Covering Kendall Read online

  Covering Kendall

  A LOVE AND FOOTBALL NOVEL

  JULIE BRANNAGH

  Dedication

  To my mom, who believed in me when I wasn’t sure I believed in myself.

  I miss you every day.

  Acknowledgments

  * * *

  I’D LIKE TO thank my agent, Sarah Younger of Nancy Yost Literary Agency, and my editor, Amanda Bergeron of Avon Impulse. They went above and beyond for me and this book, and I appreciate them both (and all of their hard work) so much.

  Thank you to everyone at Avon Impulse for their extra effort on my books. As always, a special shout-out to Jonathan Baker of the copyediting group, who makes me look like I actually know something about grammar and punctuation and checks my football research.

  Thank you to the staff and the owners of the Bellevue, Washington, Cupcake Royale, who continue to harbor the Cupcake Crew each week.

  Thank you to Jessi Gage and Amy Raby of the Cupcake Crew, my critique partners and my friends. I am so lucky to have you both in my life.

  Thank you to my husband, Eric, who took on a lot more than his fair share so that I could write. I love you, honey.

  Thank you to Susan Mallery, who continues to offer great advice and encouragement.

  Thank you to Mike Freeman of Bleacher Report for patiently answering my questions on Twitter and making me laugh every day. He’s forgotten more about pro football than I’ll ever know. Follow him on Twitter at @mikefreemanNFL, won’t you?

  Thank you to the Super Bowl Champions Seattle Seahawks (that NEVER gets old!) for interviews they’ve given in various forms of media, which were a huge help with my research.

  Speaking of research, the research for this book was challenging. Women still aren’t being hired for front office jobs in the NFL in most franchises. I believe this will change, especially since forty-eight percent of women from nineteen to forty-eight identify as NFL fans. I’m looking forward to seeing how the league will address this.

  Thank YOU for buying and reading my books. I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I love writing them! If you want to learn a little more about me, I’m at www.juliebrannagh.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter at @julieinduvall.

  Go Sharks!

  Contents

  * * *

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  An Excerpt from Holding Holly

  An Excerpt from Blitzing Emily

  An Excerpt from Rushing Amy

  An Excerpt from Catching Cameron

  About the Author

  Also by Julie Brannagh

  An Excerpt from Beauty and the Brit by Lizbeth Selvig

  An Excerpt from The Governess Club: Sara by Ellie Macdonald

  An Excerpt from Caught in the Act by Sara Jane Stone

  An Excerpt from Sinful Rewards 1 by Cynthia Sax

  An Excerpt from When the Rancher Came to Town by Emma Cane

  An Excerpt from Learning the Ropes by T. J. Kline

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  * * *

  DREW MCCOY DODGED pouring rain as he darted through a puddle-infested parking lot and into the entrance of the biggest bookstore in Bellevue. As he shook off the rain and jammed his hands into the pockets of his black North Face fleece jacket, he nodded at a familiar bookstore employee.

  He spent enough time here that the staff knew who he was, despite the fact he always kept his long blond ponytail tucked out of sight beneath a slouchy knit hat. He didn’t mind because they kept a respectful distance, but he was occasionally recognized by another customer. It looked like his luck was about to run out.

  As he passed the Women’s Fiction aisle he overheard a woman say to the employee he’d nodded at, “Wasn’t that Drew McCoy that just walked by? From the Sharks?”

  Drew darted into Gardening/Home Improvement and braced himself to be exposed.

  “That guy looks a lot like him, huh?” the employee said. “A football player probably doesn’t like to browse in the Women’s Fiction section of the store, though.”

  “You’re right,” the woman said and laughed a little. “He’s probably not into books.”

  He sighed with relief. Peeking around the end display, he saw the woman walk away in the opposite direction. He waited until she got in line at the checkstand and doubled back to find the store employee who’d misdirected her.

  The employee glanced up from his work in surprise. Drew stuck out his hand. The guy shook it. He wore a nametag: CRAIG. Drew would be stopping by next week with autographed team merchandise for him.

  “Thanks, man,” Drew said.

  “Anytime.” The guy grinned at him. “Go Sharks.”

  Drew continued on to the history section. A free-standing sign caught his eye, and he paused to take a closer look. Carl Sagan’s latest biographer would be speaking in fifteen minutes about his new book on the famed astronomer.

  Drew had a couple of hours before he needed to get his ass home and get ready for this weekend’s Sharks game. He’d enjoy listening to what the guy had to say, and he could grab a couple of books on his way out the door too. He glanced around to see a few rows of empty chairs in front of a lectern. Another bookstore employee was unpacking books to stack on a table for the author to sign.

  A deserted book signing: bad for the author, but great for Drew. He could geek out to his heart’s content in anonymity. He loved what he did. He loved the Sharks’ fans. He didn’t love the inability to move freely in public, however. He relished any situation in which he was just another bookworm.

