I love football. So it was inevitable that I’d write a football sports romance. Something big and juicy to explore all those questions and controversies and possible complications involved in a romance with a football player.

With larger than life characters, Trent Lockheed as the dreamy superstar quarterback who excels in bachelorhood as much as in football, and Charline Morneau, a gorgeous doctor, who’s devoted her life to medical research, highly respected in her field, the story took on its own life.

Now, even before it’s finished, it’s over 100,000 words long–that’s twice as long as my usual novels. A good long, super juicy emotional roller coaster of a read.

This is book 2 in the Playing sports romance series and is a scorcher. I’d rate it at a 4 on a scale from 1-5 where 1 is sweet and 5 is erotic romance.

Here’s an Excerpt:

Chapter 1

The frozen football smacked against his fingers and spread tingling numbness like a glacier, slowly but surely.  The smattering of people in the stands clapped with the usual enthusiasm of diehard Boston fans. He took a bow. Practice hadn’t begun yet. Not officially. He was early, but not for the usual reasons. For a commercial shoot. Yet again. He blew on his fingers.

If this shoot took long enough the numbness might reach his shoulder and that wouldn’t be a bad thing for the pain. But he needed to warm up his muscles or they’d crack like petrified plastic.

“Okay, Trent. Take it again from the top and try not to look cold,” the director shouted at him. That got a few gruff laughs from his ever-present audience. Trent noted a few members from the media had arrived.

“That’s a tall order for a southern boy.”  He smiled. He should have felt the smile deep down. After all, his team was in contention for the playoffs again. They might even have a shot at the big prize. He shoved the thought aside like a cornerback on a blitz.

Stepping to his mark he thought of his sister Tammy and how she’d kid him about this one. A commercial about Calvin Klein boxers wasn’t on her approved list. At least today he was fully clothed. The thought of his little sister’s horror ought to help make his smile extra big. He was about to say his line when his cell rang.

“Cut,” the director said. “Damn it, Trent you know better than that…”

Trent raised one hand in a stop sign and stared the director down as he pulled the phone from its tight quarters tucked in his practice pants. No one had this number except people he wanted to have it and they all knew better than to call him during practice time especially at this stage of the season. So it had to be important. A hot surge of foreboding sparked his adrenaline.

He checked the caller’s number as he stepped away from the small commercial set in the margins of their practice field and walked back toward the bench where he had the absolute respect of his teammates—the few earlybirds especially. They wouldn’t question what the hell he was doing on the phone at this moment even if they wondered about it.

“Mom, you caught me at a bad time.” Wearing a resigned smile, he raised his middle finger at one of his teammates who snickered.

“Trent, honey, I’m sorry. I thought I was calling before practice.”

“Technically you are. I’m doing a commercial shoot.”

“Not another one of those underwear commercials I hope.” She laughed. “You know your sister would skin you alive. Though I have to say the ladies from my club were fine with it.”

Now he laughed, though he noted that she didn’t say what his father’s reaction had been. He sucked in a breath and even with the director glaring at him from thirty yards away, he had to ask.

“How did Dad take it?”

“You know him. He sucked it up with his usual gentlemanly stoicism, aside from the annoyed frown every time the commercial comes on the TV. But let me get to what I called you about. We can’t make it up to the game this week as we’d planned. Your father has a trial coming up and he’s going to be locked away in his den all weekend.”

“Another big case? When is he ever going to retire?”

“He’s convinced he’s indispensable,” his mother said with a smile in her voice.

“Doesn’t he know you’re the indispensable one?” Trent meant it, felt warmed at his mother’s pleased chuckle.

“Got to go, Mom. Make sure you’re here for the playoffs. We’re going to go all the way this time.”

“I know you will. I love you, honey.”

“Love you too.”

He ended the call, the smile still on his face as he began to slip the phone back in its tight quarters. But before he had a chance, it rang again. He lifted the phone to his ear as he walked back toward the director.

“What did you forget, Mom?” His grin in place, he listened. There was a beat of silence.

“I’m not your mother.”

Trent’s grin vanished and he stopped in his tracks. This voice most definitely did not belong to his mother, or anyone’s mother for that matter.

“I’m calling for Trent Lockheed. This is Dr. Charline Morneau.” The voice sounded more like it belonged to a dial-for-sex number than a doctor.

“A mutual friend of ours, Ralph Nunley, asked me to call you. I understand you have a problem?”

I won’t tell you more, won’t spoil it for you, but I will show you the book trailer. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so maybe the book trailer is worth 100,000 words.