by Desiree Holt
Cover Copy
Get Ready to Play Rough
Shay Beckham grew up idolizing her brother’s best friend, star quarterback Joe Reilly. There was no one in their Texas town who had the moves to match Joe on or off the field. Years later, he’s still a player who has what it takes to drive any hot-blooded woman wild. But Shay isn’t a kid with a bad case of hero-worship anymore. She’s grown-up and independent, with her feet on the ground and a serious head on her shoulders. If she could just say the same for Joe.
It’s been fifteen years, but Joe Reilly hasn’t forgotten the skinny little kid who used to follow him around like a shadow. What he can’t get over is that the skinny shadow has grown into one hell of an incredible woman. One any man in his right mind would kill to get his hands on. And one who seems to be completely immune to him. He knows he and Shay could have something special together. If he could only convince her he’s about more than just the game.
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Books by Desiree Holt
Finding Julia
Game On Series
Forward Pass
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Forward Pass
Game On Series
Desiree Holt
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
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Lyrical Press books are published by
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Copyright © 2014 by Desiree Holt
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First Electronic Edition: July 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-729-9
eISBN-10: 1-61650-729-2
First Print Edition: July 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-730-5
ISBN-10: 1-61650-730-6
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
First of all to my late husband, David, who said “I really want a wife who loves to watch football with me,” then decided he should be careful what he asked for. All those games we watched, all the bets we made are stored in my memory banks.
Author’s Foreword
A writer’s life cannot move forward without the help and support of a lot of people. Many thanks to my son, Steven, who is willing to discuss sports with me for endless hours despite the fact he really does have a life of his own. When I wanted to go back to Michigan Stadium to see a game after so many years, he made it happen. Thanks for the memories and training to The Michigan Daily where I got my start as a sports reporter. Even sending me out on assignment riding a guy’s bike or freezing my rear end off at hockey practice didn’t deter me. I still love reading and writing about sports. A special shout-out to my sister, Sonya Langdon, the first person who taught me that watching football games could be fun. I’m so glad she roots for the New England Patriots because Tom Brady was a Wolverine. Special thanks to my friend and beta reader, Margie Hager, who labors through my typos and other mistakes and helps me whip every manuscript into shape. Then there’s my daughter Suzanne and my granddaughter Brooke who are my assistants, virtual and otherwise, who run my street team and make so many things happen for me. And I have to give huge thanks to Paige Christian, who is just the best editor ever. You make me work for my stories but in the end they sing. Thank you so much. And last but hardly least, to Renee Rocco, who believed in me. This series is for you, baby.
Chapter 1
“Damn it, Hank. Why don’t you answer?”
Shay Beckham pressed End on her cell phone yet again and sighed. She and her brother had been playing telephone tag for two days. When he called, she was in meetings. When she called, he was out of signal range. The only voices talking to each other were their voice mails. How godforsaken could it be in Wyoming, anyway? It was still in the United States, right?
And why was he trying so hard to reach her? They exchanged texts now and then, but they were both so busy they only called each other in case of emergency. The places he went, cell reception was spotty at best and talking to him was like playing leapfrog. Wait! Was he okay? Her heart stopped for a moment at the thought he might be hurt, but then she relaxed. If something had happened to him, his boss would have reached out to her. So what was on his mind that had generated this flurry of aborted phone calls? Obviously, he wanted something because he was the one who’d initiated this current game of phone tag.
She leaned back in the taxi as it turned from the airport access road onto the interstate. Less than half an hour and she’d be home, thank God, and she could get out of her sweatshirt and jeans that wore the remnants of her diet cola from the plane.
With the way her luck was running, maybe she shouldn’t have accepted her complimentary beverage. On the flight out to New York a week before, a little turbulence had been responsible for her arriving with a huge coffee stain on her favorite yellow sweater. Maybe she should carry a bib with her. Or a large tarpaulin.
On today’s flight, she had just set up her iPad and lifted her glass gingerly to take a sip when the plane hit an air pocket and everything bounced. Her iPad. The purse beneath the seat. Worst of all, her drink. Her hand flew up, with it her diet soda and, most importantly, the ice cubes. Up in the air. Over the back of her seat. Into the seat behind her.
She could still hear the man behind her growling. “Shit!”
Then, “Damn it anyway.”
She’d used the miniscule courtesy napkin to blot up what she could from her sweatshirt and jeans. Shay had cringed as the man behind her continued to mutter under his breath.
“Hey, you in front. Didn’t you ever learn to pay attention on a plane? You got your damn drink all over me.”
