BLURB

  James Sullivan, quarterback for the Savannah Sharks, never thought there’d come a day when football wasn’t his priority. But finally finding his feet after his divorce and with a nine-year-old daughter to raise by himself, he has new priorities. And it shows on the field.

  Newly hired conditioning coach Daisy Katrakis has pointed out his less-than-stellar play, and that rankles James. He’s known Daisy for years—she’s his best friend’s little sister—and more annoying than her criticism is how attractive she is. When did Daisy get so hot? Though he reminds himself that she’s his coach, it’s hard to ignore their mutual attraction. And harder still to ignore what Daisy is starting to do to his heart.

  Being hired by the Sharks is a dream come true for Daisy. The last thing she needs is to complicate things by getting into a relationship with the terminally sexy James Sullivan. Her obsession is football, not a gorgeous quarterback with muscles that have muscles.

  Daisy’s never been a girly-girl, but there’s something about James that brings out her softer side. Something that makes her think there could be more. But a coach dating the quarterback is fraught with complications, and Daisy knows her priority has to be her job. Which leaves her with an impossible decision: live her dream or break her own heart.

  Grab your copy of Red Zone

  Available April 1st, 2021

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter One

  “Get it, Sullivan!”

  James grinned at the good-natured encouragement from his teammate, Mark Coleridge, as he completed his last rep on the bench press. It was the Monday after a game, so everybody was taking it easy. But since they’d lost yesterday’s game, they’d be working a little extra today as punishment.

  “Thanks, Coleridge,” James said as he replaced the bar. He’d barely broken a sweat after twenty-five reps. He sat up on the bench, looking around the weight room. The entire team was here, getting in their light weight training early in the morning, per usual. Everyone looked good. But what wasn’t good was the losing streak James felt the Sharks were embarking on.

  It’s only two losses in a row. It’s not a streak yet. This Sunday will be different.

  But as the quarterback and oldest player on the team, it was hard for him not to worry. He’d been in the NFL longer than practically anybody. Sometimes he liked to think he had a sixth sense for shit like this. But this season, none of his senses worked quite right.

  Maybe after fifteen years in the game he was just tired.

  His phone vibrated in the pocket of his mesh workout shorts. His daily alarm for 8 a.m., to remind him to call his daughter. By this time, nine-year-old Emma was usually arriving at school after the nanny had dropped her off. With his grueling season schedule, the only day of the week he ever got to personally take her to school was Tuesdays. He headed for the door of the weight room as the phone rang. She picked up on the third ring.

  “Yes, Dad—I made it to school,” Emma answered, sounding unamused.

  It was true—he called every morning at the same time to make sure that she’d made it in okay. But he was a dad. This was what he was supposed to do.

  “I just gotta check on you, you know.” He hated the way his chest got tight whenever she acted annoyed by his questions. Ever since her mother had followed her career halfway around the world, James was extra conscious of making sure Emma felt supported and loved. But it was hard to do much of anything during the season, much less be the doting father he liked to think he was in the off-season. Truth was, everything had gotten harder since his transition to single parenthood. Especially figuring out if his daughter was doing well in the areas where it counted.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “You haven’t had your friends over in a while,” he said. “Why don’t you invite them over after school one day?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I’ve been busy.”

  He frowned. “Busy? With homework? Are your teachers giving you too much?”

  “No, Dad—” She sighed. “It’s nothing.”

  He heard the chatter of voices in the background, and he could imagine she was caught up in the throngs of students entering the school. He wouldn’t press, even though he wanted to.

  “Fine. We can talk later today. Invite your friends over if you want, though. I’ll be home early, and we can order from Camilo’s Pizza.”

  “Okay. Gotta run. Bye.”

  The line went dead, and he pocketed the phone. These days, it seemed she was nine going on fifteen. His normally happy, forthcoming girl had been strangely withdrawn and quiet the past few weeks. He wasn’t home enough to truly dig deep and get her to open up to him. With her mother out of the picture, he feared they were heading for a stressful second half of the season.

  And between the demands of keeping his team together, reviving his own flagging passion, and keeping his daughter on course, it felt like he was being pulled in so many directions he’d rip into pieces.

  “All right, boys!” Coach Scooter strode into the weight room, looking spry and maniacal, as he did most days after a loss. “Feeling good and loose yet?”

  “On our way,” Maxwell, one of James’s good buddies, muttered as he worked the rowing machine.

  “I’m hoping so, because we’ve got plenty of tape to review,” Coach went on, his voice booming through the weight room. “Gotta figure out what went wrong yesterday, and how we can fix it for next week. But before we do that, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  James crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway as Coach stood at the front of the weight room, his hands on his hips.

  “You all know we had to let Brad Jones go a few weeks back due to some personal issues. Well, I’m happy to announce that we’ve found our replacement strength and conditioning coach. Boys, meet Daisy Katrakis.”

  Coach gestured toward the back of the room, where James stood, and he turned to look behind him. Confusion piled up. Daisy Katrakis. He knew that name. Knew it really well. But could it be…?

