Ditched by RC Boldt
Published by RC Boldt Publishing LLC on April 3, 2018
Genres: Contemporary Romance, Sports
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Dating can be a rocky journey. Once the new shine wears off, you may end up with a case of buyer’s remorse.
That’s where I come in. I set the backdrop and coach you through the breakup.
Don't want overblown drama, hard feelings, or a drink tossed in your face? Then I'm your fairy godmother, child.
As an NFL quarterback, endorsement ads and the media pandering after me are all part of the game.
Ivy Hayes is the first woman who doesn't care about my money and the notoriety that goes along with it.
But I'm a long-term guy, and she operates strictly in the now. Which means I need to bring my A-game.
Otherwise, I’ll end up getting ditched.
He’s playing for the heart she’s had sidelined for years.
DITCHED by RC Boldt is releasing on APRIL 3rd!
Keep reading for an excerpt!
Super Bowl Sunday
Miami Gardens, Florida
I wring my hands nervously before realizing this won’t do me any good.
The overwhelming pandemonium from the NFL fans in the Hard Rock Stadium is nearly deafening, and I stare down at my palms, flexing my fingers as an anxiety-ridden anticipation courses through my body. I don’t want to do this, but it’s my only choice. There’s no other way.
Even though I’m certain it’s too late.
A slap on my shoulder jars me, drawing me from my conflicted thoughts, and my gaze locks with Corbin Hartson, the coach of the Jacksonville Jaguars.
“All set?” he yells to be heard over the raucous crowd.
I nod. “All set!” I holler back with far more conviction than I feel.
“Then get out there. Let’s do this!” A slap on my shoulder punctuates his enthusiasm, and I resist the urge to rub the spot. What is it with coaches and players and the slapping thing? Geez.
I close my eyes and drag in deep breaths meant to be soothing, attempting to psych myself up to follow through with this plan. And I can’t help but be amazed at how this all came to be.
My eyes flash open, and I know this is it. It’s time. I can do this.
With my first step onto the field, carpeted with crunchy Bermuda grass, I force myself to put one foot in front of the other. My focus is centered on one thing—on one object—sitting on the fifty-yard line.
For the first time in my adult life, I’m wagering what I’ve long believed was cold and bitter. Useless.