by Serena Bell
The doorbell rings at six on the dot. It’s Calder.
“Sorry I’m not fashionably late,” he says. “I actually can’t stay. I’m on my way to the airport.”
“Hawaii?” Ty asks. That’s where most Seattle football players spend as much of the off-season as they possibly can.
“Nah,” says Calder. He sighs. “Funeral. My aunt.”
“God. I’m sorry, man,” Ty says.
According to Ty, Calder’s childhood wasn’t exactly a picnic at the seashore, and his aunt is about the only family member he ever says anything positive about. Calder nods, and I can see the pain etched in the lines of his face.
“I’m so sorry, Calder,” I say and pat his arm.
Ty loops Calder in for a hug. That’s one thing I really like about Ty—how physically affectionate he is, something I didn’t know until we stopped sneaking around.
“When was the last time you were home?” Ty asks.
Calder shakes his head. “Long fucking time. Should have gone back sooner, but—”
I can see from the glance the guys exchange that there’s a whole story in here.
“Yeah,” says Ty. “I know the feeling. But sometimes you just need some time and space.”
Calder nods, his gaze far off in the distance.
“You want to take a doggie bag for the trip?” I ask, and then, before he can say no, I start packing tidbits into a series of self-sealing bags and hand the whole thing off to him.
“Thanks, I,” he says. “Hey—I’m glad things have turned out the way they have.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Calder’s been great, too—all the guys have—chiming in on social media whenever it’s appropriate to say nice things about me, to congratulate or gently rib Ty, or to remind trolls that the combined weight of the football team exceeds the allowance for certain bridges.
We’ve barely sent Calder on his way before the apartment starts to fill up with our friends and teammates—Julia, of course, who’s working on a few articles about our romance for different publications; Zach, who will nurse one beer for five hours, flirt sweetly with everyone, and go home alone; O, who will probably pass out on our couch underneath at least one woman; as well as Haight and a bunch of other guys I don’t know well enough to make predictions about; a small group of wives and girlfriends, and a couple of coaches and their wives. Generally, coaches and players don’t socialize a ton in the PFL, so Ty and I kid about how we’re the Grizzlies’ most potent social glue.
It’s a great party. There’s plenty to eat, plenty to drink, and a positive mood looking forward to next season, when we plan to start things off from the very first with some wins. When the crowd dwindles to our closest friends, we sit for a long time chatting, and then Ty yawns ostentatiously, and everyone takes the hint and clears out.
I start putting stuff away, but he stops me with a hand on my arm. Then a hand on my other arm. And his mouth on mine.
“We need to clean up,” I say.
“Nope,” he says, steering me toward the bedroom.
“The food’ll go bad.”
“Let it,” he says. “I’ll get it in the morning.”
Then he picks me up like I weigh less than nothing, carries me into the bedroom, dumps me on the bed, and murmurs, “Down by contact.”
Epilogue
Julia and Iona
The first time Ty Williams laid eyes on Iona Thomas, he didn’t know she was about to become his coach. “That’s my excuse,” he says, laughing. “I saw her, and she was #$%&ing gorgeous, and I didn’t have the foggiest idea yet how much trouble that first impression was going to cause for both of us.”
Julia is writing a feature story for Sports Illustrated. She is beside herself with excitement. She already has most of the material she needs, but she keeps re-interviewing me. I think she just likes hearing me tell bits of the story over and over again.
“You’re a romantic!” I accuse her, and she doesn’t deny it. She says there aren’t a lot of opportunities as a sports writer to indulge that side of her nature, so she is going to live this one to the fullest.
They hid their relationship through the first season, worried that it would be a liability for both of them. Then a snippet of film came to light—their first kiss, stolen in one of the conference rooms. They assured their bosses their relationship would never get in the way of winning. And as any Grizzlies fan can attest, it hasn’t.
(I didn’t tell Julia, because I didn’t think our fans needed to know, that I do sometimes get really distracted when I’m supposed to be concentrating on the game, thinking about how pumped up Ty will be by the win, and how that will play out later, when we’re alone…)
“We’re the first ever player-coach couple, so we’re making it up as we go along,” Williams says. “We just do everything we can to take care of each other and spend time together.”
Their schedules are brutal, so they try to have breakfast together every morning.
“I go to bed every night looking forward to that time I know we’ll have in the morning,” Thomas says.
After we came out to the press, I had worried, just a tiny bit, that without the benefit of secrecy and drama, all the zing would go out of the proceedings, but it was pretty much exactly the opposite. We spent hours those first few weeks and months telling each other about our childhoods, our football careers, our post-PFL dreams (his: to own a brewery; mine: to continue coaching women and girls as long as I could be useful).
Williams breaks in. “And to have four or five kids.”
Thomas winces. Williams grins at her. “Two would be okay, too.”
Will their kids play football? I ask the couple.
“If they love it like we do, definitely,” Thomas says. “But we wouldn’t try to steer them that way. We’d want to find whatever makes them as happy as football makes us.”
