The next shot was Joss on the sidelines, facing the camera and talking to the viewer.
“That was just a taste of what’s going on here at the Berzerk OCR. The combination of past and present, strategy and sheer brute force, is exhilarating. I’m sure I’ve got a mess of bruises under all this mud, but it was worth it.”
Dan laughed. She sure was proud of her bruises.
“Signing off from Helsingborg, Sweden, this is Joss Crandall, heading for a long, hot shower.” She glanced over her shoulder at the game still going on, then looked back at the camera with a grin. “Or maybe I’ll give the wall another shot. Later!” She took off, running back on the field.
Certifiable. There was no other explanation.
Dan rewound the image to the place where Joss had just returned from her first shot at the wall, and froze the image. She was covered in mud, from her multi-braided hair down to the rounded toes of her boots. It wasn’t a state most women would enjoy, but Joss obviously wasn’t most women. Her smile cut a bright, white swatch through the brown ooze on her face, and her eyes sparkled.
Leaning back in his chair, Dan crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. For heaven-knew-how-long, they were going to be partners. It could be worse. He could have been fired outright. Now, he needed to make the best of this new situation. Joss was intelligent, funny, and from what he could tell, dedicated to her job.
She was also the boss’s daughter.
Dan sighed. The woman was going to be trouble. No doubt about it.
3
February
Atlanta, Georgia
The basis of Joss’s plan was to find the most offbeat sporting events possible – so offbeat, one might think twice about classifying them as sports – and give the audience an inside view. Dan couldn’t help but think if she was anyone other than Aaron Crandall’s daughter, the idea would have been shot down faster than a clay pigeon at a firing range. It was the only way to explain why the board of directors gave them a hearty thumbs-up. Their one restriction had been that Dan and Joss stay in the country. Apparently, they had to prove themselves worthy before they were allowed to head to Finland for the annual Wife Carrying competition.
Dan looked at the two teams warming up on the field, and his stomach flopped. How had he fallen so far and ended up here?
“Ready, partner?” Joss called out as she skipped down the metal stairs of the production trailer. She wore skinny jeans, a t-shirt made to look like a generic football jersey, and athletic shoes.
“Ready for what?”
“To play.” She held up two nylon belts, one blue and one red, with long, rectangular flags hanging from them.
“Oh no.” Dan held up his hands and took a step backward. “You can make of fool of yourself, but I’m not joining you.”
She shook her head, sending her brown ponytail swinging from side to side. “What’s the big deal? You played pro-ball for years.”
“It’s not the same thing. This is flag football. It’s what grade schoolers play.”
“I see.” Joss wiggled her eyebrows, teasing him. “You’re afraid you’ll be shown up playing a kid’s game.”
“No, of course not. It’s just… I mean, it’s…”
“Beneath you.” Joss hurried on, not giving him a chance to contradict her. “If you ask me, that’s small thinking. This isn’t a spontaneous playground game. These adults are part of a city league, which is part of a state league, which is part of a–”
“I get it. It’s an organized sport.”
“Yes, it is. But if you don’t want to be part of the segment, that’s fine. You can just stand off to the side and let me handle it.”
Dan frowned. She knew he couldn’t do that. How would it look if she went out and mixed it up with one of the teams while he sat by and watched? “Fine. Let’s do this. Partner.”
Joss ginned and held out the belts. “Red or blue?”
He snatched the red belt and fastened it around his waist, grumbling the whole time while trying to ignore the snickers of the nearby cameraman and production crew. He began to stalk toward the field, but a hand wrapped around his wrist and jerked him to a stop.
“Wait a minute.” Joss wasn’t teasing anymore. She was dead serious. “You can be angry with me or with the situation, but don’t you dare take it out on those people.” Her eyes stayed locked with his, but her free arm shot out and pointed at the field. “Regardless how you feel about this sport, they are passionate about it and they’re excited to have us here. So we’re going to go out there and learn everything we can about the Greater Atlanta Flag Football League. Got it?”
“Got it.”
They stared each other down, but in the end, it was too ridiculous. The corner of Dan’s mouth twitched and he burst out laughing. Joss’s eyes widened in surprise and she let go of his wrist.
Dan wiped at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand. “No one can ever accuse you of being apathetic.”
“Thank you. I think.”
It was a compliment, although he wouldn’t come right out and say it. He also wouldn’t tell her she was right. The athletes on the field hadn’t signed multimillion dollar contracts, but they were athletes all the same. Maybe he was looking at this thing all wrong. Why not go out there and have some fun while he waited for the public to forget why they’d called for his head on a platter? Eventually, he was getting back on the anchor desk, but for now, he’d smile and play the game. While he was at it, he’d teach Joss a thing or two about friendly competition.
What could go wrong with that?
~
Flag football was a lot more brutal than they’d thought.
Joss limped off the field with the help of Scott, the captain of the Jets team. Up ahead, two members of the opposing team (which Joss had been disappointed to learn was not named the Sharks, but the considerably less ferocious Marlins) carried Dan on a stretcher.
