I stared up at the screen where an image from the playbook was displayed. The offensive coordinator was reviewing the plans for the week when Coach Sawyers slipped in at the back of the room. I liked and respected the entire coaching staff, especially the head coach. And the more time I spent with him, the more I admired him. He was smart, tough yet fair, and it was easy to see why he was so well-respected by both the players and the league.

“Any other questions before we dismiss?” the OC asked, glancing around the room. When no one spoke up, he said, “All right, then. See you on the field.”

I slipped my tablet into my tote as Coach Sawyers approached. “Blake, can I speak with you a minute?” he asked.

“Of course. What can I do for you, Coach?”

“First of all, I want to thank you for stepping into your new role. You’ve done a great job taking the helm and making it a smooth transition for the team. And—” he lowered his voice “—I know Steven appreciates everything you do, even if he’s not the best at showing it.”

I laughed. “Steven loves me. He just isn’t ready to admit it,” I teased. But the truth was, I knew Steven appreciated me, even if he could be abrasive. He was fighting for his life, for heaven’s sake. And he saw me as a threat to his job, even if I wasn’t angling to replace him. Still, I’d worked my ass off since joining the Rebels, and it was nice to have my dedication recognized.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m no longer needed?” I asked in a lighthearted tone.

His lips turned down, and I could tell Steven’s illness weighed heavily on him. The Rebels were a family, and when one member suffered, they all suffered. Everyone was rooting for the QCC to beat cancer and recover, and I was right there with them. Even if it meant I’d be out of a job.

“No, but I do have an…opportunity for you.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and I was glad to see his humor return.

“Okay,” I said, tilting my head to the side as I assessed him. This should be good.

“The cheerleaders host an annual match where they swap places with the players. A limited number of tickets are sold, and all proceeds go to charity.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it. Do you need another coach?” I asked, excited for the opportunity to coach women.

“Not exactly,” he said. “The cheerleaders were hoping to convince you to play.”

“Really?” I’d passed members of the squad in the hallway from time to time, but our interaction was limited. I was surprised they even knew I existed, let alone wanted me to join the team for their charity match.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” he asked, his expression hopeful.

If I hadn’t been given so much responsibility as a coach, I would’ve worried I was nothing more than a good PR opportunity for the team—a token female coach to show how progressive the Rebels were. But I knew that wasn’t the case. Just as I knew I should seize every opportunity I was given. Plus, it sounded fun.

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. It had been far too long since I'd played. Any chance to increase awareness about women in the sport and raise funds for charity was a win in my book. And Coach Sawyers had asked me personally? There was no way I’d say no, even if I’d wanted to.

“That’s great. I’ll let Tristan know to expect you.”

“Tristan?” I squeaked, clearing my throat to hide my embarrassment. “As in Tristan Holmes?”

He nodded. “He coaches the team every year. They’re undefeated, and he can answer any questions you may have.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I said, knowing others were vying for his attention. I could sense them hovering, waiting to speak with him.

When I didn’t find Tristan in the weight room, I headed for the trainers’ offices. Trainers were vital to the team. They assessed any injuries, new or old, and ensured the physical well-being of the players. I hoped Tristan’s injury from last season wasn’t acting up. I knew all too well the physical toll of being an athlete.

Tristan stepped into the hallway, dressed in jeans and a fitted T-shirt that clung to his chest. “Coach,” he said when he spotted me.

“Just the man I wanted to see.”

“Did Coach Sawyers speak with you about the cheerleaders’ charity match?” he asked.

“Yes, and I’d love to play with you. Play football for you,” I clarified. If he noticed my slip, he didn’t react.

“We have practice tonight at seven. Can you join us?”

Before I could answer, a machine beeped, and then the lights went out, everything going pitch black. And when I said pitch black, I meant darker than the darkest night you’d ever seen. Like being consumed by an endless bolt of black cloth. I could feel the fabric closing in on me, tightening its hold on every limb, the threads strangling me.

My head was spinning, and my breath came in short pants. I fumbled for my phone in the darkness, but it fell to the floor, filling me with a growing sense of dread. I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t run. And I couldn’t escape.

“Blake?” Tristan asked, shuffling in the darkness. I felt his hands on my waist before he removed them, gripping my arms instead. “Blake, are you okay?”

I shook my head before realizing he couldn’t see me. “I, um,” I stuttered, unable to find any words to say. It was like the dark paralyzed me, choking my ability to think, to move, to speak. I was that terrified little girl trapped in the locker all over again.

“You’re okay,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down my arms, his touch comforting. “You’re safe.” His voice was so calm, so velvety, and I found myself relaxing. Then I could’ve sworn I heard him say, “I’ve got you.”

