His Romance Coach (A McKnight Family Romance Book 5)

by Lucy McConnell

  His Romance Coach

  The McKnight Family Romances Book 5

  Lucy McConnell

  Anne-Marie Meyer

  Orchard View Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 by Lucy McConnell and Anne-Marie Meyer

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  His Romance Coach

  I'm in trouble.

  One stupid bet with a teammate and my starting spot on the Wolves Football Team is on the line.

  I need a romance overhaul and I need it fast.

  There's only one woman who can help me: Dr. Heather Campbell. Her red curls may be wild but she's as button-down as they come.

  At least ... I thought so.

  After a few days with her, I'm not so sure I know Heather like I thought I did and my heart's telling me to get closer. She's the kind of woman I want forever.

  The trouble is, I'm not a forever kind of guy.

  Find out if the McKnight playboy can be tames in the final installment of the McKnight Family Romance saga.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Liam

  Friday Night

  “Sooo …” The tall brunette—I’d already forgotten her name—dragged out that two-letter word as if it were the most interesting word in the English language. She slid a folded-up piece of paper along the bar and ran the sharp edge into my arm.

  I stared at her, trying to feign interest. She was cute, sure. Her coal-black eyes were full of interest and greed. But our short conversation proved what I’d known before we’d even spoken a word. The moment she’d zeroed in on me and then checked her phone—Googling my picture. She wasn’t interested in me any more than I was in her; it was all about the image I had when I put on a jersey.

  But I’d never said no to a date. I wasn’t dubbed “Lord of the Dates” because I was a quitter. No. I’d take … whatever her name was out at some point. After all, every Philly deserved the Liam McKnight treatment at least once. I mean, I was all about giving women good stories to tell their grandchildren someday.

  Deciding not to consider where she’d gotten this piece of paper—her tight black dress didn’t really scream pockets—I slipped it between my fingers and I held it up. “I’ll be taking this,” I said as I shoved it into the inner pocket of my leather jacket, right alongside the others I’d collected throughout the night.

  Her red lips parted as her smile widened. “Wonderful.” She leaned in so that the dress dipped lower. I averted my eyes. “Can I get your number?” she asked.

  I sucked in my breath. That was my cue. I grabbed my drink and shot her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe. I’m the one that calls back.” I spun away from the counter right on the downbeat of the song and headed toward my brother, Mason, whom I’d left about an hour ago.

  He sat with his arms crossed and a peeved look on his face. If we hadn’t grown up together, I might have been intimidated by his glare.

  “Sorry for the wait,” I said as I dropped down on the bench seat across the table from him. I reached forward and snatched one of the fries from the basket. It was cold, but I powered through. All of this flirting made me hungry, and our steaks were taking forever.

  “Are you about done?” Mason asked. His grizzly-bear demeanor didn’t fool me. “When I agreed to be your wingman, I didn’t realize that entailed me sitting alone in a booth for hours while you pick up every girl at the bar.” He grabbed my drink and, before I could stop him, downed half of it.

  When he offered it back to me, I shrugged it away. I didn’t want it now, and the fries left a stale grease aftertaste in my mouth, so I reached for the water glass. I looked up to Mason, who had served in the military and was a cop. He was always doing things to make life better for other people. It was only recently that he’d taken steps to help himself with his PTSD. Even that showed more courage than I could muster up. The man was a walking legend without an agent. No one to toot his horn, as my grandpa would have said. My agent would love to get his hands on Mason’s image. I smirked to myself. I’d like to see him try.

  Mason sat back, triumphant over scoring a free drink, and studied me. “Don’t you have some football buddies to do this with?” He waved his hand around the bar. Since he was seriously dating the love of his life, he wasn’t interested in picking up a couple of ladies.

  I sighed and grabbed another fry. This time, instead of eating it, I just picked little chunks off and let them fall on the table. “I did, but he’s currently engaged to our little sister.” The idea of Jaxson and Lottie made me happy—it did. But when I thought about it, it seemed as if everyone was moving on except me. Penny and Chris were having a baby. Mason and Sadie were getting close to tying the knot. Even Carter and Ellise were figuring their crap out.

  But me? I was the lone wolf of the family. Which I was okay with … until I was stuck in a house where all the couples did there was canoodle. Even Mom and Dad were extra touchy-feely lately. I shuddered.

  “What’s with the face?” Mason asked as he flicked his finger toward me.

  I straightened. “What? This is my face.” I rubbed under my nose and my mouth just to make sure there wasn’t anything stuck there.

  “You look … moony.”

  I scoffed. “Sadie’s made you soft. When have you ever used the word moony?”

  Mason parted his lips as if he was going to protest my accusation, but then a goofy look passed over his face. “I can’t lie. You’re right.” He sighed in a way that made me want to vomit.

