First and Ten: A Contemporary Reverse Harem (A Team of Her Own Book 1)

by Erin Hayes

  Three

  I had no idea where I was when I woke up. No idea who I even was, really. Because my vague memories of the night before were not memories that Madison Harte has.

  She doesn’t do anything like that.

  The accompanying pang of a headache didn’t help at all to orient me. The second my eyes cracked open, I shuttered them against the too-bright sunlight and winced hard.

  Calm down, Madison. Just think. But as clarity came to me, it only made my situation feel all the more ridiculous.

  Okay, so I was in a weird bed that wasn’t my shitty double that I had in San Francisco with the bedspring that poked at my back. I remembered that I was in Birmingham. But there was a soreness that spread throughout my entire body. It must have been from the flights. Had to have been.

  I felt deliciously sore and…

  Entirely wrong.

  “Oh, shit,” I muttered out loud.

  “Mmm? What?”

  I froze. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

  I turned, half in horror and half in embarrassment at the man sleeping next to me. Because it wasn’t Jacob who was next to me in bed. The smell was different, a mixture of Old Spice, lavender, and something that was all him. Hell, even his weight on the bed felt different than Jacob’s. While my date for the night wasn’t a fat man—not by any stretch of the imagination—he was big. Tall. And broad-shouldered. And so muscular. And oh so gorgeous as he rolled over and propped his head up on an arm.

  “Good morning,” Andre said, those sensual lips parting into a stunning grin. I found myself looking at those lips, remembering something about his head between my legs as his tongue and lips made me come again and again.

  And again…

  Shit, I wasn’t even in Birmingham for twelve hours, and I had already had sex with the first guy I saw. Multiple times, judging by how sore my muscles were.

  “Hi,” I said meekly, pulling the sheets up to cover my breasts. Damn, how he had worshipped my breasts last night, kissing and biting them. Now, in the daylight, he must have seen how big they were. My size 16 and my large breasts had never bothered me before. I even felt sexy in the throes of passion.

  What I could remember of it, anyway. There were big gaps in my recollection of last night.

  But then again, women like Madison Harte didn’t end up in bed with men like him. Not without a substantial amount of alcohol. And I was sure he had to have realized he had made a terrible mistake in the morning.

  I must have done something wrong, because his eyebrows drew together in a frown.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I wanted to shout “Everything!” at him, but I just stared at him wide-eyed. When the silence got too awkward, I added, “Uhm, nothing. Everything’s fine.”

  Greatest lie ever. And this guy was no idiot, despite the jock stereotype.

  His frown deepened. “Bullshit.”

  “Everything’s fine,” I repeated. That was possibly for my benefit more so than his. Everything most certainly was not fine. I had a huge man in my hotel bed, in a state I’ve never been to before.

  Oh, shit, did we—?

  He quirked an eyebrow. “We used protection last night, in case you’re freaking out about that.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Good.” Was I that obvious with my thoughts?

  He shrugged and slid out of the bed, and I got a full view of his cock that I had gotten so intimately acquainted with last night, and muscular thighs and butt cheeks that looked like something I could take a bite of.

  Did every guy in Birmingham look like this, or did I just manage to find the one bodybuilder in the city?

  Andre glanced back at me as he pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and pants. Oh my god, he caught me staring, because there was a smile playing about those gorgeous lips of his. “You look like a woman who hasn’t gone home from a bar with many guys.”

  Did I really look like that? A blush crept up my neck and cheeks, and I pulled the sheets up to my chin in case my entire body glowed with my embarrassment.

  “Well, you look like a guy who has had tons of one-night stands,” I retorted, and as soon as that popped out of my mouth, I covered my mouth in horror. Not a great comeback, and why did I feel the need to say anything at all?

  A smirk crossed his lips as his eyes lowered, and I realized that I had just exposed my breasts in my shock.

  Wow, I wasn’t doing this right at all.

