Stealing Home

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

REVIEW: Stealing Home by Nicole Williams


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Shel: I f-loved this new book by Nicole Williams. This is only the second novel I've read of hers (the first was Collared--a novel very different than this one) and I'm officially hooked and on the Nicole Williams bandwagon. Stealing Home was exactly the novel I needed to read and I didn't even know it--don't you love it when that happens? It was one of those reads that you start with the intention of maybe reading a chapter or two before you go to bed and the next thing you know you're almost halfway through it and trying to figure out if you actually can stay up all night or if you have to stop so that you're able to function the next morning. Court: I love hearing things like that from my girl here, she has never steered me wrong, and she knows how much I love sports romances - and love of Nicole Williams so she picks the best books for us to review. And I was not disappointed with how much I swooned as I read. Swooned. Swooned for days, y'all
. And am on the Luke Archer bandwagon, wishing he was real.

Shel: When I think about what I enjoyed about it, I think it was just that it was such a good combination things:

--Shel: The main characters are people you genuinely like, they're hardworking, good people--the kind of people you'd want to be friends with and the kind of people you're hoping will make it work. Court: And having worked in sports medicine for 5 years, I didn't want to slap anybody with my Orthopaedic snobbery, so yaasssss.
--Shel: The chemistry between these two is h-o-t, hot, hot. Court: And cute, and sweet. And did I mention swoony. But yes, mostly lava hot.
--Shel: It's nice to read a novel where no one is necessarily broken...flawed? Sorta. Broken? No. Their problems are understandable. Their mistakes are also ones that are easy to understand. And the way they figure things out? Respectable. Court: Yes, it is a nice
change to have some realism in their problems with only him being a sports star being the out of the normal thing here. I liked that our heroine has the bigger hangups of why they can't be together, and Luke has to be on his million dollar toes the entire time trying to woo her. Okay, if I'm honest, I'm just still excited he told her he wanted to woo her.

Shel: In addition to all of those things, this just felt like a really great summer read: baseball and being outside, a touch of sweetness and a lot of laughter, and these really charming characters all came together to take me away from the dog days of a Louisiana summer day. I'm starting to understand that Nicole Williams doesn't crank out formulaic romance; she writes novels that give me characters and conflicts to care about and I am looking forward to seeing what she writes next (and reading some of her older titles!).
Court: Absolutely a great idea. And, in addition to such well plotted out characters, she just is a fantastic writer. And I met her one time long ago, and she is a really sweet person. This book rocked out socks, and I am really hoping for more stories coming our way about this baseball team!

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Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience, they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?

