"Hey, Carrie, got a minute?"

"Of course, Coach. What's up?" I ask, sticking my head into his office. It's the first week of classes, and I'm settling in well to my new schedule, but I'm still busy. I hope Coach doesn't have a lot to talk about. I'd like to get back to my dorm room and crack the books on my Organic Chemistry class. It's a requirement, but I'm not looking forward to it. My professor is known as a total bitch and cuts no slack at all.

"Hey, I got a request from Coach Bainridge just now—thought I'd run it by you. How'd you like to work the sidelines for the football game tomorrow?"

I'm stunned. Getting a slot for working the sidelines of a football game is considered a privilege that only best training students get. Almost all of them are seniors or grad students, and for me, a junior, to be asked is surprising. "Uh, you got the right person, Coach? I'm just a junior."

“You were personally requested by Coach Bainridge. Apparently, you did something right with Duncan."

What the hell? "Really?"

Coach smiles and kicks his feet up on the desk. "In my opinion, you've gotten under Duncan's skin, and in a good way. I've never seen him work this hard, and according to what the football coaches tell me, he's been doing the same during practice."

"Gotten under his skin," I repeat, thinking about how much Duncan's gotten under my skin by insisting on working out shirtless unless we are doing squats or lying down for bench presses, and the near-constant innuendo he's worked into almost every conversation.

He's still been coming in to get his elbow and his wrists wrapped before every practice, and he's insisted that I be the one to do it. It's benefited me in some ways, though. I get to pour out my frustrations into the weight room more easily. “Coulda’ fooled me. If you ask me, he seems to enjoy attempting to torment me.”

“Well, whatever the case, you’ve had a positive effect on him, and everyone sees it. And don't lie to yourself—you’ve seemed to gain some confidence and work harder than ever yourself."

"Thanks . . . I think," I say, but I'm pleased either way. It was hard work, but I'm proud that Coach Taylor noticed my effort. “I had to push myself just to get him off his lazy ass."

"Uh-huh," Coach sarcastically says, not believing a bit of it. "Carrie, a hint. I've been in this game longer than you've been alive, and I won't lie to you. I've had more than a few workouts fueled by some attractive woman nearby. But don't let it go deeper than that with Duncan, okay? I know I’m not your father or older brother, but . . . he's bad news. He’s a man’s man on the field, but he’s got some growing up to do off it.”

I take a deep breath, knowing he’s trying his best to be friendly and look out for me. He does that from time to time. “So I’ve noticed. You don’t have to worry about me. I appreciate the responsibility, though.”

“Don’t thank anyone just yet. It’s not going to be a walk in the park. The football coaches want Duncan happy and playing hard, so if he wants you on the sidelines, well, that’s probably where you’ll be. Make sure you’re ready to put up with his shit for the whole season.”

Football. Big opportunities lay with people who get slots to work the sidelines for football. But at the same time, I have to be careful not to get tagged as Duncan's next conquest, the next in his long line of Touchdowns.

Still, I can’t pass up the chance. “I’m ready, coach. When do I need to be here?"

"The players have to report at nine tomorrow morning. We start getting ready at eight. You get tagged with a lot of grunt work, Carrie—setting up water stations, towels, crap like that. We start tape-ups at eleven. A guy like Duncan will get his closer to game time, say noon or so, so I'll pull you to the stadium training room then. Game time is actually the easiest."

"Oh, that'll be nice," I say. "I've never seen a game in the stadium before. Too busy with my bookwork."

"Well, hold onto your hat, Carrie. Because tomorrow, you get to see your first game."

* * *

I'm nervous as the players start filing in for the game, coming off the team bus. Western does things slightly old-school, in that even for home games, the team rents a hotel and everyone comes in on a chartered bus, supposedly to get everyone's mind in the right place. I've already been working for ninety minutes, setting up the sidelines. Towels, tape, ice packs, and of course, the emergency kit, although if there is anything too serious, the ambulance crew from University Hospital takes over.