“I can walk, I tell ya. I’m fine.” Despite his continued protests, Dan’s arms were flopping around in a way that convinced Joss the stretcher was a really good idea.
“You got hit in the head,” she yelled in his direction. “Stop squawking and let them take care of you.”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t know what happened. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone somersault in mid-air at one of our games.”
Joss snorted out a laugh. “Well, Dan’s full of surprises. He used to be a pro, you know.”
“A pro what? Gymnast?”
A pro showoff. Was and still is. Joss bit back the snark and kept hobbling forward. The cameras continued to follow them, capturing everything. Witty comments were one thing, but she had to keep herself from outright insulting Dan. It wouldn’t reflect well on their partnership. Not that being injured during a flag football game was particularly impressive, but at least it would give the audience a laugh.
The two men set the stretcher down in the shade thrown by the production trailer. Scott led Joss to a collapsible camping chair and helped her settle into it. He drug a nearby drink cooler closer to her.
“You should elevate your foot. It will help the swelling. I’ll go find you an ice pack.”
Joss maneuvered her foot onto the plastic cooler, then let her head fall back with a groan. From his place on the ground, Dan pushed himself up on one elbow and looked over at her.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I’m the one who could have suffered brain damage.”
“You can’t damage what you don’t have.” A cameraman snickered and Joss grimaced. So much for not outright insulting him.
“Very funny.”
“Don’t blame me for being cranky. You probably just need a few aspirin and you’ll be fine. I think I broke something in my foot.”
Dan’s eyes narrowed as he frowned at her. “I don’t understand how you could attack a Viking shield wall and come out with nothing more serious than bruises, but in a simple game of flag football, you break a foot.”
/> “Maybe because none of those Vikings fell on top of me after–” It suddenly registered what he’d said. “How do you know about the Viking wall?”
“How do you think?”
He’d Googled her. The realization that he’d been curious enough about her to watch at least one of her video reports made Joss grin. “Gee, I didn’t know you cared.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Dan said with a snort. “I had to make sure you could do what you said you could. I would have done the same with anyone.”
Of course, that wasn’t strictly true. If he’d been paired with one of his old football buddies, for example, Joss was sure he wouldn’t have felt the need to check up on him. It should bother her, but it didn’t. Instead, she felt a vague sense of pride that he’d researched her, looked at her work, and been satisfied enough to team up with her.
Dan lay back down and draped his arm over his eyes. “Next time, I want to pick the event we cover. It’ll be something less dangerous. Like sumo wrestling.”
“If you want to head over to Ohio, we can hit the North American Tiddlywinks Championship.”
“Tiddlywinks? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Hey, I do my homework.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “That should be tame enough for you. Although you may want to wear protective goggles.”
Dan muttered something she couldn’t make out, but Joss just smiled. After editing, she had no idea what this segment would look like, but one thing was certain. It wouldn’t be like anything he’d done before.
~
Portland, Oregon
When it came to the weird, the offbeat, and what would hit it big on the internet, Joss had great instincts. Despite his grumbling about the tiddlywink championship, that was exactly where they’d gone next. In their video package, Joss handed him a pair of safety goggles, which he grudgingly put on. Then, a minute later, he hit himself in the face with his own wink. The clip went viral, as did a GIF of him aiming at the pot, pressing down on the wink with the squidger, and the wink flipping up and pinging off the plastic of the goggles over and over and over again. There were different versions, one with the caption “You’ll put your eye out.” Another had been altered so it looked like sparks flew when the wink made contact.
Sitting at the table in his small room in the Portland Radisson, Dan stared at the article he’d pulled up on his laptop. New Team Takes a Wild Look at Sports. Overall, it was positive, but Dan ended up being the brunt of the jokes. Their reporting style was compared to slapstick, and he was on the receiving end of the slapping. It wasn’t the most dignified position to be in. Then again, a week ago people had been calling him a racist. If he had to choose between being seen as a bigot or a buffoon, buffoon won hands down.
His stomach rumbled and he glanced at the time on the laptop. He really should go down to the coffee shop and grab some dinner. Later, he could contemplate the status and direction of his career.
As Dan walked down the hall to the elevator, he saw a door open ahead. A woman walked out, looked at him and put her hand on her hip.
“You got hungry, too?” Joss jiggled the handle to make sure the door was secure, then moved in his direction.
Dan nodded. “Thought I’d try out the coffee shop. Want to join me?”
Her eyebrows rose, as if she was surprised that he’d invited her. Truth be told, he was a bit surprised, himself. Over the last week, they’d spent nearly every waking moment together so he’d been looking forward to some alone time. But what was the point of eating by himself?
“I’d love to,” she said.
They rode down the elevator in companionable silence, then made their way to the restaurant. Thankfully, there was no wait. The hostess – Deborah, according to her name tag – seated them right away. She handed Dan a menu, then slowed down as she extended one to Joss.
“Pardon me, but aren’t you that funny sports reporter?”
Joss laughed. “I guess it depends on which one you mean.”
“The one that was playing flag football.”
