Crossing Lines by Elley Arden

Starting Monday off with a fantastic new release from my buddy Elley Arden. Crossing Lines is book 2 in her Cleveland Clash series - Book one is Running Interference - and you gotta love stories about women who play football! (Also, read the excerpt, because I'm still snickering over the last line...I'm such a juvenile...)

Blurb:

Party girl and standout wide receiver Jillian Bell sees no problem with her "no rules" lifestyle as long as she's scoring on the field. But her sexy new offensive coordinator doesn't see it that way.

Former marine turned successful restaurateur Carter Howl agreed to whip his father's undisciplined women's full-tackle football team into shape out of guilt. But the job comes with more trouble than he bargained for thanks to one spitfire of a wide receiver who challenges his every play.

When Jillian's little sister begs her to come back to their small-minded hometown and be on her best behavior at a family event, she unexpectedly enlists prim and proper Carter to help her keep her cool. But two days and one pretend engagement later, this straight-laced former soldier is doing all sorts of things he normally wouldn't. Is the wrong girl the right girl for him?

Sensuality Level: Sensual

Crossing Lines Buy Links

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Excerpt

Coach Howl replaced Coach Malloy with his son!

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jillian said a little too loudly, then grabbed her sore neck and rubbed. What was that bit about the apple not falling far from the tree? If that was true, then their passing game was doomed.

The younger Coach Howl looked at her, and—ooh!—those magic eyes produced a heat that pierced through her to the center of her neck pain, until she couldn’t even feel her toes.

I’m cured, she thought, followed by, maybe he won’t be so bad. In fact, maybe he wasn’t anything like his father at all. Maybe he was the black sheep in his family—just like she was.

He looked away, patted his father on the shoulder, and then stepped up to address the team. “Ladies, I’m honored to be here,” he said. “Rather than bore you with details about my football background, let me just say that I have plenty of experience with both the sport and the discipline needed to get the job done. Winning isn’t rocket science. The team that wins works harder and longer than the losing team, and the team that wins knows how to stay out of trouble—on and off the field.”

Why the hell was he looking at her?

She rolled her eyes. He narrowed his.

“You were late,” he said.

She looked behind her, knowing full well he was talking to her. “Barely late.”

At her response, he stood straighter and narrowed his eyes until they were slits. “Late is late, and it’s not tolerated on this field.” He made a whirling signal with his finger. “Laps ... until I tell you to stop.”

He had to be kidding. She was the best player on this team. She’d scored every single one of the twenty-one points they’d scored so far this season.

She crossed her arms and looked at Coach Howl. He was no help. The faintest smile curved his lips.
“I miss Coach Malloy already!” she yelled as she threw her helmet to the sidelines and started jogging around the track.

By the time Thor deigned to release her from lap running, stretching was over and her mood was foul. She got in line and readied to run routes.

“Partying got the best of you this weekend, didn’t it?” MJ asked.

“Never.” They just had a new OC with a stick up his ass. Or a hammer. She looked at him and snickered.

He paced the sidelines, watching the team’s every move, looking way too serious for his own good. He’s going to have a heart attack, she thought. Which wouldn’t be terrible. At least then he couldn’t coach anymore.

He stopped pacing and stood with his feet shoulder width apart, a position that showed off strong thigh muscles beneath his thin athletic pants. She bet he had a six-pack. What a shame. God had formed a whole lot of fine man around one big asshole.

Bio

Elley Arden is a born and bred Pennsylvanian who has lived as far west as Utah and as far north as Wisconsin. She drinks wine like it’s water (a slight exaggeration), prefers a night at the ballpark to a night on the town, and believes almond English toffee is the key to happiness.

Elley has been reading romance novels since she was a sixteen-year-old babysitter, sneaking Judith McNaught and Danielle Steele novels off the bookshelves of the women who employed her. To say she’d been sheltered up to that point is an understatement. No one had ever told her women could live bold, love freely, and have sex lives that were exciting and fulfilling. (They don’t teach these things in Catholic school!) Now that she knows, she’s happy to spread the word. The women she writes about may be fictional, but the success, respect, and love they find on the page is a universal right for women everywhere.

Elley writes books with charming characters, emotional stories, and sexy romance. Visit The Bookshelf for a detailed listing.

You can connect with Elley on her website, Facebook, or Twitter.