"Hey, PAT," one of the players, Vonnie James, greets me as he gets off the bus. "Hope you’re ready."

"Pat?" I ask myself, trying to figure out why he'd call me that. I mean, he doesn't know me that well.

“What’s up, PAT?" another player greets me, and his buddies chuckle. I'm flustered, and I start to feel embarrassed when I see Jason Simmons, the head intern, come by.

"Hey, Jason?"

Jason's a nice guy, and for a while as a freshman, I had a bit of a crush on him. He's engaged to be married after he graduates next May, and my crush faded last year anyway. "Yo, what's up, Car?”

Calling me 'Car' instead of Carrie is one of the ways my crush on Jason faded away. It’s stupid and I hate it, but ah well. "Hey, about three or four of the guys have called me Pat. What the hell’s that about?”

Jason grimaces. "They're not calling you Pat, but PAT, as in Point After Touchdown," Jason says as he forces out his words. "It's gone around the team. They know Duncan's been gunning for you. They call every girl he's got his eyes on PAT."

"They . . . what?" I ask, getting angrier as I listen. "They think I'm some sort of what . . . next booty call?"

“Yes,” Jason admits. "I'm not saying I agree with them, just . . . they're jocks. They're gonna talk."

"Oh, I'll give them something to talk about," I growl, turning on a heel and marching back to the stadium area. I know there's nothing I can do about it until I get a chance to talk to Duncan, but it still pisses me off. It pisses me off so much, in fact, that I have to be tapped on the shoulder to go back to the training room, where I find Duncan waiting for me.

“About time,” he taunts as soon as I come in. "Were the water bottles a little low on ice or something?"

"Shut up," I hiss, grabbing my scissors and tape. Duncan doesn't need a lot. The tape is mostly there to minimize the small chance he's got of hyperextension after the surgery, and it doesn't take me long. "In fact, just sit there and don’t even speak to me. Let me finish and go play your stupid fucking game."

"Whoa, whoa, what's got your panties in a bunch?” Duncan asks, and I stop, looking up into his eyes. There's a hint of the guy I sometimes saw during our workouts, when it was just the two of us and there was nobody else around—a real guy, not the arrogant, cocksure asshole he is around nearly everyone else.

"They're calling me PAT," I say with a sigh. "I didn't agree to this because I want to play Touchdown with you."

Duncan nods and pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of those idiots. I didn't tell Coach to have you here because of that. I did it because you do a good job helping me get ready to play. Now, can we do the wrists, or are you going to leave the tape so tight I'll lose my thumbs tomorrow?"

I can't help it. I give him a little grin at his joke and finish him up quickly. He hops off the table to go back down the hall to the locker room. As he does, he pauses and grabs my arm, pulling me in and kissing me. His lips are amazing, and despite myself, I'm practically moaning in lust as his tongue finds mine, and we grow closer before I realize what the hell I'm doing and push him away. "Asshole!"

"Yeah, I've been called that too," Duncan says with a chuckle as he leaves the training room, whistling to himself.

After he leaves, I notice that we weren't alone, and that Chelsea Brown is still in the training room, trying to look like she hadn’t just seen something she wasn't supposed to. “What?”

"Nothin'," Chelsea says, grabbing the last of her towels and going to the door. At the door, she pauses and turns around. "Actually, there is something. If you just want him to rock your world, then go on with your bad self, but don’t get emotionally involved. That way, you won’t get upset when you’re his next cut-off."

“His what?" I ask, curious despite myself. A minute ago, I was hot as hell, ready to jump Duncan's body. Now, I was in chills but couldn't stop my questions short of being smacked in the head.

"His cut-off. He grows bored pretty easily and moves on. That man's a dog. If you want to ride that cowboy, go ahead, but make sure your heart's got bulletproof armor."

