Page 3 of A Reason to Try

Jesus, he was going fast!

I gaped, mouth open as the huge thing pulled to a stop right beside my compact, splattering my perfectly clean driver’s side door and window with thick mud and some gravel.

That was definitely going to leave a mark.

The morning had started out pretty shitty to begin with, but that was the filthy icing on the cake of this bitch of a day.

I was ready to read that idiot driver the riot act when the doors opened, and like three dozen veritable giants came trotting out of the thing.

These were not normal men.

They were monsters.

Humongous.

It was like a lineup of stunt doubles for Hercules or maybe Ares if we were talking about the cast of characters from the best show ever.

I meant Xena: Warrior Princess, of course. I used to devour that show when I was a kid, and I just started re-watching it recently.

Yay for streaming services!

Anyway, there wasn’t one of these guys under six feet tall. And they sure as fuck looked like they all ate their Wheaties.

By the bucketful.

If the bulging biceps didn’t give it away, it was their tree trunk sized thighs and shoulders that looked wider than the entire house I’d been renting in town.

One man stood out to me among the rest. He had wild-looking dark brown hair that looked like it had not seen a brush in a while. Of course, it didn’t need one, either. His hair was thick and glossy, with big curls at the tips.

He had about an inch of beard in that same color, covering what I was sure was a ruggedly handsome face. I was staring. I knew I was, but I couldn’t help it.

Emerald-green eyes glared at me, and my mouth gaped as I took in his tattooed hands and arms. The ink must go all the way up, I mused, seeing some of the scrolling work peeking out of his collar and up his neck.

Holy hotness.

“Are you the clown who rented this shit hole? Not impressed,” he barked, pointing a big beefy finger at me.

Fuck me now with that goddamn accent.

But any hint of admiration left my face the second I registered the words this gorgeous specimen of man had been shouting at me.

Did he call me a clown? Okay, that was not a compliment.

“Are you capable of speech? This is not acceptable! I asked for a real training facility. I’ve got six weeks to get these jokers ready for the season,” he rumbled, his emerald gaze glittering down at me.

Thank fuck for the car. I was stuck in my seat while this man tore me a new one, and it was a good thing, too. I might’ve fallen down to my knees and begged him to punish me for all my sins, he was just that hot.

“This is a team of professional athletes. We need a proper paddock–a field, for fuck’s sake,” he growled when I continued to stare blankly.

“Shit. Coach is going berko,” one of the other men muttered.

“Hello? I said we can’t use some backwoods children’s campground for our practice field. How the hell are we supposed to get this team ready? Well? Are you deaf, too?”

This giant bearded fucker was going to blow a gasket.

I mean, I’d be concerned if I was his doctor. Veins were sticking out of his neck and his tanned skin was turning a dark, ruddy shade of red as he shouted at me.

Really, I kinda wished it made him uglier. Or at least mildly unattractive. But honestly, all that masculine outrage was downright sexy.

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