He hadn’t seemed impressed with her mumbled apology so she’d just slid down even farther and buried her nose in her iPad again. And been damn glad to get to the end of the flight without further incident. When it was time to deplane, she’d avoided even looking back at the man, hustling up the Jetway into the terminal as fast as she could. Getting home was all she could think of.
Sighing, she brushed a few wisps of hair away from her cheeks and tugged on the brim of her red ball cap. A lean cougar prowled across the red background, a new graphic she’d created for Dazzling Designs. The company she worked for produced merchandise for college and professional sports teams. This prototype had been waiting for her when she flew in for four days at the main office and she’d decided to wear it on her trip home.
She was worn out from the long, intense days of discussions and brainstorming. This was her third round trip to New York since she’d made the move back to Texas. After five months, she was piling up plenty of frequent-flyer miles, which she hoped to use one of these days.
She realized with a start the taxi, which had slowed a moment ago, had come to a standstill. The driver’s two-way radio crackled in the front seat, but she ignored its staticky sound as she ch
ecked her phone again. Still no answer from Hank. She leaned forward, seeing rows of vehicles stopped in every lane of the interstate as far ahead as she could see. Shit.
“Is there an accident ahead of us?”
“Yes, miss.” The driver was nothing if not polite. “Dispatch radioed me a moment ago. Sorry, miss.”
Well, crap. Just what she didn’t need. She wanted a hot bath, a glass of wine, and pizza delivery.
She checked her watch again. Was it really only two minutes since she’d tried calling Hank? Maybe a text would reach him. Sometimes she had better success with that.
“In cab on way home from airport. What’s up? Try a tin can for reception.”
She hit Send and waited to see if he answered. In less than two minutes, her phone chimed.
“Good trip?”
“Yes. What’s up with you? What’s with all the phone calls?”
“Just wanted 2 let you know Laura had 2 vacate condo for repairs for 2 days. Told her she could stay at house. She knows where extra key is.”
That was what was so important?
Shay snorted and wrote, “I’ll bet.”
“She’ll be gone sometime 2day. Just a heads up.” Shay ground her teeth. Damn it. Why couldn’t the damn woman have gone to a hotel? And what was with giving out the location of the key? She loved her big brother and was grateful to him for sharing his house with her but she definitely needed to find a place of her own. She didn’t need his females driving her crazy when he wasn’t there.
“She’d better be out of there when I get home. Want peace and quiet.”
“I’ll text her now. Just wanted to get yr flight info.”
“On my way home from airport now.”
“Thx. I’ll tell her. How was NY?”
“Same old same old. U home soon?”
“Maybe. Don’t know. Take care.”
“You, too.”
Traffic was still not moving. Shay bit down on her frustration, sighed again, and unzipped the front pocket of her carry-on. She’d grabbed a sports magazine in the airport, planning to check the ads her company was running, but hadn’t bothered to read it on the plane. Maybe she could use it to pass the time now.
Flipping it open, the first thing she saw was Joe Reilly’s face smiling at her in full living color. Crap. Joe Reilly. Her childhood hero, her teenage crush, and the star of her adult erotic fantasies. The same Joe Reilly who’d called her squirt and pest when she tagged after him and Hank. The football idol who had been a babe magnet since his voice changed.
The man she’d been secretly in love with all these years, a love that stilted every other relationship she’d had. When was she ever going to admit that it was an impossibility? That she needed to stomp on it, bury it, and move forward?
In Texas, where football was the number one religion, high school stars wrote their own tickets. As the star quarterback for the Granite Falls High School Coyotes, Joe had had women hanging over him like so much drapery. During his outstanding career in college and then in the NFL, it seemed every time she turned on the television or checked sports online she saw his picture with one female or another. She was sure he had a black book that rivaled an encyclopedia in size. She might as well have been chopped liver for as much attention as he ever paid to her.
She’d wasted so much of her time studying football, until she could diagram games almost as well as Joe could. She could even point out the percentage of success for each play. Joe had always grinned and winked at her. Only in hindsight had she realized he’d tolerated her because she was Hank’s baby sister, with the emphasis on baby, even as she stupidly wanted him to wait for her to grow up.
She needed to find a way to get Joe Reilly out of her head. For good. Certainly her obsession with him wasn’t helping her love life. She needed to stop looking for Joe Reilly substitutes. The men she tried to build relationships with may not have been athletes, but they were ardent sports fans and that was what attracted her.
And look how far that had gotten her. One cheated on her with a coworker, one out and out lied about who and what he was, another wanted to move in with her and have her pay the rent. Thank God she’d never said I love you to any of them, probably because, in retrospect, she hadn’t. All those experiences left her with a strong distrust of the male sex, Joe Reilly being no exception.