  A Grecian beauty strode forward, her nearly pitch-black hair pulled back into a sleek and perfect ponytail. Her chocolate gaze zeroed in on him, a smile of recognition curling her lips.

  “Hey, James,” she said softly as she passed, leaving a pleasant trail of perfume behind her. James could only stare after her.

  Daisy was his high school best friend’s little sister. The loudmouth track nut who’d always been critiquing his football performances and egging him and her brother on.

  And now? Strength and conditioning coach for the Sharks. He could only blink dumbly as she took her place next to Coach Scooter and greeted the team. All eyes were on her, and for good reason. The strength and conditioning coach was a cornerstone of the team, and James had been wondering if the missing coach had been partially to blame for their recent losses.

  But James watched her for another reason, too. She wasn’t the high school health nerd he remembered. No, she’d transformed into an elegant but powerful beauty. Her dark, perfect brows, lush eyelashes, and full lips topped a svelte body, which even her teal polo and black shorts couldn’t hide. Powerful thighs snagged his attention next, followed by the graceful curve of her calf. He didn’t remember Daisy looking so yummy back in high school.

  “So I’d like you all to help make Daisy feel welcomed here,” Coach continued, which meant James had missed his speech about Daisy while he’d been busy ogling her. “Let’s show her what being a part of the Savannah Sharks is like.”

  The team applauded, and James righted himself, joining them. Daisy was all smiles as she thanked Coach, and he could see some of his teammates sharing appreciative looks amongst themselves. He was sure that she’d be welcomed more than warmly, with an extremely attentive team at her disposal.

  Himself included.

  “I want to let you all know that I’m thrilled to be a part of this team,” Daisy said, her voice feminine but unwavering…and just as loud as he’d remembered from high school. Her grin sparkled as she spoke, and it seemed like the entire room had gone deathly silent to hear her every word. “Joining the ranks of the most gifted performance athletes such as yourselves is a dream come true. I can’t wait to start working to get you all stronger, faster, and even more impressive.”

  Someone whooped, which made Daisy laugh. The team broke into applause again, and James found himself swallowed by the sparkle of her chocolate eyes, her captivating grin, the way she looked both like someone he’d known for his entire life, and a gorgeous stranger.

  Snap out of it. You’ve been alone too long.

  That had to be it. Two years post-divorce meant freedom and sowing wild oats for some men. But not for James, whose every spare second went to his daughter and trying to make sure she had as normal a childhood as possible given the insanity of his NFL lifestyle.

  Coach commanded everyone to finish up their workouts while Daisy went around the room and got acquainted with them. They had a half hour until break, when they’d be moving into tape review. James found himself walking toward her without even deciding to.

  “Daisy Katrakis,” he said, unable to contain his grin. She propped her hands on her hips, returning his smile.

  “James Sullivan. It’s good to see you again.”

  “I should have known you’d make it to the big time,” he said. “Last I heard from your brother, you were working for the OSU football team.”

  “It was an awesome job, but you know I’ve always set my sights as high as possible,” she said.

  He nodded, lapping her up. Strange how good it felt to see her again, especially here, in the middle of this shiny, state-of-the-art weight room that existed as his professional sanctuary. It had been years…maybe over a decade…since they’d last crossed paths in their hometown of Atlanta. But he still recognized the warmth in her voice, still felt like they could pick up right where they’d left off.

  “I’m proud of ya, kid,” he said, gently knocking her shoulder. “I bet your brother is pumped beyond belief.”

  “Oh, he was the first to find out.” She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her black shorts, which made the mounds of her breasts jut out beneath her shirt. He fought not to notice. “I made him swear not to tell you. I wanted you to find out with everyone. It happened so fast, and, well…” She glanced around, some of that confidence falling from her face, “I didn’t want anyone to think it was because I knew you.”

  “Of course. You won this fair and square.” There were a million other things he wanted to dive into now that she was here in front of him, but she was supposed to be meeting the team and getting acquainted. He couldn’t hog her.

  “And I don’t plan on going easy on you,” she warned, that glint returning to her eye. “I’ve seen your last few games. I know exactly what we need to work on.”

  “So you’ve been studying me,” he said, unsure if he should be impressed or worried.

  “Studying all of you,” she clarified with a mischievous grin. “But don’t you worry. I’ll be able to help you step it up.”

  “Oh? I need to step things up, huh?” He meant it jokingly, but her observations struck a deeper chord. One that he’d been too scared to really think about head-on. Was his waning passion that evident already?

  Mark and Maxwell approached, eager to introduce themselves, so James let her make the rounds as he stewed over the unsavory facts.

  Daisy wasn’t just hot enough to melt focus. She was skilled enough to call him out on the one thing he’d been desperately trying to hide from everyone this season.

  Including himself.

