Game On: A Romantic Comedy that Scores

By Barbara Oliverio

Stunning, violet-eyed Maisie Valenti grew up in the rough-and- tumble world of sports with a football coach father and six athletic brothers. Her dream job has always been to be a national sports reporter and she is slowly working her way up the ladder to be in a major market. On her way, she shares the screen with popular sports celebrities who have dazzling smiles, but it’s Aleksander Markovich behind the camera who has always remained her solid friend – so much that he is firmly stuck in the friend zone. Maisie finally gets her big chance to move to the nation’s biggest market and gain the approval of a national sports heartthrob– if only she’ll make a professional compromise. Should Maisie do whatever it takes to get her dream job? And what would it take for Aleksander to step in front of the camera and finally come into focus for her?

Maisie’s determination to stay true to her values, as well as her ability to learn from her mistakes make this a heartwarming tale. The story is peopled with characters of all ages that are carefully plotted and stay true to themselves. Comedy rules the day with wit and charm, and sweet romance is truly the name of the game.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Oliverio
• Release date: Jun 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370049097

Barbara Oliverio

Award-winning author Barbara Oliverio creates upbeat women's fiction that features young Catholic women in a positive light. Readers of all backgrounds have fallen in love with her sassy characters who come from close-knit families who live out their faith. She has written five novels (and counting), one of which has been adapted into a Hallmark Channel feature film. Settings are as diverse as a cozy ski village, an island-hopping cruise ship, or even an exotic world tour, and are filled with wit and charm The daughter of Italian immigrants, Barbara grew up in West Virginia with a love of reading and a passion for learning. Her career path has taken her around the world, allowing her to exercise her diverse language skills. A passion for the written word not only has culminated in her fiction, but she is also a professional book critic, and, in addition, mentors blossoming writers on their own career paths. Barbara also creates resume portfolio packages to assist job seekers in job interviews. Barbara lives with her biggest fan - her husband- and they share a love of travel, music, and good food, and they occasionally squabble over the AFC versus NFC divisions of the NFL. She is an accomplished cook and if you visit, she will gladly treat you to dinner featuring her beloved mother's lasagna.

Book preview

Prologue

So, how do you feel about this outstanding win, champ? I thrust my mike into his face. No answer. He was noted for his stoic attitude. I turned to his coach, hoping at least to get more answers from him.

What do you think about your decisive victory? I hoped my earnest question would garner at least a grunt. Nothing.

In the distance, I heard my name being called.

Maisie! Maisie!

Come on guys, give me something? I begged.

The distant voice grew closer.

Maisie! Maisie!

My exclusive interview with this year’s champ was fizzling out.

Ouch! I rubbed my head after my brother Vincent gave me a particularly fierce head noogie. He flopped down next to me, dissolving my dream interview at the World Series into reality on the family room couch.

Ma needs you to set the table for dinner, he said. What are you doing, anyway? Playing tea party with your stuffed animals?

He grabbed my stand-in for this year’s baseball pitching MVP and tossed him casually in the air.

When have I ever played tea party? I glared into his blue eyes with my own violet ones.

Oh, right, he stifled a laugh. I see your ‘microphone’ there.

He pointed to the wooden spoon that, up until his interruption, was working as a very serviceable mike.

Get out! I emphasized by pointing the spoon, er, microphone up the stairs. Unfortunately two of my other brothers were clomping down the stairs at the same time.

What’s going on? asked Angelo.

Well, said Vincent, Maisie is pretending to be a sportscaster again.

They all chuckled.

You guys are so annoying! My face reddened as I fell backward on the couch, knocking over my interviewees. I grabbed Puffy Bear and Doggy Dog to my chest.

C’mon, Maisie, we’re just giving you a hard time, said Tony, draping his arm across my shoulders.

Harrumph was all I could answer.

At that moment, my mother descended the stairs slowly, wiping her hands on her apron.

Why can I not find even one of my children to set the table for Sunday dinner? she asked.

Well, Johnny, Sammy, and Joey are out with Pop, began the jokester Angelo, stopping when he saw the look in Ma’s eye.

We came down and found Maisie pretending to be a sportscaster again, and, well … Vincent’s voice trailed off as he saw that Ma was in no mood for his dimpled charm.

My ten-year-old head hung low.

Ma walked over and scootched next to me.

Oh, my baby girl. I did you a disservice by bringing you into a world with only brothers, didn’t I?

A chorus of hey echoed from my siblings.

They don’t take you seriously, do they?

No, Ma. I leaned on her shoulder.

Well, Maisie, it’s hard not to be swept up in all this sports business with your father being a coach and your brothers constantly on some sort of field or court.

It’s not like she isn’t on a field or court herself, Ma!

