I brace myself as I walk down the hall. I consider my options. Duck into the stairwell to avoid the woman in red? There’s one ten feet ahead. Dart into a closet to hide for a while? Pretty sure I spotted one just beyond the next suite.

The trouble is, Maxine is sashaying toward me. Her dark eyes are dripping with desire. The sway of her hips tells me she’s not bothering to hide her intentions, and the tune she’s belting makes everything 100 percent clear. She’s at the part in the song where she raises her hands over her head and cries out “hallelujah.”

God help me now.

She points at me, that kind of decisive I own you gesture. She flips her black hair off her shoulders, stares, and licks her lips.

Salaciously.

As if there’s any other way for her to lick her lips.

I groan inside. Time to act as if I’m as dumb as a box of rocks. I turn around, as if she must be pointing to someone else. It couldn’t possibly be me, the guy she’s tried to corner after practice, the player she hugs—I’m talking full-body embrace—after every game. But there’s no one behind me, so my dumbass routine won’t work. Nevertheless, I persist. I keep walking with a clueless look on my face, like I’m not the guy she’s trying to drag into her lair.

Who, me?

But she’s closing in. That pointing finger of hers curls, beckoning me. She mimes reeling me in. She plants her feet like she’s hoisting her haul onto the deck of the boat. “Cooper Armstrong, do you know who I had dinner with last week?”

I shake my head and glance at my watch. “I have no clue, Maxine. But I need to get out there. Jillian won’t tolerate tardiness. You know how she is,” I say, trying to make Jillian out to be an ogre.

Maxine steps closer. She’s a local cabaret singer, as well as a fortune-teller, in addition to being a generous contributor to charities. She was widowed at a young age, and when her much older husband died a little more than a year ago, he left most of his money to a cat shelter and the rest to her. She’s a bit of a puppy dog—or maybe a pit bull. She’s insistent, absolutely persistent, and I'd like to keep her at a distance.

A handsome woman, she’s ten years older than me, but that’s not the main reason I strive to limbo my way underneath all her advances. She’s the team owner’s sister, and since no one wants to tell the hard-as-nails Jasper Scott that his pit bull puppy peed on the oriental carpet, Maxine gets away with all sorts of antics.

Like flirting outrageously with the players, a habit she seems to have amped up in the last few months.

Some players more than others.

Since Jasper is someone I want on my good side, I’ve done my damnedest to avoid her and avoid pissing him off. The thing about team owners is, well, they can do whatever the hell they want. Jasper Scott’s dream has always been to own an NFL team, and his personnel choices turned the Renegades into a winning franchise. He loves the team ferociously, but he loves it because we win. It’s his sandbox, and I love finally having the chance to play in it. Even though his sister wants to play in mine.

“I had a lovely dinner with Lourdes last week, and she shared some very interesting details about last year’s holiday auction,” Maxine says.

I cringe inside but slap on my game face. “Lourdes is a wonderful lady,” I say, my tone even.

Maxine nods as she runs her finger down my purple tie. Gently, I bat her hand away. She’s undeterred. She grabs it again, grips it, and tries to yank me close. I dig my heels in. Maxine might be a hungry woman, but I’m a determined man. Determined to remain untouched by her. I’d like to stay a Maxine virgin.

“Lourdes told me you gave her the full auction treatment,” Maxine says, her husky voice thick in the air.

I stare at the ceiling like I can’t possibly know what that is. “If by full auction treatment, you mean a wonderful, platonic night out and a chaste conversation over Shirley Temples and spaghetti, then yes.”

She chides me. “Don’t be embarrassed by your needs. You’re a beautiful man. You’re a stallion. She likes stallions. I like stallions.”

“Stallion?” I shake my head and point at my chest. “Me? A stallion? Nah. I’m . . . more like a pony,” I say, hoping to deflect her interest.

She hums her approval. “I always loved riding the ponies as a little girl.”

Dammit. The little pony play didn’t work. She still wants my Rainbow Dash.

“Correction. More like a miniature pony,” I say, holding up a thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space. Hell, if the possibility of a Vienna sausage between my legs scares her off, then I will motherfucking perpetuate that lie.

She giggles. “You’re so humble. I love that about you.”

I wince. Nothing sticks with her. She’s like anti-Teflon.

I peer ahead of me and point. “I need to go. I have to try to earn some money for the hospital.”

She dips her hand into a small purse and waves her Amex card in front of my face. “I can’t wait to do my part. And Jasper will be so happy I’m contributing to the team’s favorite cause.”

“Jasper’s the best. And on that note, Jillian will have my head on a platter if I’m not backstage right about now.”

She eats me up with her eyes. “I know what I’d like to have on a platter.”

I’d really like to tell her I’m not on the menu as an appetizer, main course, or dessert. But now isn’t the time for à la carte honesty. Now is the time to get the hell out of the line of fire. Now is the time for the quarterback to scramble. “It’s game time. See you later.”

I duck around her and trot down the hall in my three-piece suit, rounding the corner as she sings “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” I find the door to the back of the ballroom as she croons about being good, for goodness’ sake.

As soon as the door slams shut behind me, I take a deep breath. My buddy Trent is here. He flashes a big grin before he gives me a clap on the back. “Hey, man. I came to wish you well. Can you believe they let riffraff like me back here with you?”

I manage a small laugh. “Security must be lax tonight.” I lift my chin. “Good to see you. Where’s Holly?”

He waves behind him, indicating the ballroom beyond the stage. “She’s out front with some of her girlfriends. I’m about to join her, but I wanted to make sure you looked like a proper beauty pageant queen.”

“Get me a sash and I’m good to go.”

He rubs his palms, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “And now I’m going to enjoy the night out with the wife. There’s little that amuses me more than watching you parade around on stage in the swimsuit competition.”

I groan. I can only imagine what Maxine would do if she saw me in trunks. Me and my not-a-Vienna-sausage. For a second, I contemplate telling Trent about what just went down. Asking him to bid on me. But I’m not sure I can get the words out without sounding like a desperate ass.

“Have fun with the wife. If any of her friends want to bid, tell them I’m cheap this year,” I say, because that’s as close as I can get to admit I need help. I’ve never been good at asking for assistance.

“Dude, you’re always cheap,” he says then takes off.

As he leaves, I notice Jones is here, leaning against the wall. He narrows his eyes and looks me over. “You okay?”

I shake my head and catch my breath. I barely ran. Why the hell am I panting? Maybe because I was nearly octopussed. I wouldn’t be surprised if Maxine possessed eight arms. I consider my options. I could pull Jillian aside and ask her to handle it, but I’m not sure what I’d say. Maxine resides in a whole other realm, one without the same rules. The last thing I need is for Jasper Scott to think I have a problem with anything belonging to him—his rules, his team, or his sister.

This is finally my chance, and I can’t jeopardize it.

Besides, players get hit on. It’s a fact of life in pro ball, and one I can’t complain about. Any of the guys could walk into a bar and come out with numbers, panties, and a woman on each arm. It’s just the way it goes. Hell, I’m about to walk on stage and play to that very mentality. I drag a hand through my hair, trying to shake off Maxine’s attempts to turn me into her boy toy. Best to put her out of my mind. “I’m good.”

I square my shoulders. Just deal with it. That’s what I’ve always done. Face life’s challenges with a smile and don’t fucking complain.