing. “You’re too easy, man. You’ve really got to tone it down or I’m going to have way too much fun poking at you while we’re traveling.”
“So . . .” Suddenly serious, Brad stepped up and scanned down the list. Much like Graham, he sighed when he caught his name, then went back to find the rest of his team. “Damn.”
“Missing one?”
“Two. Or maybe one and a half.”
Greg glanced at Graham. “Half?”
“Chalfent’s listed as an alternate.” Brad turned, face grim. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I think it means they send them home, but ask them to keep training while they’re there. If someone on the team gets hurt or can’t compete, they’ll bring them back.”
Brad gave a tight nod, then headed toward the mats the team used to warm up. A few younger Marines walked in to the gym and jogged toward Coach Ace’s door.
“Who else did you lose?” Greg asked, catching up.
“Tibbs. But I already knew that. There was no way they’d keep him after that debacle with the motorcycle last weekend.” Sitting down carefully, Brad began to stretch out his legs. The brace lay next to his hip, unused.
“Forgive me for my lack of a medical degree, but aren’t you supposed to be, I dunno, wearing that?” Graham pointed to the brace. Brad kicked it at him. Graham kicked it back.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
At the sound of their pint-sized drill sergeant of an athletic trainer, all three men froze. The sounds of groans and cheers from across the gym—Marines who were checking the list—echoed. As one, the three Marines turned to see Marianne Cook standing just off the mat, looking surprisingly adorable in an oversized T-shirt he could easily guess was from Brad’s collection, and some sweatpants that bunched at the ankles and were clearly about five inches too long. The toe of one running shoe tapped, and her arms were crossed. The scowl she sent Brad could have frozen the nuts off a bull.
And all at once, Greg was very glad Brad had been the one to catch the cute AT’s eye early in training camp, and not him.