We could always count on Vincent to be accurate in his attempts to avoid punishment.

Hush! Ma waived both boys away. If you believe you can be a sportscaster, then you work on that, sweetheart. And your brothers are going to help you.

Hands on hips, my mother turned to my brothers.

Uh-oh. Ma was about to make a proclamation. And no one disagreed with Ma and her proclamations. Even at five foot one, she ruled the roost.

Whenever Maisie needs to practice her interviewing, I want you boys to help her.

What do you mean, Ma? I asked.

Instead of pretending with your stuffed animals, you go get a couple of your brothers to play with you. Whenever you need them.

Play-ay? I drew the word out. She didn’t really understand, did she? Oops. I should just take what I can get.

Right boys? Ma looked them in the eye, one at a time, as they each opened and then wisely closed their mouths.

Yes, Ma, they chorused.

Are we settled? And you’ll tell your other brothers? she asked.

Yes, Ma again.

She stood with purpose.

Now, who is helping me set the table?

Without question, we all followed her like ducklings up the stairs. I was the last one, behind Vincent.

He turned to me, not entirely unkindly, and said, Okay, you want to be a sportscaster? It’s all up to you now, Maisie.

1

It’s all up to you, Maisie.

I nodded.

Are you okay, girl? Dave’s voice in my earpiece became more insistent.

I got this. I nodded again.

We could get Mark to do a straight voiceover from the studio later during the live broadcast if you want.

I said I GOT THIS.

Geesh. You would think I had never covered a sports event before. I mean, I knew I wasn’t Michele Tafoya (if only!) or even that walking hairdo from the ONESport network, Calliope Newsome, but I had been doing this job at this small station long enough to have some credibility. I guess producers like Dave have to worry about such things, though. They are responsible for every minute of a sports broadcast, while the sportscasters and sideline reporters just have to do their own individual pieces. I knew I didn’t want to be a producer. I always wanted to be in front of the camera.

Oops! Camera. Darn, someone was signaling to me from beside the camera. I had drifted off and almost missed my shot. I straightened up, shoved my mike into my face, and brightened up my smile.

This is Maisie Valenti, at an opening round of the county peewee baseball tournament where the Thornville Giants are battling the Winston Rangers for the championship. You can feel the excitement here as fans from both teams crowd the stands.

Well, maybe crowd wasn’t the right verb, but I didn’t really want to say that the stadium was only half full. I knew that Jeff would do a tight enough shot that it wouldn’t look so sparse.

Today’s game should be a hard-fought battle, and both teams will come away with their heads held high.

Of course they would, because in this peewee league, they didn’t keep score, and both teams would win trophies. Oh well, my job was not to critique the league, just to cover the event.

Back to you in the studio, Mark.

I stood still long enough for Jeff to stop rolling and for the producer to give me the okay in my earpiece. If he would have wanted to redo it, we would have, but I hoped that the handful of sentences was sufficient to use on the evening newscast.

All done, Maisie. Good job.

I pulled my earpiece out and started to help Jeff tear down the shoot.

Hey, Jeff, sorry I drifted for a minute. I don’t know what happened there.

Jeff lifted his head, and his ponytail bobbed as he methodically went about the task of packing up the camera equipment to load into our mobile van, ready to move on to the next location. Ordinarily the producer would have just sent me and a very, VERY mobile camera to do cut-in shots like this one, but today he decided that it would be better to have Jeff come with me and for him to stay in touch during the shots. I didn’t argue. I was just the talking head, after all.

No problem, Jeff said. This is the—what, fourth?—cut-in shot we’ve done this morning. I can see how you might have wandered a bit. Just a good thing you weren’t here by yourself.

His normally serious face broke into a sideways grin as he wrapped the cords expertly around his arm and, with a practiced move, secured them and tossed them into the van—and then moved to another piece of equipment.

Hey, are you saying Dave sent you with me because I couldn’t handle this on my own? I stopped my own task of returning the microphone equipment to its designated carrier. In the time I put the mike away, he would have everything else done.

Jeff’s grin spread across his face.

Chill out, champ. No one thinks you can’t handle this type of assignment. Dave just knew it would be a grueling day, moving from town to town with all the opening rounds of the tournament. Can’t you appreciate that? He’d have sent me out with anyone, even one of the men. That’s why he wanted to be in your ear—to help.

He had neatly stopped me before I could protest that I could handle myself as well as any of the men in the newsroom.

Hmmph. I closed my mouth and resumed twining the microphone cord. Glancing over at Jeff, I decided to practice what my father always recommended and avoid trying to beat an enemy that didn’t exist. Jeff was just being practical.

Hey Maisie, let’s go. We’re burning daylight!

He pounded the van door and made a mock stern face.