  He threaded his way into the middle row of chairs. There was plenty of room to spread out, so he sat down mid-aisle. The front row was too conspicuous. The back row was for those who wanted to catch a nap. He hoped the author didn’t mind a few questions from the audience, either.

  The only way things could be more perfect for Drew at that moment was if the bookstore sold beer on tap.

  KENDALL TRACY STOOD in the parking lot of the bookstore wrestling with an umbrella blown inside-out as the heavens opened up. She’d been sitting in meetings all day. Stepping out of a warm, dry hotel conference room into a ferocious rainstorm wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. She attempted to pull the umbrella back into working shape while she clutched the hood she wore with her other hand. Needless to say, she was getting smacked in the face with rain and wind, and the umbrella was unsalvageable.

  She wasn’t used to torrential downpours accompanied by strong winds. The weather was perfect when she flew out of San Francisco last night. It might get a little windy at times, but she’d be more likely to don additional layers than get soaked there. She’d been heading to a restaurant a few doors down for a glass of wine, but now she reversed course. A bookstore would be a great place to wait until the storm let up a bit.

  She dropped the ruined umbrella next to the front door of the bookstore and found herself propelled through the entrance by a gust of wind. A few other people followed her inside. They milled around the tables stacked with books, crowded aisles, and a few hurried into the attached Starbucks to warm up. She had a digital reader, but it might be nic
e to find something new to read while she curled up in yet another hotel bed for the night.

  She was in Seattle on business a few times a year with her employers, the San Francisco Miners. The football team and front office personnel typically stayed closer to the airport, but she was happy for the opportunity to get out and walk a little. She would have been flat-out thrilled if the weather cooperated. Despite the storm, she was safe, indoors, and there were plenty of books available. She hurried over to the Women’s Fiction section but halted mid-aisle at a free-standing sign.

  There was a book signing in ten minutes by a guy who’d written a book about Carl Sagan. Her dad loved astronomy. He’d shown her VCR tapes of Carl Sagan’s show as a kid too. Maybe the author would sign one of his books for her dad. Kendall glanced over at a grand total of one guy sitting in the four rows of chairs set up for the event. She could spend a few minutes listening to the author’s comments. She’d buy a book or two and make a dash for the hotel again.

  DREW GLANCED UP as a tall, curvy woman in dress clothes sat down a few chairs away from him. She shoved the hood of her jacket off, and it was all he could do not to stare. Her black hair was cut in a shiny cap around her face. Her skin was palest alabaster, dewy with what must have been rainwater, and her mouth was the shade of juicy summertime cherries. When she glanced over at him and smiled, he noted her eyes were dark gray. Those yes roamed over his face. She rested her handbag on the chair between them.

  The bookstore employee hurried away for some reason, and they were left alone. She clasped her hands in her lap while she waited. He quickly checked for rings: She didn’t wear one. He was getting a bit warm, but if he took off his jacket and the knit hat he wore, every football fan in the building would recognize him. He also wanted to speak to the woman two seats away from him.

  She smelled like green apples—fresh, delicious, and tempting. He cleared his throat, and she glanced up at him.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hi.” She treated him to another smile.

  “The author must be a little late this evening.” Normally, he’d think of something witty and memorable to say to a woman he’d just met. Right now, it was all he could do to remember the English language, let alone string sufficient words together to form a sentence.

  “Maybe he’s caught in traffic. It’s awful out there,” she said.

  “Yes, it is,” he said. There were a hundred things he’d like to say to her right now, but he went for the safest. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Drew,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Kendall.” He clasped her smaller hand in his. Her skin was cool and dry. She wore red nail polish, and he hated letting go of her. “Nice to meet you as well, Drew.”

  “Do you live in Bellevue?”

  “Actually, I don’t. I’m here on business this week. I live in Santa Clara, which is just outside of San Francisco.”

  “Sounds like a great place to live.”

  “Yes, it is.” He saw her lips curve into a smile again, and the flash of perfect teeth. Her eyes sparkled. “I’m guessing you live here.”

  “My house is a couple of miles away.”

  She glanced over at him again. “Hopefully, you didn’t walk to the store.”

  He chuckled a little. “It sounded like a great idea at the time.” He nodded at the dampness of her coat. “I’m guessing you did too.” He slipped his arm around the back of the chair between them while slouching to stretch his legs out a little. She didn’t move away. This was a very good sign.

  Silence fell. He sifted through the hundred things he’d like to ask her about. A woman that looked like her had heard a line from every guy she came into contact with, so he’d have to come up with something original and appealing. She glanced around the store and gave him another smile. Unless he was really wrong, she wanted to keep talking.

  “It looks like we’re the only Sagan fans in the bookstore tonight,” he said.

  To his surprise and delight, she made accompanying arm gestures as she imitated Sagan’s trademark line: “Billions and billions . . .”

  “Did you watch the show, or did you watch Saturday Night Live reruns?”

  “A little of both,” she admitted. “My dad was really into it.”

