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

by Erin Hayes

  And that sense of enlightenment about football deflated as he glared at me.

  “Coach Mackenzie,” the receptionist said with a stiff nod. I noticed that her entire demeanor changed as soon as we stepped in the office. Kind of like the air was zapped from us. “This is Madison Harte, here to see the team.”

  “I’ll take it from here, Kathryn,” he said, dismissing her in those words. I didn’t like his gravelly voice from the moment he spoke.

  Kathryn. She was the one who had made all my travel arrangements for me, my point of contact with the team so far. Why hadn’t she said so?

  “But—” Kathryn protested, and he speared her with a look.

  “I’ll take her to her meetings,” the man said, like I was a child that had to be escorted.

  “Nice meeting you, Miss Harte,” the receptionist said. Like it was a final goodbye, and I felt the pit of my stomach drop. She left us like that, and I could only imagine that her dislike of the old man in front of me made her escape out of here that much quicker.

  The first thing he said directly to me was, “You’re a woman.”

  I bristled.

  I’d worked in the tech industry for most of my professional life. Owned my own company at one point. And I’d been sneered at, belittled, patronized, and more by idiots who thought just because they had a penis between their legs, they were better than me.

  So I was used to the look the man gave me. I had to act like I knew what I was talking about. That always put these assholes into place.

  Except, this was for football. And this guy didn’t believe for a second that I knew what I was doing.

  “I am a woman,” I said curtly. “And the owner of this game. Team,” I amended quickly.

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. Yep, I wasn’t fooling him at all. “A damn Yankee, huh?” he drawled in a distinctly Southern accent. He sprawled back in the chair, draping his arm about it like he owned the place.

  Wait a second, I owned the place. My eyes flicked to the nameplate at the front of the desk.

  Dusty Harte, Owner.

  This man was sitting in my uncle’s desk. My desk now.

  I licked my lips. “I’m from California, actually.” That only made the sneer worse. I always tried to kill them with kindness, so I stuck out my hand, ready to give him my very-professional handshake, the one that always surprised sexist men. “I’m Madison Harte. And it appears that you’re at my desk.”

  He chewed on something, and it looked like it could possibly be tobacco. I fought the urge to glance at the trash bin to see if he had been spitting in that, like they used to do in the movies.

  He cocked his head, watching me keenly. “Is it your desk?”

  There was a challenge in those words. I kept my hand out for him, daring him not to take it. We stared at each other for what seemed to nearly be a minute—which was a long time to stare at someone who so obviously despised me.

  But in the end, he took my proffered hand. “Mark Mackenzie,” he said gruffly, giving me three hard pumps. “Head coach of the Hammers. Most people call me Coach Mack.”

  Except the secretaries, apparently.

  I remembered the coaches from my high school—not that I played sports, but they taught P.E. and one was a great science teacher. They were all completely different from Coach Mackenzie.

  “Pleased to meet you. Now may I have my desk?”

  He paused for a moment before rising to his feet. “Of course, Miss Harte.”

  I gave him one last withering look before I rounded the expanse of mahogany and took a seat, claiming it as my own.

  Eww, it was still warm from his ass, and a quick glance at my trash can told me he had been using it as a spit bucket. I was going to grab some disinfectant wipes and quarantine the area. Maybe I’d burn it later.

  Still though, there were touches of what I remembered about Uncle Dusty. No matter what business he was running, he kept the same decorations in his office. From the drinking bird toy that was somehow still drinking from a glass of water to the “Hang in there, baby!” poster on the wall with a cat, there had been something childlike and innocent about my uncle.

  A part of me felt a pang that he never married nor had kids. I remembered a kind man, though, one I hadn’t seen all that much since I was child. I ran my hands over the pitted wood of the desk. It was worn, certainly older than the four years that the Yellowhammers had been here. He must have brought it with him from another venture of his.

  I wondered how many times he sat at this very same desk in different offices for different companies, coming up with his crazy ideas.

  “So you’re the coach for the Yellowhammers?” I asked, trying to make conversation, now that I had asserted my dominance. I looked to where Coach Mackenzie stood in the doorway.

  Had stood. The doorway was now empty, the door still open, but no Coach Mackenzie. I blinked, stunned for a moment, before I got up and stalked to the door. I winced as I heard another tear in my skirt as I moved.

  Just an example of how this day was going.

  I looked down the hallway, both ways, only to find that the coach was a lot faster than he looked. He just abandoned me like that. I huffed out an irritated breath and left my office, closing the door behind me.

  Where could he have gone?

  “Hey,” I said, knocking on a frosted glass wall to one of the cubicles for one of the accountant-looking people. “Did you see where Coach Mackenzie went?”

  The man, in his mid-forties, blinked up at me. “Well, I would think he’d be at practice, Miss—”

  “Harte,” I said, and his eyes widened in recognition. “I’m the new owner. My uncle was—”

  “Yes, of course!” the accountant said, rising to his feet. He shook my hand without me having to offer it. “I’m Stephen Landry.” His smile was contagious. “We were all excited to hear that you were coming. How are you finding everything in the Magic City, Miss Harte?”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. Well, so far, I got drunk, fucked a stranger, lost my way in a stadium I own, and I have to deal with the misogynistic coach.

