Play Calling

By Kate Donovan

Daniel Riga, the controversial head coach of the Portland Lancers, has the same rule for press conferences as for anything else during football season: football only. The man doesn’t even date except in the off-season. So why are these reporters asking about some sociologist who inexplicably called him a zombie in her latest newspaper column? On the Lifestyles page, no less!

Noelle Sharpe is mortified that her words have been taken out of context, since her tongue-in-cheek point was that zombies focus on a single obsession—eating brains—but a brilliant, vibrant man like Daniel Riga should broaden his horizons past football-only. Her attempt at apologizing in print only leads to another round of jokes at the handsome coach’s expense, so she tracks him down for an in-person apology.

As frustrated as he is with this zombie nonsense, Daniel goes wild for Noelle and they end up in bed. Unfortunately, it’s football season, so he asks her to wait for him until the off-season. By now, she’s so crazy about him, and so worried she’ll cost the Lancers their season by distracting him, she readily agrees.

Zombies consume brains. That’s all they do. And Daniel Riga consumes football. That’s all he does. Or at least until Noelle Sharpe writes her way into his life and gives football some serious competition.

Praise for Play Date:

“Sean and Tess’s story pulled me in right from the start and had me flying through the pages in search of what I hoped to be a very steamy happily ever after . . . and I am happy to report I found that . . . and so much more!!” —Reds Romance Reviews
About the Author:

Kate Donovan is a Niners fan, a wife, a mother, a lawyer, and an author. She has more than thirty books and novels to her credit, publishing in genres including fantasy, historical romance, legal thriller, romantic suspense, and young adult science fiction. Play Calling is the fifth book in her Play Makers series, following Playing for Keeps, Play Date, Power Play, and Playing for Kicks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing
• Release date: Aug 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781940846989

Kate Donovan

Kate was born in Newark, Ohio, and lived there until age nine when her family moved to Barrington, Rhode Island. They moved again to California just in time for Kate to attend college in Berkeley, which is where she met her husband-to-be, Paul. Kate and Paul attended law school together and settled down in Sacramento to raise a family: son Paul Michl; daughter Amanda; Murphy the trusty (if tiny) watchdog; and Scooter the cat/hunter. They all live in Elk Grove now, and Kate divides her time between her day job as an attorney for the state of California and her writing. When she's not writing, she hangs out with her family in the vicinity of the TV, reads or cooks the many Mexican recipes handed down to her by her late mother-in-law. Kate loves to hear from readers. You can reach her by email at [e-mail]

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Cover

Play Calling

Daniel Riga, the controversial head coach of the Portland Lancers, has the same rule for press conferences as for anything else during football season: football only. The man doesn’t even date except in the off-season. So why are these reporters asking about some sociologist who inexplicably called him a zombie in her latest newspaper column? On the Lifestyles page, no less!

Noelle Sharpe is mortified that her words have been taken out of context, since her tongue-in-cheek point was that zombies focus on a single obsession—eating brains—but a brilliant, vibrant man like Daniel Riga should broaden his horizons past football-only. Her attempt at apologizing in print only leads to another round of jokes at the handsome coach’s expense, so she tracks him down for an in-person apology.

As frustrated as he is with this zombie nonsense, Daniel goes wild for Noelle and they end up in bed. Unfortunately, it’s football season, so he asks her to wait for him until the off-season. By now, she’s so crazy about him, and so worried she’ll cost the Lancers their season by distracting him, she readily agrees.

Zombies consume brains. That’s all they do. And Daniel Riga consumes football. That’s all he does. Or at least until Noelle Sharpe writes her way into his life and gives football some serious competition.

Title Page

Copyright

Play Calling

Kate Donovan

Copyright © 2016 by Kate Donovan

Material excerpted from Playing for Keeps copyright © 2014 by Kate Donovan

Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-940846-98-9

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

To the amazing NFL coaches who bring out the best

in our players and our sport, thank you.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Excerpt from Playing for Keeps

The Play Makers Series

Books by Kate Donovan

About the Author

Chapter One

Hey, Coach?

Head coach Daniel Riga looked up from his chart and saw Johnny Spurling, quarterback of the Portland Lancers, filling the doorway. Hey, John. How’s the elbow?

Good as new. The QB flexed the joint in question, then asked cautiously, "Did you catch the Herald this morning?"

Yeah. Daniel grimaced. Total crap as usual. Worse, actually.

That’s what I thought, Johnny agreed. Just wanted to make sure you heard about it before the press conference.