  Grab your copy of Red Zone

  Available April 1st, 2021

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  BLURB

  Star quarterback Marcus Kingston lives and breathes football. He’s trusted his abilities and instincts to get him this far, but an injury last season nearly ended his career. When his coaches want him to wear biofeedback technology to analyze his game, Marcus thinks the idea is ridiculous. Plus, the mousy scientist behind the project knows nothing about sports, and she quickly gets under his skin. But with another QB waiting on the sidelines, Marcus can either agree to participate, or be benched—permanently.

  Scientist Clare Wynifred values intellect above most things. With her brain constantly working, she has little interest in her appearance and zero interest in sports. She never imagined her wearable tech being used to improve someone’s game, but its success with the team could get her a military contract. Clare may be too late to save her brother, but her technology could save the lives of countless soldiers. She just has to make it work with the stubborn quarterback, and she’ll be one step closer to her goal.

  Marcus and Clare butt heads at first, but their mutual attraction quickly grows. And yet, with everything to lose, it’s easy to ignore that together they might be able to go the distance.

  Grab your copy of Wired (The Solomon Brothers Series Book One) from

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter One

  Marcus Kingston, so poised on the field, so calm during media interviews, left the conference room and promptly lost his shit. In the darkened hallway, Claire felt like an intruder in the private depths of someone’s psyche. She had followed him to bridge the gap, to explain that they were on the same side of this technology, that the software would do amazing things if he would allow it, that together they could make it perfect, but she stalled in this isolated space, unable to pull her eyes away from the mesmerizing display of testosterone and raw physical release.

  Claire froze, unsure of her next move.

  He paced the hallway, intermittently bracing and pushing against the walls like an old-school pong game. His chest rose and fell in exaggerated exhales, the only noise to fill the space until Claire’s ringtone bleated from her pocket.

  Crap.

  Marcus snapped his attention her direction. His expression fell into shadow, but she’d watched him enough on the two-story-tall media screen after a bad play to know that his mouth pinched in sharp angles and his eyes frosted over when plays backfired.

  She pressed the mute button on her cell, plunging them once again into quiet.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Am I going to get a read out on that tomorrow? Blood pressure spike?”

  “Had you been wired, you might have broken the algorithm.”

  Her joke stalled faster than her ability to relate to someone who didn’t reside in the cerebral. Square one. Start at square one.

  “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Claire.”

  “Wynifred. Nothing wrong with my hearing.”

  Nothing wrong with much else, either. Stripped of pads, his muscles were curved, stacked, taut. She didn’t appreciate much about the game—didn’t understand the intelligence coma American audiences entered each Sunday, gathered around their televisions, investing their emotions in an allegiance that mattered little in the bigger picture of life. But no one could deny that an elite athlete in second-skin pants spoke to the baser pleasures of the hypothalamus.

  Marcus Kingston was no exception—mixed race, hair shaved close, eyes a watery blue, everything white on him brilliant against the warm tone of his skin. Not that she would be on the receiving end of that smile. Ever, she guessed.

  “You should get some fluids. Dehydration can have a profound impact on cognition and anxiety levels.”

  He shook his head and gave a caustic laugh.

  “What else you know about me?”

  She didn’t have her results in front of her, but she had earned a doctorate in record time thanks to an eidetic memory. Everything she needed was always in her brain.

  “I know you audibled eleven times, eight of which resulted in a loss of five yards or more. I know the optimum angle of your throwing arm averages forty-two degrees based on distance and accuracy results. Your default scan of the field is close right, far left, then far right, leaving a blind spot close left. And you grind your back molars when you’re assessing the opposing team’s line up on defense.”

  “Mouth guard?”

  “Jumbotron.”

  Marcus nodded, as if allowing the impressive array of statistics to sink in. He scooped up his pads and cleats and helmet.

  “And my hometown? The neighborhood where I grew up?”

  The question threw her. Not once had she come across that information.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about the age when I got my first beating? Or how much government assistance my dad believed he missed out on from my mother before he turned me out on the streets? Or the age I finally learned to read?”

  Claire’s chest burned in a slow ache. Suddenly her stats didn’t seem so impressive.

  “See, not everything I leave out on that field can be measured in heart rates or blood pressure or the goddamned oxygen level in my blood. You cannot quantify drive. You cannot know that I change plays at the line of scrimmage so that Rungnir, who has blindness in his left peripheral vision, doesn’t get creamed, or so that Garrick might be considered for the Pro Bowl this year because his father has never once said he was proud of him. Nothing you do will ever inform the choices I make out on that field.”

  “Maybe not. But you’re standing in my way just as much as I’m standing in yours. We work toward the same goal, we both get what we want.”

  “And what is it you want, Miss Wynifred? A fat bank account? A title at some Ivy League school? People to notice you for something other than your ugly green skirt?”

  Had she been wired, body temperature tracked at her forehead would have spiked, her palms would have registered perspiration, and sensors might have picked up increased activity in her occipital lobe, where she imagined herself giving the walking ego of the Portland Rogues a swift kick between the goal posts.

  Also, her skirt was red.