Rip Cord: The
Complete Trilogy
By USAT Bestselling
Author Jeanne St. James
Genre: M/M Sports Romance, LGBTQ
Available on Amazon and FREE in Kindle Unlimited: https://amzn.to/2IqJowi
Add it to your Goodreads TBR: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32585743-rip-cord
From Seriously Reviewed:
"Well, I sat down to read and burned dinner! I couldn't stop
reading... This is hot gay erotic
romance. So when boy sees hot football star, boy lusts for football star, and holy
shit, the football star has game of his own. The sex was raw and brazen, the
dialog refreshingly natural and the ending pleasantly simple and
satisfying."
Blurb:
The Reunion:
Gil Davis hated high school. Ever the geek, he has no
intentions of attending his 10th year class reunion. The last thing he wants is
to relive the taunting and teasing he received during his teenage years.
However, there is one thing he misses from high school: the star Varsity
football player. The one he had a crush on from the first day he laid eyes on
him. But the last thing he expects is the now pro football player to come back
to their home town to attend a lame high school reunion. Known as the Bad
Boy of the NFL, Ripley “Rip” Cord, not only shows up, but shows up without
a date and an eye for Gil.
The Weekend:
Geek Gil Davis hasn’t heard a word from NFL player, Rip
Cord, since hooking up at their class reunion. Then Rip calls him unexpectedly,
he’s taking Gil to his cabin for a weekend of erotic exploration.
The Ever After:
When Rip Cord is
kicked out of the NFL, he shows up unexpectedly at Gil Davis’ front door. With his
career over, Rip’s finally ready for a future with Gil, if Gil’s willing to give him another chance.
Chapter One
Gil Davis couldn’t believe it had been ten years since he’d
last walked through these doors. Where had the time gone?
When the invitation to his class reunion had come, he’d
almost tossed it out, just as he had with the notice of his five-year reunion.
He was not into reliving his high school years.
No way, no how.
But something on the invitation had caught his eye. This
time they were holding it at the school. So instead of immediately pitching it,
he had thrown the invitation on his kitchen table. Unfortunately Katie, his
best friend and roommate, found it and hounded him relentlessly until he agreed
to RSVP.
And, of course, Katie insisted on being his date.
Which thrilled him to no end…not.
Now he wasn’t so sure if he wanted to go in.
He wasn’t sure he was ready for a night of teasing from his
former schoolmates.
Yet, here he stood, just inside the double doors of his old
high school, staring at the registration table by the gymnasium doors.
Someone grabbed his elbow. Firmly.
“You’re not chickening out, are you?”
Gil shook his head and swallowed hard. “Did you find the
restroom all right?”
“Fine,” Katie said in her little no-nonsense tone. “Let’s
go.”
The harder she tugged on his arm, the more he dug in his
heels. He didn’t want to leave his little corner of safety yet. “Hold on.”
“No, Gil. It’s not going to get any easier. You look fine.
We’ve—okay, I’ve worked really hard
to get you to this point.” She smoothed the hair back from his eyes. Gil was
surprised she hadn’t spit on her fingers first like a hovering mother hen.
The problem was, he was still a nerd at heart.
“Now, get your shit together and let’s go!” She gave his arm one last hard yank and dragged him over
to the table.
Sucking in a breath, he steeled himself for what was to
come.
The two women sitting at the table wore big predatory
smiles.
“Gilbert? Gilbert Davis, is that you?” the toothy piranha on
the right asked. “I swear I didn’t recognize you without your bottle-bottom
glasses and pocket protector.”
Those glasses were long gone, thanks to Katie forcing him to
the optometrist for contacts years ago.
Gil leaned forward to read her name tag. Bonnie (Trusk) Smith.
Bonnie Trusk. He remembered her. She had been part of the
homecoming court their senior year.
And had accidentally
run over his foot one day in the parking lot with her father’s Ford Expedition.
Why? Her excuse had been she hadn’t seen him. Yeah, he had been the invisible
man, “invisible” to all the popular kids.
“Just Gil,” he corrected her.
She laughed and waved a hand toward him, clearly dismissing
him.
The other woman, Patti Petroski-Harrison, shoved a Hello! My name is… Gilbert Davis sticker
at him. “And your hair! It looks…” Gil expected the next word out of her mouth
to be normal. Her face showed her
internal struggle. “Nice.”
He was a geek. He knew it. He had been one ever since he
could remember. And his classmates had always teased him about it.
She sized up Katie. “Are you his wife?”
Katie laughed and patted Gil’s arm. “Oh no.”
Gil shot her a quick warning look.
Katie gave him a sugary smile and a noisy kiss on the cheek.
“Well then,” Patti said. “When you go through the doors,
Gilbert, there will be a table with place settings. Find your name, and that
will tell you where you’re seated.”
“Just Gil,” he corrected again, but by then both women were
flashing their beaming smiles at another couple who had come up behind them.
