Preston Goodplay Novels & Stories

When we stepped outside, I looked down at the certificate in my hand and let out a slow breath. "Wren." Declan's voice came from behind me. I turned around, and there was the bracelet, held out in front of me. It was Mom's bracelet, the one Petra had deliberately shattered, sending pieces scattering across the living room floor. Now, it was nearly whole again. The few places that could not be fully mended had been sealed with metal fillings and polished smooth. "I brought it to a lot of people. The damage was too severe to restore it completely, no matter what they tried. Still, I think the result turned out well.

My comment made him stand a little taller. "Yeah, well, getting there," he grinned, puffing out his chest. I stood up and walked toward the water fountain. The gym was packed for a Sunday evening. It smelled like rubber mats, stale adrenaline, and the sharp, chemical tang of pre-workout. To most people, it was hell. To me, it was the only place where the noise in my head matched the noise in the room.

He looks amused but eventually, he smiled again. "You are eye-catching. But don't worry, I don't do hookups, If I like a girl, I'll be loyal asf" I smirk upon hearing his remarks "Don't play mind games on me, Mister! I'm way better than a player!" I said with a devilish smile. Men will always be men. They are all sweet talkers until they got what they want.

"You're a young athlete. You cannot be spending money like this. I won't accept it." "Mom," I started. But Preston smiled. And then he said, "I should probably clarify something. I'm not just an athlete." My mother looked at him. "My name is Preston," he said. "I'm the CEO of Beaumont Group."

I liked that about him. Coach called out the surnames of each player and their assigned jersey number before they came up to pick it up. One player, Milton Crossbow, was assigned number 45 which made everyone laugh at him. Number 45 was the number assigned to benchwarmers and, honestly, those whose skills were not even good enough for practice. I guess the only reason Max advocated for him to be on the team was cause he was cute. “Jameson…” Phoenix stepped up with huge grin on his face. I found myself smiling too before I could stop it from forming. “Number 8.”

"Where do I even start? So, I finally got the contract." "Oh my god, Gray!" I squealed, feeling a rush of pride as if I was the one he was talking about. "When was this? I knew you'd make it!" "About a week ago. Wanted to tell you in person after you got out. It's a lotta work, B. Between training, endorsements, the game schedules—it's a madhouse. Oh, and there's this guy." His face softened, a shy smile sneaking its way out. "Met him through one of the assistant coaches. Smart, funny, kinda too-good-to-be-true, you know?"

Well, that was new, she’d give them that. “That’s what they’re calling you because of the amazing way you help companies convert leads into actual clients,” Ruth said with glee in her voice. “Frankly, I think it’s very catchy and creative. We may want to forward that to PR and see about making it a trademark.” At that, Callie had to chuckle. She was glad to see that her hard work had paid off, but maybe not in the way that she was expecting. Still, she tried to be happy about this victory. “Thank you, Ruth. You should add that to our calendar, so we don’t forget.”

"Yeah, but you rake it in faster doing nothing. Just open your mouth and take it from our family. The future Leonhart heir spends more on a pet than that." "Shut up! Shiloh, what nonsense are you spouting? Explain it to Judy." I folded my arms, laughing. "Explain what? That we're getting a divorce so you two can play house? Or that you're not broke—yet—but give it a little time and you'll be out here recycling bottles for spare change?"

Carson whispered and winked while relaxing back on his chair. No doubt he was a player, he also didn't believe in love like people usually say. And most girls fall at his feet because he was handsome, rich, and hot. And there was another player of the year, his best friend, who is also his partner in crime. “Hey, what do you intend to do today? There is this new girl I saw at the club. Damn! She is fucking hot.” Owen praised, while demonstrating her figure with his hand, and Carson chuckled.

The limousine purred through the rain-slicked streets, its leather interior cocooning us in a bubble of tension. The city outside was a blur of neon and water, but inside, every second felt magnified. My heartbeat thudded against my ribs like a drum, reminding me that I was no longer a spectator in life. I was part of the game. And the game was dangerous. Adrian didn’t speak for the first ten minutes. He drove with a precision that was almost hypnotic, eyes sharp, jaw set. Every now and then, his fingers tapped the steering wheel, a metronome for the storm I could already feel brewing between us.