As Daniel watched his best player amble away, he reminded himself how fortunate he was. His first gig as an NFL coach and he had guys like Spurling to more or less guarantee the playoffs. And with luck, another Super Bowl win.

The team had done it last year under Daniel’s predecessor, who had been abruptly fired in April. Meaning the pressure on Daniel from fans and media to score a repeat was intense, although nothing compared to the pressure he put on himself.

Hey, Coach?

He eyed his next visitor—the team’s press guy, Tom Jefferson—grimly. Is it time already?

"We’ve got a few minutes. But there’s an item in today’s Herald I thought you should see first."

Surprised everyone was reacting so strongly to what Daniel viewed as a typical case of sloppy journalism, he said dismissively, That guy never has anything useful to say. Luckily the other beat reporters are decent.

I’m not talking about Farrow’s article, Coach. This was in the Lifestyles section.

Lifestyles? Daniel snorted. What does that have to do with football?

Not much, but the press’ll ask about it, so . . . He shoved a folded newspaper across the desk. It’s bullshit, but they’ll ask.

Daniel didn’t touch it. What’s the bottom line?

Basically she calls you a zombie.

Huh? He cocked an eyebrow, more confused than offended. Why?

Well . . . Jefferson cleared his throat. "It’s clever in a way. Like basically she thinks people should try to broaden their interests. But too many people just glom on to one subject—like rock music or video games or Facebook—and ignore the rest of the world. Just like zombies, right? Because zombies only care about one thing—eating brains. And since you publically announced you only care about football, you’re a zombie."

Daniel pushed the paper back across the desk then shrugged to his feet. "Our rookies performed like champs yesterday. That’s the focus of today’s press conference. Or at least, it should be."

I agree. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.

And I appreciate it. He grinned. If these guys are reading the Lifestyles section, they’re in the wrong line of work. So let’s get it over with, shall we? So I can focus on what’s actually important.

• • •

Just mentioning how the rookies had kicked ass yesterday made Daniel’s chest swell with pride. He had arguably spent too much time on several of them, since conventional wisdom had them headed to the practice squad. And even the prize draft pick—pass rusher Jordy Jordan—had shown up to training camp in less than stellar shape. But hard work and renewed self-discipline, not to mention Daniel’s dictatorial scare tactics, had turned things around in record time.

And so, while he disliked media appearances, much less the four-times-a-week schedule that had been laid out for him, he approached this one as a chance to brag about his players. They had a long way to go, but yesterday’s performance boded well, at least in Daniel’s eyes.

The Portland franchise was only a few years old, so the practice facility was state-of-the-art, including its press room, which contained four rows of comfortable seating, ample square footage for overflow, and great acoustics and lighting to go with outstanding audio-video equipment.

Striding up to the podium on a raised platform, Daniel noted that the crowd was bigger than usual. Not just beat reporters and some regional pundits, but a few national columnists, as well as a familiar face from ESPN. It made sense, given how well the Lancers had performed in their first exhibition game. On the other hand, it was pre-season, so the win itself meant less than nothing. At least to Daniel. He loved the performances. The effort. But the W?

It simply didn’t register.

Okay, folks, he said briskly. We’re all busy, so let’s get to it. First question?

The Herald guy practically shot out of his seat, and while Daniel could barely stomach him, he gave him the nod.

Farrow beamed as if he had personally scored a touchdown. Hey, Coach. How does it feel to be called a zombie in the syndicated press?

Daniel glowered. Let’s start with football questions. Then if hell freezes over, we’ll do pop psychology.

She’s not a shrink, Coach, another reporter informed him. "She’s a sociologist. And it is football-related, since she says it’s not healthy—for society—for a guy to shut everything but sports out of his life."

Daniel’s temper flared. Did anyone bother watching the game? Or were you too busy braiding each other’s hair?

They all laughed, then the ESPN guy had the smarts to call out, Jordan was a beast yesterday.

Yeah, he’s making steady progress, Daniel agreed.

How does it feel to get your first NFL win?

Ask me again in four weeks, Daniel advised, chuckling. Pre-season isn’t about winning. It’s about separating the wheat from the chaff. And so far, my guys are all wheat.

A regional reporter caught his eye, got the nod, then asked, All kidding aside, Coach, does that zombie-thing change what you said during training camp? About focusing exclusively on football even over Thanksgiving and Christmas? That’s kind of extreme, right? I mean, he added hastily, she obviously doesn’t get it. But there’s a kernel of truth to what she wrote, isn’t there?