  “It’s nothing I didn’t see last night,” he murmured. A small light of warmth spread throughout my mortification, because he sounded appreciative. Like he liked my breasts and appreciated seeing them in the morning light.

  I pulled the sheet up to my chin still. Modesty and all that. “Yeah, well, that’s the last time you’ll see them.”

  I was starting to annoy myself with my bratty attitude. If I were smart, I’d just keep my mouth shut the entire time. Because while I was embarrassed, ashamed, and totally out of my element...I wanted him to stay with me.

  Because as nice as last night was—and I felt so deliciously sore from it, even though I couldn’t remember all of it—I wanted to keep this moment going.

  But I blew it.

  Something crossed his face. Like regret or disappointment, but it was gone before I could really process exactly what it was.

  He slapped his muscular thighs and got to his feet with a sigh. “Well, I can take a hint,” he said, straightening. He strode over to the door and picked his shirt off the ground and pulled it over his tight pecs and abs.

  I apparently couldn’t wait for him to get naked last night.

  “So what happens now?” I asked. Dammit, I sounded meek.

  “Now?” He turned to me, confused. “Now, we just go on with our lives.”

  “But—”

  He chuckled and put his hands in his pockets, looking at me curiously. “You just told me that was the last time I’d see you naked. And you called this a one-night stand. I think that’s a pretty good indication of where this is going.”

  “But I...”

  My voice trailed off. I couldn’t bring myself to say that I didn’t mean it. Because did I? Or was this some sort of defense mechanism from Jacob breaking up with me—one where I ruined everything I ever had with a guy for the rest of my life because I was afraid of getting hurt? Or hurting him.

  Which I seemed to have done to this guy before me.

  He winked at me. “Don’t worry, I have to get to work, anyway. Almost running late.”

  Oh, shit, well that made sense as to why he was running out the door. That made me feel a little bit better. “What do you do, exactly?”

  I didn’t ask that last night. Hell, I couldn’t even remember his last name, though I was pretty sure he’d told me that the night before.

  He paused for a moment considering, before chuckling. “I’m a captain.”

  I blinked. “Like an airplane pilot?”

  A few different scenarios floated through my head. That he most certainly didn’t live in Birmingham and was just flying through here with one of his routes. That there would be no way that we could have a relationship because of his schedule.

  But then there was also the possibility that he could come to San Francisco regularly, and we could see each other secretly. Or he could fly me to Paris. Or Italy. Or someplace else romantic. After all, pilots were pretty sexy.

  Damn, I was such a romantic. Over a guy I just fucked last night.

  “Something like that,” he said cryptically, which made me think that it wasn’t anything like that, and my daydreams deflated.

  He headed to the door. Was I supposed to follow him to the door? I was still naked.

  But he answered it for me. “Be seeing you around.” He gave a little wave.

  Before I could say anything else, he slipped out the door. No breakfast in bed. No cuddling. No making this anything other than a one-night stand.

  My first one.

  So much for romance.

  I fell back on the pillows with a sigh
and blinked my eyes as I watched the ceiling. Ashley was going to freak when I told her. I didn’t even know how to start telling her, that my time in Birmingham kicked off with a bang.

  I thought about his head between my legs, and his tongue exactly where I wanted it. The feel of him inside me as he thrust his hips against mine, making me fall apart around him. He made me feel good.

  And I kind of just kicked him out the door.

  He was running late for work, I reminded myself. Off being a pilot-but-not-exactly-a-pilot.

  So maybe everything was all right.

  I looked at my clock and blinked in disbelief. Shit, was it really ten o’clock? I’d completely forgotten that Birmingham was two hours ahead of San Francisco. I was late for my first day as team owner.

  “Shit,” I muttered through gritted teeth. I slammed my fist into the bed, which, of course didn’t do anything. “Shit!”

  What a way to start my life in a new town.

  Why I decided to wear my super-tight business suit, I have no idea. Oh, right, it wasn’t as tight as when I bought it. In fact, this one seemed tighter than the one that I wore to my meeting with my lawyer.

