Fantasy Football Nerd Novels & Stories

Carmen's POV The first result was a W i k i p e d i a page. The photograph at the top showed a man in a white football jersey, arms spread wide after a goal, stadium lights shining behind him, thousands of people on their feet. The face was the same face that had been watching me from the pillow twenty minutes ago. Andre Fernandez is a Spanish professional footballer who plays as a winger for La Liga club Real Numancia and the Spain national team. Known for his exceptional dribbling, pace and agility, he is considered one of the best left-footed right wingers in the world.

His thin body made him look like he was carrying a baseball bat. As if he doesn’t know they’re letting the nerd’s play just to make fun of them. Because if he plays, the piñata will be broken in less than ten seconds. He hissed. The nerd hit his knee instead of the piñata above him. “Gosh, it seems like you didn’t want to hit the piñata when we were kids. You’re still very good at hitting. Oh right your pounding something else now.” He glared at him.

Her hand in Ethan’s. Captioned: “The Nerd & The Hockey King… exposed.” And underneath Hundreds of comments are already pouring in.

Leonard assured him. "Stunners are two a penny in my world. All of them relentlessly ambitious." "That might be so in L.A., but this is home time in Australia, remember? Look, Favour's sister is something else." "Something else like what?" asked Collins with a confused look on his face. His derisive tone earned a chiding shake of the head.

That counts for something, right? My name is Annalise McDermott. And for the record, I am a nerd. A hopeless romantic. A person who believes in love even when it clearly hates me back. This is my playbook, a chronicle of terrible timing, questionable decisions, and the kind of love that shows up when you least expect it, usually right after you've sworn you’re never falling in love again. So here is a little friendly advice: do not follow my advice. At least not until the very end.

Although he was quiet at first,he opened up a little later on. Devan is the wild child. He is the one that smokes and is covered in tattoos. He jumps from girl to girl every week or so. He never liked obeying the rules but he has no choice but to do so. He calls it the disadvantage of being bestfriends with the future Alpha. Kendrick is the joker. He likes pulling pranks and causing chaos everywhere he goes. He is funny as hell and he does not give a damn about what people think.

Liam trailed off suggestively, implying unsavory escapades. "Totally," Cindy chimed in, her tone as phony as her lashes. "We're old pals. If you're struggling, speak up. With your background—no college, no sharp clothes—you might bomb interviews. Want me to take you shopping? I can spot you cash. You were a whiz kid. It's a shame seeing you like this." Shannon stayed silent, her nails digging into her wine stem. Her intense gaze bore into me like lasers. Her boyfriend, Zach Fuller, leaned forward with condescending pity and open disdain.

It wasn't uncommon for her to dump her wallet out, and bet every last penny in it on some stupid game decision, but she won as much as she lost, and always paid up. "You'd just lose it. Like you always lose to me. I'm expecting a big night from Elam and Eli." "Even if you got huge games from them, I've still got Jamal Lewis, and he's a fantasy point machine." The girl was as drunk as I'd ever seen her, but she could still remember every player on both our fantasy teams, every game being played that evening, and all the over-unders and point spreads. Just amazing. "Jamal? What a has-been. Pretty mediocre last year. What, 7 or 8 TDs?"

He bites his lip. “Okay. Like what?” I laugh, a little confused. “So like, I was thinking I take whatever I don’t spend and then if I make it into the NFL donate it. Like I’ll obviously donate it if I don’t make it into the NFL too. But you know how a lot of times the football players like to create their own organizations or donate to multiple but have one main one? Like put the money towards that, do some good with the money” He explains, looking nervous and overwhelmed.

His hand rested over my stomach, tracing lazy circles. “I want to keep playing sometimes,” he murmured into my hair. “Keep the edge sharp. Keep the fantasy alive.” I smiled, sated and owned and stupidly happy. “Every anniversary,” I whispered. “And maybe… some random Tuesdays.” He laughed soft, warm, real. Then quieter: “And if we ever decide to add to the family… we’ll tell them the truth when they’re old enough. That their mother and father chose each other against the whole damn world. That the fantasy became real.”