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

by Janice Thompson

A silent pause flints through the room, before he asks, “What is it, Samantha?”

  “I knew better than to break my own rules and look at the mess it’s caused.”

  I’ve been stubbornly jutting my chin out all morning, hoping to keep an unyielding façade in place. But it slips down now with a few tears following suit. And this isn’t me. I don’t act like a baby on matters. Again, a consequence for breaking my rules.

  Dad moves from his spot and takes up the seat beside me. I don’t allow him to touch me, because if he does, I’ll be a blubbering mess, instead of a quietly weeping one.

  “Sam… Don’t let business get in the way of what you have with Black.”

  “That was a mistake.”

  “We blindsided him. He has a right to be angry. He’ll settle down and get over it. Don’t give up on something with so much potential.”

  “No. It’s best to walk away from it now. Nothing much to lose.” I wipe the tears away and try bucking up. “Now. As for the rest of this season, I want no one allowed on the field until six-thirty. That’ll give me time to do my job. I’ll be in the box suite with you for the remaining three home games, but don’t request me to be at the team celebrations or other functions where the coaches or players are included until after the season wraps.”

  “Samantha—”

  “It’s business. And that’s all there is to it.” My chin musters enough bravado to jut back out long enough for me to make it to my office.

  Chapter Ten

  The great gift about living in southern Texas is that the winter pretty much leaves us the heck alone. It’s been a mild December. Unfortunately, the gulf has been kicking up some ornery storms and shoving them in our direction. Today is no different. Sitting in my office, I glare at the torrential downpour just outside my window. The stadium is flooded.

  I’ve just confirmed the flight plans for Wiley’s parents and two younger brothers. I’m flying them out here to spend Christmas with him. Maggie promised not to let him know that this is my gift to him. All of his family lives a long ways away in Kentucky, so I think it would do him good to have their unexpected company during this holiday. I want him happy here, and at the moment, I know he’s not.

  A knock sounds at my door, producing Trey. My hand flicks out to wave him in.

  “What’s up?” I ask absently as I power the computer down.

  “Black has the team on the field.”

  “Why on earth is he doing that?” My fingers push through my hair in hopes of relieving the growing tension. I don’t want to faceoff with him today.

  “Says he wants them conditioned for a rainy game. Looks like that’s what they will be playing this week. Pretty smart, beings that nice and dry Arizona won’t be prepared for it.”

  “Tell him to hit the practice field then.” I shoo him away.

  Ten minutes later, Trey is back at my door and is sopping wet. “He’s not budging.”

  I point him back out the door. “Go tell him again. Don’t let him push you around.”

  My pep talk obviously gives Trey no encouragement—with a deep frown and drooping dripping shoulders, he heads back out.

  This time he’s back in only five minutes. “He says no,” he says at the door and scurries away before I can order him for the third time.

  Shoving away from the desk, I shrug on my raincoat and prepare to go to battle. One thing I’ve learned the hard way is that Wiley Black doesn’t get over something very easily. I know this is him trying to regain his muscle over me. Well, I’ll show him.

  I storm onto the field and right up to Coach Jerk. “You got five minutes to get off my field.” I have to shout this out to combat the loud rain.

  “No. This is what they will be playing in this weekend. They need to be prepared.” His arms are crossed and his attention stays firmly on the play the guys are performing.

  “Then go to the practice field. It’s got to be in better shape than this one. You’ve ruined it!” I’m livid as I focus on the gnarly mud puddles these brutes have made on my poor field.

  “Get off my field.” His anger rings out over the echoing downpour.

  “Your field? Your field? The papers on this place declare this field belonging to me. Now get off!” I’ve just noticed the players have paused and are taking in this standoff.

  “No—”

  “Don’t tell me no. You’re mad. I get it, but it’s time for you to get over it.” I shove him slightly, but the action was fruitless with him not budging a single centimeter. “Off. Now!”

