First and Ten Read online

  First and Ten

  Love by the Yard

  Book One

  by Michel Prince

  Published by JK Publishing, Inc.

  © Copyright September 2016 Michel Prince

  Rights & Permissions © September 2016 JK Publishing, Inc.

  Cover, art, and logo © Copyright September 2016 by JK Publishing, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN #978-1-370-90866-0

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

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  Dedication

  There are so many thanks that I need to put out there, but I’m only going to have time and space for a few.

  First, Lanna Farrell, thank you for pushing me to submit to JK and finding my series a home. Sometimes the easiest thing to do is put a book aside for a thousand other projects. Finishing and contracting this book has taken me back to the game I’ve always loved to watch.

  Thank you to M. G. for the insider look, I know my readers will love feeling as if they really are with an NFL team.

  A shout out to RP, my Chi-Town expert that helped me navigate the windy city.

  Finally, my biggest thanks to my fans and family who support and cheer me on. I know this series will find a special place in your heart.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Books by Michel Prince

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “With the fourteenth pick, the Grizzlies take Beaumont Guthry from the University of Mississippi,” the commissioner of the National Football League announced.

  The six-four blond good ole boy cheesed his way to the podium after accepting a hug from his mother and a firm handshake from his father. Tears filled his parents’ eyes and Jerome Speed, or Rome to his friends and fans, sank further into the black leather chair.

  It’s not that Jerome didn’t want the Grizzlies to get a new quarterback. They needed one for rebuilding purposes. Mattie’s arm wasn’t what it had been, but for Rome it meant his coaches were looking to build a stronger passing game. Maybe they’d lost faith in his ability to run through defenses. In the last year his yards per carry had dropped to three point five, but he was still highly productive.

  “Speed,” his college coached barked at him. “What is three times four?”

  “Twelve, coach.”

  “No, goddamn it. If by age twenty you can’t figure out it’s a fucking first down, you need to take off that damn uniform. Can you give me three damn yards?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Speed, I have the suits set up in the dressing room.” Ramona smiled in her tight black dress, standing five-nine, even though four of those inches came from heels. Her hair was smooth, pulled back into a tight bun which seemed to help tighten her face a bit. Or maybe that was just how she looked, tight and angular. “Would you like me to pull some shoes?”

  “Yes,” Jerome replied, pushing up from the chair and walking into the dressing room.

  Suits with two and three buttons hung like art work on the six hooks. Using the shoppers service was a must according to Randall Corbin, his manager.

  Public perception demanded the top running back in the league for the past five years dress well. The ESPYS were on par with the Grammys and Golden Globes, but today was to set up his wardrobe for the next season. Players getting on and off the team bus or plane, walking through the tunnel drew in the female fans. At least the ones who didn’t already love the sport. He’d heard such creatures existed. Never seen one. They were like unicorns or mermaids. The only females he met were succubi or sirens. Luring him into a sense of calm before sucking the life and a piece of his contract from him.

  With a plaid black and gray suit on he walked to the three-way mirror to stand on the podium. Ramona would be by soon with accessories that he’d have to remember to keep all together.

  A woman walked in and sat in the same chair he’d occupied. Not acknowledging him, she stayed focused on her phone flipping screens with a single finger. Unpolished nail…or did it have a pale pink color to it, just not long claws like he saw on most women.

  “Mr. Speed,” Ramona cooed and he swore she cut her eyes at the stranger. “I have a great mix of ties that will go perfect with that.”

  A tray of ties arrived and he examined them, unsure which went with the black suit with a charcoal plaid pattern. Was he supposed to pick a bowtie or a straight one? Ramona picked a bright orange bowtie with yellow polka dots. The woman in the chair snorted.

  “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, placing his hand on Ramona’s to stop her from putting it on.

  “Did you ever watch WGN in the morning as a kid?”

  “No, I’m not originally from Chicago.”

  “Okay.” She went back to her phone and Ramona tied the bowtie to his neck. The fit was good considering the thickness of his neck.

  That’s why he shopped in places like
this. They carried the sizes men of his girth needed. Although he wasn’t a behemoth like the linemen, he had broad shoulders and the thick muscular structure needed to plow past defensive linemen.

