First & Goal
By Laura Chapman
FIRST & GOAL
Copyright © 2015, 2016 by Laura Chapman
Second Edition
Previously Published by MARCHING INK, LLC September 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Cover Design by Laura Chapman
Cover Photo by Vadymvdrobot/Depositphotos
Proofreading by EFC Services
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
By Laura Chapman
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About the Author
Books by Laura Chapman
Sneak peek of Going for Two by Laura Chapman!
Acknowledgments
Sign up for Laura Chapman's Mailing List
For Mike and Shawn, who taught me to play the game
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)
AFTER FUMBLING IN HER personal and professional life, Harper Duquaine is eager for a fresh start. The first step of her new game plan: no more men. Unfortunately, living with her brothers and working in a male-dominated office makes that a little tough. The situation becomes even trickier when her direct approach ruffles the wrong feathers at work. Eager to make nice—or else—she impulsively joins the office fantasy football league. How hard can it be?
Answer: Hard.
Before long, Harper becomes caught up in a world of lineups, stats, and trades. Plus her vow to put some distance between herself and the opposite sex is severely tested. Especially when she catches the eyes of her two biggest competitors in the league. There's J.J., a local celebrity determined to win the fantasy championship no matter what. And Brook: the mild-mannered high school coach and defending champion who seems too good to be true. Could one of them turn out to be a keeper? Or is she better off benching them all?
Chapter One
I SHOULD HAVE LIMITED myself to a single cup of coffee. One would have given me the kick I needed to get out of bed. Four has left me nervous and nauseous. Like I could lose the coffee—and the dry bran muffin I choked down with it. Then again, maybe the twitchy fear and rolling stomach are a symptom of situation rather than poor breakfast selection.
Either way, Anderson keeps pausing his lecture—of which I’ve only managed to half-absorb—to stare at my tapping toes. I get it. It’s annoying. I’m annoyed. But in my defense, this is a first for me. I made it through thirteen years of public school, four years of college, and three other franchise locations without ever finding myself in the principal’s office. Yet here I am, in a closed door, one-on-one meeting with the general manager.
I’m not sure why. I’ve only been the office manager of this car dealership for a month. In my brief time here, I’ve overhauled the filing system and reduced excessive spending by twenty percent.
Not bad for the often forgotten franchise location. (It’s hard to be the store in Lincoln, Nebraska, when you’re up against places like Dallas, Kansas City, and Albany.) But I, Harper Duquaine, was up for the challenge. I’ve always been the girl who gets it right. Well, most of the time. I admit overindulging on caffeine was a bad idea. And I’m not exactly an expert at picking the right guy to date. But neither of those things matter in the long run, right?
Anderson pauses again and waits for me to stop tapping my foot. I cross my legs and clutch onto my knee.
In his clear, no nonsense way, he says, “While you’ve certainly made quick work of implementing the changes from Whitley Motors, a few . . . err . . . issues have come up.”
My eye spasms. “What kind of issues?”
“Mind you, I love what you’ve done, but, the rest of the team here, well . . . might . . .”
I stare, willing him to finish his explanation, but he doesn’t. “What? Are they worried it isn’t enough? They can’t be angry the website isn’t done already. We’re light-years ahead of Denver and—”
“That’s the problem,” he interrupts. “You’re moving too fast for everyone here.”
My eye twitches again. He has to be joking.
The hopeful expression falls from Anderson’s face. “You’re not upset, are you?”
“I guess I don’t understand what you mean.” I release the death grip on my knee and fold my arms. “None of these changes should shock anyone. They’re coming from the franchise owners. Most of the cuts and transitions were supposed to be made last fiscal year, which is why they sent me here to run the office.”
And I’d requested the transfer. For personal reasons.
“You’ve done everything they asked,” he agrees. “I’m quite certain the rest of the team will appreciate your hard work. Eventually. But at the moment they’re . . . struggling.”
I shrug. “They’ll get used to everything.”
“Yes, but I want you to be happy here.”
“I’m perfectly content.” For now. I don’t plan to make Lincoln or Nebraska my forever home. And what does my happiness have to do with the way I do my job?
“Wonderful.” He nods patiently. “Still, you’ll be happier coming to work every day if you make friends.”
“These are my colleagues,” I say as patiently as possible. Doesn’t he—the GM—understand this is a place of business, not a fraternity? If I ask the Internet sales manager to braid my hair during our lunch break, we won’t suddenly increase sales. “We don’t have to be friends.”
