Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 1: 6 Romantic sporting novellas

by Janice Thompson

  “What does this represent,” Aaron asked?

  “These are the numbers for Sports Night with Dan Parker.”

  Dan chuckled. “Looks like we have quite an active heart rate.”

  The joke fell flat, having the opposite effect he’d hoped for. Several board members frowned at him, a few refused to look his way. George cleared his throat and soldiered on.

  “The green, orange, and purple lines each represent a co-anchor.” The red dot of the laser pointer traced the lines across the screen. “For the most part, viewers enjoy each of them and are highly satisfied. Now, let’s look at the red line.”

  That line was erratic, rising and falling and rising again, until it finally dropped off dramatically, like a lemming going over a cliff.

  Desperate to lighten the mood, Dan made one more attempt at a joke. “I feel sorry for that poor devil.”

  George lowered the pointer. “That poor devil is you.”

  Of all things, that got a laugh.

  Aaron pointed at the screen. “What’s the black line?”

  “That’s the overall show performance,” George answered. “As you can see, it remains fairly steady, even when Dan’s approval rating drops. Until we get here.” The red laser dot circled around and around the precipitous drop. “This time, he took the show down with him. The viewers are demanding the network take action, and if that doesn’t happen, we’ll lose them.”

  “This is ridiculous.” There was no way Dan would let his fate be decided by a few number crunchers and a zig-zaggy chart. “Everybody is taking what I said the wrong way. There was nothing offensive about it.”

  “Nothing offensive?” Fred’s face was so red, Dan wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke escaping from his ears. “Have you watched the playback?”

  Dan gave him an are-you-serious look. “Why would I watch it? I was there.”

  Aaron patted Dan’s wrist. “Still, it may help you see the big picture if you look at it from another perspective, like a viewer. George, bring up that clip.”

  George gave the remote a confused look. “I only know how to pull up spreadsheets.”

  “I’ll do it.” Dwayne took the remote, holding it in one hand and pressing one button after another with his thumb. The charts vanished and a few seconds later, they were watching a segment of Sports Night.

  It was right after the Super Bowl halftime show. Three men sat at an anchor station bearing the Sports Night logo. Dan Parker was in the center flanked by Joe “The Bulldozer” Washington on his left and Franklin “Fancy Feet” Hickson on his right.

  Joe grinned and shook his head. “I think that may be the best halftime show in the history of the Bowl.”

  “Not me,” Franklin said. “For me, it’s Super Bowl 41. Prince. When he was singing Purple Rain and it actually started raining.”

  “An awesome show, I’ll give you that. But as good as Prince moved, it’s nothing compared to Sasha,” Joe answered.

  Behind them, a piece of the Grammy-winning singer’s performance played. Dan raised his hands in surrender and looked from one man to the other.

  “Well, you’d both know more about moving than I do. I couldn’t dance my way out of a paper bag. You people just have natural rhythm.”

  The image froze. Every person around the table turned their eyes on Dan. Most of them were antagonistic except for Aaron, who looked sad, and the mystery woman, who seemed sympathetic.

  Fred leaned forward. “How can you excuse an obvious racial slur like that?”

  Dan’s eyes widened. “What racial slur?”

  “You people?” Fred spit the words out. “You’re on air with two African-American men, and you say that you people have natural rhythm. How do you explain that?”

  “They’re both quarterbacks.” Dan’s voice rose to match the level of his irritation. “That’s what I meant. You people who are quarterbacks. For crying out loud, how do you think Franklin got the nickname Fancy Feet?”

  It was obvious nothing Dan said would sway Fred, but several of the other board members looked at each other, blinking and cocking their heads like confused dogs.

  Fred shook his head. “Nobody in their right mind would believe that.”

  “Actually,” Dwayne said, slowly raising his hand, “I do. It makes sense to me.”

