How can you not love fall? Sunny days, crisp, cool nights, comfy sweatshirts, cozy socks, pumpkins and apples galore, colorful leaves, and football! Or at least, men in tight pants. ;-)

I kid. Well, sort of. That's how I met my husband. He played football and I watched, not knowing much about the game. All I knew was...wow! Holy hotness. I kid again. Sort of. Not really. Anyway, almost 30 years later, and I'm still with my strong and silent football player.

Did you know the very first book I published was a loose--and I mean SUPER loose--connection to my husband? The storyline is nothing like ours, except Connor, the hero in False Start, did have a career-ending injury that brought him back to his hometown. My husband experienced that injury in college, thus ending his NFL prospects. From there, fiction took over, but it was the injury football that inspired False Start.

If you like small-town sweet romances with only a little heat, strong and loyal heroes, and strong and stubborn heroines, then False Start is for you. Here's the first chapter!

FALSE START

By Marianne Rice

 1

“We need to talk.”

Startled by the deep growl, Meg Fulton looked up at the towering stack of testosterone filling her office doorway and cursed the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach.

She straightened her posture, ran her hand through her thick hair in an attempt to put all the strays back in place, and then reached for the lapels of the suit coat that wasn’t there. She felt vulnerable in her silk tank top and wished she had an extra layer to shield her from the menacing daggers targeted at her. Putting on the jacket would only make a spectacle of herself. The thin tank would have to do.

“Sure. Have a seat.” She crossed her legs and attempted to smile. Inwardly, Meg groaned. Connor McKay. She’d noticed him on the football field coaching his athletes and had not looked forward to the expected confrontation.

He remained in the doorway, making no move toward the empty seats across from her desk. His blond hair was short, barely longer than the scruff on his face, and as she looked up she saw his eyes—a fierce, fiery blue filled with accusation and something that ranged between confusion and lust.

Meg stood and retrieved her suit coat off the rack, slid her arms through the expensive fabric, feeling the need to protect herself after all. In three-inch heels, she stood at almost five-eleven, but he still had half a foot on her. “What can I do for you?”

“This plan? Not gonna happen.” He didn’t elaborate, just made his statement sound like fact.

Pompous, arrogant jerk. He was probably used to flaunting his muscles to get his way. The Texas A&M shirt stretched over his massive chest, making him appear menacing and…hot. Horrified she even noticed, she tipped her head back and raised her eyebrow. “Why do you believe it’s not going to happen?”

His wide stance continued to rigidly occupy the doorway. “Season’s already started. My players won’t be benched because of a policy that might start halfway through their season.”

The stereotypical football coach was obviously not used to having a woman as a boss, but Meg wouldn’t let him intimidate her. The job as principal at Newhall High School would be a challenge, but one she was ready to face.

“Is, not might. And all I’m asking—” She cleared her throat, “telling you, is to have your players who are in danger of failing a class spend a little extra time working on their academics. It’s quite simple. If an athlete is failing a class, he or she must stay after school in the Intervention program.”

“And spend less time on the field?” His lips drew into a tight line. “Not gonna happen. They need to be at practice or they don’t get to play.”

“School doesn’t start for two more days, Mr. McKay. No one is currently failing. Inform your players to maintain passing grades and their role on your team does not change.” Damn but he infuriated her. Between the baby blue eyes and blond whiskers on his face, he looked like he belonged on one of those giant posters Abercrombie displayed at the mall than teaching in a rural New Hampshire high school.

“We already have a program in place, Ms. Fulton. Students have to maintain decent grades to stay eligible. You’re making it damn near impossible for a kid to play. Cut them a break.”

“Decent isn’t working. Allowing students to fail algebra as long as they pass gym isn’t doing them any favors. This program doesn’t average grades; instead, it requires students to pass all their courses. Students have been given far too many breaks and look where it’s gotten them. Newhall High is close to losing its accreditation. The first step is quite simple. We just—”

“You think it’s that easy?” He shook his head and rubbed his hand across his unshaven face, unintentionally—or intentionally—flexing his biceps with the simple gesture.

“That’s why we’re all here: teachers, mentors, peer support groups. That’s our number one job—to teach. Number two, and always number two, is coaching. You must agree or you wouldn’t be a teacher.” Meg inwardly cringed. Making herself sound like a walking ad for higher education wouldn’t earn her any points. She didn’t mean to sound so stuck up, but Connor infuriated her. Or maybe it was her unwanted attraction to him that ticked her off.

His bright eyes darkened and narrowed. She thought the conversation had finished, but he stepped into her office, testosterone invading her personal space.

“And what do I tell my kids who have nothing going for them, no home life, no hopes of earning decent pay or a respectable job because they don’t have a lot of brain power, but can make a difference on the football field? It’s what keeps them in school and off the streets. In our neck of the woods, kids don’t come to school dressed in designer duds looking for a decent education. They come because their home life is shitty. They come to play ball. And if they can’t play ball, they drop out.”

She didn’t like the strength of his body or the powerful way he spoke. For sixteen years she worked diligently to stand tall in every room she entered, every situation she encountered, and she was not about to lose all she had physically and mentally worked for because of another football player.

