BLURB:
Quarterback Tyler Harris is about to find the
woman who can get past his defensive line and reach his heart.
With two championships in as many years,
superstar Tyler Harris is the best quarterback in the league. Gorgeous and
rich, he’s at the top of his game. But everyone’s looking to take him down.
There’s a building media frenzy around an unfortunate accident, and the only
safe place seems a rundown mansion deep in the San Juans and owned by his late
great uncle. There, Tyler gets sacked by the sassy redhead next door. It’s more
alive than he’s felt in years.
Lavender Mead has a good reason to dislike jocks, namely an
absentee father who deserted the family to coach college football. Maybe that
explains her penchant for bad boys who play ball for a living and break hearts
for a hobby. Her new neighbor seems just the type. Yet, something is different
about Tyler, and sometimes love requires a Hail Mary. You draw back your arm,
pray…and give it all up to fate. And sometimes you win your ring.
A
man about to make pro-football history should be a lot more excited about it.
Like
a well-programmed robot, Tyler Harris zeroed in on his receiver, instinctively
calculated
the distance, and lofted the ball into the air. The second the football left
his hands he knew it’d be a touchdown catch.
His
cousin and the Seattle Lumberjacks top wide receiver, Derek Ramsey, blazed into
the end zone, spun around at the exact right moment, and caught the ball.
Ty
waited for the smugness, the confidence, the satisfaction to surge through him.
He waited for the greatest natural high on earth to engulf him, a high better than
the best sex, and that was pretty damn, fucking good.
Usually.
But
nothing happened.
Two
more minutes to glory. The defense took the field and held the Bruins. The
clock ticked off the last seconds until the scoreboard displayed: 00:00.
The
stands erupted. Confetti blinded Tyler in a snowstorm of red, white, and blue.
The stuff swirled through the air and stuck to his sweat-soaked uniform.
Teammates slapped his back. Coaches hugged him. The roar of the fans deafened
him. Sportscasters crammed microphones in his face and barked questions at him.
Rabid reporters yanked on his Number Eleven jersey and fought for his
attention.
He
stood frozen in place, staring at the scoreboard. He felt more like a
shell-shocked soldier than a conquering field general who’d led his troops to
victory in the final battle and won the war.
Except
he wasn’t a general. He was no fucking hero. He’d never risked his life to save
others.
He’d never tramped through the desert or the jungle not knowing if his next
step would be his last. He’d never sacrificed so others could have a better
life or even have a life. He was just a guy gifted with an athletic body and a
no-quit attitude. He didn’t deserve this: the adulation, the money, the fame,
none of it.
But
since when did he give a shit if it was deserved or not?
What
the fuck was wrong with him?
Every
football player lived for this moment from the first second he gripped a
football in his hands. It should’ve been the happiest time of his life, a
defining moment in a career of defining moments; two Super Bowls under his belt
and a sure MVP of the game. He was a future Hall-ofFamer with a lot of gas left
in his tank, still in his prime, not yet thirty years old. The press touted him
as the hottest QB in the league.
Nowhere
to go from here but—
—down.
Nothing
had been the same since Ryan died. Try as he might, he couldn’t find his
passion for the game, for life, for anything. Hell, not even for sex.
Like
a disembodied spirit, he observed the scene, detached and way too fucking
melancholy in the midst of the celebratory mayhem engulfing him. Jostled around
by the sea of humanity, he barely felt them. He stood in the middle of the
crowd, numb, apathetic, and alone. The emptiness
smothered
him, gnawed at his gut, consumed him.
Regardless
of his apathy, he wouldn’t rain on his teammates’ parade.
Forcing
a grin he didn’t feel and adopting his cocky façade, he faced the television
cameras and gave them what they’d come to expect from him, an arrogant, yet
entertaining, recap of his performance. Then he stood on the podium, and made
one of his typical fist-pumping speeches laced with humor. After which he did
every post-game interview with his usual brash panache. No one noticed his
mechanical movements or the dead smile.
Was this all there was?
What
had happened to his legendary enthusiasm for the game, his penchant for living
life on the edge? What happened to him? He’d lost himself somewhere between
college jock and superstar athlete, yet it hadn’t mattered before. He’d lived
in blissful ignorance until that fateful night when Ryan died of cancer.
If
you stripped away all the hype and his public image, he didn’t have a fucking
clue who
lived
underneath.
All
this deep shit rattling around in his brain was way too much introspection for
a dumb
jock.
