Sweat drips down my face as I survey the defensive line. I may have been the shit in college, but the NFL is a whole new stratosphere of intense. Training camp is about three things: getting in elite-level shape, bringing the new players into the fold, and cutting guys who can’t handle it. I’m already in shape. I worked my ass off all spring and summer, but even so, I’m still going to be sore as hell tomorrow. But that’s not my biggest concern.

We’ve run this drill five times, but something’s off with LaDuke, my wide receiver. So much of this game is chemistry, and he and I aren’t clicking. I spot Brentwood, the veteran QB, laughing by the water table, but as we line up again, he stills to watch.

The ball snaps, and as soon as my fingers grip the leather, I drop back into the pocket and eye the field. Bodies shuffle, and I check my options. Finally, LaDuke breaks from his defender, and I reach back for the pass.

The ball leaves my hand in a perfect arc. But at the last minute, the asshole slows down, and my pass sails wide.

LaDuke jogs back and shrugs. “Did that one slip out?” he asks, knowing full well that’s not the case.

Gritting my teeth, I wait to get reamed out by the coach. I make eye contact with the rookie receiver on the sidelines as he paces back and forth. Quentin Alvarez is hungry. He wants the ball.

I jog over to Coach Reynolds so he doesn’t need to raise his voice to chew my ass off. He blows out a breath and frowns. But instead of yelling, he drops his hand on my shoulder and turns me to face the empty field behind us.

“Daren, I like the way you keep a level head. It takes time for the veterans to accept the rookies. Don’t take this personally.”

Taking a deep breath, I nod. He’s right. “No problem, Coach.” That’s usually my answer out on the field. I should keep my mouth shut, but I decide to take a chance. “Do you think we could try Quentin for a few plays?”

Reynolds works his jaw back and forth. “He’ll have his turn. Besides, it’s more likely than not you’ll play with the old guard, and that’s who you need to win over.”

“I hear ya. But I also think Quentin really wants it.”

Coach nods, his tan brow furrowing. “We’ll see. Go grab some water.”

Ten minutes later, we’re back in formation when Coach blows the whistle. “You know what? Let’s try Quentin.” He shouts for LaDuke, and points his chin at the sideline.

It’s hard to fight my smile, so I clench my jaw until I’m focused again. Quentin stalks by, and when our eyes connect, he nods.

This time, when my wide receiver breaks from the defense, he’s on fire. Everyone on the sideline pauses to watch my pass, which lands in Quentin’s hands about two steps before he blazes into the end zone.

That’s how it’s done, motherfuckers.

I’m still grinning when I head into the locker room a half hour later. Until Brentwood sidles up to me like we’re old friends. Then he leans close with a smile on his face.

“What the fuck was that?” he whispers even though the stereo is blasting Eminem.

This is getting old. A week and a half into camp, and I’ve lost count of how many times Brentwood has bitched me out. “Sorry? What the fuck was what?”

“Why did you suggest that Quentin play?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” I’m not in the habit of declining credit where credit is due, but I’m also not looking to piss off Brentwood any more than whatever crawled up his ass today.

“Daren!”

Jeanine Cartwright, Vice President of Marketing and PR, saunters in, totally unbothered by the fact that half of the men are in jock straps or naked. She motions toward me while she talks on the phone, and Brentwood gives her a wink and heads toward his locker on the opposite wall.

She nods, continuing her conversation. “That’s a great idea. Yes, I have him right here.” She looks up at me and smiles a half second before she holds up her hand, telling me to wait. Jeanine is the first female executive and the youngest. She’s an attractive woman, but her ice-cold eyes have a predatory gleam. NFL players are not the politest group of guys, but no one bothers her. Probably because they don’t want their balls removed from their bodies. She smooths back her red hair, which is cropped in a short bob. “I’m sure he’ll be on board. Rookies never have a problem doing interviews.”

I get the message, Jeanine. No need to rub my face in the fact that I’m the low guy on the totem pole.

She hangs up while her eyes make a slow perusal down my bare chest and linger around my waist, a flash of disappointment registering in her eyes that I’m still wearing gym shorts. Finally, her attention lifts back up to my face. “I’m going to need you to be available tomorrow morning after your weightlifting session. In fact, you might need to cut it short. I’ll let everyone know you might be late to your second session. Oh, and be sure to shower before you meet me on the practice field. You need it.”

Well, no shit I need a shower. I just spent two hours in ninety-five degree Massachusetts weather in the middle of July.

Jeanine taps her phone and enters the appointment on her calendar. “You and Quentin have an interview with one of the local news stations doing a series of sports segments for women. We’re calling it Football 101, and we’ll likely feature different players each time. But since you’re the hot draw right now, I wanted to capitalize on it.”

“I’ll be there.” I force a smile, and I know she thinks it’s sincere because she grins back, taking the time to check me out once more before she stalks over to Quentin.

One of the guys waits until Jeanine leaves before he whips out his phone. “Come check out the pussy I snagged last night. She fit my cock like a glove.” Several players huddle up to check out the footage.

If he were my Boston College teammate, I’d tell him he’s being a dumbass. It only takes one viral video to make your life a living hell, especially if it’s twisted up with gossip someone made up to get those fifteen minutes of fame.

But this isn’t college. And I’m not at the helm of this outfit. My eyes travel over to Brentwood, who doesn’t chime in on the video. He’s too busy watching me. God, he’s a weird asshole.

I keep my expression blank as I grab a towel and head for the showers. I still have another practice session later this afternoon, and I need to clear my head. I’m used to drama, but there’s enough in this stadium to choke a man.

When the hot water is pelting my skin, I close my eyes and try to shut out the noise. Finally, a moment of peace.

And that’s when I think of her face. Those plump pink lips the hue of sweet berries. That pale skin that looks silky soft. Those kohl-rimmed eyes that remind me of the waters off Santorini, Greece. Blue like ice melted from the sky.

It’s been two weeks since I knocked her on her ass, and I haven’t seen Maddie once. And I’ve been looking.

Despite my better judgment, I want to look harder.