Off the Bench
Tiffany Noelle Chacon
(Sports in the Sunshine State RomComs, #2)
Publication date: November 19th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Austin Taylor, once an undrafted free agent and a third-string quarterback, was never supposed to be the starting QB for the Tampa Bay Bucs.
Except now, he is.
Dani Marshall, the Bucs’ data analyst whiz, is all in—betting her career, and even her car, on Austin’s success. The real challenge? Keeping her heart out of the game.
Austin
When the achingly gorgeous Dani Marshall shows up in my tiny Ohio town to sign me to the Bucs, I can’t say no. I expect to ride the bench in obscurity for my entire NFL career. What I don’t expect is to become the starting QB in my first month—or to end up as a viral GIF, tripping over my cleats.
Dani’s betting on me, but I’m starting to think her faith might be misplaced. The closer we get, the more her walls stay mile-high—even as I’m being pulled to her as surely as the moon pulls the tides.
Dani
Research shows that spending time together and sharing personal goals increases the likelihood of developing romantic feelings by 30%. (I will not be part of this statistic. I will not be part of this statistic. I will NOT be part… oh crap.)
After I sign Austin Taylor to the Bucs, I make it my mission to stay away from him—he’s too attractive for me, and, as an absolute rule, I don’t date athletes. Not after what happened last time.
But when I make a bet with my work nemesis over Austin Taylor’s performance, my car is on the line. Now I have to get involved.
The problem? The more I work with Austin Taylor, the more afraid I am that he’s going to steal my heart.
This is the first novel in the Sports in the Sunshine State RomCom series: a collection of interconnected, clean sports romances, each featuring its own unique love story. While all books are linked, they can be enjoyed as standalones. You’ll enjoy high-action sports sequences, sizzling chemistry, with no cursing or smut.
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EXCERPT:
This scene picks up after the NFL draft, where Austin did not get drafted. His two friends, Omar and Caleb, take him out to try to cheer him up.
As I peruse the new photographs in my buddy Omar’s bar, my eye catches on a girl walking into the bar. She’s tall and elegant, gliding as if she’s not even touching the ground. I find myself taking in every detail of her, because I can’t help it. Her braids are caught in a twisting bun at the top of her head. Her almond-shaped eyes are assessing the room, as if she’s looking for someone. Her dark cheekbones shimmer with a mesmerizing blend of girl magic that I don’t understand. I admit I linger a little too long on her full lips. Her long neck reminds me of a dancer—she’s as graceful as a ballerina. I’ve only gotten to her shoulders when Caleb notices my perusal.
“Ask her to come over here,” he says, mouth full with chicken wings.
I force my eyes from her, feeling greedy for more. I push my IPA away, wondering if the pull I feel toward her is more a product of the alcohol rather than some kind of supernatural tug she has.
“I’m not going to go just talk to some random girl who’s clearly here to meet someone else.”
“Maybe she’s here to meet a hunky football player,” Omar says with a smirk.
I snort, but don’t speak the words that come to my mind: I’m not a football player anymore.
And it’s the first time since the draft ended that I’ve felt a deep twinge of grief. I may have convinced myself that I’m content with how things worked out, but I’ve been a football player my whole life. I don’t know how not to be a football player. I sigh and half-heartedly dip a chip in the artichoke dip when I realize Caleb and Omar are still looking at me expectantly. “Guys, I’m not going to go talk to her. It’s just not who I am.”
“Tell me, exactly, what you are, man. Because I don’t get it.” Omar’s got that fire in his dark brown eyes that always makes me a little uncomfortable, like he’s about to start a fight. “From where I’m sitting, it seems like you’re just someone who lets opportunities slip from his fingers without a fight.”
“Dang, bro, chill,” Caleb says to Omar as he reaches for more nachos.
“It’s fine,” I say.
Omar plants his hands on the table, standing. “It’s not fine.” And then he walks away.
“Who got his panties in a bunch?” I mutter.
“He’s overcompensating for your lack of feelings over the draft thing,” Caleb says in a fleeting moment of insight. I grunt and return to my IPA. But I just about spit it out when I realize Omar’s gone over to talk to the girl. I mutter under my breath as I set the IPA back on the table, where it sloshes over the edge, getting beer all over my hand. I scramble for a napkin, keeping my focus on wiping up my mess as I sense Omar and the girl walking over to our table.
When she’s beside us, I finally glance up. Looking at her up close takes my breath away, and I’m pathetically speechless.
“Austin Taylor?” she says as I’m momentarily distracted by the mesmerizing way her lips move. Then I’m confused about how she knows my full name.
“Uh, yeah?” I’m struck next by how closed off her features are. This girl didn’t come over here to flirt with a guy—and the realization cuts almost as deep as my football future.
Then, she says the craziest words I’ve ever heard: “My name is Dani Marshall and I’m here to sign you to the Tampa Bay Bucs.”
Want to find out what happens with Dani and Austin? Pre-order Off the Bench here. While you wait, read the first two chapters on my website here.
Author Bio:
Tiffany LOVES love. Married to her middle school sweetheart, this award-winning novelist adores writing stories with heart, humor, and depth. As a five-time national equestrian champion, she loves sports romances with heart-pounding action sequences and a whole lot of sweet romance. She received her Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from the University of Tampa. A homeschooling mama, she lives in Tampa with her husband and their two wild and crazy sons. She loves hearing from readers and would love to connect with you on any social media platform at authortiffanynoellechacon or on her website at tiffanynoellechacon . com.
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