  “Well, you’re an idiot.” Fred directed the rest of his tirade to the head of the table. “Bottom line, it doesn’t make a bit of difference if all the rest of you believe him. Our viewers are convinced he’s a racist. We need to can him.”

  Everyone started talking at once. Dan ran his hand through his hair, wanting to pull it out. This was insane.

  Pushing his chair back, Aaron stood up. “Please, let’s all calm down.” He held up his hands until a semblance of order had been restored. “Dan’s words were poorly chosen, but I believe he meant no harm by them. Therefore, this network has no intention of firing him.”

  A wave of relief washed over Dan. Meanwhile, the ripple of dissenting voices began again, but Aaron shut it down with a few pointed looks.

  “However, Fred is right about how the remarks were perceived by our viewers.”

  Dan’s short-lived relief turned to a cold dread. The ax was still going to fall. The only question was, which limb was it aiming for?

  Aaron looked directly at Dan. “We have to remove you from Sports Night.”

  That wasn’t a limb, that was the whole stinking tree trunk. There had to be another way. “What if we issued a statement? I could apologize.”

  “That won’t work.” George must have believed him because his voice was sad, but resigned. “If you apologize, it will sound like you’re admitting to the slur, and the network will still catch heat. If we try to explain, it’ll sound like spin, and again, we catch heat. By taking you off the show, we acknowledge that we’re sensitive to the viewers and we won’t tolerate bigotry.”

  “But I’m not a bigot.” Dan cringed at the sound of his own voice, small and defeated. How could anyone believe such a terrible thing?

  “I’m sorry, son.”

  As Aaron patted his shoulder, Dan pulled himself together. Son wasn’t just a figure of speech. The man was like a father to him. If he’d believed the gossip, it would have crushed Dan. But Aaron was only doing what was necessary for his company.

  Dan took in a deep breath. “What happens next?”

  Aaron clapped his hands together and forced a smile, looking very much like a parent telling a child why going to the dentist was a good thing. “We have something very exciting planned. Who knows, you may look back at this someday and consider it a blessing in disguise.”

  He doubted that, but Dan waited to hear the rest.

  With a sweep of his hand, Aaron motioned to the mystery woman. “Meet your new partner.”

  Now it was Dan who felt like a confused dog.

  The woman leaned across the table, her hand extended. “Jocelyn Crandall. But everyone calls me Joss.”

  He didn’t care what everyone called her. He was stuck on her last name. “Crandall?”

  She had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. “Yes, as in, Joss-the-boss’s-daughter.”

  Dan looked back at Aaron. “Exactly what are we partners in?”

  “That’s the exciting part. You two are going to report from the sidelines. But you won’t just be reporting on the game. We want you to go to all kinds of sporting events, talk to the athletes, talk to the fans. Take part in witty banter and engage the audience.”

  Great. Thanks to late-night comedians, he was already a punchline. Now his network wanted to make it official.

  Joss grinned at him. “I’ve got lots of ideas to make our segments can’t-miss TV.”

  Of course she did. Looking around the table, he knew there was no use fighting it. He should be happy he still had a job, even though the whole thing was idiotic.

  “Sounds peachy.” Dan drew in a deep breath and took his time exhaling. “So, what are we going to call this new show? Side
line Hijinks with Dan and Joss?”

  Aaron’s make-lemons-out-of-lemonade glow dimmed a bit. “I think you misunderstood me. You two will do sideline reporting which will be included in existing programs. You don’t have your own show anymore, Dan.”

  2

  Dan Parker zipped down the hall with such speed, he might have been a former track star rather than an MVP footballer. Joss kept up with him, but just barely. Note to self: Do not wear heels on the job.

  She almost ran into him when he stopped short at the elevator and started jabbing the down button. The look he gave her from the corner of his eye made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Too bad for him, he didn’t have a choice.

  “Since we’re going to be working together, we should probably get better acquainted.”

  He kept jabbing the button.

  Joss resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with a temper tantrum. “Why don’t we go for coffee?”

