“Oh my God, look at that one!” Christine is waving furiously, pointing at one of the guys on the field. I place my hand over my eyes, narrowing them into slits and trying to see the man Christine is pointing to.

“Which one? There are hot guys everywhere, Chris,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. I don’t know what it is about football players, but they just look so hot and indecent. The kind of men you don’t want to tell your mom about ... but exactly the kind of men you want to climb in through your bedroom window.

To be honest, I’m not a big football fan; Christine is. When I look down at the field, I barely have any idea what’s happening. All I see are hot men running around and crashing into each other, their corded muscles rippling on impact, and that’s just fine with me.

“Look!” Christine punches my shoulder without even bothering to look down at me. She’s standing up now, pointing frantically at one of the men standing close to us in one of those wonky formations right on the 50-yard line. That’s right, we’re this close to the action, right behind the platoon of photographers snapping photos of these hot pieces of—ahem, of the players. Ashley hooked us up with tickets, just one of the perks of having a man who’s a billionaire.

“Oh, I see him!” I squeal, finally realizing who Christine is pointing to—Danny Manning, the New York Nailers quarterback. You’ve heard of him, right? He was the Nailers' first pick two years ago, and now he’s on the fast track to earning his team its first Super Bowl ring in like ten years, which totally makes sense considering he’s the hottest piece of ass in the league.

“God, just look at that…” Christine trails off, finally sitting down. Her mouth is hanging slightly opening, and I don’t even want to think about the kind of stuff she’s probably imagining right now. Not that I can blame her. There’s a lot of indecency going on inside my mind as well. But, hey, I’m single.

“Uh-uh, Chris, stop it. You already have Professor Hung just for yourself, leave a few men on the table, will you?”

“Looking isn’t sinning, that’s what my mom always said,” she simply shrugs, and I know she means it. She turned into a hopeless romantic after she started dating Anders Trask, her former college professor. He’s hot as hell and, according to the ‘rumors’ (well, we egg Christine on to tell us all the dirty details), he’s also huge; I don’t have to explain that last one, do I?

“I don’t know about your mom, Chris, but I’d be down for some sinning with Danny…” I mutter, unblinking as I watch him position himself behind the offensive line. He has just instructed his team on some play, and now he's trotted to his position, his hands on his knees as he bends over.

When the ball flies into his hands, he’s on the move. He takes two steps back, sidesteps a linebacker with a graceful movement of his hips, and then cocks his arm back. The whole stadium seems to drown in silence as the ball leaves his hands and flies in an arch. There’s a roar as the ball finds its way straight into the hands of the Nailers’ wide receiver on the other end of the field, and the whole crowd goes insane as he dives into the end zone.

I know this happened because of the gigantic screen right in front of me, but in reality, my eyes have never left Danny Manning. Sweet Jesus, just watching him is enough to make my insides clench. He moves with a powerful dexterity, the muscles in his body working in perfect symmetry. And it’s quite a thing to witness; unlike some of the other players, Manning is all built on lean muscle, his skin stretched tight over his hard muscles. And I’m only talking about the parts that I can see… Just imagine how he must look under all that gear.

That’s when I notice it; Danny Manning’s looking straight at me. His whole team is celebrating a much-needed touchdown, and he’s just standing in the middle of the field, one hand on his hip and staring straight at me. Right now, I don’t know if my blood is flowing straight to my face or to between my thighs. I just stare back at him, completely dumbfounded, and only when he looks away do I realize that I was holding my breath.

“Oh. My. GOD!” Christine yelps, grabbing my arm and shaking me. “He was looking at you! Danny Manning was looking at you!”

“He was,” I smile, suddenly feeling light headed. My eyes follow him as he sets up another play. “Look at him, Chris. He looks so… So… So fuckable!” I cry out, that warmness between my thighs turning into an uncomfortable wet feeling.

“Totally,” Christine agrees as Danny runs close to the sidelines, just a few feet away from us. “How big do you think he is?”

“I don’t know… But I wouldn’t mind finding out.” He runs past us again, and I turn my neck, following after him and devouring him with my eyes. By now, I completely forgot about the game. I don’t even know who’s winning—and who cares, really?

“You know, Chris,” I say, turning to her and looking away from Danny for the first time in a long while. “I’d totally fuck him if I had the chan--” The words get lost in my throat as I hear a few of the photographers close to us crying out. I turn to see what all the commotion is about, and I do it just in time to see a tall Nailers player crashing through the line of photographers and stumbling toward us, the ball clutched tight to his chest.

It’s Danny Manning, and I’m right in his way.