First And Ten: Going Deep

First and Ten

Part 1: Meet the QB

An e-book series by Emily Embree

Edited by Laura Kingsley

copyrighted 2013

all rights reserved...

Published by Prehysteria Imprints...

Disclaimer
(the usual spiel we have to give.): This e-book is a work of

fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is merely coincidental.

We own all the important rights. This is for your enjoyment only. If you

try to copy or share this e-book, you will be sacked by a a 300 pound

lineman and have to be pried out of the grassy field with a shovel.

Author's note:

Hey Ladies! First and Ten is an Erotic/Romance serial novel that will

be published in concurrent sections during the NFL Football season.

While your man sits on the couch watching the games, you can entertain

yourself with these. Let's face it—men in tight football pants are hot!

After the initial first four parts are published in August for Training Camp,

each new section will come out every two weeks during the season.

--Emily Embree

I am a huge football fan and am out of my mind crazy—rooting for the

Miami Dolphins. Now on to the good stuff...

Part 1: meet the QB

“Come on in and have seat,” Jerry Gershwin—the Jerry Gershwin—

owner of the Pro football team, the Miami Sharks—gestured to a seat in

his office. He lived up to his title with a no-nonsense face punctuated with

flaming white hair and dressed in an expensive suit. My eyes didn't miss

he hadn't even loosened his tie a fraction of inch in the confines of his

office.

Nervously, I tried to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles of my tan—no

nonsense, mid thigh length skirt—as I sat into the leather chair he pointed

to. As recent graduate of Miami U, I had just hung my psych degree in the

shabby, rundown office—I couldn't afford until I managed to convince

some clients—that a wet behind the ears grad—could solve their marital

woes. I had just been worrying over how I was going to do exactly that

when Jerry called.

“I appreciate you meeting me here. This is a matter of somewhat,

delicate importance, and I didn't want word getting out to the press,” Jerry

began.

“It you hire me, confidentiality is assured unless you committed a

felony. That's part of the oath I signed upon receiving my license to

practice,” I bit my lip, mentally cursing myself—that was a blatant

admission of my woeful inexperience. Hoping to recover smoothly from

that gaff, I pressed my palms into my skirt. “How can I help, Mr Gershwin? What ever problems you're experiencing, I'm sure I can help.

Is this a marriage issue or...”

“Call me Jerry,” he waived me off with a bearish laugh. “I'm not

seeking your services for myself, but one of my players...”

“Oh?” I didn't know what to think of that. Did Pro Football team

owners hire counselors for players with relationship issues? Wasn't there

some sort of legal process I would have to undergo from the league? I had

to admit to myself, I was woefully lacking in football knowledge. It

wasn't exactly my favorite sport.

“Megan Kelley, as I'm sure you are aware, the Sharks haven't won a

championship for twenty years. We haven't had a winning season since I

bought the team, seven years ago. I finally hired a coach who can turn us

around. You may have heard of him. Bart Parmeal?”

Who hadn't?—I had about as much interest in football as I did in the

mating rituals of the Galapagos Tortoise, which is to say, about zero—but I

knew who Bart Parmeal was. His name seemed to make the headlines once a

week in football season. A five time Magnificent cup winner with three

different teams who had a reputation for being so difficult to work with,

he'd retire in the middle of a season if the owner tried to meddle in his

program. He had even quit after one owner drafted a wide receiver over

the linebacker he wanted. A real hothead as the rumor went. I hoped he

wasn't having family issues...

“Yes I have,” I smiled tightly.

“Then. I'm sure you have heard he's stubborn, and sometimes just

down right mean—a pain in the ass, to put it frankly. But the man knows

how to install discipline and the fundamental concepts that lay the

foundation for any team that hopes to be a playoff contender, two core

concepts this franchise has been woefully lacking in the past years.”

“I see,” I said, though I really didn't. While I could peruse some football sites on the web to become more educated, I frowned at the thought. I didn't need to know anything about football to counsel players

with relationship problems if that was what he wanted to hire me for.

“I had to fight him to get the QB I wanted in the draft this year. We

had two first picks, so I grabbed the LB he wanted, in exchange to draft

the QB I wanted.”

“I am not sure how I can help you, Mr Gershwin,” I frowned.

“It's Jerry. You're going to be around for awhile, so feel right at home

to call your boss by his first name. The Sharks are one big family. Maybe

not so happy at times, but a family.”

I was? I seriously doubted that. “Mr G—I mean Jerry—what exactly

do wish to hire me for?”

“Megan, I just paid a multi-million dollar bonus to the quarterback

who is going to revive this franchise. He has the arm, the talent, the brains

to be a superstar in this league. There is only one problem. How shall I

say this—he..uh—has displayed a problem in his mental makeup that has

us worried.”

“Didn't you screen him before you drafted him?” I blurted out. That

was a lot of money to be handing a guy who—

“We did our homework. He led his college team to a title, he

demonstrated great leadership on and off the field—then he came here,

and well, let's just say—the problems started. Coach Parmeal wants to cut

him. Says he's not adapting to the pros and he'll never be anything but a

clipboard holder.”