Sounds like we’re done here, Daniel drawled. See you all on Wednesday. Hopefully to talk about football.

• • •

Cringing into her cushy new sofa, Noelle Sharpe hit the pause button on her remote, thereby freezing Daniel Riga’s furious expression on her fifty-five-inch TV screen.

Oh, God, she whispered. This can’t be happening.

Her faithful companion, Bo—a fluffy black-and-white cutie who was half mini-Aussie, half Pomeranian—whimpered sympathetically from beside her.

He looks so angry, Noelle said with a sigh. "And I don’t blame him. Even though they’re misquoting me. Everyone’s misquoting me. But still, what was I thinking?"

She had been so excited about her new column for the Lifestyles section of the Portland Herald. So pleased to have a soapbox to reach busy men and women who didn’t have the time, money, or inclination to read her best-selling book Zombie Renaissance, but who might enjoy her ramblings on the highest uses of today’s unprecedented tech revolution.

And so she had bounded out of bed at six a.m., anxious to read the first online comments on her first entry, which had basically recapped the theme of her book—that they lived in amazing times where knowledge of myriad fields was at their fingertips. Where a person could truly be a Renaissance man or woman. Instead, so many modern men and women fixated on one tiny portion of the digitally-available universe. Did they hurt themselves in the process? That was for others to say. But the sociologist in Noelle firmly believed they owed something to society as a whole—the kind of synergistic learning and discovery that had blossomed in fifteenth-century Italy and would do so even more grandly today if only more people would buy into it.

It had been a good effort, but apparently, a single paragraph toward the end had ruined it by defaming head coach Daniel Riga, even though all it said was:

Recently, a truly gifted football coach remarked how during football season he intentionally ignores everything else including family, friends, dating, and other non-football relationships. Even during the holidays. He eats, sleeps, and dreams football. And while I consider football a worthwhile pursuit, I also consider his attitude a tragic loss to society. Because this particular man is unusually intelligent, creative, and driven, much like those giants of the Renaissance. Yet he intentionally shuts out art, music, literature, astronomy and countless other areas where he could have an impact, either directly or by inspiring others. Instead, he intentionally and exclusively consumes brains/football and that is a loss to us all.

It was a compliment, she assured the angry image on her TV. "Can’t they see that? I called you intelligent, creative and driven. And I didn’t diss football either. I love football. How else would I have heard of you in the first place?"

He had come to her attention a few months ago for two reasons. First, he had been plucked out of a mid-sized college program to become the new head coach for the Portland Lancers, her favorite team. And second, he was a perfect blend of brilliance and bone structure.

And the muscles weren’t bad either.

Intrigued by the guy, she had studied him the way an NFL coach might study a prospective player, and had learned his strategic skills were second to none. And his confidence? Through the roof, even though he was moving from relative obscurity into the shoes of a coach who had just won the Super Bowl. Meaning the pressure on Riga was unrelenting, especially since the team’s former coach, a man named Coz Cosner, had been fired without warning soon after the big win.

Lancer fans had been shocked. Then confused. And even though the team’s best players, including QB Johnny Spurling, had stepped up to support the new coach, many folks in the media and the fan base had been outraged.

But Noelle had recognized the brilliance of the move just by gazing into Riga’s piercing, intelligent eyes during a bevy of televised press conferences during the pre-season. Then he had made his proclamation about shutting out everything but football, and she had seen him as the quintessential example of how the best and brightest of modern society were shortchanging themselves and their culture. He had all the earmarks of the ideal neo-Renaissance man, if only he would look up occasionally from the playbook and study the world around him.

I’m so, so sorry, she told him now. I honestly meant it as a compliment.

Her misery was interrupted by a buzzing from the coffee table. Seeing that the caller was the paper’s managing editor, Bob Wharton, she scooped up the phone and wailed, Did you watch it?

They had talked earlier in the day, when the nasty online comments from Lancer fans were flying in, calling her a hack, a traitor, a know-it-all, and a bitch. And worse. She had been so sure she would be fired, and rightfully so, but Wharton had insisted bad publicity was better than none at all, and this was the mother of all bad publicity.

Now he chuckled and assured her, I have a feeling we saw two different shows. To you, it was a disaster. For me? Manna from heaven.

Oh, stop. You can’t possibly think this is okay. Did you see how livid he was? Poor guy, after the great job he did getting the team ready for yesterday’s game.

He looked frustrated, not livid.

"And what about Ted Farrow? He’s supposed to be on my side. I’m sure he’s a fine reporter—"

He’s the owner’s nephew, Wharton replied dryly. I thought you knew that.