That’s bullshit, of course. They’re probably going to pop out of the womb with footballs in their fists, and if they don’t, we’ll have them throwing spirals before they’re walking.
It wasn’t always smooth sailing. The Grizzlies’ front office was resistant to having a coach and player who were involved, and wanted the couple to get married right away. Williams and Thomas held their ground. “We’re pretty sure that’s somewhere in our future,” Thomas told her employers, “but we’re not rushing things.”
I won’t tell you about Ty’s proposal; that’s a story for another time; but I will tell you we got married on Grizzlies Field, me in my white dress, him in his tux. We were surrounded by teammates and staffers and our most die-hard fans.
Family came, too. Derek was one of Ty’s groomsmen (O was the best man, of course), and my parents were both there. My father hugged me and said, “I shouldn’t have said those things I said about how you’d never find a boyfriend.” Still not an apology, you’ll note, and all the hairs all over my body rose in irritation on my fucking wedding day, but I’m going to take it as progress, of a sort.
Ty and I both look incredibly triumphant in the cover photo. Best win ever on the football field.
The couple honeymooned in Hawaii, where they lazed on the beach, learned to surf, visited a volcano, and swam with dolphins.
Aaaaaaaand had an absurd amount of sex. I won’t bore you with the details, but I am now an expert on the perils and pleasures of sand, sea, hot tubs, slippery showers, exposed balconies, deserted garden paths…
Thomas is keeping her name…
I’m going to guess you called that one.
Was it love at first sight? Did Ty know, when he saw her looking #$%&ing gorgeous in Coach Thrayne’s office, that he’d one day put a ring on her finger?
“I don’t want to rewrite history,” Ty says. “I knew from the moment I first saw her that she was special, and I like to think I had a sense that we were meant to be. But we had a lot of figuring out to do.”
We’re still figuring it out.
Here’s how Julia would write it:
&nb
sp; “How did I fall in love with someone who likes her eggs runny, huh?” Williams demands.
“How did I fall in love with someone who likes his eggs overcooked?” Thomas counters.
That happens. For sure.
So does this:
“Do you like it better when I use my tongue? Or when I do like this—”
“Like that! Like—ohhh, God!”
But regardless of how you tell the story, Julia’s way or my way, we’re in agreement about the key points:
We met. We fell in love.
We made a mess of things.
We got our act together.
And we gleefully celebrate the PFL’s first happily ever after.
For Audrey
Acknowledgments
So many good hearts behind this book. First of all, huge hugs and drinks on me to my Loveswept editor, Sue Grimshaw. To the Loveswept team, including, but by no means limited to, Gina, Matt, Ashleigh, Erika, Angel, Lynn, Becky—thank you for your faith and efforts. And Sally’s pizza for Sarah Murphy who loved this idea first and gave me courage.
Emily Sylvan Kim, agent extraordinaire, saver of sanity, I adore you. I could go on and on, but you know the things of which I speak.
Brad Parks is my football guru (and one of my oldest friends, and a really damn good mystery/thriller writer). Thank you, Brad!! Any football-related errors in the book are mine and mine alone. Also, for Brad’s sake you should know that I took some liberties with the radio journalists, who don’t really act like that. I own it. Fiction is the best.
When I got stuck, Darya Swingle listened hard, asked the right questions, and got me back on track. Because she is awesome like that, all the time.
To my beta readers, thank you, thank you, thank you: Amber Belldene, Mauri Stott, Timitra Cozier-Bobb, Laurel Cremant, and the team at Romance Novels in Color. And to Lynette Nichols, who poured her heart out in some of the most wonderful and funniest and truest and best manuscript notes ever, and who helped me tirelessly with the little things that are not so little at all: Lynette, you are the sort of reader who makes me want to keep writing even on THOSE DAYS.
I said Getting Inside was for Audrey, but of course it’s for you, too, Mr. Bells Sr. and Jr., because this book is about not only strong women but also good men.
BY SERENA BELL
Seattle Grizzlies
Getting Inside
Cornered (coming soon)
Returning Home
Hold on Tight
Turn Up the Heat
Can’t Hold Back
To Have and to Hold
Other Books
Yours to Keep
After Midnight (novella)
PHOTO: © SUSAN YOUNG PHOTOGRAPHY
USA Today bestselling author and RT Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee SERENA BELL writes richly emotional stories about big-hearted characters with real troubles and the people who are strong and generous enough to love them. A former journalist, Serena has always believed that everyone has an amazing story to tell if you listen closely enough, and she adores hiding in her tiny garret office, mainlining chocolate, and bringing to life the tales in her head. When not writing, Serena loves to spend time with her college-sweetheart husband and two hilarious kiddos—all of whom are incredibly tolerant not just of Serena’s imaginary friends but also her enormous collection of constantly changing and passionately embraced hobbies, ranging from needlepoint to paddle boarding to meditation.
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Read on for an excerpt from
Hard Stick
By L. P. Dover
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Kristen
The incessant ringing of my phone jerked me awake. Rubbing my eyes, I glanced at the clock and groaned; it was eleven o’clock. It didn’t surprise me when I looked down at my phone and saw Cole’s name.