  The bookstore employee raced out of one of the aisles and hurried over to the author’s table. She glanced at the empty chairs surrounding Drew and Kendall and grabbed one of the boxes she’d been unpacking books out of less than ten minutes ago.

  “I’m so sorry,” she told them. “The author just called. His flight has been on a ground hold in San Francisco due to high winds, and it’s just been cancelled. He won’t be able to be here tonight. He is very sorry.”

  Kendall gave her a polite nod and picked up her handbag. Drew leaned forward in his chair. “I’d like to buy a copy of his book anyhow.”

  “Of course,” the employee said, handing him one of the books.

  “I’ll take one too,” Kendall said. Her dad would enjoy it, autographed or not.

  Drew turned to face her.

  “Kendall, would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?”

  A FEW MINUTES later, Drew and Kendall sat down at a table in the Starbucks next door. She set the plastic bookstore bag and her handbag next to her chair. The typically crowded, noisy coffee shop was now almost deserted. The employees had even dimmed the overhead lights a bit. She took a sip of the green tea latte Drew had bought for her and watched him gently nudge the plate holding a couple of cookie bars toward her.

  “How about a blueberry oatmeal bar? I whipped it up myself.”

  She let out a laugh, and his lips moved into a grin. His smile softened chiseled facial features that wouldn’t have been out of place on a Viking: strong brow, high cheekbones, deep-set cornflower-blue eyes flecked with silver, square chin, straight white teeth, and blond stubble. He must have been taking a break from the wenching and pillaging tonight. The laugh lines around his eyes and his mouth that appeared when he smiled told her he was most likely a happy person.

  She knew she’d seen him somewhere before. She couldn’t put her finger on where, though. His shoulders were broad and the fleece jacket he wore concealed what she imagined were bulging muscles. When he unzipped his coat, he revealed a black thermal-type Henley. She spent so much time looking at professional athletes that a guy with his build wasn’t out of the ordinary to her. It was kind of cute that he didn’t take off his knit hat, though.

  Maybe he’d got a bad haircut and he felt a little shy about it. His eyebrows were dark blond. His hair must be as well.

  “All this, and you bake?” she said.

  “Wait until you see what’s in the oven right now.” The look in his eyes as he held hers was confident.

  “Lucky me.” She twirled the protective sleeve on her cup with her fingers, and he raised an eyebrow. “So, Drew, what are you up to when you’re not baking or rescuing women in bookstores?”

  He took a sip of his chai tea. “Working, reading, the usual.”

  She wanted to ask him what he did, but she could almost guess: personal trainer, or he ran a gym. Guys didn’t get those muscles from sitting at a desk in a software firm twelve hours a day.

  She wasn’t about to tell him what she did. Whenever she told a man where she worked, he spent the rest of the night peppering her with questions about the NFL, about the San Francisco Miners, or how she managed to get along with a volatile head coach known around the league for being difficult to deal with on a daily basis. When the guy wasn’t demanding inside information, he was subtly (or not) hinting around for free game tickets.

  San Francisco was Seattle’s archrival, but she was pretty sure guys here weren’t above scoring some tickets and team merchandise, either.

  She took another sip of her drink. “I’m guessing it won’t be a surprise to you that I love to read as well.”

  “What’s the last book you read?”

  She eyed the saucer in front of them. Should she
be good and select the blueberry oatmeal bar, or should she pick the one she really wanted: sea salt chocolate caramel? She slid the chocolate caramel bar onto a napkin in front of her.

  “How did you know I wanted the blueberry oatmeal one?” Drew said.

  “I hoped you didn’t want chocolate,” she said. “The last book I read? Hmm.” She pretended to think for a minute. She wasn’t about to tell him she’d spent most of a night earlier this week reading Loretta Chase’s latest. She typically relaxed after a day spent dealing with her hyper-masculine colleagues by immersing herself in the love stories of fictional characters that lived almost two hundred years ago. She also read current non-fiction bestsellers as well, and she’d just finished one. “I read Malcolm Gladwell’s David and Goliath. I wonder why some people succeed beyond their wildest dreams despite setbacks in life, and I thought his conclusions were interesting.”

  She nibbled at the chocolate caramel bar. It tasted even better than it looked. Drew gave her a nod.

  “How is it?”

  “Unbelievable. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”

  “I’ll work on that,” Drew teased, raising one eyebrow. “In the meantime, I have a question. Do you think you’ve succeeded in life beyond your wildest dreams?”

  He reached out for the oatmeal blueberry bar and took a bite. She had a job she’d been seriously pursuing (and working toward) since she got out of college, but she wanted more. Anyone who was ambitious wanted the most they could attain from life—the most success, the most money, the most recognition by their colleagues. She wasn’t any different. She wasn’t sure how he would react to this, so she kept it light.

  “I didn’t have a lot of setbacks in life, so I had to come up with my own motivation, but yes. I think so. I’m working in a job I really enjoy, and I like to think I’ve helped others achieve their goals as well. What about you? Do you believe you’ve succeeded in the things you’ve set out to do?” Kendall said.