The elevator doors opened on the twentieth floor, revealing the vestibule of Colt, Xavier, and Tristan’s home. A large chandelier sparkled above a metal table topped with a vase of fresh flowers. Tristan shot me a sympathetic gaze, connecting with me over the shared knowledge of my loss. He placed his hand on the small of my back and ushered me inside.

Xavier appeared, looking like a freaking god—shirtless, chest glistening with water as droplets rained down from his hair. When he spotted me, he froze, crossing his arms over his chest as if to shield it from view. I didn’t know whether to laugh at his modesty or glance away, not that I could if I’d wanted to.

“Hey, Blake,” he said to me before turning to Colt and Tristan. “I didn’t know we were expecting company. I’ll grab a shirt.” He disappeared down a long hall I assumed led to the bedrooms.

I followed Tristan and Colt through the penthouse, feeling like I needed to tiptoe across the travertine floors. Though the décor was inviting, it felt more like a luxury hotel than a home. I hesitated to touch anything for fear I’d break it.

“What would you like to drink?” Tristan asked as we came to a kitchen with espresso-colored cabinets, light stone countertops, and brass details. “Latte, cappuccino, something else?”

“Don’t go to any trouble. I don’t need anything fancy,” I said, trying to check out their place without being obvious about it.

I was so out of my element. If this were an episode of Gossip Girl, I would totally be Brooklyn native Dan Humphrey first discovering the privilege and wealth of his Upper East Side classmates. I’d seen the luxury cars parked at the stadium, the designer clothes some of the team wore. But this penthouse loft topped anything my imagination could have conjured. It was tasteful and elegant with sweeping views of the city.

If I thought I was spoiled living at Bastian’s place, it paled in comparison to Colt, Xavier, and Tristan’s penthouse. An oversized sofa faced the largest TV I’d seen outside the man cave. There was as a gas fireplace I assumed was more for show than anything else and a large dining table with a glossy sheen. Everything was immaculate, not an item out of place. The OCD part of me relished the order, but another part of me wondered where their personalities were.

There were no awards or footballs on display, no personal touches or knickknacks. And it made me even more curious about their bedrooms. Not that I’d be asking for a tour of those anytime soon. I had to draw the line somewhere, even if I’d already redrawn it by agreeing to visit their penthouse.

“It’s no trouble.” Tristan pressed his palms on the counter, leaning forward. I briefly wondered if a butler would appear at any moment. In a place like this, it wouldn’t have surprised me. He likely had an army of staff, including a personal chef, a cleaner, and who knew what else.

“I’ll take a cappuccino, then,” I said, feeling Colt’s eyes on me.

What was he thinking? Somehow, it seemed like he was judging me. Assessing me to see how I fit in his home, his life. I got the feeling they didn’t let many people in. I knew I was privileged to be invited into their home, to be granted this rare glimpse at them. And I couldn’t help but wonder—why me?

“Shall we?” Colt asked, gesturing toward the sliding glass doors that led to a patio.

I nodded woodenly, again following him without trying to gape. I’d expected a small square of concrete with a few metal chairs, but their private patio was an oasis. Grass and potted trees made it seem as if you were immersed in nature. But the city was still very present, even if only as a backdrop. A large pool extended to the edge of the balcony so you could sit in the water and gaze at the skyline.

Tristan joined us a moment later with two coffees, and Xavier wasn’t far behind with the other two. Though there was a hint of a chill in the air, the sun warmed my skin.

“Are you feeling okay?” Xavier asked from across the outdoor table.

I sipped from my mug, the warm liquid filling my belly and the caffeine providing a much-needed jolt to my system. I was off-kilter, but it wasn’t from the concussion. These three men had knocked my world upside down, challenging the boundaries I was so determined to maintain.

“Better now, thanks,” I said. “Did you enjoy cheering at the game last night?”

“It’s always a good time.” He grinned.

“Considering a change in profession?” I joked.

“Nah.” Xavier leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “It’s fun for a night, but their salary is a joke. Especially considering how hard they work.”

It surprised me that Xavier was aware of the meager amount the cheerleaders earned. He was right, though. The amount they were compensated for their time was appalling. Each team was responsible for setting their own wages and guidelines, and from what I’d heard, the Rebels cheerleaders had it better than members of other squads. On some of the other teams, it was so bad, cheerleaders had gone so far as to sue their former team for wage theft.

“You do have the hair for it,” Colt teased. “In fact, you may be as high-maintenance as the women on the squad.”

Xavier rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk, Charlotte.”

“Charlotte?” I asked, glancing between the three of them. What was I missing?

“It’s Colt’s stage name. For when he performs in drag,” Xavier deadpanned.

I scrutinized him, struggling to determine if he was serious. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard of an NFL player doing something…unconventional. I didn’t think the league would approve if it were true, but it was almost preferable to some of the other rumored extracurricular activities of players.

Still…Colt performing in drag? He enjoyed attention and could be outlandish, but I didn’t buy it. He might cross-dress for a charity event, but perform in drag on a regular basis? No way. Even so, I decided to roll with it.

“You know, I could actually see that,” I said, joining in as the three of them burst out laughing.

Colt shook his head. “I can’t. I’m terrible at makeup. I’d end up looking like a clown.”