“This better be good. What are you doing calling me so late?” I mumbled into the phone. My bedroom light was still on so I shielded my eyes from the brightness. I fell asleep slumped over and now my neck was on fire.
Cole revved his motorcycle engine and sighed. “I’m on my way to your place. There’s something you need to see.” Cole Harper was my best friend; a guy I’d grown up with my whole life. He followed me to Boston after my parents died in a car accident just a few short weeks after graduation. We both attended MIT and he was the closest thing to family I had other than his parents. Usually, I’d be out with him and our friends since it was the weekend, but those days were long gone.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Now? You know that’s not a good idea.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he growled. “Your boyfriend can go fuck himself. After tonight, you need to get rid of his ass. There’s a reason he doesn’t take you out in public.”
“I already know why,” I grumbled. Only Cole and one of my close girlfriends from back home knew about my relationship with the business tycoon. His name was Mitchell and he didn’t want our relationship to go public until his divorce was final.
Cole snapped, “No, you don’t, Kris. I’ll tell you everything when I get there.” He hung up before I could stop him. Little did he know that his visit would only stir up what I was trying to avoid. Leaning my head against the wall, I couldn’t help but think back to the first time I met Mitchell. Things were so different back then.
It all began with a moment of pleasure.
That was all it took for me to fall head over heels for the man who could ultimately ruin my life. What the hell am I talking about? He already had. I was trapped inside a sick game where he controlled all the players and I was the main piece. Even now, his eyes were on me. I didn’t have to look out my bedroom window to know that someone was out there, watching me.
Mitchell Blackwell was a powerful man, the owner of Blackwell Holdings, and always used to getting what he wanted. When he hired me to decorate his office building, I was stoked for the opportunity. I didn’t have the clientele that some of my other colleagues had at Simon & Associates; that included Cole as well. He was on the rise as one of Boston’s best architects. Working for them was a dream come true, and even more so, being hired to work with Mitchell.
Working with him skyrocketed my career as an interior designer. There were so many people wanting to be my clients, I barely had time to breathe. Little did I know I was going to fall for the man. He was in his late thirties, about ten years older than me, but with a body any young man my age would be jealous of. Being the smitten girl that I was, I wish I would’ve been able to see the hell he was going to put me through. The love I thought we had turned into a dangerous obsession; one I didn’t know how to escape from.
I realized Mitchell’s true intentions after I spent a few late nights out with my friends. He said he wanted to make sure I was safe at all times, but after he started showing up unannounced, I began to think differently. He wasn’t trying to keep me safe; he was keeping tabs on me, on who I was with. If another man touched me in any way, he would be right there on my doorstep, ready to make sure I thought of no one but him. Sometimes it would be a passionate kiss and then rush off, but most of the time he’d want more and the sex would be demanding, passionate…or hard and possessive. Again, at the beginning I loved it, felt special but then realized I was his obsession and this was getting out of control. Now that Cole was on his way over, Mitchell would no doubt find out and show up.
At first, I loved his attention and the way he made me feel wanted. Now he terrified me, only there was no escaping him. Maybe that was why his wife had left him.
The sound of Cole’s motorcycle blared down the street and I sighed. I hadn’t told him what Mitchell would do if his people spotted another man coming to my condo. It’d gotten so bad that even my male clients steered clear of me during our meetings. It was like Mitchell was everywhere, scaring t
he shit out of every man who tried to get near me. And he could do it, too. There was no way anyone could take him on and make it out on top.
Cole banged on my door and I opened it, refraining myself from flipping off the guy I knew was in the shadows somewhere watching. With his bleached blond hair in disarray, Cole stormed inside, his jaw clenched tight.
“Is there a reason you’re so pissed?” I asked, shutting the door.
Huffing, he turned to face me, his green eyes full of anger and concern. He unzipped his black leather jacket and set his helmet down. There were many times I rode on the back of his sport bike, but Mitchell didn’t like that. In fact, he didn’t like Cole at all. He believed Cole was trying to steal me away, and no amount of telling him otherwise could sway him. I knew the truth, though. Cole was like my brother.
“Fuck yeah, I’m pissed,” he growled, pulling out his phone. “I want you to see what kind of dirtbag you’re dating. I don’t care if the guy’s worth millions. You deserve more than to be hidden away while he does whatever the hell he wants.”
He shoved his phone in my face and my eyes widened. It was a picture of Mitchell…and who I thought was his soon-to-be ex-wife. He was dressed in a gray suit with his dark hair perfectly coiffed while she was in a plain navy gown, her makeup and blond hair flawless. She was a little over fifteen years older than him but you couldn’t tell it. There was no smile on her face, which made me believe she was just as miserable as I was. Before, I would’ve been jealous, but in a way, I was relieved. I could only hope and pray he’d forget about me, move on to someone else. It was wishful thinking because he’d just called earlier in the afternoon, but I told him I wasn’t feeling well and had to get off.
Cole tossed his phone onto my couch, brows furrowed at my silence. When I didn’t speak, he grabbed my face. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
