“May I have some more water, please?” Jordan held his mug out to Kim, who immediately sprang into action.

“Sure! I’ll be right back.” She took the mug and ran off to the water cooler while Jordan sat back in his chair and tried his best to relax.

He ran his hands through his thick hair, smoothed the front of his shirt, and took a deep breath, but his pulse was still racing and his skin felt too warm.

Christ, why was it so hot in here?

“Five minutes,” a voice from nowhere boomed through the darkness outside the well-lit portion of the studio.

Five minutes to get my shit together.

Jordan couldn’t believe he was sitting next to Eric “The Brick” Higgins, childhood rival and hometown golden boy. Eric’s meteoric rise to the top made Jordan’s successful career look like a slow plod to third string. They were from the same sleepy Florida beach hamlet, but Eric had gone to the super elite private school while Jordan had been public school all the way, the kind of kid who never had to question whether or not he would qualify for free lunch. Their paths hadn’t crossed much except at summer camp and then Jordan was too focused on the game to let himself be distracted by a piece of ass—no matter how hot the ass in question.

Even if it was the hottest ass he’d ever seen.

But here Eric was sitting next to him, looking like sex-on-a-stick and wreaking havoc on his focus. Black wavy hair, five o’clock shadow at 2:00 p.m., square jaw, and those green eyes that had no business throwing him off his center.

But they did. Oh hell, they did.

Eric was the whole package, with a body clearly made for sin. That blue button-down shirt stretching across his broad chest didn’t leave much to the imagination. For a brief second, Jordan pictured spreading open his shirt and molding Eric’s firm pecs beneath his hands before letting his fingers trail down Eric’s rock hard stomach to the close of his pants.

Eric made it his job to flirt with anything wearing a skirt, but Jordan had known Eric was gay for as long as he could remember. He never questioned his gut about things like that.

But even though he knew Eric liked men, Jordan couldn’t imagine actually fucking around with someone like him. Guys like Eric Higgins were too out of touch with the realities of the world for his tastes. Eric had never had his water shut off. He’d never had to accept charity, never eaten government cheese, or known what it was like to have to choose between new shoes for his younger siblings and keeping the air conditioning turned on in the middle of a Florida summer.

Eric was like a third shot of whiskey—tempting, but a dumb idea, best avoided.

Usually, Jordan wouldn’t have any trouble resisting temptation. Control was his middle name. So why the fuck had he alluded to that day in the locker room when he was sure Eric had been spying on him while he showered?

And why couldn’t he stop thinking about how hot it had been to know Eric was watching him run his hands over his wet body, watching him get hard as his soap-slick hand stroked his cock? Why was he suddenly wondering again what might have happened if he’d had the balls to tell Eric to come join him and see how dirty they could get while they were busy getting clean?

The memory was a scorching one, but it wasn’t something to dwell on minutes before a high-profile interview. He and Eric should both be focusing on their talking points, not a ridiculous—and dangerous—public flirtation.

He side-eyed Eric, catching him staring back at him with a shit-eating grin.

That cocky bastard. Clearly, he thought he could have whatever—and whoever—he wanted. But Jordan wasn’t on the table, no matter how much his libido insisted otherwise.

Jordan’s jaw tightened as he turned back to Kim, thanking her for the water refill with a terse nod, determined not to make eye contact with Eric again. Eric could play it fast and loose all he wanted, but Jordan didn’t take risks when it came to his sex life. He didn’t take risks when it came to his life at all. He liked things neat, orderly, and well defined. Especially after the shoulder injury last season had set him back.

His number one goal this year was staying healthy. He needed three more strong seasons. Once his baby sister finished her degree, then maybe he could go back and finally finish his. Finally become a full-fledged architect and sleep with who he wanted to sleep with without keeping it a secret. He’d spent his entire adult life locked in the closet to everyone but his family—knowing he couldn’t afford a scandal that might cost him his job as starting quarterback—and it was getting old.

Real old.

“Better watch it with the water,” Eric whispered. “Or you’ll have to piss like a racehorse before we’re through.”

What the fuck? This clown was giving him advice on drinking water?

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll take it under advisement,” Jordan said.

Thankfully, their host chose that moment to join them on set.

“Hey, guys, I’m Matt Morgan.” A blond man with a crooked nose that gave testimony to his own years on the field reached out a meaty palm, shaking Eric’s hand, then Jordan’s in turn. “I’m thrilled to have you both here. I love what you’re doing for our kids here in Florida. We’ll be getting started in just a minute. Are you ready? Any questions?”

“Born ready,” Eric quipped.

“Sure,” Jordan murmured. “Looking forward to it.”

Jesus, he sounded like a robot. This was going to be the longest seven-minute interview ever. But better to come off like a stiff, humorless meathead than to relax and let the sexual tension simmering between him and Eric get caught on camera.

