Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) Read Online Free

seem surprised.
    Hunt headed for the ring. “Come on, Bruiser . You think you can take me?”
    White laughed and followed him. “I know it, kid. Let’s go.”
    Climbing out of the ring, Shero cut them off and shook his head. “No. Matches are planned in advance. Yours wasn’t approved.”
    “Come on, Coach. We’ve got shi—stuff to work out.” White looked past Hunt, a taunting smile on his lips. “If not, I’m out of here. Wanna go for a beer, Richards?”
    Braxton Richards, the youngest player on the team, quickly shook his head. Hunt had taken to looking after the kid, so maybe he thought White was a bad influence? White’s interest in Richards seemed slightly off, though Dominik couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Either way, Richards clearly didn’t like the position he’d found himself in. His eyes were wide and he was pale. Poor boy.
    Thankfully, Shawn Pischlar, a solid player and easygoing Dom, was right by his side. Speaking low as he flung his arm around Richards’s shoulders. Whatever he said had Richards ducking his head and laughing.
    “Back off, Pisch.” Hunt changed direction and strode up to Richards’s side, looking ready to yank the rookie away from Pischlar. He didn’t seem at all comforted by the way Pischlar moved his arm and stepped back. But he appeared to have forgotten about fighting White.
    The two young men walked out. White grunted something at Pischlar before trailing after them.
    Pischlar went to the refreshment table to grab an apple.
    “Consider this experiment a failure, Callahan.” Shero retrieved his suit jacket from a bench by the ring and shot Zovko and Demyan an apologetic look. “This may have worked for minor issues, but I am beginning to see how easily it could be taken advantage of. Boxing is excellent for conditioning, but I hope the two of you can find a peaceful resolution.”
    “I see no reason why not.” Zovko turned to Demyan, holding out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Demyan shook it.
    But he didn’t say anything. Simply joined the crowd leaving.
    Dominik’s lips thinned as he took in the unease that had been left behind. He hated the idea that the “experiment” had been a complete waste of time. But maybe Sloan was right. Maybe, once the men saw them getting along, they’d be motivated to do the same. With the playoffs on the line, personal shit wasn’t all that important.
    He approached the table where Sloan stood with Oriana, Silver, and Ford. Sloan had taken a peach from the fruit bowl. He pulled the large knife from the watermelon platter and used it to slice a small sliver of the peach.
    Oriana pressed her teeth into her lush bottom lip, half her attention on her siblings, most on Sloan who licked the peach juice off the knife.
    Silver didn’t appear to notice. “Landon will be between the pipes tomorrow. His leg is fine. He had a nasty bruise but no serious damage.”
    “That’s good.” Oriana pressed her hand to her cheek, blushing as Sloan slid the blade carefully over the flesh of the peach.
    “Oh, get a room. Damn it, Sloan, I think you’re getting Ford off.” Silver tossed her long blond hair over one shoulder and shoved her brother. “Gross.”
    “Fuck off, Silver.” Ford folded his arms over his chest, but he was watching the knife as though hypnotized. “Sloan trains Cort. I’m…interested.”
    “Mmm. Knife play involves a certain…finesse.” Sloan turned the peach, drawing the blade over it in a way that barely broke the skin. He’d obviously been practicing.
    When he and Dominik had played with Oriana together, Sloan had kept to the mental aspect of knives in the bedroom. Dominik shouldn’t be surprised that he’d taken the play to the next level, but he hadn’t let himself think on the kinds of scenes Sloan would be doing with Oriana.
    And he didn’t want to start now. Without drawing attention to himself, he moved out the door, prepared to leave. A small, soft hand touched his arm and he took a deep