“No, but the people on our team are accustomed to camaraderie in the workplace.” Anderson shrugs. “You haven’t exactly been approachable.”
“You want me to slow down and be friendlier?” I lean back in my chair and recross my legs. “Okay. I’ll bring in donuts every once and a while. I’ll make a point to ask about Gio’s family or J.J.’s . . . whatever he has going on.”
“Those are excellent starts, but you should get
more involved.” He shuffles the papers on his desk. Why does he have so many? We’re supposed to be reducing our paper waste to save on costs and to reduce our environmental impact. It was in an email I sent last week. “Try meeting everyone for a night cap,” Anderson suggests. “Participate in one of their football pools. Get involved.”
I shake my head. Are we seriously having this conversation? I’m being reprimanded for doing my job and not wasting company time by fraternizing. This hardly seems fair.
“Frankly, most of the people here believe you’re a little . . .”
“What? If they’ve called me a bitch, I’ll—”
“No, nothing like that.” He clears his throat again and wipes his palms on his black suit pants. “But maybe some people find you a bit overbearing and demanding.”
“Oh.” The heat behind my anger cools. Overbearing isn’t a compliment, but it’s nothing to cry about. And I’ll make no apologies for being demanding. I ask for nothing I would not do myself.
“I overheard someone referring to you as ‘Harper the harper.’”
I suck in a breath. “Who?”
“Uh . . .”
“And what did you do about it?” I ask, leaning forward.
“Er . . .” He stares at the mesh paper clip tin on his desk, but says nothing. Well fine. If he doesn’t want to deal with this person’s wildly inappropriate remark, I will.
I stand and smooth the wrinkles out of my knee-length pencil skirt. “Right, well, I’ll come up with a way of being ‘one of the guys.’” My eyes narrow. “I won’t be bullied into letting this location sink into mediocrity because of some playground antics. I won’t let their fear of change keep me from doing my job.”
“Of course not,” he agrees. “But try lightening up a little. Please.”
“Right.” I turn on my heel and exit, leaving the door open behind me.
No one seems to have noticed our closed-door conversation. Good. I’m a breath away from screaming, and mocking looks from anyone might push me over the edge. I can’t believe someone called me a “harper.” While I meant what I said about being here to work, not make friends, I don’t like being mocked. I have to play nice even though I’m not the one who should be sorry in this situation.
Still fuming, I slow my steps when I notice the small group of people huddled around the receptionist’s desk. Fighting the urge to gently remind them we’re all on the clock, I listen instead. Three of the salesmen are chatting with Kelsey, the college student who works the front desk weekday afternoons and Saturdays. Bubbly and unbelievably fashionable for someone who earns her salary, she’s popular with the rest of our staff. Her charms certainly seem to be working on Wade, J.J., and Gio.
Wade’s and J.J.’s interest I understand. They’re both single, in their late twenties, and are the kind of men who spend their weekend nights looking for one night of love and entertainment in the trendy Railyard district. Or so I’ve overheard them telling the other salesmen every Monday morning.
Based on the way Kelsey is facing J.J., and fluffing her hair every ten seconds, I’d guess he might have a chance with her. And why wouldn’t he? At six-foot something, he has broad shoulders and muscles that always seem one sudden movement away from bulging out of his crisp white dress shirts.
Anderson told me J.J. played football for the University of Nebraska. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a bright smile straight out of a toothpaste ad, he looks the part. After college he had a short stint in the pros and a few seasons with an arena league.
Based on the numbers I crunched last week, he’s not much of a salesman, but he’s a local celebrity. It’s good for business—everyone loves a team mascot. Unless he’s one of those creepy mascots who comes up behind you for a hug. I shudder remembering the time I was picked up by a man in a big, sticky badger costume when I was six.
Wade, bless his heart, is nice enough. He’s the only salesman who asks if I want anything when they go for lunch runs. I’d even call him handsome in a cute, office-nerd sort of way, but he pales next to J.J.
As for Gio, I’d hope he’d have more sense than to flirt with the barely legal receptionist. He’s a father. He should be ashamed of how he’s carrying on with a young woman only two or three years older than his teenage daughters.
J.J. says something and Kelsey giggles, making a production of tucking a few stray strands of her long strawberry blonde hair back behind her ear. Oh, girl, you do not want to hook up with any of these salesmen. It’ll only end in heartache and a lot of awkwardness. Believe me.
“I don’t get how it works,” Kelsey says. “I mean, I’ve heard about fantasy football, but what do you even do?”