  Yet another reason to curse Jacob’s existence and lack thereof in my life. Yes, my boobs looked better, but after this morning with my mystery guy Andre, I felt more self-conscious than ever.

  You look like a woman who hasn’t gone home from a bar with many guys.

  Well, of course I hadn’t had gone home from a bar with any guys. Because if I was this flustered and sore the next day, it wasn’t worth it (yes, it was). I was supposed to act like I was some sort of professional football team owner person.

  Which I wasn’t.

  I mean, I was the owner. Just not a pro.

  At anything, apparently.

  As I stepped out of my rental in front of this giant, concrete stadium, I tugged down my pencil skirt and heard a rip. I froze, waiting for the inevitable draft to hit my thong-clad ass. I didn’t feel air on my skin, so I assumed it was all right.

  Maybe a hem or something got caught.

  I hoped.

  But it wasn’t the way I wanted my morning to start with this business venture.

  I straightened and put a strand of my mousey brown hair behind my ear, gave a shrug, and walked up to the front of the stadium.

  Fake it ’til you make it, my mother always said. I wondered if she knew how much I’d have to fake it for football. After all, she and Dad had thought it was hysterical that I inherited a football team from Uncle Dusty.

  A janitor was sweeping just behind the gates as I strode up, frowning at the big iron bars that blocked me from getting inside. He paused his work and blinked over at me in confusion.

  “Can I help ya, miss?” he drawled in a deep southern accent. It sounded almost foreign to my west coast ears, and I stepped closer.

  “Hi, uh…” I stopped, unsure as to what to say. “I’m here for the football...stuff…”

  That gave him more pause as he watched me curiously. “Football stuff?”

  Oh, good, I found the only person in Birmingham who knew as little about football as I did. Granted, it was strange that he worked here and still didn’t know what football was. Then again, I was here doing the same thing, and it wouldn’t be the first job I’d ever taken that I had to fake my way through.

  “Yeah. I’m here for the Yellowhammers?”

  His frown deepened, his eyebrows drawing together. “They ain’t playing right now, miss.”

  “Oh.” I crossed my arms and worried my bottom lip. “Uh, well, I was supposed to meet everyone here today—the coach and the players and…”

  We stared at each other for a moment before he leaned closer to the gate. “Why?”

  I licked my lips. This wasn’t going very well. “Because I’m their owner?” I wished that didn’t sound so much like a question coming from my lips.

  But that finally did the trick, and he reeled with recognition. “Oh, you’re Miss Harte! Dusty’s niece!”

  He apparently knew my uncle well enough to be on a first-name basis with him, so I just nodded, finally relieved.

  “That’s me.”

  “What’re you doing coming in through the front gates, Miss Harte?” he chided as he unlocked the gates. “There’s the office entrance, you know.”

  No, I did not, and my cheeks burned at that. “I got lost,” I said truthfully. I had the feeling I’d be saying that a lot coming up.

  “Not to worry, Miss Harte,” the old man said with a chuckle and a wink. “It gets a little confusing ‘round these parts. I’ll take you there.”

  The gate opened with a loud, unoiled creak, and I slipped inside. He thrust his hand out. “Elliott Bassett.”

  “Madison Harte,” I said, giving his hand a firm shake. “Pleased to meet you.”

  I soon found out that Elliott liked to talk.

  A lot.

  It was only a ten-minute walk from the front gate to the offices of the stadium, but he got through about three times what any normal human would. I’d learned that he had three children and five grandchildren, and he had lived in Birmingham his whole life. He also mentioned that the whole city was proud of their professional football team when my uncle started it up, and despite their horrible track record, he supported them “a hundred and ten percent.”

  Well, at least I knew that the Yellowhammers had a bit of a fan following. And then I shortly found out why.