  Checking his reflection in the mirror, he sized up the tie he could take or leave. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a clothes horse. His agent pushed the need for looking a certain way. He preferred a good fitting pair of jeans and a polo.

  Right when he was about to say he’d take the whole outfit, socks and all, the woman’s words returned to him.

  “What was on WGN in the morning?”

  “It might still be on,” she sighed. “I used to watch it before school.”

  “You keeping it a secret only Chi-towners can know about?”

  “Bozo the Clown. You could win prizes.” She stood and shook her head at him. “I swore I could reach the last bucket in the toss game, but my dad wouldn’t let me even send a letter asking for tickets to the show.”

  “You say I look like a clown?”

  “If the tie fits.”

  Jerome tugged at the tie only to have Ramona place her hand over his.

  “It’s amazing. One of the top designers and a hundred percent silk.”

  “Sixty or seventy dollars?” the woman asked.

  Ramona didn’t answer.

  “Eighty-five?” the woman asked with an arched eyebrow as she circled Jerome. “Let’s see. We have a polka dot tie, with a plaid suit and striped kerchief.”

  Jerome cut his eyes down to see the orange and creamsicle striped kerchief.

  “Please say you gave him the argyle socks too,” she giggled with her hands together in prayer. “Because then there’s only like three other pattern styles in the world and he can have them all.”

  Curling his toes in the shoes Ramona had picked out, Jerome now saw the idiocy of this outfit. He’d been only looking at the individual items not how they went together, but he was paying for her to dress him. Not toss the six most expensive items together.

  The woman pushed Ramona to the side with a swim move he usually feared. Untying the tie, she slipped it back in the tray and stood back to examine him.

  “My name is Danika Albright and I’m here to save you from Ramona’s quotas.”

  She pulled a simple gray tie off the tray along with a kerchief. “Now this says class although a three button jacket would hold your body nicer. Ramona, love, will you grab this sweet man the Hugo Boss fall charcoal please.”

  “Ms. Albright, he’s not one of your clients.” Ramona’s face tightened even more as she pursed her lips.

  “That’s obvious.”

  “He’s mine.”

  “That too, is obvious. The cut on this coat is all wrong. Have you seen his shoulders? Football players are not interchangeable,” she said as her eyes scanned his body as if she were the Terminator measuring him with just a look. “Start with their position, then you understand not only their needs, but the way their bodies move.”

  “So you do know who I am.” Jerome smiled.

  “No clue. But you’re black, which kinda cancels out hockey. You’re too short to be effective in basketball and both baseball teams have away games today.”

  “I could be a businessman.”

  “You could, but they tend to make us bring this to the office and your phone has been in that chair for too long.”

  “So you really don’t know who I am?”

  She measured him with her eyes. Spying the length of his body.

  “Maybe, outside of the uniform it’s hard for me. Helmet and all. May I?” she asked before placing her hand on his shoulder and circling him. “Corner… no…” she sighed with her eyes trained on his waist, which was soon followed by her delicate fingers. “Running back… maybe tight end. Your height is deceptive.”

  “I’m only six-one,” he replied, trying to keep his focus from her fingertips, with their warm touch.

  “Right on the verge.”

  Ramona glared with her arms crossed.

  “Are you done?” she sneered.

  “Weren’t you fetching?”

  Ramona turned on her heel and went in search of Danika’s order.

  “She doesn’t like you.”

  “This is less than a part time job for me and I make more than her.” Danika licked her lips and her eyes cut down. There was more between the two of them. Danika’s posture went from commanding and sure of herself to self-conscious in less than thirty seconds. Soon she steeled herself and looked at him with a smile.

  “Isn’t she cheaper than you because she works here?”

  “Yes and no. She works directly on commission and quotas, which makes you a mark.”

  “What do you work on?”

  If she said tips he was heading straight to Ramona and her stupid ass polka dot ties.

  “I have straight fees. I only work weekends, but I am available by phone otherwise except Tuesday evening.”

  “You said fees? Hourly?”

  “Monthly with discounts for six month and year long contracts. I usually work with Marco and he’s the one who gets my tips.”

