The Relationship Pact – Kings of Football Read Online Adriana Locke

Categories Genre: College, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance, Sports Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

The Relationship Pact - Kings of Football

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Adriana Locke

Book Information:

How hard can it be?
That was the question rolling around Larissa Mason’s mind just before she asked Hollis Hudson to be her fake boyfriend. It was only supposed to be for five minutes, after all.
Granted, that was also before she felt his hand on the small of her back as he charmed the heck out of her family. She hadn’t heard his laugh yet either.
And it was definitely before she saw the football god shirtless. Otherwise, she would’ve had an idea of just how hard some things could be.
It turns out that pretending to be in love with a crazily handsome, somewhat enigmatic, and absolutely unforgettable tight end (that has an amazing tight end) is easy.
Reminding herself that just because opposites attract doesn’t mean they’re forever is much harder.
What they have isn’t love—it’s a relationship pact. Right?
Books by Author:

Adriana Locke


See those three boys over there?

Yeah, the kings of football?

The ones with their heads in their hands, drinking their beers and trying to figure out what the hell happened to their season?

They choked.

That’s right. These all-Americans became the biggest upset in college football and a complete embarrassment to their town.

Can it really be that bad?


Former national champions, Braxton College was annihilated this year.

No, not just annihilated—completely and utterly destroyed.

Three games.

That’s it.

They won three games all season.

Interceptions. Dropped balls. Missed blocks. Fumbles. You name it, they did it.

First, there’s Hollis Hudson, the mysterious tight end who keeps everything locked down. He couldn’t run a route to save his life this year.

Next is Crew Smith, the protective one. Once an NFL hopeful, he now holds the record for the most interceptions in a season for a quarterback.

And rounding out the trifecta of crap is River Tate, the popular frat boy. He’s supposed to be a superstar wide receiver but dropped more passes than he caught.

Guys wanted to be them.

Girls wanted their hearts.

But at this point, not sure anyone would touch them with a ten-foot pole.

The truth is, they’ve screwed up their prospective NFL careers.

Maybe their entire lives.

There are three stories to be told…

This is Hollis’s.



Me: My abs are still impressive.

I hit send on the text message and drop my phone to the bed.

The sky is dark outside my hotel room window. I yank the curtains closed before resuming getting dressed. The black sweater I borrowed from River’s closet before I left campus sits snugly over my aforementioned abdominal muscles. I slip on a pair of sneakers—also borrowed from River because he has a better wardrobe than I do—and take a quick look in the mirror.

“Not too shabby,” I say to my reflection.

I’m reaching for my wallet next to the mini-fridge when my phone dings, so I grab it instead.

River: Oh, thank God. I was getting worried.

Crew: What kind of status update is this, Hollis? Your abs? Really?

I grin as I type out my response.

Me: Would you rather I had given you the weather?

As soon as I type that out, I know what’s coming. My eyes shoot to the ceiling, and I brace for the flurry of incoming texts undoubtedly on their way.

Crew: The weatherman Hollis Hudson!

River: Only if you jump up and down for two minutes while you recite it.

Crew: You should bring that back.

River: Totally.

Flashbacks of my freshman year pledge for Kappa—the weather pledge—come floating back.

The fraternity officers were trying to embarrass me with that whole thing. I had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn and post myself reading the weather report on social media.

For a year.

On top of that, if anyone asked me the weather—which, naturally, everyone did—I had to recite it on the spot while jumping up and down.

For two minutes.

It was a hassle and a pain in the ass, as designed. The joke was on them, though. I got so much freaking attention from the female body of Braxton College without even having to try that I should’ve sent the officers a thank-you note.

Because the weather report my freshman year? It was raining women.

Crew: We’re just screwing with you. Did you make it to Savannah?

Me: I just got here a little bit ago. Hotel is fucking niiiiiiice.

River: It better be. Lincoln Landry is a baseball legend. He can afford to put you up in nice digs.

My whole body tenses. I sit on the edge of one of the two queen-sized beds with the softest blankets I’ve ever felt and let my elbows rest on my knees.

It’s been three months since I received the letter requesting my presence at the Catching-A-Care awards banquet, a nonprofit ran by future Hall of Fame baseball player for the Tennessee Arrows, Lincoln Landry. I’m as shocked now as the day I opened the envelope.

How the charity found out about the time I quietly spend with a foster group home on the weekends is beyond me. It’s not something I advertise or talk about during interviews. It’s a talking point I hide from the media.

It’s not for them. I don’t want it exploited as some mindless chatter while camera operators zoom in on a play.

It’s my thing. It’s the one thing I have all to myself. It’s the only thing not jaded by my position on campus or the fact that I’m an athlete or that my abs are awesome.

But, somehow, the board of directors got my name, and here I am.

A part of me was a little pissed off about the whole thing. I went back and forth with the directors for a long time—me saying, “Thanks but no thanks” and them saying, “But we’d really like to do this.” Eventually, they promised not to name the city I volunteer in or the organization, and I agreed to attend. I think they labeled me as being “difficult,” but whatever. I don’t want the kids feeling like I was spending time there for any other reason than I care.