  Wiley still stands here leering at me. If he wants to be a jerk, then I can up him on that factor right back. I turn on my muddy heels to go call security to have him removed. I don’t even get a foot away before I find myself being reeled back around. I meet none other than Wiley’s fervent lips.

  Stunned.

  I’m stunned, because I didn’t see that one coming at all. The kiss is aggressive and filled with rage and I’m too shocked to choose between liking it or not.

  Catcalls and whistles snap me out of the shock, and so I decide I most definitely don’t like it. Before I can register what I’ve done, my hand lashes out and fries the side of his face. I hold my stinging hand as I watch red blossom his left cheek. And I swear to you, steam is rising from this fuming giant. My body freezes in place from panic.

  Without releasing me from the snare of his glower, Wiley points to the tunnel. “Practice is over. Go home.” His voice yells out to his team and the soggy players run like their wet butts are on fire—knowing it’s in their best interest. Smart men. I want to run, too.

  In the heat of things, both our raincoat hoods have fallen down and both stand here now with hair plastered from the downpour. I feel the droplets trickling down my neck and onto my back. The embarrassment has seared my face so the cool wetness is welcomed. If I could disappear on the spot, I would. But since that’s not feasible, I stand my squishy ground. Once the entire field is abandoned except for me and Mr. Alpha Male, I lay into him.

  “You ever disrespect me like that again in front your team, I’ll have you kicked out on your behind. And if you so much as set a foot on this field during a drizzle for anything other than game day, you’ll be slapped with a fine so fast your head will spin.” I take a step back. “You have a practice field. Use it.”

  I try fleeing again, but he grabs hold of my arm. “That… That was unprofessional. I… You drive me crazy. I’m mad at you, but—”

  “I’m not on a power trip and don’t need you constantly putting me in my place. You’re mad. I’m sorry, but business is business.” With a defeated shake of my head, I motion between us. “This was a mistake. I won’t allow it to affect this team.”

  I give Wiley a few seconds to respond. When he doesn’t, I bolt with him finally allowing me.

  *****

  I visit the tunnel after everyone leaves for the day. Sitting on the damp concrete floor, my focus is on the verse written along the wall. I read it aloud, hoping the words will reveal something new to me.

  “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” I say it once more silently as the somber melody of the rain keeps me company.

  The print is in black and gold boldness and easily grabs your attention. I wonder if all of this time I’ve missed their significance. I’ve spent the past several years on a distinct course, but now it seems maybe I’ve not run the right race. For the race I’ve picked has been a lonely one.

  As I’m pondering this, the bold clattering of dress shoes sound throughout the tunnel. Cooper appears from around the bend and joins me on the floor. What a contrast of genes—daughter in work uniform and father in high-dollar business suit.

  “You smacked him good.” He says this on a chuckle as he nudges my shoulder with his own.

  “He deserved it.”

  “Absolutely.”

>   “Are you watching too many security episodes again?”

  “No. I saw his face in person.”

  “You did?”

  Dad nods his head. “He came by to apologize and ask that I not castrate him. I made him no promises.”

  “Don’t castrate him, Dad. It’s just as much my fault.” A sigh slips out of me in defeat. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  “We’ve only got a handful of games left. How about we get through the season without the two of you declaring war. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I rest my head on Dad’s shoulder and just be his daughter for a much-needed moment. We simply sit and listen to the rhythmic pinging of the rain. Thank goodness, the rhythm is finally slowing.

  “Are you happy?” Dad asks after a while.

  I wasn’t expecting that. I shrug my shoulder, not knowing the answer. “Sure. I guess.”

  “Samantha.” His voice requests a more truthful answer.

  “I’m just… I’m lonely.”

  “You don’t have to be lonely. That’s a choice you can control.”

  “I’m not moving back in with you and Mom,” I say adamantly, causing him to chuckle.

  “You know what I mean, young lady.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dad slowly makes his way back to standing and moves over to the verse. Tapping his fingers to the word hinder, he says, “Don’t let fear hinder you from the blessing God has prepared for you.”