  The elevator doors slid open. Dan stepped in, turned on his heel, and glared at Joss. “No thank you.”

  Shaking her head, she walked in and stood beside him.

  They rode down in silence, even when the two women who got in on the 9th floor had a conversation filled with so much innuendo, they were obviously trying to get Dan’s attention. Once they reached the lobby, Dan strode toward the front doors. Joss followed, the heels of her boots click-clacking on the marble floor.

  “Wait a minute.” She reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. His head jerked around and he frowned. “It’s not my fault you shot your mouth off without thinking. You’re stuck with me now, whether you like it or not. We can either make the best out of this, or make each other miserable. It’s your choice.”

  He stared at her, but his frown softened a bit. “There’s a Starbuck’s on the next block. I assume you drove?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. I’ll meet you there.”

  She grinned. “Great.”

  He looked down at her hand. “You can let go of my arm now.”

  Oops.

  As soon as she loosened her grip he was off and out the doors. Joss pulled her shoulders back and smoothed her palms over the front of her skirt. As first meetings went, it wasn’t the worst, although they were certainly off to a bumpy start. That was okay. Joss had enough positive energy for both of them. She’d win him over, one way or the other.

  ~

  Apparently, Dan did everything on fast-forward. By the time Joss had driven over, found a parking spot, and walked inside, Dan had already received his coffee. He sat at a tall table, hands surrounding a cardboard cup, looking as if he waited for something bad to happen. Joss moved to the counter, but when she realized how many people were in the queue, she changed her mind. If she waited in that line for coffee, there was a good chance Dan would change his mind and walk out. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler beside the register, waggled it at the teenager behind the counter, and plunked down three dollars.

  “Keep the change.”

  She wove her way through the crowd and sat down in the empty seat beside Dan. “Now, where were we?”

  He pointed at the bottle. “That’s not coffee.”

  “You’re very perceptive.”

  “That’s quite a bruise.” Dan pointed at her upper arm.

  Joss glanced down and smiled. “Cool, huh? I got it during a basketball game at the Y.”

  Dan snorted out a laugh. “Just glad it doesn’t mean you’re a total klutz.”

  She took a drink of her water, ignoring his jab. He sipped his coffee. They were in a standoff to see who would start the real conversation.

  Dan took the lead. “Where have you been?”

  “Excuse me? I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean that I’m quite familiar with the Crandall family. Aaron’s had me over to his home. I’ve met his wife, his sons, but never you. Why is that?”

  The way Dan spoke, she wondered if her father had mentioned her at all. Had Dan even known that Aaron had a daughter? She stopped herself from asking. No point in making him think there was family drama, especially since there wasn’t any. Better to answer his question directly so they could move on to more important things. “I spent four years on the East Coast, studying journalism. The last three years I’ve been all over Europe.”

  “I see.” He nodded as if that told him everything he needed to know about her. “A three year holiday on Daddy’s dime. Not bad.”

  Joss choked back the cutting remark she wanted to hurl at him. Calm down, she told herself. It’s a typical male reaction. With a slight upturn of the corners of her mouth, she replied in a low, calm voice.

  “Actually, I was reporting on sporting events.”

  “In Europe?”

  “Yes.”

  “For which network?”

  “It wasn’t a network. It was a webcast for Euro-Edge magazine.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  That got a frown out of him. Joss took another sip of water, hiding her smile.

  “All right. You’ve got some experience. That helps.” His tone was grudging, but at least he gave her credit for knowing what she was doing.

  Joss leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Let’s just get this out of the way, okay? I know you think I got this job because of who my father is. And I’ll admit, that did help. But I still had to interview with the Board. There’s no way I would have been hired if I wasn’t very, very good at what I do. My father wouldn’t put the company in a position like that. If you know him as well as you say you do, then you know I’m right.”

  Dan looked down at his coffee cup and toyed with the plastic lid. “That’s a good point.” Although he sounded pained to admit it, at least he wasn’t frowning when he looked back at her.