Yeah, she was the champion of stupid. What was with her, anyway? She was smart, savvy, successful at her work. She’d braved the Big Apple and found herself a dream job she loved, which paid her extremely well. People would be lining up to be her if she let them. Now she needed to find a way to get rid of this restless, unfulfilled feeling she hadn’t been able to shake in years.
For weeks she’d been telling herself tomorrow she’d take the first step to build a new life here in San Antonio, back in Texas where her roots were. Reach out to old friends. Meet new people. Rebuild her life and shake the ghosts of the past. Stop burying herself in the house with her work and marathon sessions with old movies and popcorn. How pathetic was that?
What she needed was the right guy, one who understood emotion and who respected her. One who wasn’t a Joe Reilly substitute. It wouldn’t hurt if he was really hot and could make every one of her erotic fantasies come to life. And also didn’t lie or cheat. Time to finally put the vestiges of her crush, her childish daydreams, where they belonged—in the mental Dumpster. She was through lusting after Joe Reilly.
Enough already.
If she was going to hero worship someone she should have stuck to Joe Montana. He’d be a lot safer. And better. Yes, way better.
She closed the magazine, putting Joe Reilly where he belonged. In her carryon.
Time to get on with life.
* * * *
Joe Reilly wheeled his rental car out of the parking lot toward San Antonio. Checking his cell phone for traffic alerts, he discovered an accident on Interstate 10 that had traffic at a standstill. He programmed the GPS for an alternate route and headed out.
He could still smell the traces of a soft drink on his slacks. He’d done his best to wipe away the stains but the rental clerk had given him the fisheye, probably thinking he was a real slob. It wasn’t his fault some idiot who couldn’t walk and chew gum, or manage to hold onto her drink on the plane, had dumped its contents over the back of her seat and onto him. Just another indication of how crummy his day was going.
He’d seen this trip as a chance to spend some quality time with Hank Beckham, who, despite geographical differences, was still his best friend. He didn’t get to see as much of him as he’d like to these days. The last time had been three years ago.
Their schedules just hadn’t allowed for any time together since then. Hank was an engineer who was always being sent to some assignment for his company while Joe ran around the country for Fox Sports One and for the Coaches Conference business he’d started. The latter was an important project for him, workshops for high school coaches on how to lead as well as coach. How to teach players personal values as well as diagrams and game plans. He’d seen too many kids come out of high school without understanding that playing was only half the deal. Personal responsibility was a big part of it. His programs were geared to help coaches pass that along.
Unfortunately Hank had texted that morning he was still in Wyoming working on plans to build a bridge, but Joe should make himself at home in the house.
“I’ll try and catch a quick couple of days while you’re there, buddy,” Hank had assured him. “But if not, just make yourself at home.”
He’d also hoped to spend some time with his parents, of course, who were happy in their new adults-only community, except they were away on a trip. Bad timing, but it couldn’t be helped.
So he’d be alone in the house.
Joe shifted in his seat, trying to stretch out his left leg. The ache served as a constant reminder the glory days had come to an abrupt end.
His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He looked at the readout and s
wore. Lisa Margolin. No doubt calling for his help with Gina again. God. How had he gotten himself in this pickle anyway? Because his parents raised him to take care of people who couldn’t take care of themselves. That was how. He let the call go to voice mail, not in a mood to deal with it right now.
He was aware the most recent company Gina worked for had gone out of business a few weeks ago. Employees had received a one-month severance package and Joe knew Gina was coming to the end of hers. She didn’t deal well with uncertainty. Her dysfunctional family had set off her battle with the bottle to begin with and he knew the thread of sobriety was always very shaky.
Ten minutes later the ringtone chimed again and he knew without looking who it was. She was nothing if not persistent. Setting his jaw, he pressed Accept.
“What is it this time, Lisa?”
“You know I wouldn’t call you unless it was important, Joe. Really.” She always began the calls that way.
Except it was always important. “Yeah, okay. Just tell me what’s up now.”
“I hope you aren’t mad.”
She was as good at sounding tearful as Gina always had been.
“Lisa, I’m kind of busy. What’s the deal?”
“Well, um…” She paused.
“Look.” He chuffed with impatience. “Just spit it out. How much?” It was always money. Of course.
“She’s got a few job interviews coming up and she could use a couple new outfits.”
Joe squeezed the phone so hard he was amazed he didn’t crush it. “What happened to the money I just sent her?”
Pause. “She got sick.” Lisa’s voice was very quiet. “I mean, really sick. She needed medicine.”