  “Fine, thanks,” I lied. “Did you say the coach would be at some sort of practice?”

  Stephen stilled in confusion, and I realized that I said something wrong. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Uhm, what is he practicing?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, they do have a sense of humor out in California!” He said it like cally-forn-eye-ay, and it took me a moment to realize what he meant. “He should be on the field with the Hammers. It is the preseason, after all.”

  “Preseason?”

  This only made him laugh harder. I seemed to be doing that a lot these days. “Oh, you’re funny!”

  I gave an exaggerated shrug, trying to play it off. “Yeah, I have Uncle Dusty’s sense of humor.”

  But seriously, what was the preseason? I knew about the football season, and I knew what the prefix pre- meant, but it still didn’t make any sense to me. How could there be a season before the season?

  I was so going to throw that fucking football guide away as soon as possible. And maybe hire a translator for all this football jargon.

  I’m sure Coach Mackenzie would love that.

  I wasn’t going to get an answer out of Stephen, so I just smiled. “Can you show me the way to the field? For the practice?”

  So I could give the coach a piece of my mind. And I could finally meet the team.

  My team.

  It took about twenty minutes more to get out of the office because while Kathryn, the receptionist, had been discreet and efficient with taking me to my office, Stephen stopped everyone he knew and introduced them to me. I met so many people, shook so many hands, my head began swimming, and it wasn’t from my hangover.

  It truly felt like it was my first day at a new company. Which, I guess it was.

  These people believed in the empire that my Uncle Dusty had built. They were all good people, if a little footb
all crazy, but that was to be expected. They all welcomed me with open arms. I couldn’t help but feel like a traitor for making nice when I planned to sell the team.

  They also kept asking if I was for Tide Pods or Bald Eagles again, so I just had to respond with, “Go Hammers!” That always got a chuckle, so I simply went with it.

  Finally, Stephen and his friend Aaron took me out of the offices and down to the fields, which was the actual football field at the stadium. I could have guessed that, but not the winding way from the corporate office through the locker rooms (where I couldn’t help but imagine so many sweaty naked guys), past some other rooms that looked like massage parlors.

  And, suddenly, I was outside, blinking into the bright sunlight on the field. For a moment, I was disoriented after being indoors. I had the distinct feeling of scale out here on the field, like it hadn’t hit me until just now how big a stadium could be. From the outside, it looked like a concrete fish bowl. But now that I stood inside, I felt like I was on a stage.

  The stands surrounding the field were empty, and it felt almost apocalyptic. Like, for a moment, I was the only woman in the world. I shivered and crossed my arms.

  Then my eyes fell onto the men running up and down the length of the field.

  My first look at the Birmingham Yellowhammers in real life.

  A little gasp escaped me as I watched them. My girlie parts nearly fainted in sensory overload. That picture that Ashley had showed me where I wanted to lick them? Yeah, that was nothing like seeing these football players in the flesh.

  If I had known that football players were this good looking, I might have paid more attention to the sport.

  No you wouldn’t have, Madison.

  I almost gave a slightly crazed laugh at the thought. Because, well...they all made a very compelling argument to at least turn on a game every so often.

  I guess I had expected the Hammers to be practicing in their football costumes. And while the yellow outfits weren’t bad, necessarily, especially with those stretchy capris that left nothing to the imagination, here, many of them were wearing tank tops over their shoulder pads with sweatpants. And some were just practicing without their shirts on. And that certainly left nothing to the imagination as well. It must have been to separate the teams—the shirts versus the no-shirts.

  I couldn’t tell which one I liked better.

  Ashley is going to be so jealous of me.

  There were people other than the football players. I could tell, because they were smaller, some a lot older, and they were shouting at the football players, sometimes saying really obscene stuff.

  It was like watching Full Metal Jacket on a football field.

  “Not too bad, huh?” Stephen asked beside me. “We’re not usually allowed on the field during practice, but we figured with you here and all…”

  “Thank you,” I answered dazedly, stepping forward. To be honest, I wasn’t really listening to him or his friend Aaron. I could not fucking take my eyes off these players.

  Stop staring, stop staring, stop staring. I literally could not do anything but stare.

  “Nice of you to finally join us, Miss Harte,” a familiar voice shouted, snapping me out of my daze.

  I took my first breath in what seemed like years and blinked furiously to see Coach Mackenzie stalking over to me, like he was a bigshot. He still had the distasteful sneer on his face, but here, he was in his element.

  “I had to find some help,” I said with sugary sweetness. “Someone left me alone in my office.”

  The coach just smiled in his unwavering, predatory way. “I figured you’d make your way down here sooner or later. It is your team after all, or is it not?”

  “I’ll find my way around here eventually,” I answered through gritted teeth. Damn, this man was getting underneath my skin. I’d dealt with so many worse people in my time—my ex included—so why was this bothering me so much right now?

  I knew why. It was because I didn’t want to be another failure. My success hinged on whether I could turn the team around and sell them.

  How the hell could I hope to do that if he treated me like trash?