I needed strength, and he was offering his. I needed light, and he was providing a beacon of hope in the darkness. I could feel my muscles relax ever so slightly, and I slumped in his arms, allowing myself this moment of weakness.

“Everyone okay?” one of the trainers called out, shining a flashlight in our direction. Before I could even attempt to respond, the lights came back on as if nothing had happened. I felt something wet on my cheek and reached up to realize I was crying.

“We’re fine, thanks,” Tristan said in a gruff voice, without turning to acknowledge her.

His eyes were intent on mine, and I pulled my gaze away to focus on a spot on the floor. My heart was still racing, but now it was more from the adrenaline rush of his touch than the power outage. More than anything, though, I was mortified he’d witnessed my freak-out, seen my tears. Again, I thought. God, this had been an emotional roller coaster of a week.

I peeled his hands from my arms and backed away. “I…I have to go. I’ll see you at practice.”

“Blake,” he pleaded, bending down to grab my phone before handing it to me.

With my fingers pressed to my lips, I shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t press me. He was only trying to be kind, but I hated feeling weak. I despised pity; I’d had enough of it from family and friends during my mom’s illness and after she’d died. Pity, I sighed. Pity sucked.

I walked as fast as I could without actually running, clutching my phone close. It had been a long time since I’d been plunged into darkness without warning, and it had thrown me completely off-kilter. Which explained my body’s intense reaction to Tristan, the need to touch him. I told myself it had nothing to do with how caring he’d been, and everything to do with my survival mechanism kicking in. It wasn’t him; it was the situation.

Not wanting to dwell on it, I holed up in my office. I caught up on e-mail as I ate dinner, obsessively checking my phone to ensure it was charging. It was getting dark now, and if we lost power again, there would be no relief from the sun.

Could I trust Tristan not to blab about my freak-out? I wanted to think so, considering the kindness I’d seen from him, the genuine concern. But I vowed not to let it happen again, not to show weakness again.

Finally, knowing I could put it off no longer, I changed into workout clothes and trudged down to the field. The last thing I wanted to do was face him after what had happened in the dark, but a promise was a promise. And I didn’t intend to let the cheerleaders or Coach Sawyers down. So, I held my head high, a forced smile in place, as I passed several players stretching on the sidelines.

I scanned the field, sizing up the cheerleaders I’d be playing with. They were pretty, energetic, and…intimidating. It was like rolling out of bed to find yourself in a room full of flawless beauty queens. They buzzed around, swarming the turf in their short shorts and cutoffs, their hair and makeup perfect. Meanwhile, I tried not to feel self-conscious in my black capri leggings and loose red tank.

They were used to parading around the team in skimpy outfits, but I wasn’t. Our dress codes might be worlds apart, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t find common ground. They were just as hardworking and dedicated to the Rebels as I was. The squad spent hours each week practicing for little pay. All while holding other jobs, going to school, and raising families. And I knew how vital they were to team spirit.

“She’s here,” one of the cheerleaders called before jogging over to me. “Hi, I’m Amy,” she said, flashing me her brilliant white smile.

She was gorgeous—perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect makeup. She looked like a Barbie doll, and she seemed genuinely nice. She linked her arm through mine, introducing me to a few of the other women and putting me completely at ease.

“I love your capris,” she said. “Are they Lululemon?”

I shook my head and smiled. “Danskin.” I held my hand up to shield my mouth. “A super deal from Harrison’s.”

“Oh my gosh.” She grinned. “I love that place. They have the best deals. Shopping there is like going on a treasure hunt.”

I tried not to gape at her as she led me over to where Tristan stood, clipboard in hand and a whistle around his neck. I’d been afraid these women would shun me for my appearance, and Amy had been nothing but kind and welcoming.

I could feel Tristan’s eyes on me, assessing me as we neared. I was walking arm in arm with one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, yet his focus was solely on me. I told myself he was evaluating me as a player, determining my strengths and weaknesses so he’d know how to best utilize me on the field. But I knew that wasn’t true, especially when his gaze lingered on my legs, his eyes darkening.

He shook his head as if to clear it and slipped the clipboard beneath his arm. “Blake.” He lifted his chin in greeting. I worried he’d ask how I was feeling, but he didn't. “How would you feel about playing something other than wide receiver?”

I let out a relieved breath, grateful he hadn’t mentioned our earlier incident. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Amy giggled, and only then did I realize how bad that sounded. What was wrong with me? The few times Tristan and I had spoken to each other about something other than football, I’d turned into a bumbling fool.