Oh. She let the information register, admitting it made her feel a little better. Ted Farrow’s articles ranged from uninformed to irrelevant to boorish, none of which were the hallmarks of good sports reporting in Noelle’s opinion. Oddly enough, he was a decent writer in a mechanical sense. Just not about football.

Now she knew how he kept his job at the Herald.

The good news is, we’ve gotten hundreds of thousands of clicks. And since ESPN is having fun with the story, we’ll likely see a huge surge for next Monday’s edition. Not to mention, more papers interested in syndication.

I’m glad it’s working for you, but I’m mortified. Can’t we print a retraction?

A retraction of what? Your personal opinion? And last I checked, he can’t sue us for calling him a zombie.

I didn’t call him a zombie. I called him intelligent and creative. A neo-Renaissance man in the making.

You said he eats brains, Wharton reminded her teasingly. And I could kiss you for it.

Oh, stop. She sighed and cuddled Bo closer. Maybe I can work an apology into next week’s column.

As your boss, I encourage you to call him a vampire or a werewolf. But as your friend—and I hope that’s not too presumptuous—I advise you to just let it go. A week is a long time, and I’m guessing it’ll all die down by then, replaced by a new scandal.

That’s what it is, she agreed sadly. A scandal.

Let me buy you lunch. It’s the least I can do since you just put our little paper on the map.

"You’re sweet, but I’m supposed to have lunch with a local writer. I was looking forward to it. Now? Not so much."

Anyone I know?

"Her name’s Tess Colby. She just moved here this summer, and I don’t think she’s well-known yet. But she has some upcoming articles in Sports Illustrated, so hopefully that will change."

Sports?

I know, Noelle murmured. "Perfect timing, right? But supposedly she wants to talk about Zombie Renaissance, so I’m hoping we can put the topic of football—and Coach Riga—off limits. She sounds pretty hilarious, at least from her emails and the bartending manuals she writes for a living, so it should be lots of fun."

"Sounds good, kid. Forget about this mess, since it makes you uncomfortable. Meanwhile, I look like a genius for taking a chance on a sociology column. Especially one about zombies."

She laughed sheepishly. I’ll never live it down, will I?

Why should you? It’s brilliant.

Thanks, Bob. You’ve been great during this meltdown.

That’s my job, he reminded her. So just have fun at lunch. Don’t think about Riga, think about all the young men you’ve inspired to forgo fantasy football and notice there’s a big, interesting world out there.

She was glad he signed off quickly, since she might have debated that last point with him. Because she honestly had no problem with young men—or anyone—loving football. But apparently she had done a bad job conveying that in her column.

Because it’s complicated, she reminded herself.

Which was why she had written an entire book on the subject and had recently completed a follow-up volume on a related topic. But luckily not vampires or werewolves.

Laughing, she turned off the TV and headed for the bedroom with Bo on her heels, ready to select the perfect outfit for a leisurely lunch with ex-bartender Tess Colby.

• • •

As Tess Colby stepped into the restaurant at the Ashton Hotel in downtown Portland, her plan was simple. She would beg Noelle Sharpe to put the topic of Coach Riga and the Lancers off the table. Not only did she want to focus on her all-time favorite book and her all-time favorite author, she honestly didn’t want said author quizzing her on the coach or the players, especially the player with whom Tess was currently sleeping.

You should have postponed this, she scolded herself as she scanned the half-empty restaurant. What if she figures out you’re living with Sean? And then mentions him in her next column? Like he’s taking sides against his own coach. Or worse, like you’re taking sides.

Not that there were sides to take. Despite the media frenzy, Noelle’s column was a compliment to Coach Riga, at least in theory. Unfortunately, Riga wasn’t the type to actually read the column, so he was getting his information secondhand from a collection of idiots and malcontents.

Plus, she kinda accused him of eating brains. So there’s that.

Tess?

She turned to smile with delight, noting that the sophisticated black-and-white photo on the dust jacket for Zombie Renaissance had been wildly misleading, portraying Noelle as beautiful but also cool, aloof and efficient. In person, she looked like she had just stepped out of a watercolor portrait. Sparkling violet eyes, wavy light-brown hair with soft golden highlights, and a warm, engaging smile. Beautiful for sure, but hardly efficient.

Oh, my gosh, you’re really here? I’m so tempted to hug you, but . . . She stuck out her hand. I don’t want to scare you off.

Noelle beamed as she accepted the handshake. I’m so glad we’re doing this today. I had a crazy morning.

