Stealing Summer Read online Mila Crawford, Aria Cole

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors: ,
Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 14271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Stealing Summer

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Aria Cole

Mila Crawford

Book Information:

Slate Williams wears cocky well.

He holds the record for the most touchdowns in football league history, and his rugged good looks and outspoken views make him a favorite topic of conversation on entertainment news. I’ve been watching him sprint across my television screen season after season for as long as I can remember.
And then one vicious tackle leaves this arrogant NFL star with a permanent shoulder injury and a bruised ego bigger than the colosseum.
Now? Slate Williams is my problem.
Books by Author:

Aria Cole

Mila Crawford

Chapter 1


“Thank fuck for cold showers.” I spit through my teeth as the deadly bolts of ice water rained down on my head. I pushed my hand through my short hair roughly, sucking in deep breaths as the shock of the water and the breathing finally did what it was supposed to: ease the throbbing ache that’d come to be my new normal.

I rubbed at the ache in my shoulder, trying to breathe through the pain that usually caused me to wince. In a freezing cold shower, my mind was distracted enough from the bones shredding my muscle. When the pain subsided, I turned in the outdoor shower, beach sand under my feet as I quickly rinsed my body with soap before pushing a squirt of shampoo through my hair. Less than two minutes later I was finished and toweling off, the sound of seagulls filling my ears as I took my time drying the water on my body.

I’d been at the beach house for almost a week now, and my agent had been dead on when he recommended I rehab from my injury somewhere I could get some sand between my toes.

It'd been a helluva journey leading the Blue Devils to three championship rings as the quarterback. I had a hell of an arm, they said, once in a lifetime, but at the age of thirty-five my one hell of an arm blew out on me. One too many throws, and while I’d been hoping to get another decade of play and a few more rings under my belt at least, my body wasn’t so sure.

The big ass beach house rental wasn’t a bad place to spend some down time, if a person had to. Maybe Coach was right when he’d told me to start going easy on myself in the gym on off-days, but easy wasn’t in my repertoire. Everything I had, I attributed to my superhero-style discipline. I didn’t know what a day off was. I lived, ate, slept football. It was all that I lived for.

Now, I had nothing but days off ahead of me.

Unless I could get this shoulder back into throwing shape, my life as I knew it was over. I was thirty-five with no kids, no wife, no family.

“Maybe a swim in the salt water will loosen up this muscle,” I said to myself as I wrapped the towel at my waist and then walked around the corner of the wraparound deck--and square into a woman. I sucked in a quick breath, the outline of a curvy form in the jeans she wore left little to the imagination.

“Can I help you?” I grit, already annoyed that I had to share my space with someone.

“Oh, hi!” She spun, the toe of her white sneaker catching the edge of the railing she’d been scrubbing before she tumbled straight for me.

I caught her easily at both elbows, settling her steady on her feet before arching an eyebrow. “You always make a habit of falling for strangers?”

“Ugh, I’m such a clutz, I can’t escape it.” She pushed a frazzled hand through her hair before her eyes slid down my wet chest, pausing to linger at the towel wrapped at my waist, before drifting to her feet. “I’m sorry, I’m from the cleaning company. Sorry, I’m late, I haven’t been to this neighborhood before, and the driveway is hidden behind those massive trees, I drove by it three times before I realized.”

“Glad you missed it, I wanted the most private place I could find.” I looked her up and down. “Actually, I don’t even need a cleaner, you’re free to skip today.”

“Actually,” she followed behind me into the house, “I’m not. The management company requires all long-term rentals be cleaned at least every other day, and most owners of the luxury apartments prefer them cleaned daily.” She frowned, eyes dancing down to her feet. She seemed intimidated by me. A part of me liked that submissive look crossing her face more than I should have.

My tone lowered. “So, you’re telling me it’s policy you come invade my personal space every day?”

She didn't answer, only nodded. “I’m sorry.”

I huffed softly, eyes fixed on the way her lips formed a little heart shape when she pressed them together. “Fine. Do what you have to to not get into trouble,” I walked away, throwing over my shoulder, “and leave me alone.”

By the time I’d reached the master bedroom on the second floor balcony, I could hear her humming softly as she wiped down the corners of the kitchen. I paused to take her in from so high above, finally able to hear my own thoughts over the clattering of my heartache.

To say I was uncomfortable talking was an understatement; I was good at one thing, and that was football. Everything else was a fucking mystery to me, but I could tell you exactly what to eat to drop fifteen pounds and still gain muscle in order to bulk up before the season started. I could read a thousand pages of a playbook, calculate touchdowns and field kicks in my sleep, but sharing a few words with a stranger? Like pulling goddamn teeth for a guy like me.