Secretly dating Coach Parker’s daughter was never part of the plan. Neither was becoming her dealer…

Holding on to Forever, an all-new edgy, new adult romance from USA Today bestselling author Siobhan Davis and S.B. Alexander is available now!

ADAM

Returning to my drug-dealing past wasn’t on the agenda when I accepted the full ride to play ball at Cypress U. But Mom lost her job. And my sister’s medical bills are mounting. So, I’ve no choice but to change the playbook.

When Emily walks into my life, like a fallen goddess with the ultimate power to destroy me, I know I’m screwed. I should steer clear, but I’m the one supplying her poison of choice. Falling for her is a complication I don’t need, but the more she’s around, the harder it gets to walk away. She needs me, and I crave her more than the sport I love.

Now, it’s all on the line. Including the NFL career that’s tantalizingly close. 

The stakes are high, but family means everything, so I’ll take my chances.

EMILY

It’s only a problem if it’s out of control. And I have it in hand.

Except a certain a-hole discovers I’m using again, and he threatens to rat me out to my folks. Mom’s president of Cypress U, and Dad’s the illustrious football coach. Appearances mean everything to them, and I’m a continuous disappointment. 

They told me I’d be out on my ass if I fell off the wagon, so keeping it a secret is my number one priority.

Until the super-hot all-star QB takes more than a passing interest in me. Adam gets me, in a way no guy ever has, filling my head with ideas of forever—and now, I want more.

Dating my dealer is a recipe for disaster, especially when it’s forbidden, but I can’t help myself.

Because I’ve fallen too deep. 

And the hole is too large to crawl out of.

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Excerpt: 

  I’m half-tempted to call Donnie to make sure he gave me the correct address when headlights brighten the narrow alleyway.

The SUV is crawling toward me, and my nerves are jacked. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should find a decent part-time job to pay for my sister’s medical expenses, but I see no other way. We have to get her vest fixed or buy a new one. Selling drugs is the only way to make some quick cash. Besides, I’m good at it. I sold dope and pills for years, and I’d never been arrested. I always had my pulse on the neighborhoods, and I knew where cops loitered at night.

You’ve been out too long. Things might have changed, and you’re in a new state.

I push my inner thoughts aside. None of that matters. I’m always alert. I always know what’s around me, and as Mom tells me, I’m perceptive as hell. I have to be. Taking care of Mom and Phoebe—especially Phoebe—I have to be alert to her sounds, her breathing, and her emotions.

Thinking of my sister sends pain slicing through my chest. I can’t let anything happen to her. She spent two days in the hospital, where the doctor pumped her with antibiotics, until she started feeling better.

The SUV pulls to a stop, and a short stocky guy gets out of the front passenger seat brandishing a gun. The driver, a taller man than his compadre, follows.

I lift my hands as if a cop is arresting me. “I’m unarmed.”

Aiming the gun at my head, he stalks toward me. His dark eyes are hard, his mission resolute. “Move and you’re dead.” His deep voice is lethal.

An all too familiar wave washes over me, and I’m tempted to back out of this stupid idea to sell drugs and run before he pulls the trigger. I’m not any good dead to Mom and Phoebe. But I know his words are just a scare tactic while he frisks me.

I stand statue-still while the second dude, sporting a thin beard and no mustache, pats my sides, my lower back, down my legs, and straight down to my ankles. He sticks one finger in the air. “All clear.”

The stocky dude lowers his gun, and, inwardly, I grin. The goon didn’t find the blade in my boot. I’m not about to use it though. But I don’t walk into situations like these unarmed. Still, I make a mental note of the type of men I’m dealing with.

A tall man climbs out of the back seat. He’s sporting baggy jeans and a New York Yankees ball cap, and the gold bling around his neck probably weighs ten pounds as it glints off the dim light on the side of the car repair shop.

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. Donnie doesn’t show off like this dude. Donnie’s motto is blend in with the crowd. Standing out only draws attention.

“You must be Wrangler. I’m Ray Diaz.” Ray struts over to the metal garage door. “You understand I have to be careful.” He punches a code in on the keypad tacked to the frame of the door. Within a second, it opens.

I tuck my hands in my jean pockets. “I’m well aware of the industry.”

A deep chuckle erupts from Ray. “I heard. Donnie told me you were a cocky punk too.” It’s my turn to laugh. “When I need to be.”