  A sharply dressed man rolled in two hanging carts full of outfits. He then went out of the area and returned with a regular cart filled with accessories.

  “Speaking of which…my appointments should be here soon.”

  Danika walked away and hugged Marco. They laughed then she giggled as he poured three glasses of Champaign.

  “You finally learned my secret,” Dalton Gresham, the left tackle from the Grizzlies, said as he slapped Jerome on his back. A hit that knocked him a bit off balance.

  “What’s that? You eat chickens whole?” With eight inches and about a hundred and fifty pounds on him, Dalton was the best plowman he could ask for, but with the mop of blond hair on his head it’s not like he could do anything except push forward.

  “No, Dani. She’s amazing, right?”

  “Dalton,” Dani greeted as she gave him a glass of champagne. “I see you got a new QB coming on board. You do remember how to protect a pass rush, right? You’re going to have to do more than make a hole this year.”

  She didn’t know who Jerome was…bullshit. Another damn succubus. Ramona approached with a new suit dangling from her index finger. No reason to not take free advice. It may actually be worth more than he paid for.

  “How long have you known Rome?” Dalton asked.

  “Who’s Rome?”

  “Speed kills?”

  Dani turned her head as her face flushed. Jerome Speed. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Speed kills. A dozen monikers followed that man and she couldn’t believe it was really him. He’d looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Especially past that ghastly outfit Ramona, the whore, had picked for him. It took all her composure to not slap herself across the face for being a moron.

  “I just met him. But it’s not like he introduced himself.”

  “He wouldn’t. He’s not really one to trust women.”

  “Talking to Ramona I can see why.”

  “What has she ever done to you?”

  Dani sighed and pulled the first suit off the rack for Dalton. Custom made to his specification, it was hardly the traditional off the rack. Even if he didn’t buy it, the designers knew she’d find a buyer.

  Trust and backing from her previous successes. First they assumed the risk thinking they could go to her father, but the one who tried learned quickly she paid her own debts. Not that her parents had disowned her, not in the least, but her father had made his own money and expected his children to do the same. The daughter of a billionaire, with all the benefits of still being able to live at home with house rules enforced since she was fourteen. Curfews and all. How glorious for a twenty-six-year old scraping through graduate school, having to pay for each class herself.

  “Get dressed. Van’s coming,” she ordered.

  “You’re the only woman I know who can juggle three men at one time and still make us feel special,” Dalton teased.

&
nbsp; “Kisses, love.” She waved and greeted Van Denordy the next great, in his mind, actor to come out of Chicago’s west side. He’d had a handful of big fart and dick comedies the last few summers. Earning him big bucks for being a moron. The complete opposite of who he really was. She almost didn’t take him on as a client, but his agent assured her after one meeting she’d see.

  Now the man known for being the most sex-crazed man on the planet was one of her best friends.

  “Two charity, one late night show, and Nana’s birthday.”

  “You know my schedule better than me.”

  “Ditzy sent me the deets. She actually said I’ll send you the deets, Dani.”

  “I’m sure Brock didn’t hire Darla for her brains.”

  They embraced with a hug as he spun her in a circle.

  “How much can I borrow?”

  “Most, not all though. Nana’s birthday isn’t on TV so, sorry, love, you’re gonna have to keep that.”

  With Van trying on his first outfit, she moved onto her final client, a politician set to make a jump.

  When she’d adjusted his tie and got the nod from his campaign manager, she sighed and went back to Dalton.

  “Where is she?” a screech rang through the room. “I know she’s here.”

  Victoria Belmont stormed through the door reserved, but not exclusively for men.

  “Madam first lady,” Dani said with deference to the Governor’s wife. Her political client did all he could to not fall all over himself to shake her hand.

  “Not here, young man. Or at least not until Dani rights my world.”

  “Breathe,” Dani said as she took Victoria’s hands in hers. “What happened?”

  “That jackass I married decided last night to agree to go to a fundraiser for the Architectural Historical Society or some such thing. Of course it’s black tie, because all he has to do is pull on his tux. He has no comprehension of a woman’s needs. You would not believe what he suggested I do.”