First & Goal

by Laura Chapman

  I stare J.J. right in the eyes as I say, “I’m in a relationship with a man, who is better than I could have dreamed. My life looks pretty good right now.”

  J.J. shakes his head. “You’re actually content to sit around twiddling your thumbs while Brook wastes his time at a high school?”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m twiddling my thumbs. I have a life of my own.”

  “You get what I mean.”

  “No one is perfect. If the worst thing about him is that he spends too much time teaching and coaching, well, I’m lucky.”

  “He isn’t perfect.”

  I lean forward, placing my palms on the top of my desk. “Do you realize how lucky you are to be Brook’s friend?”

  “Well . . .”

  “He has that video clip of you, and he’s never posted it online or shared it with anyone. Except with me, I guess, but he swore me to secrecy.”

  J.J.’s eyes widen and he gulps. “What video?”

  “The video. The one of you throwing an interception during that arena game and then basically throwing a temper tantrum on the sidelines.” It’s the play that ended his arena football career. “Then in the middle of screaming, the waterboy pantsed you. And you were wearing a hot pink thong. With rhinestones on it.”

  “I only wore those for luck.”

  “Hey,” I hold up my hands, “no judgment from me. You were adorable in them. But . . .” I give him a hard look. “You realize a lesser man would have uploaded it to YouTube. Can you imagine how many hits he’d get?”

  J.J.’s lips quiver. “A better man would’ve deleted the evidence.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I guess we’ll have to wait and find out what kind of a man Brook turns out to be. We could have used it as leverage over you already, but I guess we’re not ready to stoop so low. Yet.”

  Anderson pops his head in the doorway before J.J. can respond. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” I stand and smooth out the wrinkles in my skirt. “J.J. and I were just finishing up.”

  “Good, good. Listen,” he gives J.J. a serious look, “I need to speak with you about your most recent figures before you hit the sales floor this morning. But would you mind giving Harper and me a moment of privacy first?”

  Paler than when he came in, and certainly more humble, J.J. nods and quickly leaves the room. Anderson closes the door gently behind him and takes the recently vacated seat.

  I sit back down, too, and clear my throat. “Was there something I can help you with, boss?”

  “Oh, no, I need a few minutes of peace before I deal with him.” He shakes his head. “He’s been making a real mess of things with some of our long-term customers. I’m about at my wits’ end.”

  “Now that fantasy season is ending, I bet he’ll be a lot more focused on his sales.”

  “Mmm. I’m not quite sure that’s how it’ll pan out.” Anderson takes a healthy gulp of his coffee. “Did I hear him mention he made it to the championship game and you didn’t?”

  “That’s right. It’s no big deal.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s fine.” I lean back in my chair, more relaxed than I have been in a long time. “He might win the fantasy football championship this year, but I’m winning at real life.”

  HANDS FOLDED IN MY lap and face decidedly neutral—or as neutral as I can keep it when I feel like I’ve swallowed a lemon—I sit primly next to Brook for our last regularly scheduled league-sponsored Sunday marathon. My brother’s greatest dream of hosting an epic watch party came true when Dylan’s house unexpectedly needed fumigating.

  And Scott—who’s making another plate of nachos—isn’t the only one enjoying the change of setting. Brook and Blitz, who is playing with my cast-aside yarn on the floor, are staying with us for a few days, too. I still won’t allow any funny business when my brothers are in the house, but Brook hasn’t complained. Much.

  Even Christopher is having fun. I overheard him talking to Gio about his “badass rookie sister,” who “doesn’t mess around and leaves it all on the field.” I’d almost cracked a rib trying to contain my laughter.

  And today I’ve only had to ask him stop calling me BK once. In hindsight, that maybe hadn’t been the smartest idea because then I had to explain what it meant to Brook. I have to give my boyfriend credit, his lips barely twitched when I told him BK stands for “buzzkill.”

  Brook squeezes my shoulders. “Relax. This is supposed to be fun.”

  And it is fun. With the exception of J.J., everyone else has seemed genuinely happy for us. My brothers can’t believe I’m dating the recently named Nebraska high school football coach of the year. As far as they’re concerned, this is the closest I’ll ever come to winning the Heisman.

  “Who are we supposed to cheer for now?” I ask. “The guy who has been a jerk all season or the one who finally set a lineup?”

  “Neither.” Brook toys with the ends of my hair. “We cheer for our favorite team.”

  “Are you going to be mad at me if I snag the third-place trophy from you after this week’s game?”

  “No. Will you?”

  I shake my head. “It’s beyond our control. We picked our best players. It’s up to them to decide what happens.”

  “That a girl.”

  J.J. steps into the room with a fresh beer and offers a friendly wave. He pouted for a couple of days after our confrontation at work, but he seems to be over it. On Friday, he offered me his crab rangoons at lunch. They were the most delicious apology I’ve ever received. Brook even received a formal apology, and a pseudo blessing, when they went fishing this morning.

  With a little downtime between games, I decide to refill our drinks and unwrap a plate of brownies. On the way to the kitchen, I catch Wade and Amelia smothering laughs outside Jackson’s bedroom. Catching my stare, Wade motions me forward. “Check this out.”