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“Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first or something?” Archer smirked at me when he lifted up onto his elbows as I tugged his sweats down his legs.
“Tell you what,” I replied after I gave one last pull, freeing the dark gray sweats from him. After handing him a towel, I waited for him to drape it over his lap. Instead he curled it up and tossed it across the hotel room. “How about I draw you a nice, soothing, relaxing bath? Full of ice.”
As I came around the side of his bed, it took all of my concentration to focus on the compress I needed to unwrap instead of what was resting just a little higher. At least he had underwear on, but it wasn’t like they provided much coverage. Especially when what was tucked inside them looked about ready to burst free.
And dammit. I’d looked. From the way I could feel him watching me, he knew I’d looked too.
“Another ice bath. Sounds perfect. Since my balls aren’t already blue enough.” Archer spread his legs open farther as I reached down to unwind the compress circling his upper right thigh.
“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for not listening to the recommendation of your athletic trainer to take it easy.” I unwound the bandage slowly, not wanting to further inflame the area. “Every three hours, we’ll alternate fifteen minutes of ice and heat.”
“Yay.” He cleared his throat when my fingers brushed his inner thigh as I unwound the last of the compress Shepherd had wrapped back in the locker room after his first ice bath. “Since you got to decide on the ice option, how about I decide on the heat option?”
From the low notes in his voice, I knew exactly what he meant. “The plan is to calm the tear. Not further aggravate it.”
“Okay. I can work with that.” When I exhaled, he added, “I’ve got ideas.”
“Ideas that involve what you have in mind and not using your groin muscles?” My gaze wandered back to that part of his anatomy. Right before moving onto a different part of it. Holy shit. Something about knowing he wanted me and wasn’t concerned with hiding that desire made me dizzy. “Good luck with that.”
Archer watched me as I disappeared into the bathroom to turn off the water filling the tub. “Never underestimate the ingenuity of a desperate man.”
After testing the temperature of the bath, I grabbed one more bag of ice and dumped it in. I’d arranged to have four new bags arrive every few hours through the night so I could mitigate the damage Archer’s pulled groin muscle would have on his season.
The team doctor had done an exam in the locker room and assured Coach Beckett that with aggressive care these first twenty-four hours, Archer should be able to play the game in New Orleans three days from now.
From my own exam, I knew the doctor was giving Coach a serious case of lip service. The only way Archer would be able to play the Shock’s next game was if we injected him with every illegal substance in this sport and on the market in general. It was a class two pull—no amount of walking off would fix this in a couple days’ time.
“Are you hungry, Doc?” Archer called from the other room.
“That depends on the context of that question.”
His laugh carried into the bathroom. “You know me too well. However, in this instance, I’m referring to hunger as in for food. The room service type specifically. I can order something for us so we can eat once you’re done cryogenically freezing my gonads.”
Wandering back into his room, I dried off my hands with a towel. “Hey, this isn’t my fault—I warned you to take it easy.”
I ceremoniously waved my arms toward the bathroom, feeling nervous. I’d given so many ice baths I could have filled an entire ocean with them, but this one was different. It was for Luke Archer. In his hotel room instead of the locker room. Plus, back there, the entire coaching and medical staff had been present, pow-wowing a plan of treatment. No one else was here now though.
Just me. Just him. And a locked door.
“Dinner?” Archer waved the room service menu at me.
“I’ll order it for us. We need to get you in the tub before you get any more swollen.”
Archer’s gaze swept down his body, landing on the very part of him I was trying not to inspect. “I can think of something to help with the ‘swelling.’”
Crossing my arms, I gave him an unfazed look. “I’m here to see to your leg. Not your dick.”
“I think that by taking care of one, you’ll be taking care of the other.”
“True. Ice baths are up to the task of tending to torn muscles and swollen dicks. So let’s get started.”
Archer lay stretched out in bed for another minute, calling my bluff, but when I made no move to throw myself at him, he sighed. “The ice bath it is.”
“Good choice.”

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Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.
Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.





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Sunday, July 10, 2016

NEW + EXCERPT: Stealing Home by Nicole Williams


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Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA  iBooks  Nook

