Kyle Zimmerman, one of the top-rated quarterbacks in the league, and Chicago’s most eligible bachelor is holding my hand as he guides me to his car. The schoolgirl in me is trying not to let his presence affect me, at least not on the outside. On the inside, though, I’m all a ball of nerves mixed with excitement. Who would’ve thought a simple assignment would turn into a date? Not me. Not in a million years, but here I am, being helped into his car and anxiously waiting for him to get behind the steering wheel.

And once he does, the sweet scent of his cologne fills the small space. I find myself leaning a bit closer to him so I can inhale deeply without looking like a creeper. Kyle smiles. It’s an ear-to-ear grin with a slight chuckle. I’ve been caught, but he doesn’t seem to care. He leans forward, pulling himself away from me. It’s probably best. We’ve just met and if he kissed me now, I don’t know what I would do.

“Tell me about yourself, Peyton.”

“I’m majoring in broadcast journalism. I love football. I’m a twin.”

“Is your twin as pretty as you?”

“Prettier,” I tell him.

“Impossible,” he replies, never breaking eye contact with me. “What do you know about me?”

“Everything, yet nothing. Your rookie year, you sat on the bench but started your second year. You threw sixteen touchdowns, eleven interceptions and accumulated 3,440 yards. Your completion rate was fifty-eight percent. This year, you’re pushing seventy percent and in line to win the league MVP. You’ve thrown for almost 4,500 yards, twenty-five touchdowns and four interceptions.”

Kyle’s eyes widen as his mouth drops open. “Wow, you had to go and bring up my first year, huh?”

I shrug. “You asked, but …”

“But what?” he asks, adjusting the way he’s sitting.

I run my cold hands down my pant legs to create some heat. “I don’t know anything personal about you, aside from your age, where you were born, etc.… all stuff that is easily found on the internet. I’d like to get to know the real you.”

“You’re right, so what do you say we head to dinner and talk about who we are away from football?”

“I’d like that.”

Kyle starts his car and pulls out of the parking lot. There’s very minimal traffic waiting to get out the exit the players use.

“Tell me, Peyton. How do you know so much about football?”

“Well, my dad and best friend…”

“Ms. Powell-James, I’d like to see you after class,” Professor Fowler says, calling me out in front of everyone. An email would’ve sufficed if he needed to see me after class. As is, all the males in class all make comments on how I’m in trouble, and the few other females sneer at me. Who knew journalism is so cutthroat? I sling my backpack over my shoulder and take the steps down to where my professor is standing.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” I close my eyes at the idiocy of my statement. Of course he wanted to see me, he called me down, humiliating me in front of the entire class.

“Peyton, you’re one of my best students.”

“Thank you.”

“Your knowledge of sports, particularly football will get you far.”

“I owe it all to the men in my family.” If it weren’t for my father introducing me to the sport and Liam coming into my life when he did, I could’ve easily fallen out of love with it. Noah was there, of course, but I could’ve become a cheerleader or not had anything to do with the game entirely.

“Well, make sure you tell your family that you’ll be on the sidelines for this week’s Bears game.” The professor hands me a lanyard with the word Media written all over it. Attached to the clip is a press pass with my name on it.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. This Sunday, you’ll be representing the school and me at the game. I expect a full write-up of the game on my desk on Monday morning. Everything you need to know will be emailed to you later this evening. You’ve earned this, Peyton. Enjoy it.”

“But why me?”

“Because you’re the best.” He picks up his briefcase and exits through the faculty door, leaving me in the room staring at what is surely going to be my most prized possession until I become an official member of the media. I slip it around my neck and hide it under my scarf, hiding it from anyone who may be lingering out in the hall.

As soon as I push the heavy door open, I spot a group of my classmates. With my head down, I rush by them, praying none of them say anything.

“Hold up, Peyton.” The voice belongs to Donnie Olson, the self-proclaimed God of all things sports. He thinks because he knows more about rugby and soccer, he’s the king.

“Hey, Donnie.”

“What did Fowler want?”

“To ask about my friend.”

“Right. I forgot you’re ‘best friends’ with Noah Westbury.”

I don’t stop when he mocks me. I made the mistake of telling a sorority sister about Noah. She didn’t believe me, going as far as saying Noah going to prom with me was a charity fundraiser I won. And it’s not like I’ve been able to prove her otherwise since he’s been dating Dessie, which has strained our relationship by no fault of his.

“Yeah, something like that.” I continue to walk across campus with him right next to me. He continues to gab about Noah and Dessie, reminding me, very painfully I might add, that he’s with her and how they’re all over the place, with her talking about marriage. I want to plug my ears and throw up at the same time.

“Would you look at this?” I say, pointing to my sorority house. “Gotta go!” I hurry into the house and shut the door.

“Donnie, again?” Veronica, one of my sisters, asks.

I nod and head toward the stairs. “It’s relentless.”

“He probably wants to ask you out.”

I grimace at the thought. Something about him creeps me out. I head toward my room and strip off my winter gear. I find myself standing in my mirror with my credentials hanging down. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Pulling out my phone, I scroll until I find Noah’s name. My thumb hovers, but I don’t press. I haven’t called him in so long I honestly don’t know what I’d say if he answered… or if she did.

Instead, I scroll up to Liam’s name and call him.

“Uncle Liam, I have news.” I proceed to tell him, thanking him repeatedly for helping me get to this place in my life. He tells me he’ll be at Noah’s game, but will try to watch the Bears game as well, hoping to see me on the sidelines. My next call is to my parents. My mom’s excited, and my dad is reserved. He’s never really grasped my love of football but has always encouraged me to follow my passion.