  The kids are huddled around one of Jackson’s footballs with a collection of his GI Joes and Lego men separated into three groups. In a whisper, I ask, “What are they doing?”

  “Listen.”

  Marley pushes forward one of her Legos. “I’ll give you Chaaaz Begar if you give me Norf.”

  Jackson shakes his head. “No, he mine. Yike Aunt Hah-paw.”

  She crosses her arms. “But I want him.”

  “He mine.”

  “Fine. Be mean.” She turns to her sister. “You give me da Pope?”

  Oh my God. “Are they playing fantasy football?” I ask.

  “Technically, it’s fantasy fantasy football,” Wade whispers.

  “Ellery has tenacity,” I say. “She plays with a lot of heart.”

  Amelia nods. “That’s my girl.”

  “And here’s my girl,” Brook says, slipping his arm around my waist. “Mind if I steal you for a minute. We’re only a few minutes away from Sunday Night Football.”

  Amelia winks, and I send her a “don’t say anything” look. We’ve made it this far without telling him. We might as well let him have his fun.

  At the bottom of the stairs to the basement, Brook fishes for his phone and headphones. How no one in our league—except Wade—caught on to this little ritual of ours and our relationship before is lost on me. If we were a league of women instead of men, someone would’ve had us figured out long ago.

  “I wonder what we’ll get this week,” he says. Keeping the screen out of my view, he hits play. The opening bars of a power ballad rings through the earpiece. He’s playing me “Always.”

  “Good song,” he says.

  I murmur an agreement, catching the shy grin on his face. It’s a love ballad. For our last game of the season. Thanks to Amelia’s revelation at the office holiday party, I get what he’s telling me. He loves me. No, the lyrics don’t fit perfectly—I haven’t left him for another man—but they get the message across. He loves me.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “I—” My voice chokes, and I’m too overcome to say
it out loud. Instead, I cover my heart. “You.”

  Brook lets out a shaky breath. “I do, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He presses his lips to mine, and says, “I’ve been crazy about you from the moment you cussed me out for taking Baker in the draft.”

  I gasp in outrage. “I didn’t cuss you out.”

  “You might as well have.”

  I bury my face in his shirt to mask my smile. “That’s impossible. You didn’t even know me yet.”

  “No,” he agrees, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “But I figured any girl who’d swear about losing Chad Baker was probably worth the effort.”

  “You couldn’t have been that enamored.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you didn’t give me Baker.”

  Brook laughs, and I try to remove myself from his grip, but he holds on. “Just because I’m crazy about you doesn’t mean I’m crazy.”

  A loud cheer followed by a chorus of moans breaks through our haze.

  Brook shakes his head. “J.J.’s quarterback must have thrown a touchdown on the opening drive.”

  “Or maybe his defense intercepted a pass or made a big sack.”

  “Either way, it’s not good for Tyler.” He squeezes my hand. “You’ll be in the playoffs next year. I’d put money on that.”

  “Yeah right. This was only beginner’s luck, which means I’m screwed next year.”

  “No offense, but that’s bull.” Brook sways me back and forth to the song that is replaying for the third or fourth time. “Remember what I told you once before?”

  I kiss the scar on his chin. “Not to take advice from guys in the league. And to hide my beer otherwise J.J. will drink it.”

  “Those still apply but aren’t what I’m referring to at the moment.” Brook rests his forehead against mine. “You’re at first and goal—”

  “Don’t you mean we are at first and goal?”

  “We’ve already made it in for the touchdown.”

  “Are you sure the officials aren’t reviewing the play?”

  “They did. The ruling on the field stands. Touchdown.”

  “So, what are we doing now?”

  “We’re lining up to go for two.”

  “Mmm.” I rest my head on his chest. His heart echoes in my ear. “That’s a gutsy call.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” he says. I lightly trace my fingertips along his chest. He grabs my hands to still the motion. “You made me lose my train of thought. What was I saying?”

  “I’m at first and goal.”

  “That’s right.” He laces his fingers with mine. “You’re almost there, and you still have plenty of chances. Don’t lose sight of the victory.”

  Another deafening cheer sounds from upstairs. “We should probably get up there before your sister thinks I’ve seduced you.”

  “You still can. Amelia loves to be right.” He dips his head, and I turn my face so his lips meet my cheek instead of my lips.

  “Come on.” I tug his hand. “We have a party to finish. Then, maybe later, you can talk me into it.”

  Pacified for the moment, Brook follows me up the stairs so we can find out what’s happening in the game. Not that it matters. Regardless of who wins our consolation round matchup, we’ll both come out winners. Because Brook is right about us. We did make it to the end zone. If we go for two, we’ll probably make it. Either way, we still have a lot of game left.

  SEASON RECAP: THE REAL J.J. Crowned Champion of the Mega Ballerz

  And so another season of fantasy football comes to an end. Congratulations to the Real J.J. on finishing as the Mega Ballerz’s season six champion. He was a strong contender to finish in first all season. His success goes to show that sometimes the best team in the league is clear from the start. Way to keep that momentum going.