  “Does that mean you’re willing to give this a shot?” Joss asked lightly, holding back the excitement that bubbled up like freshly uncorked champagne.

  “What have I got to lose? I mean, besides my career and the respect of my peers, which after today may not even exist.” He lifted his cup in a mock toast. “This is when you impress me with all your can’t-miss ideas.”

  Joss allowed herself a small grin as she reached for her messenger bag and took out her tablet. She had him right where she wanted him.

  ~

  Dan couldn’t decide if the woman was a genius or if she was certifiable.

  As soon as he got home, he’d gone to his computer to follow up on her story. A Google search brought up links to the webcasts for Euro-Edge, in most of which Joss was the featured reporter. For two hours, he’d been watching her reports from all over Europe. There were the usual events, like tennis at Wimbledon, World Cup Soccer, the Tour de France. And there were more offbeat venues, including the Highland Games in Scotland and the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. No matter what it was, she put a unique spin on it. At Wimbledon, she interviewed a 15-year-old ball girl, then Joss took the girl’s place during a practice session. After the third time she lost her footing, executing a respectable tuck-and-roll, Dan figured she was lucky the match was held on a grass court. It could have been one of those embarrassing moments when the reporter comes across as trying too hard, but Joss was so natural and cheerful, it was really quite entertaining.

  At the moment, he was watching a video of her talking to a trainer at the Berzerk Obstacle Course Run in Helsingborg, Sweden.

  “Mr. Olsonn, what makes Berzerk stand out from other OCRs?”

  The man, fair-haired with a ruddy complexion, looked to be in his early thirties. He spoke with the singsong inflection Dan expected from a Swede, but his English was fairly good. “There is much history in the Run. The obstacles, they are taken from history.”

  “Like the Viking shield wall.”

  “Ja, it is the first obstacle.”

  Joss looked straight into the camera. “There’s no way I can leave Helsingborg withou
t running part of this course. And who can resist Vikings?” She looked back at Mr. Olsonn. “I’m ready to go.”

  The camera panned out, proving her point. She wore a brown leather vest and a leather kilt with flat soled boots that laced up the front and went up to her knees. Judging from the people walking around in the background, it was the typical uniform for the sport.

  “You are sure?” The trainer looked like he’d fully expected her to change her mind. “The Vikings are strong.”

  She grinned. “I’m sure.”

  As they walked out onto the field, Dan saw that the shield wall wasn’t a wall covered in shields, as he’d expected. It was a row of huge, leather-clad men, each with a shield, standing shoulder to shoulder, creating a wall of Vikings. It looked like the world’s most vicious game of Red Rover. He would have been worried, except that Joss strode toward them with the confidence and bearing of a warrior woman, and the smirk of someone who looked forward to a good skirmish.

  There was a brief voiceover explaining the point of this particular game (to break through the wall and get to the other side), the rules (other than not intentionally causing permanent damage, there were none), and safety precautions (the shields were padded, a little). Then with shouts that came from deep in the gut, the opposition attacked the wall.

  For five minutes, Dan watched as Joss gave it her all. She dug in, tucking her head and shoulder ramming the shield of a man with a good six inches and a hundred pounds on her. He staggered a bit, probably not expecting her to be as strong as she was, then pushed back. She slipped in the mud, fell on her backside, then jumped up and advanced again. It went on that way, back and forth, until a buzzer sounded. The Vikings all put their shields down, and Joss took the opportunity for one more hit, digging her elbow into the giant’s stomach. He didn’t go down, but he did expel a very un-Viking-like squeal.

  Before she returned to the camera, Joss nodded her thanks to the competitors and shook the hand of the big guy who’d received most of her blows. It was one of those full-arm handshakes, each person clasping the other’s arm just below the elbow. Dan couldn’t be totally sure, what with all the face paint and dirt, but Viking-dude seemed to have a note of respect in his accompanying grunt.