Fantasy football, hmm? Both of my brothers are in leagues. They basically live and breathe by their fake teams for months on end each fall. I’ve never paid enough attention to fully comprehend what’s happening, but I still give them crap for becoming emotionally invested in something that doesn’t matter. My ex used to call it “Dungeons and Dragons for sports fans.”
“It’s pretty basic,” Wade says. “Before the season starts, you draft a team of professional football players. Quarterbacks, running backs, wide receivers, tight ends, a kicker, and a defense. They can be from any NFL team.”
“You can pull from anyone—the Packers, the Broncos, the Patriots,” J.J. chimes in. “You can even take someone from the Jets, if you’re willing to risk it.”
“Not funny,” Gio says. “You know they’re my team.”
“Of course I do. Just like I realize nobody’s perfect. Except for me.” He winks at Kelsey.
She giggles. “But what do you do with those players?”
“During the season, you’ll set a lineup every week.”
“What’s a lineup?”
“It’s the list of players you’re making active.” When she stares at J.J. blankly, he lets out a huge sigh. “About half of your roster sits on the bench each week. Only the players on your lineup earn you points.”
“How do you get points?”
“Every player earns points based on how he performs during his real game.” Wade grabs a piece of paper and a pen. I angle my neck but can’t quite make out his scratchings. “Like, a quarterback earns six points if he throws to a wide receiver who makes a touchdown or if he runs the ball in himself. A wide receiver gets points for making the catch, running the yards, and getting the touchdown. When you sign up for your account you can check out all the different ways you can earn points.”
“But how do you win or lose?”
“Each week you play against another person in the league. The person who finishes the series of games with the most points wins.”
“And the one with the least loses.” Her eyes narrow. “I bet you guys want me in your league because you want me to lose.”
“No, we don’t.” J.J. leans across the counter. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ll help you.”
“No. You won’t,” Wade says. “You’ll give her bad advice so you can beat her.”
“I will not.”
“Will, too.”
“Will not.”
“Will, too.”
“Boys, boys,” Gio interrupts, wielding the full power of seventeen years of fatherhood. “It doesn’t matter whether or not J.J. helps Kelsey draft a team or leads her astray. Brook is still going to kick our asses all season.”
J.J. frowns. “Why do you assume MacLaughlin will win again?”
“He does every year.”
“No, he—”
“Settle down,” Gio interrupts before J.J.’s face turns bright crimson. “You can puff up your chest and rant all you want. He’s a shoo-in for the playoffs. He gets there every year.”
“We’ve only had five seasons.”
“And he’s won three of them and finished second the other two.” Gio lets out a short laugh and shakes his head. “I’d quit the league if it wasn’t fun and didn’t get me out of the estrogen den at home. Brook is too good; we’ll never beat him.”
<
br /> “He gets lucky,” J.J. mutters.
“He has skills.”
“Every winning streak has to end sometime.”
Gio rubs his forehead. I can’t blame him. J.J. is giving me a headache, too.
“His streak isn’t about superstition or anything,” Gio says. “He has an eye for talent. The guy could do this for a living.”
“Technically he does.” Wade flinches under J.J.’s heated glare. “He does. He coaches football.”
“At a high school.” J.J. rolls his eyes. “He’s working with amateurs, not a team of highly trained, well-paid athletes.”
“They’re kids,” Gio says.
“And talented ones,” Wade adds. “They’re already front-runners for State this year.”
J.J.’s frown settles deeper into his face. “Ratings, rankings, and projections don’t count for anything unless you take the title in the end.”
“I’m still not sure about this fantasy football business,” Kelsey says, trying to regain control of the conversation. She’s also likely trying to prevent J.J. from slugging the other salesmen. “I guess I don’t understand football.”
“Young lady, you were born and raised in Nebraska.” Gio grins and offers her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “You’d be surprised how much you probably know about the game without even trying.”
“It’s in the blood,” Wade agrees. “We Nebraskans are born with the football gene in our DNA. Sometimes it doesn’t present itself until later in life.”
“A dormant gene?”
“Exactly.”
Kelsey purses her lips. “I still don’t—”
“Here’s the deal,” J.J. interrupts. “One of our league-mates dropped out at the last-minute. His wife had a baby a couple of months ago, and he’s under the impression he can’t manage a fantasy league and be a father at the same time.”
The men exchange pained glances, and Gio rolls his eyes. “First-time fathers always overdo it. He’ll be begging to rejoin next season.”
“In the meantime, we need a twelfth player,” J.J. says. “Please, Kelsey. It’s only for one season.”
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