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Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience, they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?
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When the photographer announced he was going to commence shooting, I turned my head away, focusing on the space just over Archer’s shoulder. “You didn’t know I existed before last night,” I said quietly, so no one else in the room could hear.
           “I’ve known you’ve existed from the first day you walked out onto the diamond at spring practice.” He was back to barely moving his lips, managing to hold a sexy-as-hell smirk as he stared at the camera.
           “And why was last night the first time you ever said anything to me?”
           His eyes darted my way for a moment. “Because you didn’t seem like the type who was open to mixing business with pleasure, and I respected that.”
           “That’s why we’re in our present situation?” I glanced down at myself, where his jersey was floating a good foot above my knees. “Because you respected my policy on that topic?”
           The corner of his mouth twitched, the lights of the camera flashing in his eyes. “Hey, even a patient man has his limits.” With that, the position of his bat moved so the end of it was nuzzled into my backside. Which meant his fist curled around it was all up in my butt’s business too.
           His crooked smile became more pronounced.
           The photographer whistled, I guess approving of whatever feedback he was getting on his end of the camera. “Every woman in America wants to be you right now, sweetheart.”
           Archer grunted, his knuckles digging a little deeper into my ass. “More like every guy in America wants to be me right now.”
           I did my best to stay still and, you know, keep from hyperventilating. The heat from the lights, combined with the heat spilling from his body, was stifling. With his cleats on and me being barefoot, Luke Archer seemed that much taller. With my petite body pressed up against his, his frame seemed that much more imposing. With his arms snug around me, I could feel the strength he possessed. It was the kind that was meant for power. The kind that told me he could do anything he wanted to me and I’d be helpless to stop it. It was thrilling at the same time it was terrifying.
A few minutes later, my heart still thudding so hard I prayed he couldn’t hear it, the skin between Archer’s brows creased. “When will the magazines go up for auction?”
“In two months. Don’t worry, we’ll send you one.” The photographer continued to snap photo after photo.
“Yeah, I’m going to need more than that.”
“How many more?”
The crease deepened. I was trying to keep my head turned away from him, but my eyes weren’t so capable of the task.
“Eh, thirty? Maybe forty? Just enough for every wall in my apartment. Don’t worry, I’ll pay whatever the auction price winds up being.”
My forehead creased. “Every wall in your apartment?”
“I like my name on your back.”
The way he said it, like it should have been obvious and required no explanation, made me smile. “Such a caveman.”
“If I was a caveman, I’d tell you where I’d rather have my name on you.” Archer’s fist pressed into my backside enough to smash me closer to him. “Tattooed on you so you couldn’t just take it off or wash it off.”
“Wow, okay, so I retract my former accusation in favor of labeling you some barbarian-Neanderthal-caveman hybrid.”
“Before you form any more unfavorable opinions of me, let me just remind you that I’m a baseball player.” When I arched a brow at him, he continued, “I’m good with my hands, know what to do with a big stick, and am used to getting dirty.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. I didn’t want him to think I found any of what he’d said endearing, even though I kind of did.
With my hand tucked behind his back, I pinched at his side. “Only in baseball is someone highly skilled if they hit one third of the balls thrown in their direction.”
His plastered on smolder fell when he shot me a wounded expression. “Sure Coach doesn’t have you around to keep our egos in check?”
“A pro baseball player’s ego? No amount of insults could keep that in check.” I felt my straight face falter as he threw me another injured look.
“Triple ouch.”
“Oh, please. You like it.”
“Yeah”—he tipped his hips into me just enough—“I do.”
I nearly leapt through the ceiling when I felt him hard against me, but I recovered. Eventually.
“Everything okay?” the photographer asked, not sounding like he really cared.
Archer waited for me to answer.
“Everything’s great,” I muttered.
“Thanks. I get that a lot.” Archer’s eyes were spilling amusement.
Grumbling under my breath, I did my best to stay cool and collected through the remainder of the shoot. I felt the opposite though.
After a minute, Archer must have noticed the frustrated look on my face. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“Sorry for what?” I asked. “That I’m wearing nothing but your jersey? That I somehow wound up in this photo shoot when I had no idea I’d be posing for Sports Anonymous with Luke Archer? Or are you sorry for your erection you clearly can’t control when I’m stuck sandwiched between you and a baseball bat?”
Archer lowered his head so his mouth was beside my ear. “I’m sorry if my ‘erection’ makes you uncomfortable.”
“But not sorry because you have one, right?”
His head shook slowly. “No, not sorry for that.”
“Of course not.”
When he shrugged, the band of muscle beneath his chest moved against my hand. “At least now you know.”
“At least now I know what?”
“How I feel.”
I blew out a breath. “Yeah, I have a really good idea how you feel. Thanks for clearing it up.”
The harder Archer fought his smile, the more pronounced his dimple became. The auction price for these issues just spiked a grand or two. The children’s hospital could thank me later.
“You know how this game works. I know how.” He paused, letting that settle in the space between us. “You just have to decide if you want to play.”
“Because you have decided?”
His bat pressed deeper into my back, drawing me impossibly closer to his body. His arousal settled hard into the side of my stomach. “Doc, I’m already playing.”


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Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.
Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.



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Wednesday, June 29, 2016

EXCERPT: Stealing Home by Nicole Williams


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Coming July 10th

Pre-order exclusively on iBooks HERE

Add to your Goodreads shelf now.

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Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience, they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?





