Katie tugged him to the side to avoid being crushed by the
new arrivals’ hugging and squealing. Gil didn’t recognize the newcomers. But
then they had probably been a part of the “in” group.
Gil had been a full-fledged member of the “out” group, but
not the “out of the closet” group.
A woman’s shrill scream shot a bolt of pain through his
head.
“Did you hear Rip Cord is going to be here? Can you believe
it?” Patti asked, her question ending in a squeal. She looked as if she would
bust a vein.
Gil stumbled back a step from the table, barely avoiding
Katie’s toes.
Holy hell, he never should have agreed to come to this
thing. Especially if he’d known Rip would be here.
Gil had a crush on Rip since high school. Unfortunately, Rip
was definitely of the heterosexual persuasion. Being captain of the football
team, he’d had every girl in school chasing after him, one way or another.
So Gil had admired the well-built, handsome jock from afar.
Very afar.
Hearing Rip’s name brought all those old feelings back to
the surface.
All the insecurities.
Gil certainly had never expected his secret crush to come
back to town for a ten-year class reunion. Rip had become way too famous for
that.
Gil grabbed Katie’s arm and, with her squeaky protest,
dragged her through the double doors into the gym.
“Jesus, Gil. What’s going on?” she asked as he pushed her
against the wall just inside the doors.
“Did you hear that?” He struggled not to hyperventilate.
“What?” Katie peeled the backing off Gil’s name tag and
slapped it onto his chest. Not so gently either.
“Rip’s going to be here.”
“Rip?” She wrinkled her nose. “What the hell is rip?”
“Not what. Who!” Gil swallowed hard and blew out a long
breath. He realized then he was squeezing her upper arms. Way too hard. He
relaxed his fingers.
“Okay, okay. Calm down. And let up a little more, please.”
He released her and wiped his sweaty palms along his slacks.
He never should have worn slacks. Slacks were nerd wear.
Why didn’t Katie talk him out of wearing them? He should
have worn torn jeans or leather pants or—
“So, is Rip a band? I would’ve thought they just would’ve
hired a DJ. It’s cheaper.”
“Wait. What?” Gil shook his head. “First of all, why would
they need music?”
Katie pointed a finger upward. “Hear that, nerd-o? Music.
You know, it creates atmosphere and gives you something to dance to.”
“Dance?” Gil swallowed hard. He cocked his head. He did hear
music. He hadn’t noticed it because he’d been too panicked about Rip being
there. “Okay, just don’t ask me to dance.”
“No can do, Gilly. We will
be dancing. I didn’t come along to be a wallflower.”
“Katie, you know I can’t dance,” he hissed, inches from her
face.
She had the nerve to laugh. As if his lack of rhythm was
something to laugh about. His coordination left something to be desired. Gil
considered it a handicap—maybe not one recognized by the government. But no one
should make fun of the handicapped!
Gil frowned. “I didn’t see anything on the invitation about
dancing.”
Katie sighed. “Gilly, don’t worry, we’ll fake it.”
“Don’t call me Gilly here. It’s bad enough people will be
calling me Gilbert.”
“Okay, Gil. So if
Rip isn’t a band, then who or what is it?”
A low murmur throughout the room behind him caused Gil to
look up. Coming through the doors…
Gil pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself. His legs
had suddenly lost all strength.
Coming through the doors was…
“Him,” was all Gil could get past the lump in his throat.
“Him?” Katie turned the direction Gil was staring, and her
mouth made a little O.
Gil had expected Rip to walk in with a tall, leggy blonde on
his arm—one who was enhanced in various places. He hadn’t expected Rip to come…
alone?
Ripley “Rip” Cord was just as tall as Gil remembered. Around
five inches taller than him, not that Gil was a squirt. The football player was
at least six foot two.
And every inch of him was muscle. Not lean muscle, but heavy
muscle. Heavy, rounded, lickable muscle.
Gil glanced at Katie. “You’re drooling.”
Katie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “As if you
aren’t.”
Gil snagged her wrist and backpedaled until he rammed into
something hard. It was the table with the place settings.
Gil peered over Katie’s shoulder to see if his klutziness
had caught Rip’s attention.
Luckily it hadn’t. The man was completely surrounded by
their former classmates clamoring for his attention.
Throughout the years, he’d followed Rip’s career on the
Internet, on the evening news, on ESPN.
And in the tabloids. The kind you find at the grocery store
checkout.
Rip was well-known. Unfortunately, it was as the “bad boy”
of the National Football League. He started out with a great career in the NFL,
drafted straight out of college. He was one of the best wide receivers in the
league, but it was all his rumored problems that kept him in the spotlight, not
his stats.
And that famous wide receiver was here. Now.
“C’mon, Katie! Don’t stare.”
“Why?”
“Because—”
“Jesus, Gilly, because you have a crush on him!”