He grinned, clearly amused. “All right, you’re our new quarterback.”

I laughed, wondering how this was going to play out. I'd always played wide receiver, which required a lot of running. Now, I’d be calling the plays for the offense, implementing Tristan’s instructions. He was putting me in a leadership role, giving me the most important position on the offensive side. I didn’t take that responsibility—or his trust in me—lightly.

Tristan blew the whistle, and everyone huddled around him. “Thanks for coming out tonight. Before we get started, I want to introduce you to our new quarterback, Blake Mackenzie. She’s acting as the consulting QC coach, and she has graciously agreed to join us on the field.”

He doled out instructions, sending everyone to their places. We ran a few plays while Tristan continually evaluated the team, adjusting the lineup as he saw fit. I was impressed by how little instruction the cheerleaders needed to perform their roles. Though considering they studied the rules and calls and attended every game, it shouldn’t have surprised me.

Amy offered her hand, helping me stand after another relatively hard tackle. These women were tough, and their trash-talking could put many of the fans and players to shame. After a few plays, I found my stride, sweat trickling down my back from exertion. It had been a while since I’d played a team sport with other women, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Colt and Xavier. Their focus was intent on several cheerleaders who demonstrated some dance moves. When I glanced back again, Colt and Xavier were performing those same moves with impressive skill. I would’ve laughed, but I was honestly so astonished, I couldn’t.

The center snapped the ball to me, and I caught it, lining up for the throw. I was so busy attempting to watching Colt and Xavier discreetly, I launched it across the field. And straight into the hands of the opposing team.

Tristan blew the whistle. “Blake,” he yelled my name. I jogged over to him, my ponytail brushing my shoulders as it swung behind me.

“Do you want some help with the plays?” I asked. I’d been on a roll, at least until the interception.

“You can’t focus on the plays, and you’re offering to help me?” He smirked. “Are the new cheerleaders going to be too much of a distraction?” he asked, gesturing toward Colt and Xavier.

I shook my head. “Nope. I’m good. Focused.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps flexed from the movement. “Then I suggest you prove it.” There was teasing in his tone, and I knew he was enjoying himself.

“You got it, Tristan,” I said, our eyes locked as I jogged backward.

“And you can call me Coach.” He grinned, seemingly pleased by this role reversal.

I rolled my eyes and turned away from him. I could feel his eyes on me as I crossed the field to where the other women were waiting. There’d been a shift between us, and not just in the coach-player dynamic. Ever since the power outage, it was like a switch had been flipped, and my body was attuned to his.

“He likes you,” Amy said when I joined her on the fifty-yard line.

I smirked. “Everyone likes me,” I said, striking a flippant tone.

Even the media, it seemed. They’d finally backed off about my role with the Rebels now that we’d won a few preseason games. And any doubts about having a female coach on the field, even as a consultant, had quieted for the moment. Still, I knew there were many who wanted me to fail. And I feared they’d latch on to any rumor, even a weak one, that there was something less than professional going on between one of the players and me.

“No.” She tilted her head to the side, unwilling to drop it. “I’ve been around Tristan long enough to know. I’ve never seen him look at a woman like he does you. And believe me, he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

I didn’t know what to say. If Amy had noticed the spark between us, then others would too. I couldn’t avoid him, but perhaps I shouldn’t be so eager to seek him out going forward.

“Do you know why the other players call him the Monk?” she asked.

I glanced over to where Tristan was standing with several cheerleaders. They lapped up his praise, but he seemed unaffected by their interest. He was focused on the game, and I was impressed by his restraint. Many men in his position would’ve taken advantage of the situation despite the team’s no-fraternization rule for players and cheerleaders.

I returned my attention to Amy and shrugged. “Because he never goes out, and he’s very strict about his diet.”

While those qualities may have provoked the ridicule of his teammates, I viewed them as assets. He was disciplined, and no one else even came close to the rigorous level he set. It might not be sustainable in the long-term, but it certainly benefited his game.

“That’s part of it,” she said. “But—” she leaned closer, lowering her voice “—rumor has it, he’s celibate during the season.”

I couldn’t help it, my mouth popped open. I shouldn’t be gossiping about Tristan or any of my players. But now that she’d said it, I couldn’t stop thinking about Tristan and sex. Hot and sweaty, glorious sex with Tristan. Ugh, stop.

“Celibate?” I mouthed in horror.

Amy nodded, and I viewed Tristan in an entirely new light. If what she said was true, well… Discipline was one thing, but abstaining from sex? I swallowed. Hard. If anything, I’d always found that sex before a game helped me relax. And it made me wonder—what had Tristan wound so tight?