The red light on camera one lit up and “Brick House” by the Commodores played in the background. Eric laughed and even Jordan had to grin. Everyone knew the story by now—that Eric’s grandmother had given him his nickname when he was sixteen and getting “as big as a brick shithouse.” The name had stuck and led to Eric’s crowd-pleasing theme song, an upbeat anthem that always got fans on their feet.

“Welcome back to Sports Talk. I’m Matt Morgan.” Matt turned from the camera to face the men on the couch. “Today, we have two amazing players with us. First up is Eric “The Brick” Higgins, highest paid halfback in the NFL, wearing the number 27 for the Florida Marauders. Welcome, Eric.”

“Thank you.” Eric beamed, somehow managing to smile at Matt, the small audience of superfans gathered in the studio, and the camera all at the same time.

Goddammit, he was perfect. And he made it look so easy.

“Also joining us is Jordan Barr, the newest starting quarterback, wearing the number 9 for the Miami Heat Wave.” Matt leaned in, pinning Jordan with a serious look. “You’ve landed in the middle of a hot pocket, Jordan, with the Heat Wave’s five-season losing streak.”

Jordan nodded. “I have. But I’ve never been afraid of being in hot water.”

There, that sounded okay.

“But do you have the skills to bring them back,” Matt pressed, throwing Jordan off guard. “Especially with your clipped wing?”

Fuck. So this interview wasn’t going to be about his philanthropy after all.

“Well, yeah. Of course,” he said, fighting to keep his throat from closing up. He knew how to do this. It wasn’t his first year playing pro-ball. “I’m thrilled to be back in my home state playing for Miami. My shoulder is healthy and I’m working hard to keep it that way. I have every intention of making the Heat Wave a serious contender again.”

“And if anyone can do that, it’s Jordan,” Eric said, surprising him. “Not many people have natural talent like his.”

“That’s an interesting statement coming from you, Eric.” Matt smiled even as he narrowed his eyes in Eric’s direction. “Didn’t you grow up on opposing teams? And here you are, enemies again.”

“Well you know what they say, Matt,” Eric smiled then winked at the camera. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

Closer. That’s exactly where Jordan wanted his enemy. So close he could feel Eric’s body shudder against him as they gave in to the chemistry electrifying the air between them.

Stop it, asshole, or you’ll be hard as a rock by the time the interview is over.

Matt made a throat-clearing noise, clearly not ready to let either of them off the hook. “And yet, because of the rumors swirling around about game fixing, Eric, you aren’t supposed to spend any time with opposing team members. Right? So how can you keep your enemy close without sparking more rumors of impropriety?”

“Listen, Matt,” Eric said, his green eyes flashing. “We’re here today to talk about charity and kids in need, both of which are much more important than gossip or rivalries. Jordan and I have been working hard on this inner-city summer camp project. So we might be spending some time together off the field. But the only thing we will be conspiring on is how to grow this program to help as many kids as we can. The kids are what matter and where we should be focusing our energy.”

Jordan sat in stunned silence.

How the hell did Eric do that? He had somehow glossed over the accusations without directly commenting and then turned the interview back around like it was no big deal.

Too bad Matt wasn’t taking the bait.

“Jordan, is the cheating scandal going to affect your game?”

“What scandal?” Jordan asked, heat coloring his tone. “You mean the rumors of conspiracy theorists who have access to the internet and too much time on their hands?” He shrugged. “I’m not concerned about giving trumped-up accusations anymore traction. The media seems to be doing enough of that for everyone. I’m concerned about giving my best to my new team, doing everything I can to stay healthy, and leading the Heat Wave to the Super Bowl again. When I’m not doing that, I’ll be donating my time to causes I believe in.”

Lights flickered and another loud clap of thunder echoed through the room as if applauding his no-bullshit answer while Jordan wondered where the hell it had come from. It wasn’t like him to be less than diplomatic. He didn’t stir pots, make waves, or boil water. He was the polite one, the discreet one. He wasn’t messy. He answered questions and tried not to be nervous when he was avoiding them.

Eric—and the crazy vibe between them—was seriously throwing him.

“A united front,” Matthew said with a tight smile. “Not something you see often in the world of competitive sports, but who can complain when Florida’s kids are coming out ahead.”

Matt turned his attention back to the camera. “And with that, we say goodbye. I would like to thank Eric and Jordan for being here with us today, and for all they’re doing for the underprivileged, despite the black cloud of ‘conspiracy’ hanging over their heads. I’m Matt Morgan and this has been Sports Talk.”

Jordan blinked. Had Matt just finger quoted conspiracy? Jordan fought the urge to shake his head. What a douche.

The studio lights dimmed, and Matt pumped each of their hands before Kim returned to fetch them.

“We need to shoot some promos for this evening’s rerun of the interview,” she said. “So if you two don’t mind waiting in the green room for a few minutes?”

She formed it as a question, but Jordan knew she wasn’t really asking.

Which was unfortunate, because he had no desire to spend any unsupervised alone time with Eric. He had a feeling he could get into some seriously hot water with The Brick way too fast. The kind of hot water that would make the cheating scandal look like a walk in the park and ruin everything Jordan had worked years to build.