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CHAPTER ONE
Working for a professional baseball team was going to be the end of my love life. The past two years confirmed that theory, as had the last text I’d received from my latest ex-boyfriend.
           Half of the year on the road added to another half of the year working grueling hours that rivaled a doctor’s first year of residency equaled a whole lot of no free time to fill with a social agenda. Since being hired on by the San Diego Shock this season and the San Francisco Kings the year before that, the longest relationship I’d maintained spanned eight weeks.
           This last one had barely cleared the four-week mark.
My lifestyle was costly, but it was worth it. Baseball was in my blood, and sports medicine was in my heart.
           I’d grown up in a small Midwest town where people still got together for potlucks and everyone from the town hermit to the mayor attended a funeral. Where the only place you were expected to be after church on a Sunday was stretched out on the bleachers around the baseball field. It didn’t matter if it was a T-ball game or the high school championships—the bleachers were always packed.
Baseball was a religion where I grew up—it was stitched into the fibers of my life—so it was no surprise when I ended up with a baseball player. No, the surprise came after I’d followed him to college and found him in bed with someone else.
           It had taken the wind right out of me, along with my tendency to trust first and doubt after. Ben had been sleeping around for a while by the time I found out—friends had known and said nothing—and that was the day I made a promise to myself to never let another guy hurt me as he had, to never be made a fool of like that.
After changing schools mid-year, I started studying sports medicine and never looked back. Or at least not often. I only looked back when I found myself feeling something similar to what I’d felt for Ben. The relationship never lasted long after that.
           As evidenced by my newest failed relationship.
           “Whose ass do I need to kick, Doc?”
           Dropping my phone into my lap, I looked across the aisle to see who was sliding into the row across from me.
Luke Archer.
Known to fans as the best hitter on the Shock, if not in all of pro baseball. Known to women for his good looks and up-to-no-good smile. Known to Cosmo magazine as being voted the Finest Ass in professional baseball. And known by the athletic training staff as a well-rounded pain in our asses.
           Not because he thought he knew better or was yet another prima donna—which the sport had no shortage of—but because he held to the old-school code of taking care of an injury by “walking it off.” If that didn’t work, then we could usually convince him to pop one or two pain relievers after the game, and sometimes, if he was feeling especially accommodating, he’d accept a bag of ice.
           Luke Archer was the real man of steel, and no one to date had managed to convince him he was also made of those injury-prone materials known as flesh and blood.
           “Doc?” Archer’s voice broke through my haze of thoughts. “Just give me his name and I’ll take care of it.”
The rest of the team and staff were shuffling down the aisle between us to find their seats on the team jet, but his stare aimed my way felt unyielding.
           “What makes you think anyone’s ass deserves a kicking?” I asked.
I returned a high-five as Reynolds passed by. He’d twisted his ankle in the game earlier today, and I’d been the first on the field to get him taken care of. I’d been the last one out of the locker room to finish getting him taken care of too. As a noob, I had to work twice as hard. As a woman, I had to work ten times as hard.
           “I have three younger sisters. I have more experience than most with guys deserving ass kickings.”
           The last of the guys wandered by us. Without the break of their bodies coming between us, Archer’s stare became too intense. His eyes seemed capable of pinning me to the back of the seat.
           The head athletic trainer, Dax Shepherd, attended to the “money” players—the ones like Archer, who brought fans to the stadium and were a large part of the Shock’s impressive win-to-loss ratio. Up until this very moment, I didn’t know Luke Archer was aware of my existence on this team or the planet.
           “You really have three younger sisters?” I asked.
Unlike most of the female populace, I didn’t know every last fact about Luke Archer. The news about his parents had made headlines a few years back, and that was all I knew about his personal life.
           “I really do. And I talk to or text all of them every day.”
           “Plus you kick asses for them.”
           Archer’s hazel eyes lightened. “Plus that.” He twisted in his seat so he was almost facing me, his eyes dropping to the phone in my lap. “So? No one messes with my sisters. And no one messes with my team.”
           My forehead creased. “I’m not one of your teammates.”
           “You’re a part of my team. Just because you don’t play the field or swing a bat doesn’t mean you’re not. You keep us healthy and strong out there.” When I cocked an eyebrow, he added, “And when we get injured, you make sure we get fixed up quickly so we can get back to doing what we love. You’re every bit as vital to this team as . . .” He glanced up and down the aisle like he was looking for someone to fill in the blank with.
           “As Luke Archer?” I completed for him.
           His answer to that was a lifting of his eyes. “I’m one man who can swing one bat.”
           “One bat really, really hard. And very, very exactly,” I interjected.
           He continued, “You make sure twenty-five men can keep swinging their own bats.”
           “Well, there’s me, the two other athletic trainers, the physical therapist, the personal trainers, and the actual doctor who help out with that too. I can’t take all of the credit.”
           “Come on. You work twice as hard as any of them, so you should at least take most of the credit.” When his phone started chiming in his slacks’ pocket, he pulled it out, turned it off, and hid it back in his pocket.
           “And since the closest Shepherd and Coach Beckett have let me get to you is handing out a water bottle, how would you know that?”
           He pointed at his eyes. “I’ve got two of these and use them for observation on occasion.”