The rest of the week I’m a mess, studying not only for my classes, but the stats for the upcoming game. I focus heavily on the Bears, but also their opponent, the Bengals. On paper, which means nothing on Sunday, the Bengals are favored to win. Still, I take my notes, jotting down things I need to watch for.

Sleep evades me, and by the time my alarm goes off Sunday morning, I’m a zombie. I down coffee, shower, drink more coffee, do my hair and get dressed before downing yet another cup while I’m on the phone with my mother, who is basking in the warm temperatures of the Bahamas with my aunts.

Arriving early with my press credentials hanging happily around my neck, I am downright giddy and loving every second of lifting the badge to show security that I’m allowed onto the field. Walking through the tunnel, I take it all in. While the noise level is high now, it will be thunderous when kick-off happens. People start to fill the seats, while many young kids are hanging over the railings trying to grab a player or two for an autograph. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs fill the air.

And the reason I’m here… the media outlets are setting up on every corner. Microphones are being tested, makeup done so they look perfect when they’re on air. This is what I want. I turn at the sounds of applause and find the Bears coming out of the tunnel. They slap the hands of their littlest fans as they go by.

Being here early has its perks, at least it does for me since I’m the newbie. I’m the one learning. An NFL field is vastly different from high school or college and the last thing I want is to find myself tripping over some random piece of equipment or find myself standing in the wrong spot. I want to know my place on the field before someone yells at me.

As the Bears warm-up, I start taking notes, writing down everything from what stretches they’re doing to how many are running full sprints. None of this is important for my article, but it keeps my mind busy and keeps me from gawking at the quarterback, Kyle Zimmerman. Each time I look at the field, his eyes are on me. The first time I noticed, I smiled and quickly went back to my notepad, but now I can feel his eyes burning into me.

“Watch out,” I hear, looking up in time to sidestep an errant pass made by Kyle, who is rushing toward me. I pick the pigskin up and throw it back to him, with a perfect spiral I might add.

“Whoa, on target and everything,” he says with a smile so wide that his eyes appear to be twinkling. “Sorry about that, sometimes the ball just gets away from me.”

“You’re the quarterback. It’s your job to make sure the ball hits your mark each and every time. The ball should never get away from you. You should command it to do your work for you.”

He smiles and pushes his hand through his hair. There’s a bit of laughter coming from him as well, which in turn makes me smile, but I try to hide it. I know football, better than most, thanks to Noah.

“I’ve just been schooled by a reporter,” he says, shaking his head.

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I’m a broadcast journalism major at Northwestern, but football is my life.”

His smile gets wider. “Let me get this straight, not only do you understand the game, but you can throw a wicked spiral?”

I shrug as if it’s no big deal.

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” The thought that Kyle Zimmerman is impressed with me sends my heartbeat into a tailspin. He places his hand over his heart and bows. I could easily say I’m following right behind him with his dark hair and five o’clock shadow. I haven’t dated much since I moved to Evanston. In fact, dating in high school rarely happened either. Most of the guys always thought that Noah and I had a thing, and while there was a time in my life that I wanted us to be, we’re nothing more than best friends or at least we were.

“Have dinner with me after the game? Win or lose, you and I go out and enjoy each other’s company.”

“We barely know each other.”

Kyle steps closer. He smells like man mixed with sweat. “I’m Kyle,” he says.

“I’m Peyton.” His much larger hand engulfs mine, covering it completely.

“Peyton as in Manning?”

“As in Powell-James, but if you’re asking if my father was a Peyton Manning fan, the answer is yes.” He wasn’t exactly, but when Elle and I were born, Peyton Manning was one of the best quarterbacks in the league and his brother Eli was a rookie. I think for my father, being saddled with twin girls, he wanted to do something to compensate for being the only man in the house. I never asked my mom why she allowed our father to name us after the Mannings… probably because I know it still hurts her sometimes to talk about him. Even though she loves my dad Harrison, I know she misses my father, Mason.

“I like it,” he says, winking. “I gotta go to work.” He motions toward the field with his head and that’s when I make the mistake of looking. His teammates are standing there, gawking at us, with a few of them trying to hide their laughter behind their hands. If they had their jerseys on, I’d make a note of who they were so I could be sure to mention any screw-ups they had during the game. Luckily for them, I’m not a Bears fan and I don’t have their roster memorized.

I try not to watch as Kyle runs back toward the rest of the team, and when he looks at me over his shoulder, I can feel my cheeks turning red. Of course, it could be because the wind is blowing and it’s cold despite the sun being out or it’s because I like that he’s taken an interest in me.

And I really like that he’s taken an interest in me.

While Kyle’s car is small, he’s leaning toward me, listening to everything I have to say. We haven’t even left the parking lot yet, and his hand has moved closer and every few seconds I can feel his finger brush against my knuckles.

“I’m kicking myself for not throwing the ball at you until today.”

I want to roast him for admitting that he was trying to hit me, but I let it go. “Today was your only opportunity. I was on an assignment. This was my first Bears game.”

“And we lost.”

I shrug and keep my eyes on him as he inches us forward.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asks as he brings his car to a stop to let traffic go by, turning his head left, then right and when he looks at me, he winks.

“Someplace quiet, where we can talk.”

Kyle smiles before pulling out onto the road. I barely recognize the sound of a truck horn blaring and tires screeching before I look out my window and see the word MAC heading straight toward me. As the grill of the truck smashes into my side of the car, I raise my hand to protect my face from the flying glass and I wonder if this was what my father did all those years ago when he met the eighteen-wheeler that took his life.