  “Punch me if I ever get this ridiculous,” I said as I made a circle in the air in front of his face.

  He slapped my hand down, proving his reflexes were still lightning fast. “You’d be so lucky to get like this.”

  My phone started to ring, so I patted the pockets of my jacket until I found where I’d tucked it away. It was Spencer, my agent. I glanced at Mason, feeling protective of my older brother. Spencer was an excellent agent because he was a pest in the best ways. Ways that would make Mason want to punch a wall if he ever had to deal with him.

  “Spencer, my man,” I said as I brought the phone to my cheek and turned away from Mason. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”

  “Tell me it was a lie. Just, Liam, tell me it’s not true.”

  I paused and blinked. Spencer rarely panicked, and he never lectured. He was more of a good-time guy—handing out smiles like they were Tic Tacs. “What are you talking about?”

  Spencer cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his tone light. “Please tell me that you did not try to date Briea and then break up with her over a video chat?”

  I winced. So he’d heard. “Spencer, Spencer,” I said, hoping that if I used a calming voice, he’d feel better about what I was going to say. “It was a meaningless nothing. W
e went on a few dates, I called it off. I mean, it’s my MO. She knew that going in.”

  Spencer started off with a few short ha-has, and then those turned into full-blown laughs. “Oh, just a few short nothings, huh?”

  I nodded and laughed along with him, not sure if he was really laughing because he understood or if there was more going on that he was telling me. “Yeah. Completely harmless. In fact—you’re going to laugh at this—it was all just a bet.”

  Spencer’s laughing halted, and suddenly, I could feel his stare like a pair of high beams blaring on me even though we were talking on the phone. “A bet?”

  I felt like a kid getting scolded. How had I let Spencer have this much power over my life? It shocked me. I didn’t need a girlfriend; I had Spencer to suck the joy out of life.

  “Well, news of your breakup is running rampant through social media. Briea posted on the team’s social media page how you’re a complete player.” He sucked in his breath. “And her dad found about it.”

  I sucked in my breath. That wasn’t good. Briea’s dad was the owner of my football team, the Wolves. A tiny fact that I’d chosen to ignore when I’d decided to take the stupid bet in the first place. “Well, when Packer says I got no game and then names Briea as the target, I can’t not take him up on that.”

  Spencer sputtered a few times and then sighed.

  “You’re pinching your nose, aren’t you?” I asked.

  Spencer paused. “No.”

  See? We were basically an old married couple. “Why don’t you come down to Potter’s Grill and have a drink? Alcohol does amazing things to ragged nerves.” I nodded toward Mason, who was finishing off my drink as our two-inch-thick steaks arrived. It was going to be a great night. I tucked the phone between my jaw and shoulder, grabbed a knife, and started carving.

  Spencer snorted. “Like I have the time.” Then he sighed. “You’re in it deep this time, Liam. Mr. Caviel wants to see a new man at the gala in a week. If he’s convinced that you’re not the punk who dumped his daughter, then he might let you stay on the team.”

  I was mid-chew on a piece of steak when I inhaled at his words. That caused the steak to fly to the back of my mouth, and I had to cough a few times to free it. I pounded my chest.

  Mason must have picked up on my distress by my watery eyes and wheezing words, because a moment later, he was off his seat and headed to the bar to get me another drink.

  Once I had a long swig of something frothy and the tickle in my throat was gone, I focused back on Spencer, who hadn’t hung up throughout the whole ordeal. “Stay on the team? Are you saying I could get cut?” Was that even a possibility for something that happened off the field? Players got away with a lot of crap in the NFL—we weren’t the poster boys for good behavior that baseball players had to be. I’d felt secure in being a ladies’ man because, well, at least I wasn’t landing in the slammer.

  “Listen, Liam. Mr. Caviel is worried about appearances. And he’s ticked that you treated his daughter like a doormat.”

  “It was only a few dates. Geez, you’re making it sound like we were going to get married.” How could people get so attached in such a short amount of time? Besides Jaxson, the only people I couldn’t live without were my family. And Jaxson was going to become family soon. Being best man at my little sister’s wedding to my best friend was sick. Man, I looked good in a tux.

  “Well, to Mr. Caviel, it might as well have been you leaving his daughter at the altar.” He sighed. “Just do whatever you need to, to prove to him that you’re a changed man, and then we can all move forward as a happy Wolves family.”

  Before I could protest, Spender hung up. I dropped my phone onto the table and shot a shocked look in Mason’s direction. He pulled his eyebrows together, making him look like Dad did when he was trying to figure out if he should have a serious talk with his wayward football star son.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  I groaned and scrubbed my face. “A woman getting way too attached to me.” I leaned over the table. “Packer made a bet, and I couldn’t back down from it. That was all.” I shrugged. I was the victim here.