  Giving me a healthy dose of wisdom to think over, Dad heads back out.

  Chapter Eleven

  The season comes to a close with a finish of 10 to 6, with one playoff win. All in all, not a bad conclusion. It’s not stellar, but there’s lots of potential for next year. I think we are pretty set with a sturdy team, so there won’t be much work to do during the draft this year.

  The holidays came and went with Wiley keeping his distance. I did receive a lovely card from Maggie, thanking me and letting me know they had a wonderful Christmas in Texas. I’ve decided Wiley keeping his distance has been a good thing—most days, anyway—because when we are around each other it’s beyond awkward. He’s taken up sitting on the other side of the church with a row full of his players. I guess that’s for the best, because this odd ache has formed in my chest and worsens when he’s around.

  I don’t get it. How can a few kisses and only a handful of stolen moments together merit such grievance? The past seven months flicker through my mind and all I can see is Wiley Black. There have only been a limited amount of days in there where his presence was absent. Admittedly, I got attached to him without realizing it.

  With great effort, I tamp the ache down as best as I can and focus on the job before me tonight. Smoothing my glittery frock with nervous hands, I listen as another reporter asks the same question I’ve already answered a few times since arriving at the postseason celebration.

  “Tell me, Miss Shaw. What’s your take on this young team of yours?”

  “You’ve watched them this season, Henry. We both know they played a respectable game. They can only go up from here, and it’s going to be one impressive climb.”

  “Will they win the playoffs next year?” Henry asks as though he fully believes I can magically see into the future.

  “I have no doubt. Wiley Black is one talented coach and he will see to it.” My words are full of certainty. Taking my focus off Henry, I scan the stadium’s decked-out lobby. It’s massive and perfect for such a grand party as tonight. Just off to the right, I catch sight of Wiley. It’s obvious he’s listened to the exchange with me and the reporter. I excuse myself to go congratulate him.

  Wiley’s usual reserved demeanor must be taking the night off, and in its place something close to an amused smirk twitches at his lips. Those wicked green eyes meet mine just briefly before giving my frilly dress—that I had no choice in—a full inspection.

  “You look like a—”

  “Don’t—”

  “Fairy Princess.” He leans over my shoulder and seems to be eyeing my back.

  “What are you doing?” I firmly plant my hands on my hips.

  “Looking for your wings.”

  His nice, lean torso is right in front of me—making it easy to deliver a playful punch.

  “You’re not funny,” I mutter before inhaling his enchanting cologne that mingles before me. He’s so close and my hands tingle to reach out and close the tiny distance between us—to run my fingers along the inviting scruff on his cheek.

  He seems to be on the same page, because he makes no move to back off. “Seriously, you look beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You don’t look too shabby yourself.” My eyes roam the tailored dark-gray suit that fits him impeccably. The ache in my chest squeezes tighter as he dances his fingertips along my neck and on towards my bare shoulder and arm.

  Leaning close to my ear, he whispers, “You know that saying is true.”

  I have to forcefully swallow my emotions to ask, “What saying?”

  “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.”

  A trance overtakes us as the delicious tension pushes at my lonely soul. This man fills so many voids. Voids I didn’t know I had until he showed up. The intimate bubble is short-lived as some other reporter calls Wiley’s attention. Wiley eases back slightly to give me one last look before turning to answer the guy, who I want to physically hurt for interrupting us.

  Leaving him to it, I mingle back through the crowd for the next longest. Photo ops with Mom and Dad, a few quick quotes to the press, and congratulating the teammates and coaches keep me busy and I end up losing sight of Wiley. Disappointedly, I head out into the chilly night and focus on the spring ahead. There is a lot to do with three concerts and two rodeos on the books.

  Making mental notes, I open my door and climb in the cab. I’m struck by fear immediately at finding someone waiting on the passenger side. Releasing a scream riddled in terror, I let my fists fly in self-defense.