  Other notable finishes:

  ● Tyler’s Crew earns the silver medal, marking the first time his team has finished in the champion’s circle. It was a tough-fought battle that, in some regards, is more of a sign of the weak opposition than his success.

  ● Brook’s Bros took home the bronze. Last year he finished first. This is the lowest placement his once unbeatable team has had in league history. Is this a sign the golden years are over?

  ● Queen Harper doesn’t get a medal this year, but she does deserve a commendation for completing her rookie season in a veteran league in fourth place. She made the biggest comeback in league history. Consider her a top contender next year.

  Until next season—stay strong sports fans. Football will be back soon enough.

  THANK YOU FOR READING Harper’s story about getting her groove back with a little help from a sensitive coach and the rest of her league buddies. If you’d like more Harper, Brook, and fantasy football, check out what happens in the next season in Going for Two.

  Get it here >>

  Want to go behind the scenes of a zany TV show? In The Marrying Type, elite wedding planner Elliot Lynch will do anything to save her family's business. Even join the cast of a reality TV show that will follow her every step of a wedding season. The stakes become even higher when her number one customer is the one who got away.

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  Also, be sure to check out Smyth Saves the Date. It's a free short story about Elliot's best friend and fellow wedding planner as he finds his own happily ever after.

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  About the Author

  LAURA CHAPMAN is the author of sweet and sexy romantic comedies. A born and raised Nebraska girl, she loves watching football, traveling, crafting, and baking. When she isn’t writing her next story, she is probably binge-watching Netflix with her cats Jane and Bingley.

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  Books by Laura Chapman

  The Marrying Type

  Smyth Saves the Date

  Playing House

  Making Christmas

  What Happens at Midnight

  The Queen of the League Trilogy

  First & Goal

  Going for Two

  Three & Out

  Amarillo Sour Series

  Counting on You

  Let It Be Me (Fall 2019)

  Sneak peek of Going for Two by Laura Chapman!

  HARPER DUQUAINE IS back for another season of fantasy football! This time she’s a year wiser and prepared to dominate the league. But while she finally seems to have her fantasy life in order, reality proves more challenging.

  Her plans to peacefully play house with her boyfriend come to a halt when the high school suddenly names Brook its head football coach. The promotion comes with more responsibility on the field and less time at home. It also unexpectedly means more work for Harper, who already has her hands full helping a friend pull off the perfect proposal (while dodging questions about when she and Brook are going to get hitched already). Plus, a new development at work could leave her—and half of the fantasy league—jobless.

  With the complications of her career and being “Mrs. Coach” adding up, Harper wonders if she’s committed to the life she’s already building or if there is something else out there.

  The pressure is on. Twenty-four seconds left on the clock, and we’re down by three. We need a field goal to tie it up or a touchdown to win.

  I hope we go for the win. Not just because I want the team to succeed, and they’ve earned the victory despite a few bad calls from the refs in the first half. Selfishly, I’d like to bypass overtime because it means Brook will be home that much sooner. It’s the first game of the high school football season. From what I’m told by the coaches’ wives, I can expect our already limited time together to shrink to almost non-existent by Labor Day.

  I can’t expect Brook to be around as much this fall. The West Warriors are determined to finish the season undefeat
ed and securing a State title after coming so close last year. As the offensive coordinator, he has to be on.

  And I understand his commitment to the team. I do. Or at least I’m trying to understand, because this is his job. His passion. I want to be a supportive partner. Not Harper the harper, the girlfriend who whines about the late—and early—hours he keeps. I want to be Harper, the woman who can fend for herself while her boyfriend spends his life on a high school football field.

  The sideline huddle breaks, and the players run back out on the field with their marching orders. The quarterback glances at the sideline where Brook nods and flashes a series of three hand signals. I can only make out Brook’s profile, but his shoulders are pulled back firm, his arms crossed defiantly. He looks confident and in command. I can imagine the intensity on his face. It’s the same look he gets seconds before he pulls me in for a long kiss.

  My belly stirs at the thought, and I take a few shallow breaths. Settle down, Harper. You’re in public. It takes my heart a few seconds longer to slow to a steady beat.

  The quarterback calls the audibles and takes the snap. He fakes to the fullback, fooling half the defensive line. He would’ve tricked me, too—this kid fakes with the best of them—except I recognize the play call. Brook showed it to me on his tablet while I was brushing my teeth last night. With the defense suitably distracted, he keeps the ball and runs.

  The crowd—including the Brook MacLaughlin fan club—jumps to its feet.

  “Run! Run! Run!” Brook’s mother yells.

  “Take it all the way,” his sister, Amelia, screams.

  “Get out of bounds,” I shout, when it’s clear he doesn’t have a big enough window to get to the end zone.

  From his vantage point, the quarterback comes to the same realization and steps out a second before a defensive tackle pushes him.

  I clap until my hands hurt. “Way to stop the clock.”

  Major MacLaughlin, Brook’s retired military father who still makes me a little nervous, casts a sideways glance my way. He doesn’t smile, but a sparkle lights his eyes.