My Husband's Mutombo Moment

So at the end of the season in 1994, the Seattle Supersonics had the best record in the NBA. Their record was 63 wins to 19 losses, George Karl was their coach, Shawn Kemp and Gary Payton, Michael Cage and Nate McMillan, Sam Perkins and Detlef Schrempf were town HEROES. And I mean HEROES.

Much like the Seattle Seahawks this year.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

You probably don't remember 1994, or at least the NBA post-season that year, but I'll tell you what, if you followed the Sonics at all, you KNEW they were headed for the NBA Finals. No question. They were just that good. But wait. Do you remember the Sonics playing in the Finals that year?

Nope, you don't, because they lost before they got there. Not only that, they lost in the first round, to the number 8 seed Denver Nuggets.They won the first 2 games in the best 3 out of 5 series, and they LOST - the first time ever a number 1 seed lost to the number 8 seed. 

I was there for game 5. I may never recover.

Cut my heart out. Just do it.

For those of us who were fans of the Sonics that year (and for years before that, and for years after until some a$$hole from Oklahoma stole them), the image of Dikembe Motumbo rolling around the court at the end of game 5 was the final nail in the coffin of our dreams, made worse by the fact that all his jubilation took place on the floor of Key Arena. See the Sonics green on the floor? It was our HOME COURT.

Jeebus. Twenty-one years later, it still twists something in my gut.

As I said earlier, I attended that game. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I had plans afterwards with my then-boyfriend, a tall, lanky musician who could tell the difference between a football and a basketball, but didn't pay much more attention to sports than that. I think I canceled our post-game date. I was just too upset to go out.

Despite that, he still married me, and a few years ago, a funny thing happened. Our son, who was then in 2nd grade, announced he wanted to play football with his best friend. And, like any rational, caring parent, I said,

HELL NO.

I mean, come on. 2nd grade? No way. I said NO when he asked again in 3rd grade, but by the time he got to 4th grade, I'd made as much peace with the idea as I ever will, and signed the permission slips. I figured he'd take a couple solid hits that first season, and decide swim team had more to offer. (Hello?! Girls in swimsuits!) He's a high school freshman now, and just finished his first season  of high school football. Apparently the idea of delivering solid hits to other boys outweighs the inevitable punishment involved.

Another funny thing happened. During my son's years in club football, my husband became a HUGE fan of the sport. My son's participation in the sport paralleled the Seahawks rise from perennial cellar-dwellers, and though my husband's enthusiasm started with the Lake City Braves, it has since generalized to include our local professional team.

Now, unlike almost EVERYONE ELSE IN THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST, I had to work night shift this weekend, which meant I watched most of the Super Bowl alone in the comfort of my bed. My husband had a slate of parties to hit, and a brand new Pearl Jam Seahawks teeshirt to wear. 

He's still a musician, after all.

I didn't watch most of the 4th quarter, because I was on my way to work, but followed along with my phone, so I saw the final score. And I was...bummed.

You know. 

My team lost the Super Bowl. 

But later, when I talked to my husband, he used a stronger word to describe his reaction. He called the end of the game "devastating". He sounded all hollow when he said it, too, like he couldn't quite believe what had happened. And I knew exactly how he felt. 

He was having a Motumbo Moment.

In all the years I've known my husband, this is the first time he's been passionately excited about a professional sports team, and last night was by far the biggest loss the team has suffered since he started following them. The team wasn't the only one suffering. While I was all, "Hey, I'd rather lose in the Super Bowl than not play in the game," he was alternating between shock and depression.

Poor guy.

I seriously don't think any pro sports gave will ever effect me the way that Sonics-Denver game did. After my Motumbo Moment, I simply don't get that excited about any team. Probably the only thing that would come close is if the Garfield High School Bulldogs lose in the State championship game. They made the playoffs this year, but were no where near the championship, so I think I'm safe. 

But anything is possible.

Anywhoodle, at the risk of sounding completely cynical, I do know the cure for a Motumbo Moment.

Next season.

It'll help to listen to the sportscasters post-game analysis and see the memes as they pop up on Facebook, but really, the best way to put last night behind us will happen next September. I mean, Pete Carroll has the biggest balls in football, and Russell Wilson's the BEST young quarterback out there. The Seahawks - and the city of Seattle - have a few more years before this ride is over.

What about you? Have you ever had a Motumbo Moment? Share it here!

Peace out...

Liv