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Cover Copy
Get Ready to Play Rough
Shay Beckham grew up idolizing her brother’s best friend, star quarterback Joe Reilly. There was no one in their Texas town who had the moves to match Joe on or off the field. Years later, he’s still a player who has what it takes to drive any hot-blooded woman wild. But Shay isn’t a kid with a bad case of hero-worship anymore. She’s grown-up and independent, with her feet on the ground and a serious head on her shoulders. If she could just say the same for Joe.
It’s been fifteen years, but Joe Reilly hasn’t forgotten the skinny little kid who used to follow him around like a shadow. What he can’t get over is that the skinny shadow has grown into one hell of an incredible woman. One any man in his right mind would kill to get his hands on. And one who seems to be completely immune to him. He knows he and Shay could have something special together. If he could only convince her he’s about more than just the game.
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Books by Desiree Holt
Finding Julia
Game On Series
Forward Pass
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Forward Pass
Game On Series
Desiree Holt
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Desiree Holt
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First Electronic Edition: July 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-729-9
eISBN-10: 1-61650-729-2
First Print Edition: July 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-730-5
ISBN-10: 1-61650-730-6
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
First of all to my late husband, David, who said “I really want a wife who loves to watch football with me,” then decided he should be careful what he asked for. All those games we watched, all the bets we made are stored in my memory banks.
Author’s Foreword
A writer’s life cannot move forward without the help and support of a lot of people. Many thanks to my son, Steven, who is willing to discuss sports with me for endless hours despite the fact he really does have a life of his own. When I wanted to go back to Michigan Stadium to see a game after so many years, he made it happen. Thanks for the memories and training to The Michigan Daily where I got my start as a sports reporter. Even sending me out on assignment riding a guy’s bike or freezing my rear end off at hockey practice didn’t deter me. I still love reading and writing about sports. A special shout-out to my sister, Sonya Langdon, the first person who taught me that watching football games could be fun. I’m so glad she roots for the New England Patriots because Tom Brady was a Wolverine. Special thanks to my friend and beta reader, Margie Hager, who labors through my typos and other mistakes and helps me whip every manuscript into shape. Then there’s my daughter Suzanne and my granddaughter Brooke who are my assistants, virtual and otherwise, who run my street team and make so many things happen for me. And I have to give huge thanks to Paige Christian, who is just the best editor ever. You make me work for my stories but in the end they sing. Thank you so much. And last but hardly least, to Renee Rocco, who believed in me. This series is for you, baby.
Chapter 1
“Damn it, Hank. Why don’t you answer?”
Shay Beckham pressed End on her cell phone yet again and sighed. She and her brother had been playing telephone tag for two days. When he called, she was in meetings. When she called, he was out of signal range. The only voices talking to each other were their voice mails. How godforsaken could it be in Wyoming, anyway? It was still in the United States, right?
And why was he trying so hard to reach her? They exchanged texts now and then, but they were both so busy they only called each other in case of emergency. The places he went, cell reception was spotty at best and talking to him was like playing leapfrog. Wait! Was he okay? Her heart stopped for a moment at the thought he might be hurt, but then she relaxed. If something had happened to him, his boss would have reached out to her. So what was on his mind that had generated this flurry of aborted phone calls? Obviously, he wanted something because he was the one who’d initiated this current game of phone tag.
She leaned back in the taxi as it turned from the airport access road onto the interstate. Less than half an hour and she’d be home, thank God, and she could get out of her sweatshirt and jeans that wore the remnants of her diet cola from the plane.
With the way her luck was running, maybe she shouldn’t have accepted her complimentary beverage. On the flight out to New York a week before, a little turbulence had been responsible for her arriving with a huge coffee stain on her favorite yellow sweater. Maybe she should carry a bib with her. Or a large tarpaulin.
On today’s flight, she had just set up her iPad and lifted her glass gingerly to take a sip when the plane hit an air pocket and everything bounced. Her iPad. The purse beneath the seat. Worst of all, her drink. Her hand flew up, with it her diet soda and, most importantly, the ice cubes. Up in the air. Over the back of her seat. Into the seat behind her.
She could