           “When they’re not searching for your next conquest?” I gave an internal groan the moment after I’d voiced something that should have stayed unsaid.
           My relationships with the players had always been professional and rarely, if ever, delved into the realm of personal information. If it didn’t have to do with preventing or tending to injuries, I didn’t bring it up.
           Until now. When I’d just suggested that Luke Archer had a reputation in every city the Shock had visited, every hotel they’d stayed in. Perfect way for my first real conversation with the star player of the team, and the whole of professional baseball, to go.
           Archer stayed quiet, studying me with that tipped smile he was famous for.
           “You know my opinion on rumors?” he said a minute later.
           I was capable of nothing more than shaking my head.
           “That they’re started by haters. Spread by fools. And accepted by idiots.”
           My head tipped. “Are you calling me an idiot?”
           His eyes flashed. “Are you calling me a manwhore?”
           I studied him lounging in his seat with his legs kicked out in front of him, his wide chest stretching beneath his suit jacket, his long arms resting on the armrests.. His body was enough to weaken the resolve of someone as jaded to player players as I was, but his face didn’t play second-string.
           Brown hair lightened by the sun, smooth skin darkened by it, a strong jaw, and hazel eyes that trended more toward the green end of the spectrum; Luke Archer was quite possibly the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. According to Sports Anonymous’s random poll of five thousand women, he was the best-looking guy in professional sports today. The other few billion women on the planet would have agreed with that title, I assumed.
           “Do you always take so long to answer a question?” Archer motioned at me, waiting.
           “No,” I said, recalling the last question he’d asked me. Snap out of it. “I don’t think that you’re a  . . . manwhore,” I whispered the last part.
I’d had enough experience with the rumor mill to be a sympathetic party to the target of so many. Being one of the first and only female athletic trainers in professional sports had opened me up to a hundred rumors when I’d been hired. All versions of them had to do with me fucking my way into the position.
           “Good.” Archer nodded, seeming satisfied. “Because you certainly don’t seem like an idiot.”
           “Thanks?”
           He nodded again. “Welcome.”
           That was when the pilot’s voice echoed through the team jet, running through his usual spiel. We were leaving Tampa and heading up to Chicago. Now that the season was in full swing, I lost track of the cities we were leaving and the ones we were heading toward. All of my attention was focused on the players and getting them through the season as injury-free as possible.
           “I’m still waiting for that name, Doc.” Archer clicked his seat belt into place when one of the attendants stopped beside him, looking ready to strap it into place for him.
           When she saw mine unfastened, all I got was a lifted brow and a pointed finger before she moved on to the next aisle.
           “Oh, it’s okay. He’s not worth it.” I lifted my phone toward him before dropping it in the duffel bag I kept on hand at all times. Bandages, tape, painkillers, and a small cooler of ice packs were always at the ready whenever I was with the team. “Any guy who breaks up with someone via text message isn’t worth much.”
           “Really? Over text?” Archer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the reason the ass-kicking was invented. For those types of guys.”
           I shrugged as the plane started to taxi down the runway, the interior lights dimming. “We haven’t even been together a month. Truthfully, it lasted longer than I thought it would. This kind of lifestyle”—I twirled my finger around the airplane—“makes it difficult to sustain a long-term relationship.”
           “That’s why I’m not a fan of them.”
           “Long-term relationships?”
           Any kind of relationship,” he said.
           I nodded my understanding. The players had it worse than the team staff. At least in terms of having to question if a person was into them for who they were or because of their job, and the fame and money that came with it.
           “I’m either practicing for a game, playing a game, recovering from a game, or fueling up and resting for a game. There’s not time for much else,” he said.
           Leaning into my armrest, I realized how strange it was to be having such an easy conversation with Luke Archer. It felt natural, not forced. Most of the players would take a moment to chat with me about something game-related, but I was still the new kid on the block. I felt like I had to pass some test before they’d accept me as a member of the team.
           Archer didn’t seem to be of the same mind though.
           “Yeah, I know. It’s like you need to find someone who can just travel with you wherever you go, right?” I said, thinking how much easier it would to be in a relationship with someone I got to see on a daily basis without two computer screens.
           “Exactly. Someone who understands the lifestyle. Appreciates the sacrifices you have to make.”
My head fell back into the headrest from the inertia of takeoff, but I could still feel Archer’s eyes on me. “Someone who understands that the job comes first. Someone who doesn’t get insecure or jealous or bent out of shape that they get the few precious minutes in between the job.”
           When my head turned toward him again, I found Luke Archer staring at me with a kind of intensity I hadn’t seen aimed my way in a long time. My breath caught, and even though the strength of his stare threatened to overwhelm me, I held his gaze.
           “Someone who understands the game. The commitment. The time. The sacrifice. Someone who’s as committed to it as you are.” One corner of his mouth twitched, carving a dimple into his cheek. “It’s not like you could ever expect to find a person like that sitting in the row across the aisle from you, right?”












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Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.
Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.





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