  “And the bet involved a girl?”

  I made a gun with my thumb and forefinger and shot it in Mason’s direction. Then I sighed. I could be angry all I wanted to, but this wasn’t going to go away if I didn’t deal with it. “Not just any girl. Briea Caviel. The owner’s daughter.”

  “Owner?” Mason leaned in. “Owner of the team owner?”

  I nodded.

  Mason laughed as he sat back. “Oh, man. I’ve always envied your game, but this time, you’re screwed.”

  I shot him an annoyed look. Envied my game? Yeah, right. “Thank you for that. I didn’t realize how much you wanted to be me all this time. If I was you, I’d feel that way too.” I tipped my head back to rest on the wall behind me. “Anyway, he wants me to prove that I’ve changed my Romeo ways by the gala next week.”

  “Oooh, that’s rough. Not even the best head shrink could fix you in a week.”

  I paused as an idea began to form in my head. It was crazy—like preseason “get you in shape” level of commitment. But I wasn’t one to turn away from hard work. I glanced at my brother, the man who held the keys to my success.

  Mason glanced up from his plate and then locked eyes with me. “What? What’s that look?”

  I brought my hands together in a begging motion. “I need Heather for the week.”

  “Heather?” Then recognition passed through his gaze. “My therapist, Heather?”

  I nodded.

  “Why do you need her?”

  I gave him a oh, you know look as I nodded in his direction. “Considering you haven’t dived under the table tonight—or punched me for being your fantastic little brother—she seems like a miracle worker,” I said. “And I could use a miracle.”

  Mason scoffed as he glanced around. I paused, not sure if I had gone too far, but then he nodded. “She really has. I haven’t had an episode in months.”

  I was proud of my brother. I really was. It took a lot for him to admit he had a problem, and I hadn’t been lying when I’d said Heather was the key to that. He was a different man now.

  “So?” I asked as I clapped my hands together.

  Mason started at me and then scoffed. “I mean, you can ask her. You don’t need my permission to do that.”

  I drummed my hands on the table as I scooted from the bench and stood. “Wonderful. That’s all I needed to hear.” I grabbed my phone from the table and pressed the ride share button. Just my luck, a car was waiting at the corner. I dropped a couple of big bills on the table—my turn to pay.

  “Where are you going?” Mason called after me.

  I waved my hand in his direction. “To talk to Heather. We’re going to need all the time we can get.”

  His laughter followed me out the door.

  Chapter Two

  Heather

  My eyes drifted closed for about the fifteenth million time this evening. Just as my head tipped forward, startling me awake, my eyes sprang back open. I cleared my throat as heat flushed my skin. And then I realized that I wasn’t in fact in a session and that I was completely alone. No one was privy to me dozing off. Thank goodness.

  I glanced at the clock. One a.m.

  Why was I still here? In my office? On a Friday night? Typing “bbbb” on my computer because my hands remained on the keyboard even though I’d fallen asleep?

  I had officially been promoted to mayor of Loserville.

  I quickly deleted the paragraphs of the repeat letter and moved to straighten. If I was going to stay here because the office felt less empty than my half-furnished apartment, I might as well be productive.

  I’d finish these case notes and then crash on my therapy couch.

  I typed the last word on my analysis of how Beatrice was doing—my “single lady with cats” client who feared that the world was going to kill her— and powered down my computer. I scooted my
chair back and stood, pushing my hand into my back and reveling in the feel of every crack and pop up my spine. My hands ached, so I shook them out as I padded over to my closet and pulled out the pillow and blanket I’d stashed there a long time ago.

  I set the pillow on the couch and started to shake out the blanket just as a loud knock sounded on my door. I paused, my heart racing as I ran through the number of people who could come here in the middle of the night. And there were none. None.

  No one I knew would pound on the door looking for me. I mean, if I were honest, I really didn’t know a lot of people, but the few I did know would never show up the middle of the night like this.

  So, my only conclusion was that it was a murderer. My frame shook as I thought about Beatrice’s last session and the Dateline she’d explained in graphic detail. Literally. The woman had made graphs of the possibility of being attacked by a wackadoo—her word, not mine. As a trained psychiatrist, I wasn’t supposed to use that word. The fear coursing through my veins reverted my thinking back to a middle-school level of rational. Maybe Beatrice was right about the world being out to get her, me, and everyone else in it. Maybe this was my time.

  I grabbed my comforter off the couch and wrapped it around me as if it gave me a level of protection. Then I padded over to the glass-framed door, hoping to at least identify the lunatic on the other side to the police, should I survive. I kept my back to the wall as I moved, doing my best not to make a sound. If they knew I was in here, then I was a target, right? But if they thought the office was empty, they’d break in to steal everything … and find me anyway.