“And what happens to these kids of yours once high school is over and they realize there’s a real world out there that they’re not prepared for?”

“Football, hell, all sports, teaches kids endurance, commitment, responsibility, and teamwork. Those, Ms. Fulton, are skills we all need in the real world.”

She crossed her arms and smiled. “You’re absolutely right, coach. And these kids will realize how important commitment and teamwork are by the example you set for them. By how well you work with others in the mentoring program and how responsible you are as a teacher and mentor by making each of your players responsible for his education.”

“This program of yours may seem great on paper but I’m talking about real kids. Kids you don’t know squat about. I know their families, their home life, their—”

She needed to get the man out of her office before she said something she’d regret. Lifting a thick three-ring binder off her desk, she shoved it at his solid chest. “Here’s my data. I started this program at my previous school and helped four other districts begin similar programs. Feel free to read over my notes. We can discuss this further tomorrow.” She turned her back on him and put her laptop in her briefcase.

She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to ensure he left. The air thinned and cooled the moment he walked out. She had to smile when she heard him curse and slam the door to the main office. Round one belonged to her.

* * * *

There were only three stoplights in the small town of Newhall, and damn if Connor didn’t manage to catch them all. He didn’t feel sorry for taking his frustration out on his players at practice this afternoon. It was a taste of what was to come.

After leaving Meg Fulton’s office, he had headed out to the comfort of the football field and had been bombarded by all sorts of questions from the kids and his coaches. But damn-it-to-hell if he had any answers.

“Coach, there’s no way I can pass chemistry this fall. You’re not gonna bench me, are ya?” His star running back whined.

He had to remain semiprofessional so he sidetracked the team with heavier warm-ups.

“You’re not gonna be playing at all if you keep flapping your gums more than those legs. End zone to end zone. Five times. Hustle!” The team groaned and pleaded for answers to their questions. Answers Connor didn’t have. It had been easier to keep them busy and too winded for idle conversation. “Go!”

If this was any indication of what kind of year he was going to have, he might as well tell the team to hang up their shoulder pads and call it quits. Principal Fulton was tough and confident. Too confident.

Part of him hated her for it. Another part of him respected her. And another part…damn. He shouldn’t be thinking about his new boss this way, but it wasn’t his fault she had legs that were meant to wrap around a lover.

It wasn’t often that someone needed to put him in his place. At least not lately. Though he was well known in these parts, he didn’t take advantage of his stature unless it was to give back to his community. Connor considered himself a good teacher and knew he was an excellent coach. He didn’t need stats, trophies, or awards to tell him that.

He cursed as an image of Meg lying naked in his bed, dark hair splayed around her like angel wings, filled his brain.

He steered his GMC truck into his garage and shut off the engine. Next to him sat the black binder she’d given him. All he wanted was to have a beer, sit on his couch, and catch the end of the Red Sox game.

He could hear Rocky barking as he stepped out of his truck. The second he opened the door, Rocky bounded out to do his business. Connor went inside, stripped on his way to the bathroom, and then took a desperately needed shower.

Images of long, lean limbs and dark, wide eyes flooded his mind and warmed his body. Cursing, he turned the shower nozzle and rinsed off with icy cold water.

Freshly showered, Connor grabbed a beer from the fridge and then reclined in his chair, Rocky at his feet. He took a pull on his bottle of suds. The cold ale tasted good going down. Sure, he wasn’t catching the pigskin or dodging the lineman in the NFL anymore, but coaching high school kids was rewarding in its own right.

The black binder stared up at him from the coffee table. “Ah, shit.” He reached for it and thumbed through the meticulously organized sections. Just like her office, her hair, her clothes, everything about Meg was in perfect order. Which made him want to rumple her a bit. The thought of her disheveled did weird things to his insides.

Sitting in his recliner gave him a direct view of the wall of windows and French doors that led out to an enormous deck overlooking Moose Lake. There were no fussy decorations in his house. While it had a man’s touch, it didn’t look like a bachelor pad.

The windows needed no coverings, the nearest neighbors were across the water and only visible with a pair of binoculars. He wasn’t a slob. Every item in his house had a designated spot. Clothes, books, weights, food.

The black binder mirrored his kind of meticulous organization. Shit. The last thing he wanted to admit was that he had anything in common with his new commander and chief. He was neat. She had OCD.

Thumbing through the binder, he noted the dates—ten years of data. She didn’t look old enough to be a principal. Hell, she didn’t fit the principal mode, period. They were old, balding, and grumpy. Not tall, with large, brown sexy-ass bedroom eyes, and a sassy attitude.

The last section held her handwritten notes. They weren’t dated, but they looked like notes for a class, her senior thesis maybe? Information he was sure she did not want him to see.

A yellow piece of paper fell from the binder and landed on the floor. Connor bent over to pick it up.

“Well, holy hell, sugar. What do we have here?”

Continue reading False Start... (which is free in Kindle Unlimited!)

Happy fall, and happy reading!

Marianne xoxoxo