King of the Court Read Online R.S. Grey

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

Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

King of the Court

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

R.S. Grey

Book Information:

We don’t get a lot of NBA superstars coming through little ol’ Pine Hill, Texas. That’s why everyone is all in a tizzy over the fact that the USA men’s Olympic basketball team will be training here of all places before this year’s Summer Games. With little else to talk about, rumors about the players have been spreading like wildfire, and there’s one man in the middle of it all holding a match.
Ben Castillo. NBA champion. Olympic gold medalist. Widely hailed ‘King of the Court’.
The morning he walks into my dingy diner, I have enough sense to keep my head down and go right on wiping tables, pouring coffee, and serving up short stacks. A man who looks like that—superstar or not—has only ever meant trouble, and more trouble is the last thing I need, what with taking care of Nan and scraping by on tips from truckers.
If anything, he seems drawn to my indifference. His steely gaze pierces me behind the counter. My knees nearly buckle under the weight of his attention. But while Mr. Pretty Boy is probably used to snagging city girls with a smile, this gal is country strong.
I won’t be some clichéd convenience for him on his way through town.
So look over your choices carefully, Benny-boy. We serve up sides of hash browns here, not heartbreak.
Books by Author:

R.S. Grey

Part One

Chapter One


The persistent buzz from my phone is starting to grate on my nerves. It’s been going off all morning, and though I’m tempted to go right on ignoring it, I force myself to roll away from the window and grab it. I rub sleep from my eyes, sit up, and unlock the screen. It’s worse than I was expecting. I have 58 missed calls and 237 unread text messages. Another one rolls in; this one from my agent.

You’re a legend. Find a newspaper. Turn on the TV. You’re everywhere.

I don’t heed his advice. It’s early and I’m still exhausted from last night. Before I face the world, I could use some coffee and breakfast. A lot of breakfast. I’m starving. I set my phone back down on the nightstand, face down so it’s easier to ignore the barrage of people trying to get in contact with me, and then shift up and off the bed. My body screams at me to lie back down. Sore muscles, achy joints—a long playoff run will do that to you. I look down at the substantial purple and black bruise on my ribs. Carmelo Taylor elbowed me pretty damn good last night when he was trying to block my game-winning shot. Ref didn’t call the foul. Not that it matters. Nothing says Fuck you like crossing a dude over and hitting a step-back three in front of his own bench. I smile thinking about it. Without a doubt, that’s the moment everyone will be talking about this morning. The row of press positioned underneath the hoop likely captured it from every angle. Hopefully Carmelo gets a copy.

A feminine curse rings out from the living room, and I roll my eyes. I told Anthony I didn’t want him bringing any girls back to our suite. The idiot didn’t listen, which means before I head out of my room, I grab some sweats and tug them on, ignoring the protests from my ribs when I bend over.

I’d stay holed up in my room until she’s gone, but I’m hungry and thirsty.

I step out into the living room, and confetti crunches underneath my bare feet.

Clearly, Anthony had himself a little celebration after I fell asleep last night. His door’s flung open wide and there’s a girl sleeping beside him on his bed. Another one walks out of the bathroom; fortunately, this one is fully dressed.

“Where’s my shoe?!” a third girl groans.

She pops up from the other side of the living room couch and shrieks when she sees me standing there. She presses her hand to her chest as a long string of profanities escape her lips.

I actually smile, which makes it twice in one morning. A record as of late.

Her shock gives way to surprise. I scared her at first, but now that she’s registered who I am, her face goes beet red.

“Ben Castillo…” Her mouth drops open, and she looks around as if she wants to share this news with someone. “You—you were in this suite last night?” she asks, pointing to the door behind me.

I nod.

“No way.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Had I known…”

What? She would have kicked my door in? Mauled me?

From the way she brazenly scans down my bare chest, I don’t think I’m that far off the mark.

I wait for something to stir inside me. Want. Need. Desire. A fucking blip of life. She’s not bad-looking. Anthony’s as shallow as they come. He likes women with curves and sex appeal, so on paper, this woman ticks every box of what should turn me on…but she just doesn’t. I’m broken. Bored. Put off by every woman I’ve encountered in the last five months.

“Do you need help getting home?” I ask, trying to move this awkward situation along. Just in case she has the wrong idea, I clarify. “I can get you an Uber or a cab, whatever’s easier.”

Her face changes then. Her smile reaches her eyes and she looks relieved, maybe even grateful for my kindness.

I rub the front of my neck, up along the stubble beneath my chin I haven’t shaved in a few days. I’m about to tack on Forget I asked when she finally speaks up.

“That would be great, actually. Thanks. I just need to find—”

I point up. “Your shoe?”

Her strappy sandal is hanging from a limb of the suite’s chandelier.

She laughs. “Right. Of course. Why wouldn’t my shoe be dangling from the ceiling?”

She moves around the couch to try to get it, but seeing as I’m the professional basketball player here with the height to prove it, I take it upon myself to reach up and grab it before handing it down to her. Her cheeks heat with new color and she tucks her dark hair behind one of her ears.

“Thank you.”

I nod and walk away, giving her space to finish collecting her things.