Heat crawled up Gil’s neck. He was glad the lights were
turned down in the gymnasium. He didn’t want anyone seeing him blush.
Hell, he was twenty-eight years old. He shouldn’t be
blushing. He suddenly felt seventeen all over again.
He pulled away from Katie to study the name cards remaining
on the table. Of course, he read the same card over and over before Katie
squealed.
“Oh. My. God. Here
he comes!”
Gil nervously tugged Katie next to his side and threw an arm
haphazardly around her shoulders.
“Ouch,” she yelped as her curly red hair got caught on the
button of his cuff.
“Sorry,” he whispered and straightened up just as Rip
arrived at the table.
Gil swore he saw spots. He was not going to faint. He was
not going to faint.
His knees buckled, and he grabbed for the nearest solid
thing.
Rip.
Rip grasped his forearm and held Gil steady. “You all right,
buddy?”
Gil looked up—and up—into deep blue eyes. Eyes he had never
forgotten. To this day they haunted his dreams.
Dreams he usually woke up from with a raging hard-on.
Gil opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Rip
smacked him hard on the back.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Gil nodded.
“Did you find your name card yet?” Rip asked, flashing him a
bright, white smile.
Gil shook his head.
Rip moved closer, almost hip to hip with Gil, to study the
table of white folded cardstock. Gil fought the urge to lean in and nuzzle the
larger man's neck, inhaling his manly scent. Roll around in it like a dog.
Hell, he'd probably end up sporting a black eye if he tried.
Even so, Rip’s large hands, his long fingers, fascinated Gil
as he reached out to snag a card off the table.
“Here you are.” He lifted Gil’s hand, cupping it from the
bottom.
Gil could feel the rough, calloused palm against his
knuckles. A thrill ran down his spine as Rip tucked the tented name card into
his curled fingers.
Rip remembered his name? He must have if he had picked Gil’s
name out from the place settings.
Gil quickly glanced down at his own chest. Crap. He’d
probably read his Hello. My name is…
sticker.
Rip’s deep voice broke into his thoughts. “I’ve dreamed of
you, Gilbert.”
Gil looked up at him in shock. “What?”
“I said, I remember you, Gilbert. Don’t look so surprised.”
“G-Gil.”
Rip lifted one brow. “Again?”
“He goes by Gil now,” Katie butted in. “I’m Katie.” She held
out her hand.
Instead of shaking it, Rip lifted it and brushed his lips
over her knuckles.
“Oh, a gentleman, huh? Hard to find these days.”
“Hardly.” Rip laughed, then pinned Gil with a stare. “Is she
your girl?”
Gil’s gaze flicked to Katie, who stood entranced, staring at
Rip. He knew the feeling.
Rip had a strong square jaw, currently covered in a
super-short beard since it wasn’t game season. He sported shoulder-length
dirty-blond hair with sun-kissed highlights due to the time he spent outdoors.
His long legs were encased in black jeans, which sinfully
hugged the muscles they covered. He had on a tight black T-shirt under an
equally black but very worn leather jacket. A biker jacket, not a designer
jacket. Heavy leather with rivets, sporting buckles and zippers.
He looked bad. So bad, he looked good.
Even so, Gil couldn’t help thinking it was way too warm out
for a leather jacket.
“Where are you
sitting?” Katie piped in, tearing Rip’s attention away from Gil and onto her.
Damn. Rip had always liked the ladies, and it seemed to be
no different now.
Gil quickly scanned the table and found Rip’s name card.
Table 15. He looked at his own. Table 13.
Hell. Unlucky thirteen. He couldn’t be lucky enough to be
sitting with the NFL star. He was sure whoever organized the reunion had Rip
sitting with the popular crowd—or at least the former jocks from high school.
“With you guys.” Rip plucked his place card off the table.
“Have a pen?”
What the hell? Was Rip going to be hitting on Katie all
night? Gil didn’t know if he could sit there and watch that.
“Don’t you wear a pocket protector anymore?” Rip asked him,
running a finger over his shirt pocket. Gil’s nipples hardened instantly, and
he bit back a gasp.
“N-no,” Gil stuttered. Katie had forbidden them. Even at
work.
“Here. I have one.” Katie handed Rip a pen she extracted
from her purse.
Rip gave her a smile in thanks and used the pen to scribble
out the 13 on Gil’s name card. He replaced it with the number 15.
He handed the pen back to Katie and the name card back to
Gil, the pads of his fingers lingering on Gil’s palm.
Gil fisted his hand, still feeling the tingling sensation
left behind.
He had to get a grip.
Rip was a football player. A man’s man.
Too bad he wasn’t Gil’s man.
About the Author:
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today
bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was
only thirteen when she started writing. Her first paid published piece was an
erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up,
was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She
writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download
a sampler book here: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
To keep up with her busy release schedule
check her website at www.jeannestjames.com
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Author
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