Page 4 of Sealing the Deal

IZZY: You’re coming to the ranch today, right? Mad and Mama made cookies yesterday. I saved you some.

FLIC: Yes. Jake’s collecting me at 10. Can’t wait.

I slide my phone back into my pocket, already feeling lighter at the thought of being at Oakwood Ranch. It’s always felt as much a home to me as the bar, but since my best friend married Dylan—the oldest of the three Sullivan brothers—last year, that feeling has only deepened.

My gaze moves like always to the framed photo on the wall by the bar. A younger me—thirteen or fourteen—perched on a paddock fence with the red barn in the background. Hemmed in by three huge boys—Dylan, Jake, and Chase—who all feel like brothers to me, given I spent every weekend past the age of seven at Oakwood Ranch while my parents ran this place.

Dylan played tight end for the Stormhawks until an injury saw him becoming a rancher instead, breeding horses for the rodeo. It’s how he met Izzy. They run Oakwood Ranch between them, along with Izzy’s ten-year-old daughter, Madison. Jake has played for the team almost as long and stepped into the tight end position after Dylan left, protecting their little brother, Chase, our star quarterback. Chase used to play for the Kansas City Trailblazers, but joined the Stormhawks at the start of last season.

I pick up the broom again and start sweeping, my mind moving to the stranger who helped behind my bar, and despite a serious lack of experience, survived. Trust Harper to bring him up… She was right, he was hot in a preppy, other-side-of-the-tracks way, with that expensive shirt, and some serious forearm game. He made a mess, but he tried, and he earned those fifty bucks.

Maybe a tiny part of me noticed the little shock as our fingers touched and our eyes met. Maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.

A part of me knows that at twenty-nine, I should be out there, searching for love. But dating takes energy I don’t have. Relationships are messy, time-consuming, and full of expectations I’ve never had space for.

In the past, the men I’ve dated said they liked that I was my own person, that I ran my bar alone, that I didn’t ask for anything from anyone. But inevitably they started to complain they didn’t see me enough or got jealous when the regulars tried a little harmless flirting. It was the idea of me they liked, not the reality of cleaning beer pumps, trips to the wholesalers, and eighteen-hour days. With the stress of keeping the bar running over the last few years, it’s been easier to stay single.

The Hay Barn is all I need. All I live and breathe. That and the Stormhawks, I think, smiling. We made the playoffs. Against all the odds, and after a season where we definitely didn’t play our best, we’ve now got a shot at the Super Bowl. A very long, almost-impossible shot, but it’s something.

I put on my favorite Stormhawks fans podcast, Fourth & Forever, and grab my cleaning bucket. An hour later, the coffee is doing its job, and my bar looks back to normal. And that’s when my phone buzzes again. I expect another message from Izzy, but it’s Cal’s name on my screen. He and Rico are the two voices from the podcast, bickering in my ear right now over whether last night’s win was gritty and deserved or a fluke the Stormhawks got away with.

CAL: Next guest slot for recording is Thursday. That OK with you?

FLIC: Perfect. Got a lot to say about being the underdogs of underdogs!

CAL: Any more news on the new owner?

FLIC: If I hear anything, I’ll post it on the Red Zone.

I click from the messages to my fans page and upload a few photos from last night’s celebration before scrolling through the comments. I set the page up a few years ago, never expecting it to get so big, but now it has one hundred and twenty thousand followers and a core group of fans who rely on me for updates, gossip, and my own opinions on game play.

I’m still scrolling when the doors push open and Jake strides in, impossibly tall and broad. His dark hair is long enough to tuck behind his ears, and he’s currently sporting a handlebar mustache that shouldn’t suit anyone outside of an old detective TV show but somehow looks good on Jake.

“I was going to offer to help clean, but…” He flashes me a wide grin. “Looks like I’m too late.”

“How convenient.” I laugh, grabbing my jacket and keys.

We step out into a frosty morning that promises more snow and I lock The Hay Barn behind me. Buck barks from the front seat the second he sees me, the golden retriever’s tail swishing with excitement as I climb in and run my hands over his soft fur.

“Hey, Buckie,” I coo. “I bet you’re as excited as I am to be heading out to the ranch today, right, boy?”

He barks his agreement, making Jake and I wince as the sound echoes around the cab. As soon as we pull away, Buck settles beside me, head on my lap, his soft snores lost over the rumble of the engine.

It’s around a thirty-minute drive west out of the city to Oakwood Ranch. Plenty of time to catch up with Jake after yesterday’s game.

“Is Harper not coming with us?” I ask, as we make our way through quiet streets on the outskirts of the city.

Jake shakes his head. “She was planning to skip lunch and write a few chapters today, but the magazine called this morning and asked her to come in. There’s a big story breaking apparently.”

Harper is a journalist for Sports Magazine. She and Jake fell in love when she was sent to write a profile on him and the playboy headlines that used to follow him wherever he went. Harper was a few years below me and Jake in high school, but I’ve known her since forever and count her as family now. And even though she still writes profile pieces for Sports Magazine, she’s also a published author with her own romantasy series about vampires in ancient Egypt.

“Big news? Is it about the Stormhawks?” I ask.

Jake chuckles. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“You know you, Chase, and Mama are my biggest sources of news.”

It’s true, and in no small part why my fans page has grown so big. It isn’t just that Dylan, Jake, and Chase—three of the biggest NFL stars—have shared and commented on it over the years, it’s that they tell me the kind of team gossip the fans love. Like Jake admitting they’d banned Chase from picking the pre-game playlist after he put the same country breakup song on repeat for three weeks straight.