Poor you. Those online comments were vicious. And the ones who agreed with you were even worse.

"Exactly. Like I was taking the old coach’s side against the new one, when nothing could be further from the truth. I even— She grimaced. Listen to us, talking football already, when actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to avoid the topic. At least until my bruised ego heals."

I was going to suggest the same thing. I love football, but we know why we’re here, right? So I can interrogate you.

Ms. Colby? the restaurant’s hostess said cheerfully. Your table’s ready.

Perfect.

They followed her to the same tucked-away table where Tess often lunched with her best friend, Erica Spurling. Once they were seated and had ordered iced tea, Noelle prompted her. "You’re going to interrogate me? That’s fine, but I’m dying to know a little about you, too. I read your e-manuals and they were hilarious. And informative. How did you get into bartending in the first place?"

Tess explained how she had put herself through college by working in sports bars in Hawaii, after which she was lured to Seattle to help develop a bustling establishment called Zone D. The tongue-in-cheek bartending manuals had practically written themselves, and since she was experienced with a sports-fan clientele, she had decided to try her hand at actual sports writing.

"I had the good luck to interview Johnny Spurling and his wife, and some other hot players, and Sports Illustrated bought two of my articles. Meanwhile, I fell in love with Portland, so here I am. She arched an eyebrow in warning. Now I have some questions for you."

Reaching into her canvas tote bag, she pulled out her well-worn copy of Noelle’s first book, then gave a teasing smile. I call this the annotated version.

Why? Oh . . . Noelle laughed as she leafed through the pages, which were covered with handwritten questions, comments and doodles. You weren’t kidding.

When I fall in love, I don’t do it halfway. She sighed. My parents raised me better than to scribble in a book, but I just couldn’t help myself with yours. I also recruited four of my friends to read it, so I included their questions too. They loved it, of course. And now my sister’s reading it, too. She’s a lawyer, so expect a deposition any minute.

For the next half hour they chatted about the origins of Noelle’s theories, the subtext in certain passages, and most of all, the actual people in Noelle’s life on whom she had based some of her case studies.

Most of them are composites of various people I’ve met, she explained lightly.

"Be serious. This guy who always wears earbuds is obviously an ex-boyfriend. And the woman who obsesses about fashion to the exclusion of everything else? I’m guessing a not-so-beloved college roommate."

"I wanted people to enjoy my book, but you took it to a whole new level, Noelle teased her. Luckily some of your questions are answered in the follow-up book, which will be out soon."

My friend Erica won an advanced reading copy at a fundraiser so I’ll see it soon.

No worries, I’ll make sure you get your own. She smiled. "Any chance I can see the SI articles in advance? Now that I’ve met you, I just know I’ll love them."

Flattered, Tess nodded. The first one will be released in three installments, but I’ll send you all three in advance. The next one’s on hold since one of the athletes hasn’t approved it yet, but it should be ready soon.

How does that work? You let them make edits? Or even take things out?

So far, no one has, Tess assured her. But these are mostly humor pieces, so I don’t want to accidentally offend anyone. I have ways of getting them to let their guard down, and the next thing you know, they’re telling me embarrassing things they’ve never told anyone else. So it’s only fair.

Thanks for the warning, Noelle said with a laugh. "Although you already know the most humiliating thing that’s happened to me lately."

It’s such a burn, Tess sympathized. Especially for your very first column.

Have you interviewed him? Coach Riga, I mean? Wait, scratch that. We said we wouldn’t discuss him. He just looked so angry today at the press conference.

Angry at the bonehead reporters, not you.

I’ll probably include a brief apology in next week’s column, she said in a hopeful tone. Just so he knows I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.

Tess winced. Now that she had spent some time with Noelle, she was sure she could confide in her about her friendship with Daniel Riga and her nearly symbiotic relationship with certain Lancer players, especially the ones known as the Triple Threat.

Johnny Spurling, everyone’s hero and the brains of the team.

Bam Bannerman, the hilarious, bigger-than-life heart of the team.

And kicker Sean Decker. Laid-back, adorable, hunky. The charismatic soul of the Lancers. And by coincidence the great, not to mention smoking hot, love of Tess’s life.

She actually found Riga’s grouchiness charming, but the thought she might accidentally tarnish Sean’s relationship with him still made her hesitate. The Triple Threat guys had hated the last coach—a jerk named Coz Cosner—with a passion, and so this experience with a talented, hardworking, no-nonsense head coach meant a lot to them.

Once the zombie thing blows over you can