The Football Stud + the Fashionista

Time to Get Your Football On with Hunky Bad Boy

 

It’s so on.

If you like kissing book covers, then you like kissing books.

Right?

So I’ve got bunch of them here.

And from time to time, I’ll be posting scenes and short stories I’m working on or thinking about developing into novels.

These are pretty raw. They might go through a dozen edits and changes before they see a place anywhere near Amazon. But we’re in this together. You take the time to read the blog, so you get the inside stuff–the good stuff.

And here for your reading pleasure is the start of something. I love football. Been a fan of college and the pros. So I’ve been thinking of writing up a story involving a football player.

Those of you who have read my Tech Titans know that I’ve written about a former college football star. (You can find the book here.)

But that’s a little different. I’m interested in a current player. A guy who pads up on Sundays. And I like the whole opposites attract. So here you go, the fashion designer and the football star. I love ‘meet cutes’ as a reader and a writer, so here’s what I’m thinking. I often write the scene where the meet first and then work forward and back.

So meet Jennifer and Robbie Lee. Game on!

 

The Fashionista and the Football Stud

Jennifer De Leon took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. Her assistant, Maggie, was fluttering around her, ensuring that her hair, makeup and dress were all in order. Maggie was exuding such jittery energy that Jennifer doubled down on her efforts to remain the calm one in the dressing room.

It wan’t easy. In a matter of minutes, she’d be making her first appearance on The Tonight Show. It was huge, the kind of exposure for her fashion line that money couldn’t buy. There was no choice. She had to kill it with Jimmy Fallon and use the appearance as a launchpad for her new athleisure line.

Just thinking about it made her heart race. Everything and anything that could go wrong fired up in her mind like flashes of lightning, making her chest tighten. She had to take another deep breath and remind herself that she was going to be fine.

“Just be funny. Gotta be funny.” Maggie was pacing, a hair brush in one hand. For a moment, Jennifer wasn’t even sure Maggie was talking to her.

Jennifer looked at herself in the mirror. “I’ll have them rolling in the aisle.”

“But natural. Can’t be forced. Forced funny. No. Not good.”

Jennifer stopped Maggie from pacing about her, taking the hair brush  she was waving through the air like a sword from her hand.

“Got it, Maggie. Why don’t you have a seat on the couch.”

Maggie turned toward the couch. “Seat. Couch.” Jennifer was nodding in exaggerated form. Maggie began nodding with her. “Yes,” she finally muttered as if in a trance.

With Maggie secure on the couch, Jennifer turned back to the mirror. Her face suddenly became blurry and she felt slightly light-headed. Shit. Get it together, Jen.

Desperate to get her nerves under control, she was about to call for Maggie when there was a bang on the door. Maggie jumped to her feet, her face flush. “Time. Time. Time. Jen.”

The door flung open and Jennifer blinked, trying to refocus. This was it. The future of her company, of bankruptcy or resurgence lay ahead over the next 15 minutes.

As her dresser was right across from the door, she blinked one more time and then opened her eyes wide to make sure she could see the production assistant ready to take her out to the staging area. Her eyes grew narrow. She blinked and had to tip her head in confusion. Finally, Jennifer turned to make sure her eyes weren’t playing a trick on her.

At the door was a man. He was a tall man with a rugged face and ocean-blue eyes who was smoking a cigar and drinking from a flask that smelled strongly of whiskey. He looked vaguely familiar. It took Jennifer a moment to place him.

Guest, she thought to herself. This guy’s the other guest on the show. What’s his name?

Then she heard Maggie, frozen stiff by the couch, utter the words “Robbie . . . Lee . . . Richmond.”

He cracked a broad smile, perfectly dimpled and toothsome. “Howdy,” he said to Maggie, nodding his head slightly.

Jennifer hated sports but even she knew of the star quarterback of the San Francisco Titan. For a moment, it struck her that he was even better looking in person than on those notorious clips of his partying before the big playoff game that had been leaked to TMZ.

She tried to refocus. The point was the appearance, not meeting some bad boy football star. Her company lay in the balance. Maggie was no help. She was star-struck, not moving or apparently even blinking.

Jennifer had to take control. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of alcohol and the cigar. How much had he been drinking? This guy’s a freakin’ walking still, she thought to herself.

Disgusted by his lack of professionalism but desperate to get him out, she decided to greet him quickly and send him on his way.

“Hi. You’re Robbie Lee Richmond, right? I’m Jennifer De Leon. It’s nice to meet you but can I know what you’re doing in my dressing room. W—wait,”she cried in alarm when he slung his arm around her shoulder. He was big and strong and she had a hard time pushing him away.

“What are you doing?”

“I guess I’m hugger by nature,” he said. “Gotta get a selfie … you know, for the fans.” He started to fumble for his phone, his voice slurring to the point of incomprehension.

Fuming, she was about to chase him out when a choked sound from Maggie distracted her. Why was her assistant turning pale and opening and closing her mouth without any words coming out? Realizing she was pointing at her, Jennifer suddenly felt moisture and looked down and almost let out a scream.

Her dress, the dress that she had agonized over for weeks, had a wet sport right in the middle of her cleavage. The scent of whiskey assaulted her nose and she felt the disaster emanating from her chest. Turning angrily to Robbie Lee, she fought the urge to kick him in the shins.

“You ruined my dress.” She was enraged but there was no time for that. She had to change. There was no way she could go on the show in this travesty of a garment. Gesturing to Maggie to take out their backup dress, she was about to tell him to leave when he loomed over her and reached out.

“Lemme wipe that away,” he said, patting at the wet spot with his pocket square. She could feel him roughly running his hand over the top of her breasts and she was horrified. Who was he to touch her like that? She had to get away. She jumped back but her left foot caught the edge of the chair, sending her tumbling to the ground, an unmistakable ripping noise filling the room with Jennifer’s primal screech.

Maggie scurried to Jennifer, helping her to her feet. Just as they mustered the courage to see the damage done to her dress—a seven inch gash along a seam—there was a knock on the door.

“Ms. De Leon, you’re on in two minutes . . . ”

 

➜ Don’t forget to check out all of my books for a new book boyfriend, including one who used to play ball.