  I found that I had clenched my fist without realizing it, so I released my hands. I had to rise above this and be cool. Now.

  “You two are dismissed,” Coach Mackenzie snarled at the two men beside me. “What the hell are you even doing out here anyway?”

  “We—” Aaron started.

  “They showed me how to get here,” I said, remembering what Stephen had said about them not being allowed on the field during practice. How ridiculous was that? It wasn’t like the Yellowhammers were doing some sort of sacred ritual.

  Coach Mackenzie turned his keen-eyed glare on me. “And you are here now. So they’re done. Shouldn’t you be running along as well?”

  I bristled. “I’m the owner of the team, and—”

  “Is there a problem here?”

  I froze at the voice, the warm, liquid goodness of it running through my veins. Even though I didn’t remember his last name, I recognized the tone from this morning. From when I had kicked him out of my hotel room.

  I turned my head to see Andre, my gorgeous one-night stand from last night, standing next to me, heaving deep breaths. Sweat dripped from his smooth brown skin, and he flashed a devastating smile my way.

  “You?” I whispered in shock. How was this possible?

  He gave me that grin I remembered so well through the sludge of Tide Pod and Yellowhammer drinks. He was stunning, even more so in broad daylight. Especially since he played for the no-shirt team.

  “Andre Williamson,” he said proudly, thrusting a hand out for a handshake. “I’m the starting quarterback for the Hammers.”

  Oh my god, I had a one-night stand with one of my football players.

  Five

  “You’re not a pilot!” was the first thing that popped out of my mouth. I said it accusingly, like it was a betrayal of the worst kind.

  And the way I felt now, it totally was.

  It was a fucking good thing I didn’t shout, “I slept with you last night!” like every cell in my body wanted to. That wouldn’t have gone over very well with the coach or anyone else on the team.

  Still, Andre’s eyes glittered in amusement as he finally grabbed my hand and gave it a firm shake. “I told you I was a captain. Not a pilot. A football captain.”

  Like there was any distinction. I just stared at him like this was some sort of joke. A well-orchestrated joke, sure, but nothing like this happened in real life.

  Surely.

  “You two know each other?”

  We both turned to see the coach scrutinizing us, as if he were slowly putting the pieces together. Oh my god, that couldn’t happen. Not when I was trying so hard to prove to him that I wasn’t a hussy. That there was no way in hell I’d have a workplace romance. Not again. Working with Jacob had been a nightmare. And everyone raked me across the coals for it later, too.

  Andre gave me a wink that only I could see, before letting go of my hand and straightening to look at the coach. “Yeah, I met Madison on my way in from Philly last night. Helped her with her baggage.”

  I sent up a silent thank you to whatever gods might be listening that Andre had the sense not to give me away to his coach.

  Then again, from the way Mackenzie was staring at us through narrowed, glittering eyes, it was probably as much to avoid giving himself away.

  Whatever.

  It worked to save my ass, too.

  Andre ran a hand across his sun-warmed face. At the sight of his brown skin rippling over the muscles in his arms, I was suddenly hit with a memory from the night before. Nothing definite or concrete, just images and flashes. But I definitely had a memory of those strong, muscular arms holding my hips while I moved above him, as he murmured encouragement in that molasses voice.

  Heat flashed across my face, and I realized I’d lost the thread of the conversation—and the coach was glaring at me.

&
nbsp; “I’ll tell you what, Coach,” Andre’s voice cut into the tension building up between us as smoothly and easily as if he didn’t notice it at all. “Let’s call a break for this morning. I’ll give Ms. Harte a tour, take care of that for you. Then we can meet back here this afternoon and run some drills.”

  Oh, this man should have been a politician. The honey sweetness of his voice seemed to temper even Mackenzie’s sour disposition.

  The coach gave me one last long, hard look, then he nodded shortly and turned to yell something incomprehensible at the team.

  Andre turned his beautiful gaze on me. “That should buy us a little time,” he said.

  Oh, yeah. He’d noticed the tension.

  “Give me about fifteen minutes for a quick shower?”

  I hoped he didn’t notice my suddenly skyrocketing blood pressure as my stomach clenched at the thought of him naked in the shower. I had to mentally shake myself out of the daze that threatened to overcome me at the thought.

  “Yes, of course. I could just wait up in my office?” I hated that my voice ended on a question. It was my office—hell, it was my team—and I should be able to wait there if I wanted.

  But Andre didn’t seem to find anything odd with the question. “Sounds good. I’ll meet you up there.”

  He turned and started to jog away when I stopped him. “Wait. Um. Could you tell me how to get back?”

  Because, even though it was my office, I had no fucking clue where it was.

  “Sure.” He pointed me toward a different door than the one I’d come out of. “That’ll take you to the elevators. You can skip the locker room that way.”

  I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to skip the locker room. But it was probably a good idea. It was one thing for Coach Mackenzie to learn that Andre had handled my luggage for me the night before. It would be something else entirely for him to figure out that Andre had handled me. And it would probably be completely over the top for him to walk into the team locker room and find me throwing myself at Andre in the locker room showers.

  Then again, the coach might go ahead and have a stroke and rid me of one problem.