  “Knock it off before you hurt yourself.” Wiley gathers my wrists in one hand, putting an abrupt stop to my feeble attempt at protecting myself.

  “Are you trying to end me with a heart attack?” I wrench one hand free to comfort the pounding in my chest. Wiley refuses to give me back my right hand and somehow that helps soothe the ache a little.

  Sniffing back unwelcomed tears, I ask, “What are you doing, Wiley?”

  “Dang it, Sam. I really miss your stubborn behind.”

  My head shakes sadly. “We both have jobs to do, and we’ve seen how we can bite us in the butt. I’m talking scars.” Truthfully, it was inflicted on my heart—not my butt.

  “I think it would be worth the scars.”

  I have nothing to say to that, which is good because Wiley doesn’t give me the opportunity. Reaching over and entwining his fingers through my hair, he grazes his lips tenderly over my own. What a contradiction Hermes can be—one minute he’s Mr. Rough and Tough and then the next he’s the sweetest, gentlest creature I’ve ever been blessed to know.

  Those warm lips dance a confession with mine until I’m dizzy and those traitorous tears spill freely.

  Wiping them away with his thumbs, he whispers, “I’m in love with you. You’d be worth any scar, Samantha Shaw.”

  His words cause my heart to swell and rob me of my voice. All I can do is sit frozen and watch him climb out of the truck. I keep my eyes focused on him until he disappears into the dark parking lot.

  I’m so stubborn with everything, especially my emotions. I normally keep them so bottled up that if something or someone ever triggers them, I erupt into a hot mess. Sitting in my rusty antique truck in my gold, glittery dress, I blubber like a baby.

  Chapter Twelve

  The aroma of fried, sweet goodness keeps tickling my nose, as I carry the five boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts down the too-long hallway. My mouth waters with knowing the warm treats are going to go down effortlessly.

  “I need one now. This is tortur
e,” Trey whines as we walk towards the break room with him carrying the other five boxes.

  “Me too, but hold your horses. We’ve got business to take care of first.” I push the door open with my backside and greet a bunch of hungry workers. Placing the boxes down, I have to automatically pop Buck’s hand away from sneaking in the top box. “Wait a minute, Old man.”

  He grumbles something while Benji hands over the bowl with each crew member’s name scribbled on a separate slip of paper.

  “All right, this year’s season-ending cleanup is upon us again. Our department got divvied out the chore of scrubbing under the stadium seats in sections E and F. Same rules as last year. Three names get drawn from the bowl. Those three have to race to eat a dozen donuts the fastest. Loser gets the job.”

  I nod at Benji to begin. He pulls the first slip and grins. “Sam.” Everybody else grumbles.

  I’m the queen of the donut-eating contests around here. All’s good for me. I get to pig out on donuts and don’t have to worry about scraping gum and other mess off the seats.

  Benji pulls another name. “Colton.” Colton rolls his eyes and we laugh. He has a weird gag reflex and can’t eat fast. Too bad! “Last name is John.” John is the new guy, so I have no idea what I’m up against. He’s scrawny like me, but I know all too well that those are the ones you have to worry about.

  Someone clears his throat from the door. Looking over, I find Wiley watching on curiously.

  “I smell donuts,” he says.

  “You can’t have one. These are business donuts. You—”

  Before I can continue, Buck mischievously interrupts. “We are just having a fun donut-eating contest. You’re more than welcome to participate.”

  Wiley crosses arms. “Yeah? What’s at stake?”

  “Loser has to clean the stadium seats. Poor Sam’s name got drawn. There’s no way that puny girl is beating Colton. The guy is a donut-eating machine.”

  I notice Buck is making it sound like a two person challenge. I also notice everyone playing along and not correcting him. No one wants the seat-cleaning duty. Buck hands me a box and is about to hand Colton his, but pauses to cut Wiley a look. I turn away and take my place at the table so he doesn’t catch my grin.