I nod and hear an announcement over the stadium PA. "We need to get to field level," I say. "Come on, it's game time. And Chels?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks for the heads up."

We get up to the field, and I'm pretty busy as the last of the pre-game festivities wrap up. Western's opponent looks pretty overmatched on paper, and I find out from listening to the scuttlebutt on the sidelines that they are. Most big schools like Western schedule a 'tune-up' game at the beginning of the season.

So it's with no surprise as I watch Duncan put on a clinic, catching three touchdown passes and getting over a hundred yards receiving. Western dominated the entire game, and when the clock ticked off the final score, the scoreboard read 77-6. A slaughter.

Watching Duncan put on a show was like watching poetry in motion—savage, hypnotic poetry that aroused your spirit for battle . . . and I had to admit, at the time, my spirit for passion. I was hard pressed to keep my mind on my duties during the game, especially when he tipped me a wink during the fourth quarter. Damn him.

I’m cleaning up the water tables when I feel a presence behind me, and I turn around to see Duncan standing there, his uniform soaked through in spots, turning the bright green home jerseys to nearly black. "Hey. How was your first game?"

"Interesting," I say, trying my best to not get angry. I can still feel his lips on mine from before, and inside, a little voice that doesn't get to talk much says it wants more. "You played well."

“Against these scrubs? They'd lose to our second-stringers, but yeah, it was fun," Duncan says, glancing back at the rapidly diminishing stands behind him. "Whew, that’s the best part, though, but it's always sad to see them go."

"What's that?" I ask, intrigued even though I don't want to be. "The crowd?"

He nods, then shrugs. His eyes kind of open wide, and I see something that I've never seen in him before. He's showing me something about himself, something that I doubt few people have ever seen. "There's something about being out there, knowing that today, there were eighty thousand people here, and there were times today when I could feel their eyes on me. They got to see me, who I am, making my name. It's a powerful feeling. I felt . . . complete."

"Is that why you do it?" I ask. “Just for the fame?”

Duncan stops, his eyes and face clouding over as he recovers his normal cocky bravado. Instead of answering, he smirks and takes my hand. "There's a party over at a house off campus," he says. "I was thinking, since you helped me so much over the summer and all, maybe I’d take you.”

"You're inviting me to a party?" I ask, and despite my misgivings, I'm flattered. But I won’t be a PAT. I have more self-respect than that. Somewhere, I find the resolve inside me to pull my hand from his. "Sorry, maybe another time, when I'm not some trophy to celebrate a win."

Duncan's face falls for a moment before he regains himself. He comes close, and I can't move. For some reason, my feet are frozen to the ground as he strokes a thumb down my cheek. He leans in, and his warm breath sends shivers down my spine as he whispers in my ear. "Oh no, Carrie. You're not just some trophy or a PAT. You’ll see.”

He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, and I shiver again. Oh God, he's so sexy, and his words . . . is there any truth to them? "Have a good evening, Carrie. I'll see you Monday."

* * *

I'm in my dorm room, struggling to try to study after the game. I can't get Duncan's words out of my head, and finally, after rereading the introduction to The General Physical Properties of Organic Compounds four times, I slam my book shut, groaning in frustration.

"Seriously?" I mutter to myself. "One kiss, a touch, and a whispered promise, and he’s got you right where he wants you. Get your shit together, Carrie."

But there's nothing wrong with a little fantasy, a voice in my head whispers, and I know that voice. It's the same voice that came to life earlier today when his lips found mine, and his large, powerful hands pulled me closer to him.

"Argh!" I groan, leaning back and grinding the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. I look up at the ceiling, a half-smile coming to my face as I think of seeing him again.

He’s interested in you. Who cares if it's just a booty call? This booty needs to be called, and more often. Besides, if you take care of these needs now, you can get back to Organic Chemistry and not . . . organic chemistry.