  “Season tickets are so cheap,” he said cheerfully as he punched the button for an elevator that went who-knows-where. “They had a buy-one-get-three-free promotion this season. I got ‘em for my whole family.”

  My stomach tightened at the thought. I was more of a tech person than an accountant, and I knew that I wasn’t the best business woman, but I knew that if they were practically giving tickets away, they were probably losing money.

  Money that I didn’t have to keep supporting them.

  Money that would make the team look very unattractive to any potential buyers.

  This was going to be harder than I thought.

  The elevator doors opened. I felt a weird sense of panic as he merely leaned over and hit the button for the top floor.

  “You’re not coming with me?” I asked, sounding terrified even to myself.

  “Nah, I have to stay here and keep up with my duties. They’ll take care of you upstairs, Miss Harte,” Elliott said with a wink. “Don’t forget us down here when you’re at the penthouse.”

  Like he thought it was some huge luxury to be the owner of something you had no idea how it worked.

  And as the doors closed, I realized that he was probably the only friend I’d be able to make today.

  Four

  The top floor looked like the reception area for some sort of fancy, cutting-edge business, the kind that magazines come in and take pictures of. The kind that they gave awards for and the interior decorator charged by the truckload for styling.

  So when the elevator doors opened, it was the last thing I expected, especially with how...sports-like the rest of the stadium was. Elliott and I had passed by a nacho stand on the way to the elevator, after all.

  I was greeted by a stylized decal of the Yellowhammer logo, featuring the outline of a bird in yellow. It was on frosted glass that had a cascading waterfall that emptied into a koi pond.

  Yes, a koi pond. At the top of a fucking football stadium.

  I stepped around the water feature to find a trio of very uncomfortable-looking sofas, which meant they must have been expensive. A thick, plush rug covered the ground, and the walls had this pristine shine to them that made me feel like I was both underdressed and undershowered for the occasion.

  Well, if I couldn’t sell the team, I could certainly sell this furniture for some money. I reached out with my hand to touch it.

  “Can I help you?” a pleasant voice asked, causing me to pause mid-stretch.

  I looked up to see a blond receptionist peering over the top of a sophistic
ated desk. She looked both bored and beautiful.

  And like she knew I had no idea what the hell I was doing here.

  “Hi,” I said with a quick grin. “Uhm, my name is Madison Harte, and—”

  There was a blink, followed by a loud, “Oh my goodness, Miss Harte! We’ve been expecting you!”

  Her demeanor changed immediately as she came around the desk to take my hand in a shake, sporting a brilliant smile. And then I realized why.

  I’m her boss.

  Just like Elliott. A girl could get used to this.

  “Sorry about being late,” I said. I needed to sound like a big shot. What do football people talk about in normal conversation? “I was in time out.”

  She frowned. “Pardon?”

  “Uhm.”

  Goddammit, I was going to return that Football Guide for Idiots as soon as I could. Lot of good that was doing. And as she led me through the football offices, I realized just how many people worked for the Birmingham Yellowhammers.

  The answer: lots.

  There were so many people in their offices, working...jobs. I saw everyone from their early twenties all the way up to their sixties and beyond working. I recognized what looked to be marketing plans on the walls, sales figures on desks, merchandisers looking at paraphernalia, accountants clacking away at their keyboards. People were on phones, discussing things in murmurs that I only caught snippets of.

  So many people. Working for my team.

  Then I realized that I wanted to do right by all of them, to fully embrace this football thing because so many people were dependent upon me. I hadn’t realized it until now. I hadn’t realized that a football team could be such a business.

  I thought it was just a bunch of guys running around in their football outfits and getting tackled.

  It was a sobering moment for me.

  Maybe I was being a bitch about all this. Maybe I could sit down and finally watch a game without falling asleep. With all these people working for the Yellowhammers, surely football wasn’t the boring thing I believed it was. I could find redeeming qualities. I could learn to love it.

  And then the receptionist opened a set of double doors, and I saw a man scowling up at me from a desk.