He shook off this momentary lapse into deep thought, took a deep breath, and
squared his shoulders. In a week, he’d start the relentless pursuit of winning
all over again because losing, for Tyler, had never been an option.
Glancing
at his watch, he followed his teammates out of the locker room via a back door,
down the long hallway leading to buses waiting to take them to the airport. A
couple hours and a few glasses of champagne later the team plane touched down
in Seattle. Security hustled them
past
the large crowds to waiting limos.
Waving
and grinning, he acknowledged the hordes of fans crammed into every spare inch
of terminal space. He paused and breathed in the crisp Seattle air. His
teammates shouted to each other, planning parties which would last well into
the morning.
Cass,
his long-time fiancée and even longer-time girlfriend, would expect to attend every
one of them. She’d already texted him with her location at a teammate’s home on
Lake Washington. The Vegas line against them ever getting married had once
topped out at fifty-toone and dipped to fifteen-to-one after he’d set a date
for two weeks from today.
Claustrophobia
set in, smothering him. He felt trapped, trapped in a career he no longer had a
hunger for. His self-created, bad-boy image pigeonholed him in a role he wasn’t
sure he wanted to play. His upcoming wedding in two weeks weighted him down
with doubt.
He
needed to escape, clear his head, gain some clarity.
Tyler
slid behind the wheel of his sports car and accelerated out of the underground
parking garage. His wheels spun on the rain-slickened streets as he turned a
corner too quickly. Instead of heading toward I-5 and Mercer Island for a night
of celebration, he turned in the opposite direction, dodging in and out of cars
on the four-lane street. The light ahead turned yellow, Tyler punched the gas.
And
slammed right into the back of a police car.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
There are two things I've always wanted to do since I was
a young child: to write books and to ride horses. The riding I've been doing
for years. Until recently, I only dabbled in writing.
I completed my first story at the age of five. I titled
it "Wildfire" (about a horse, of course) and illustrated it myself. I
still have the book stowed away in the attic somewhere.
I've written stories all of my life. They were my secret
garden, my escape from the realities of the world. I never shared them with
anyone. I'd hide them away and bring them out when the mood struck me.
I frequented several fan fiction sites on the Internet.
As I was reading those stories, I thought I can do that. Four years ago, I
posted my first two chapters on a fan fiction site. My hands shook. My stomach
lurched. NEVER had I let anyone read my stories before. What if my writing was
garbage? What if everyone hated it? It was a soul-baring moment. Fortunately,
they loved it. It became quite popular. Several people who'd befriended me on
that fan fic site encouraged me to pursue my writing on a more professional
level.
Being a devoted reader of romance and an advocate of
happy endings, it was only natural to choose romance as my focus. I joined the
Romance Writers of America, and the Olympia RWA chapter.
Six months and 105,000 words later, I finished my first
manuscript, The Dance. Named after Garth Brooks' popular song, the original
ending wasn't happily ever after, but I quickly changed that small detail. I
started my second single title on Thanksgiving Day and pushed myself to see how
long it would take me to finish it. I finished it the middle of February and
was very proud of myself for being so fast.
To date, I've published four novels and two short stories
in an anthology.
A few years ago, I married a wonderful man. You can bet
my Green Beret turned Plumber will be an inspiration for a future book. In my
spare time, I show the above-mentioned Hanoverian mare, in dressage. I'm also a
rabid Seattle Seahawks and Mariners fan through thick and thin. Lately, I've developed
an interest in gardening.
An avid boater, I've spent countless hours in Washington
State's San Juan Islands, the most beautiful place on earth, and the setting
for "Who's" and "The Dance." You'll see more books in the
future set on these islands. My banner and several other pictures on this site
were taken in that area.
Currently, I'm a PAN member of RWA and three RWA
chapters: Peninsula, Greater Seattle, and Olympia. I'm co-president of the
Olympia chapter with fellow writer Anthea Lawson. I spearhead the annual
Elizabeth Kistler Memorial Retreat in Port Townsend at Manresa Castle for the
Olympia chapter.
ONLINE LINKS:
·
Website www.jamidavenport.com
·
Twitter https://twitter.com/jamidavenport
BUY NOW LINK:
Boroughs Publishing http://www.boroughspublishinggroup.com/books/forward-passes
Smash Words http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/242542
All Romance https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-forwardpasses-968834-149.html
Amazon Kindle
Thanks for hosting me on your blog today.
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