With a small tug, Joss pulled the menu out of Deborah’s hand. “That’s me.”
She beamed at Joss. Then she turned to take a closer look at Dan. “And you’re that other one. The guy who shot himself with his own tiddlywink.”
Dan opened his mouth to respond, but Joss jumped in first. “Deborah, it’s sweet of you to recognize us. But we’re both pretty tired and hungry.”
The young woman nodded deliberately, as if Joss had just included her in a closely-guarded secret. “I understand. I’ll send your waitress right over.”
“That was kind of exciting, wasn’t it?” Joss said once she’d walked away.
“Oh sure.” Dan made a face. “Can’t tell you how much I love being called that other one.”
“Stop it. It’s not like she knew my name, either.”
“No, but at least you got to be that funny sports reporter.”
Joss considered it for a moment, then chuckled. “I did, didn’t I? Cool.” She opened her menu and hid her face behind it, but there was no hiding the fact that she was smiling.
After the waitress gushed over them (calling Joss the funny one and Dan the clumsy one) she took their orders (Cobb salad for Joss, double cheeseburger and onion rings for Dan) and asked for their autographs (which they happily gave her on the back of an empty order slip).
The waitress almost skipped back to the kitchen and they heard her calling out, “Janet, you’ll never guess who’s at my station.”
Joss put her elbow on the table and propped her chin on her fist. “I never expected people to start recognizing us so fast.”
“Thank you, YouTube.”
“And Facebook, and Twitter, and Pinterest, and–”
“Everyone on the world wide web.”
Joss raised her water glass in a toast, and he returned the gesture.
“So, I’ve got some ideas.” After a quick rummage through her purse, she pulled out a folded, slightly crumpled piece of paper.
So much for a relaxing evening away from work. “Do you ever stop thinking?”
“Do you ever start?” She looked up from the paper, which she was smoothing out on the table, and grimaced. “Sorry. Once the banter starts, it’s hard to turn it off.”
“No problem.” He waved his hand, shooing away the apology. “According somebody on Twitter, we have a Hepburn and Tracy kind of chemistry. If Hepburn and Tracy ever beat each other up during a sporting event, that is.”
Joss laughed. “Fair enough. Now, after doing some research, I thought this would be a good schedule for us for the next few months.”
“How many is a few?”
She pushed the paper to him. “Six.”
“Six months?” Apparently, Joss had no plans of letting him rest anytime soon. He scanned the list, still amazed at some of the events that were not only classified as sports, but were organized at the national or global level. Dog surfing, anyone? “Do you plan to keep us on the road for the next six months?”
“No, of course not.” She leaned over, almost leaning against his shoulder in order to look at the list. “See, right here.” She pointed. “Between Chess-Boxing and Unicycle Football.”
“That’s not until April.”
She looked up at him, eyes round and doe-like. “Is that a problem?”
He exhaled a long breath. “Look, you’re excited. I get it. But you’re also new at this. We don’t need to go a hundred miles an hour with our hair on fire.”
Joss frowned and snatched the list from his hands. “But there are so many good things on here.”
“And we can’t possibly do them all.”
The waitress brought their food, chattering on as she set the plates down about how they were the first famous people she’d ever met. She walked away, but only after they promised to take a picture with her before they left.
Dan grabbed the bottle of ketchup from the center of the table and squirted some on his burger. “Why don�
�t we go over the list together and figure out how we can give ourselves at least two days off each week. That’s reasonable, right?”
“I suppose.” She poured the dressing out of the plastic cup, zig-zagging across her salad. Then she smiled. “I knew you’d come around.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve got six months of assignments there, and all you want is a few days off a week. You like working with me.” She speared a tomato wedge and popped it in her mouth.
“I like working. Period.”
There was no way Dan would admit that after reading the list he had an image in his head of Joss laughing as she balanced on a unicycle, her ponytail swinging. So he didn’t hate working with her. It was just a job, and a stop-gap one at that. He hadn’t complained about her six-month-long list because he figured it would take that long for him to get completely back into the good graces of the public and the Board of Directors. Once that happened, he’d demand they return him to his seat at the anchor desk, and Joss could find herself another partner. Until then, why not let her think she was winning him over with her sparkling personality?
He took a bite of his burger, then wiped catsup from the corner of his mouth. He could put up with anything for six months. Even Joss Crandall.
4
March
San Bernardino, California
One of these days, Dan would learn to leave his nice clothes at home. For now, Joss watched him leave the production trailer in a pair of crisp khakis and a designer dress shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders. He was quite a handsome man, no doubt about it. And he was completely overdressed. She shook her head. The Hugo Boss tie around his neck had probably cost more than her black leggings, tank top, and Sketchers combined.
He walked over to her, his dress shoes making imprints in the damp grass. Stopping beside her, he crossed his arms and looked around at the acres and acres of mud in front of them. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”
“And you have no idea how to dress for ‘em.” Joss’s eyes travelled from his freshly combed hair to his already dirty shoes. “They call this the Tough Mudder for a reason. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in something else?”
Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 1: 6 Romantic sporting novellas Page 20