I can't help it. I smile at my little joke to myself. My hands drift down over the tops of my breasts, circling and stroking them through my t-shirt. I'd ditched my bra—I was in my dorm room anyway—and the sensations shot through me, electric tingles that added to the warm wetness rolling around in the pit of my stomach.

"You're beautiful," Duncan says, his eyes sparkling and his lips writing hot trails on my neck. We're in a grand bedroom, a four-poster bed surrounded by lacy curtains, limiting my view of the rest of the world, but in the distance, I can hear the crash of waves and the call of tropical birds and smell the ocean on the breeze. We're together, alone in this paradise, and I'm happy to be here with this dream of a man.

My breasts are crushed against his chest, his arms pulling me against him, his hands kneading the flesh of my ass. We're rolling back and forth, teasing and running our hands over each other's body but still leaving our clothes at least somewhat on until we reach this plateau where there's no turning back, and I don't want to, anyway. I'm helpless against his strength, and I don't care. I want this man. He senses my desperate hunger and raises his lips from my neck to whisper in my ear, "Give yourself to me."

"I do," I whisper, reaching down and cupping the huge rock between his legs.

He pulls my shirt up so that he can taste the skin of my breasts. I'm lost, tossed and turned by the feeling of his tongue on my body, his lips wrapping around my nipple and teasing it.

He pushes my knees apart, and I can't resist him. My body needs him, and I push my shorts and panties down, exposing myself to him.

"Duncan . . ." I nearly sob, the feelings of his lips on my nipples and his hands on my now naked ass leaving me in overload. I throb for more of him, hungry for the dangerous pleasure that he can bring me.

Duncan lifts his head from my breasts to look down at me, towering over me as he reaches for the waistband of his jeans. He unsnaps and pushes, and there it is . . . his perfect, steel-hard cock. I've never seen anything sexier or scarier in my life. I don't know if I can take it all, not with the power and danger wrapped up in the rest of his body.

“Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it.”

I'm nodding, knowing that he’s telling the truth. Duncan's grin tells me that he knows my thoughts, and he guides himself inside me, my pussy spreading and wrapping around his cock until he's all the way inside me.

Holy shit. Just a single, deep stroke, and I'm nearly coming already, my hands clutching at my breasts and pinching my nipples. I can't help myself. He grins and slips a finger into my mouth, and I suck while he starts to thrust in and out, my mind obliterated with each movement of his cock inside me. I've never felt something like this before, complete and total pleasure, my body taken by this powerful man who knows exactly how to light every nerve in my body on fire.

I'm making noises, noises I never knew I could make, animalistic and thick as he slides in and out of me, his cock sending tremors up my spine each time. "Can you take it all?" he asks suddenly, and I look to see that he's still restraining himself, his fingers shaking because he's keeping himself under such tight control.

I look into his beautiful gray eyes and nod, smiling. “Don’t hold back.”

The look in his eyes at my words lights a fire in my heart as much as his cock is lighting a fire in my pussy, and his hips speed up, powerfully driving his cock into me. The first shocking impact sends me into spasms, nearly convulsing as he hammers into me over and over, driving me insane with sensation. My God, it feels so good, and he's still going, those hips and legs giving him immense, overwhelming power that crushes me into the bed. He takes my other leg and pushes it up, pinning me as his cock slams over and over into me, his eyes boring deep into my soul.

"You can come now," Duncan whispers, and suddenly, I'm there, as if I was waiting for his permission, riding the immense wave of my orgasm as Duncan shudders right along with me. I'm being bred like some sort of bitch, and I know that for Duncan, I'd be his bitch if he wanted it. Anything to feel this good. "You're mine."

"Yours . . ." I whisper, slowly coming back to reality as I realize I'm not in a bed surrounded by white gauze curtains and tropical birds, and the whisper of the ocean breeze is actually the fan on my laptop. My hands are damp and my room reeks of sex, not the heady sense of real sex, but just the lonely aroma of my masturbation.

Damn Duncan Hart. Damn that cocky bastard.