I have a book for late fall/getting close to Christmastime. The hero is a veteran football player and the heroine is a sports reporter. The setting it Pittsburgh, back in the glory days of the Steelers. It's available from Hard Shell Word Factory and their outlets (like Fictionwise).
Here's an excerpt:
Of the long line of taxis generally pulled up the sweeping curve at the front of the airport, only one remained, its yellow sides crusty with grime and salt, remnants of the weekend of slush.
Callahan groaned. The wind caught his reddish hair and he tried to smooth it with a hand bearing scraped knuckles.
"Where are you going?" Magda asked, shivering.
"I've got a condo in the Downtown Towers," he said.
"Come on, we'll share," she suggested smiling up at him sympathetically. "I'm going back to the office. In fact, the Press is paying."
The grim-faced driver leaned over the back of the seat to open the door for them, and Magda scrambled in quickly. "Downtown," she told him, unburdening herself of her gadget bag.
When Callahan tried to get into the car, his injured left knee didn't hold him and he fell against Magda unexpectedly, pressing her against the back of the seat and nearly cutting off her breath.
In a moment of cosmic awareness, they stared into each other's eyes. Magda could see the stress in his expression and knew more than a bruised knee was bothering him.
"This is decent of you," Callahan said, settling into the seat with his flight bag between them. "I didn't give you much of an interview."
"So what?" Magda shrugged. "You're obviously not in very good spirits. What time is your appointment this morning?"
"When I get there," he said, looking ahead into the darkness.
"How soon will you know if you can play next week against the Rams?" she asked, wondering if he realized she was interviewing him, committing his responses to memory.
"Sooner than I want to," he said crisply.
"On the spot?"
Callahan laughed, a touch of irony in his tone. "Aren't we all?"