I snapped the lid on the microphone case, turned, and stuck my tongue out. Cool your jets, Mr. Kelley. Remember, I’M the talent, I said.

I proceeded to promenade with dignity around the van. Well, that is, until I tripped in a small divot on the turf.

Jeff burst out in a pleasant laugh.

Yep. Talented, all right. Just sorry I didn’t have the camera rolling on that.

My face burned as I continued around the van and entered, slamming the door behind me.

We continued our tour of county peewee baseball fields and returned to the station hours later, sweaty and tired.

Thanks for the camera work, Jeff. I can always count on you. I leaned back on my seat, gulping the last of a bottle of water as we pulled into the station parking lot.

No problem, kid. He always called me kid, even though the difference in our ages couldn’t have been a decade. Before I could hop out of the van, he touched my shoulder.

There is something I wanted to share with you, though, Maisie.

Oh no. Jeff was senior cameraman at our small station, and his genial bearlike personality was funny and friendly. I couldn’t imagine what he had to say that was so serious.

I’ve had a job offer from the NBC affiliate in Albuquerque.

What? My eyes widened, and I threw my arms around his neck. That’s fantastic! I mean, not for us, but for you. Fantastic! And Melissa and the kids—they’re happy, too?

He grinned broadly.

Ecstatic. You know she grew up in Santa Fe, so we’ll be close to family. She’ll also be closer to the art scene in Santa Fe and Taos, so that will be great for her sculpture studio. I wanted to tell you before I told the others, because I knew that you would appreciate it. You are one of the few people here who want to move up, too.

He was right. Our little local station here in middle America was a great place to work, but most people at the station were, well, comfortable. They were good at what they did, to be sure, but not eager to move anywhere else. Jeff was one of the only people who understood my dream to move up—possibly even to a dream job with a major sports network.

I know, I know. People will be happy for you, but …

We tilted our heads toward one another and nodded, no further words necessary.

So, I told Gordon on Monday, but I didn’t want you to hear it through the station grapevine.

I appreciate that, buddy. I’m happy for you, but I’m going to miss you! I can’t imagine who they can get to replace you.

Oh, don’t worry about that, said Jeff. Gordon pulled out a folder of resumes for me to review before we even finished our conversation.

That’s Gordon.

Yep.

So, Jeff, ever practical, wanted to wrap up our conversation. Let’s get this truck unpacked.

Wait. When do you leave?

I’ll be here two weeks, and I’m sure the new guy will be here by then. You’ll have him wrapped around your little finger within a day. He winked.

Hey! What … I sputtered, but he was already out of the van.

I rewound our conversation later as I pulled into the Jivin’ Java on the corner of our one main downtown street. Was I the kind of person who wrapped guys around my little finger? Impossible. I grew up with so many brothers and had to fight for everything. I definitely was not a girlie-girl or flirty-flirt. Well, Jeff always was a kidder.

I pushed through the café’s double doors, taking in the bright tinkle of the entry’s bells. The barista on duty looked up and smiled.

Kinda early, aren’t you? Devaney commented, as she rearranged the display of muffins and croissants in the glass case to make room for sandwiches that the late-evening crowd would want.

The thought of the great smells in this place drew me in. I smiled and joined her on the server side of the counter, tying an apron snugly and jamming my Jivin’ Java ball cap on my head.

When are you going to give up this job? asked Devaney, her own cap tilting precariously on the back of her wild, springy curls. Aren’t you a famous sportscaster yet?

Ha! I wish! You know I’m lucky to have the part-time hours there that I do. I definitely need the salary here to make ends meet—along with the formidable tips. I rattled the tip jar and made note of the clatter of a few coins and bills that Devaney had accumulated on the day shift. I scooped those out, since those were hers, put them in an envelope, and tucked them under the counter.

When I moved into town to take my job, I had to get those sportscasting hours on my resume and on film, even if it was a part-time job. I also knew I had to supplement my income. When this opening at the cafe came up, I thought why not? since I had barista experience from when I was in college. My dad had always said, Never be ashamed of honest work. I remembered how Kurt Warner worked stocking grocery shelves when his pro football career as a quarterback was not panning out, and he went on to fame. So, slinging cappuccinos for a while couldn’t be too bad.

For a part-time job, it was perfect. My hours were flexible, my boss was a great person—and a sports fan who loved the fact that I could yammer on with him about football and baseball. Devaney was a great co-worker who never left the cafe in disarray when we changed shifts, and we worked well together when we needed to, like this evening.

We went about our prepping, slicing ingredients, assembling sandwiches, lining up cups and the coffee and tea fixings, and adjusting the tiny tables in the front of the house.

Hey Maisie, do you ever wonder why people would come here for a sandwich and coffee for dinner rather than go for a real meal? Devaney asked.