“Isn't that a little premature? You have quite an investment in him.

Don't they recommend rookies, and especially quarterback's, sit the bench

for the first year and adjust?” Football may not have interested me, but I

remembered some case studies on the subject and the accompanying news

articles.

“I am not going to cut him,” Jerry shook his head. “But I want you to

help him adjust. Whatever his problem is, you need to fix him.”

For a moment I sat there stunned, wondering who was crazy. Jerry?

This quarterback, or me? While I was sure the money from this could

have kept me solvent for several years, I was out of my league, here. I

was swimming with the big boys, the sharks of professional football—and

I wasn't real fond of the idea of swimming with fish that could eat you.

“Jerry, I specialize in family relationships, especially marriage issues. I'm

not a sport's psychologist. I can recommend one, but I'm sure with your

team's resources, you can find a more qualified one to hire—There is Dr.

Phillips. He has appeared on TV and has written several books...”

“Oh no, we have to keep this private and in-house. If word got out, not

only would I and the Shark organization look like fools, it would give

Coach Parmeal an excuse to walk since he didn't want him in the first

place. I can't have that. We have to fix him.”

“Jerry, I'm not qualified, and I—” I didn't want to be the scapegoat for

the entire city of Miami when I screwed up their promising quarterback—

or the reason the storied coach walked.

“I didn't just pick you off a list, I checked your qualifications, called

the U and asked your professors about you. Dr. Harris thought you could

handle this, and if you have problems, he'll backstop you. So what do you

say? I know you need the money. I'm ready to offer you a retainer of

twenty thousand dollars, and will pay you five hundred dollars an hour for

your time. And if this goes well, I may just hire you as permanent member of our staff. So what do you say?”

“I don't know,” the money sounded nice—it sounded great but—

“You doubt your abilities,” Jerry grinned.

I wasn't sure if he was trying to get a rise out of me, but I wasn't taking

the bait. “I just don't know if I have the right experience, Jerry...” I was

surprised Dr. Harris had recommended me. He had always said I was his

most promising student—that I could handle anything, and his offer to

backstop me was nice—and I was sure If I took this, I would be taking

him up on that—but in my firm opinion, my former professor may have

had too much confidence in me.

“Tell you what, how about you go meet him—talk to him a little, and

then if you still want to turn me down, then fine...”

Biting back a huge gulp of anxiety, I waited for my head to stop

spinning. “I'll meet him. But I'm not promising anything...”

“Great. I'll give you some of the details, then have Mike take you to

the quarterback meeting room. I have already told them to expect you.

You can meet with him in private there until we set up an office for you.”

“An office?”

“Well, I can't have him drive across town for his sessions, and besides,

I want to keep this private. We have plenty space here in our facilities.

So...”

. . .

Biting my lip, I fiddled with my long auburn colored hair, pushing it

over my shoulders before nodding to the Shark assistant who had brought

me down to quarterback meeting room. He opened to door and ushered me

in.

“Bobby McRann, this is Doctor Ramsey,” Mike the assistant

introduced us, before closing the door to make a quick departure.

Apparently, he had other places to be.

My heart stopped in my chest as my breath caught in my throat. For a

moment, it was all I could do but stand there and drool on my silk blouse,

stunned. This man—this gorgeous hunk, this sexy god of a man offering

me his hand—was only wearing a white T-shirt dotted with drips of water

and a towel to cover his waist. He had movie star good looks with piercing green eyes and curly black hair cropped short to his head. His

face was impossibly handsome with chiseled cheekbones, and a jaw made

of granite. His lips drew my most of my attention, looking eminently

kissable.

Did I just say eminently? What was I thinking here?
I tried to shake

my mind clear and focus, but my eyes kept feasting on his face thinking

all kinds of naughty thoughts my body was entirely too ready to act upon.

I tried to pull my eyes off of his face, but they immediately shot down

to his waist, noticing how inviting that towel looked and wondering what

hid behind it. Nothing small, I was sure.

“Sorry,” he grinned like a lion, seemingly knowing what I was

thinking. “I barely had time to take a shower after practice to get here, and

some of the guys thought it would be funny to take my clothes. Childish

pranks,” Bobby sighed, his face trying to frown into an apology, but it

wasn't working, at least not for me.

As far as I was concerned, he had nothing to apologize for, but if he

felt like trying—removing that wet shirt would be a start. His chest had to

be amazing underneath there...

Megan! Get control of yourself, girl. Remember. Doctor—patient

relations!

Oh yes
, I felt this sudden shooting warmth of desire kick off in my

loins and jump up into the rest of my body. My knees went weak as

tremors of excitement coursed through my legs. My face erupted into this

burning blush and I looked deeply into those green eyes of his.
Doctor—

patient, right! Let's play Doctor. I'm up for it.

“Can I get you something, a water? You look rather flush,” he grinned

that lions grin again and I just lost it.

Before I could think, I rushed to him, grabbing his head in my hands

and thrusting my lips on his. Our lips parted, and for a brief ecstatic