Excerpt Lucky Number Eleven by Adriana Locke

Jul 162019
 

Lucky Number Eleven by Adriana Locke

I’ve always been the person that does whatever someone tells me I can’t.

Can’t graduate with a four-point-oh? Check.
Can’t win a modeling contract without trying? Did it. Check.
Can’t make it in the pro football league? Triple check with an MVP Award on top.

When my best friend told me to stay away from his little sister, Layla, it didn’t sound like a challenge. Then again, I’d never seen her before.

He obviously wasn’t thinking about who he was talking to if he believed I could ignore her. I obviously wasn’t thinking of him at all when I fell in love with her either.

Fact of the matter is: I not only fell harder than a quarterback sack on a Sunday night game, but I did us one better. Kind of like that MVP award, only not so shiny. Sort of like my Player of the Year title, except the only thing I’m walking away with is an ex-best friend and a woman that hates my guts.

It’s okay. Just tell me I can’t win her back.

I’m Branch “Lucky” Best and today’s my lucky day.

*This is a STANDALONE ROMANCE.

Excerpt Lucky Number Eleven by Adriana Locke

“One question,” Poppy interjects, looking at Branch. “What position are you?”
“I typically like the bottom so I can watch—oomph,” he says, getting another elbow from Finn. “Wide receiver. Why?”
Looking at Poppy, I can’t help but laugh as her eyes light up.
“You got a problem with wide receivers?” Branch asks.
“You do,” Finn interjects, giving me a narrowed glare. “They aren’t any better than quarterbacks.”
Branch looks from me, to Finn, and back to me. “Why do we not like quarterbacks?”
“My sister was dating Callum Worthington.”
“No shit?” His face puckers like he just bit into a lemon. “How in the hell did that cocksucker end up with you?”
“He didn’t. We’re not together anymore.”
Branch’s eyes heat, the look causing my pulse to quicken. “I’m not a bit sorry to hear that.”
“You better forget you heard any of that,” Finn warns. “This is my sister, Branch. Not a cheerleader or reporter or some chick from a dating app. Got it?”
“Finn, relax,” I say, shoving a swallow past the lump in my throat. “I appreciate the big brother spiel, but I can handle myself.”
“I know you can,” he says, pulling his gaze away from Branch. “But you can’t handle him.”

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