I think they just like this cozy little place, I shrugged.

I have a theory, she said. I think they see you on TV and want to get a glance at you.

Ha!

Seriously. You are as close to a celebrity as we have around here.

As ‘close’ to a celebrity? Thanks for that. I whipped the towel in my hand and popped her on the hip.

Hey!

You deserved that, I said, pretending to be hurt. Besides, I don’t think anyone recognizes me in this glamorous uniform with my hair sandwiched up under this classy chapeau.

Devaney tiptoed behind me and whispered into my ear. I don’t know. That hottie who came in a few minutes ago and sat down has had his baby blues trained on you.

She unsuccessfully hid, pointing to a tall drink of water in the corner. I glanced up and I know my face brightened when I saw him. Wiping my hands on my towel, I dashed around the counter, leaving Devaney in an amazed stare.

2

Vinnie!

I tackled the man in the corner and landed in his lap, covering his grinning face with kisses and hugging him tightly.

Whoa! Calm down. You’ll wrinkle the suit and break the chair, he laughed. But his own hug kept me tightly on his lap.

What are you doing here? I punched him on the shoulder and moved to the chair next to his, since I noticed we had attracted a fair number of gawkers. I motioned to my rubbernecking co-worker to come join us. She fluffed her hair and sashayed over.

Vinnie, this is Devaney, the best barista in three states. Dev, this is my brother, Vinnie.

Devaney was momentary stunned and looked from one to the other of us.

Your brother? I thought by the way you greeted him that he was—

You haven’t figured out by now that Maisie is … enthusiastic? asked Vinnie. He stood to shake her hand and gave her the full effect of his smile and sparkling eyes.

Sit down, cover boy, I rolled my eyes. My brothers were all enticingly tall and perpetually tanned, with dark Mediterranean curls and turquoise eyes. Their charm was legend, and I had spent a lot of my teenage years snapping my girlfriends out of crushes on them. From the rapid rate of Devaney’s blinking, she had obviously already fallen under Vinnie’s spell.

Dev. DEV!

Too late.

I turned to Vinnie. Can you turn down the wattage just a skosh, bro?

It’s a curse, he grinned, giving the answer that he usually gave, being the tallest, handsomest of my six brothers.

For the second time, I snapped Devaney with the towel I had hanging from my pocket. She cleared her throat.

So, Maisie’s brother Vinnie, what brings you to our little burg?

I’m on a business trip and just decided to stop in, to make sure my little sis isn’t getting into any trouble.

And what is it that you do for business? She batted her eyes prettily.

I’m a scout for the Pittsburgh Steelers. Do you like football, Devaney? He straightened the crease on his impeccably tailored slacks as he sat back down, and reorganized his collar and cuffs.

Devaney leaned forward on the small cafe table with a move that accented her best assets, and answered, I love it.

Okay. That’s it. I pulled her to her feet. You know you hate football and don’t know a quarterback from a quart of milk. You also know that there are customers waiting.

She stared at me pointedly, noting that I worked there as well.

Dev … With one word, I managed to convey all I needed to.

Hmph. She turned to head back to the counter, but her sassy walk was not wasted on Vinnie.

He cleared his throat and turned to me.

She seems like a nice girl.

You are a merciless flirt, brother dear.

He splayed his hand on his chest in an innocent gesture and blinked his eyes.

Yeah, Vin, that virtuous act doesn’t work on me.

You are too much like Ma, baby sister.

Good thing. So fill me in on why you are really here. My eyes narrowed.

I have a running back and a long snapper at the college nearby that I need to check out.

Uh-huh, uh-huh. I nodded. And where are they playing, seeing as how football isn’t in season, the draft is over, and they haven’t started practice yet?

Vinnie threw his head back and laughed.

You think you are so smart because you are a ‘sportscaster,’ don’t you? As it turns out, I’m just here to review tapes with the coach. He reached over and tweaked my nose, in a gesture that harkened back to childhood.

Um, that’s not usually your beat and—hey, wait. Stop putting the word sportscaster in quotes. It IS what I do. Well, that is, when I’m not frothing cappuccinos and serving muffins.

He caught my eye and realized that I wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

C’mon, Mais, you’ll get your breakthrough. Seriously, I do have some off-season meetings in the area. But when I was on the phone with Ma and accidentally mentioned that I would be near here, you know she insisted that I make sure that you were alive.

And eating. I smiled. My mother was only half-Italian but had enough of the blood running through her system to be concerned about everyone’s dining habits.

She just worries, Vinnie said.

I know, I know.

Pop also was worried.

About what?

Well … Vinnie glanced meaningfully at my barista garb.

I blew a puff of breath, attempting to maintain my composure. After all, Vinnie didn’t deserve my irritation. Of all my siblings, he had always been