“And that would be worse than your usual how?” Tristan asked.

“Hey.” Colt shoved his shoulder playfully. “Just because you don’t know how to let loose doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have a little fun.”

“I know how to let loose,” Tristan crossed his arms over his chest.

“Playing chess doesn’t count,” Colt said.

Tristan opened his mouth to protest. “Polishing your trophy doesn’t either,” Xavier cut in.

I sputtered a cough, the hot coffee burning my throat as I struggled to swallow it down. Polish his trophy? I’d like to polish his trophy.

I shook my head, chiding myself for going down that road. Again.

What was wrong with me when it came to these three? It was like my self-control took a back seat to my libido, and my brain forgot who I was and what I wanted. Titles and rules ceased to exist, and all I could think about was Sex! Sex! Sex!

God, I needed to get laid. Just not by someone on the team.

“Face it, Tris—” Colt said, jolting me from my thoughts. “You’re boring. You’re a boring old man who likes to sit home in his cardigans playing chess and watching documentaries.”

I hid a smile behind my coffee cup, enjoying this more relaxed side to the dynamic trio. We spent a lot of time together at practice and watching film, but everyone was so focused on the plays, on performing at their best, there wasn’t much time for joking. And while I’d caught glimpses of their relationship at work, they were clearly more comfortable at home.

“I’m not the only one who stays home more nights than I go out,” Tristan said, giving Colt a pointed look. “Though I’m sure your current trend of staying in will never last.”

Colt glanced at me. “Don’t listen to a word he says. I come home from practice, eat dinner, study the playbook, and I’m in bed by ten o’clock every night.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Mm-hm.” I didn’t buy it. He may have reformed temporarily, but it had only been a few weeks since our run-in at Arlo and Henry. Granted, that had been before preseason training even started.

“It’s true—mostly. I’m a model player. Tell her, Xavier,” Colt said.

Xavier twisted his lips, tapping his chin as he seemed to contemplate it. “You’re a model player, all right,” Xavier said with a grin. “I seem to recall you didn’t get home until well after midnight the other night.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?” I pulled out my phone, swiping it on so I could open a note-taking app.

“What are you doing?” Colt asked, leaning over so he could see. “Are you taking notes on me?” He completely invaded my space, his scent overwhelming my senses, coursing through my system like a powerful drug. My nerves were firing, lighting up all my pleasure sensors. I was addicted, and I wanted another hit.

I angled away from him so he couldn’t see my phone, pretending to type something on the screen.

“Aww, shit. Don’t tell anyone about my pathetic social life,” Colt pleaded. “I can’t have the team nickname me something awful like the hermit crab.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a hermit.” Tristan sniffed.

“Says the man who is one,” Colt said. “Don’t be desperate, man. It’s not a good look. I’m not drinking the Kool-Aid.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” Xavier cut in. “Whether you realize it or not, Tristan’s already slowly converting you to his ways.”

“What?” Colt shook his head, his eyes wide. “No, he’s not.”

“Dude, when was the last time you went out with the rookies?” Colt seemed to think about it for a moment, and Xavier kept talking. “And when was the last time you spent the evening with anyone besides Tristan and me?”

“At this rate,” Tristan chimed in with a smug smile. “You’ll be a monk in no time.”

Colt turned to me. “Blake, save me. You’re my only hope. You’re my only tie to the outside world.”

“I am?” I screwed up my face. “You’d have better luck with Bastian. He’s usually the one trying to drag me out. Well, at least since I started with the Rebels. Before that, I was always game for some fun.”

“Bastian?” Xavier asked.

“My best friend and roommate.” I took a sip of my coffee, noticing a plane flying overhead. If Bastian knew where I was and what I was doing, he’d shit a brick. “Though the roommate thing is just temporary.”

“Is that because you broke his coffee machine?” Colt smirked.

“No.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table and cupping the mug with my hands, the smooth porcelain warming my skin. Now, if it had been his lighted vanity mirror, that might be a different story. I laughed to myself. “He offered me a place to stay when I moved home from Florida.”

“You’re from here?” Xavier asked.

“Born and raised. My dad lives about an hour outside the city. We have dinner together every week.”

“I wish my family lived closer,” Xavier said wistfully.

“Not me,” Tristan said under his breath.

“How’d you guys end up sharing an apartment?” I asked, wondering if I could even call it that. It was the entire penthouse floor of a building. Referring to it as an apartment seemed laughable.

“My first season here, I was feeling a little out of place,” Xavier said. “And quite a bit homesick. I’d never lived outside of Philly, and I dreamed of being drafted by the Eagles. When that didn’t happen, I was grateful for the opportunity to play for the Rebels. But I missed my family, my hometown.”

Xavier glanced at Tristan, a smile touching his face. I could see the admiration, the mutual respect reflected between them. Xavier might not be the veteran player Tristan was, but they shared an understanding. Their bond went deeper than teammates or even roommates, and the words kindred spirits came to mind.

“At the time, I was living in a hotel near the stadium. Tristan took me under his wing. He showed me the ropes and the city. He invited me into his home.”

“Our home,” Tristan corrected. “It’s as much yours and Colt’s as it is mine.”

“Says the man who owns the building,” Colt said with a sardonic twist to his lips.

“My family owns the building, not me,” Tristan ground out, his posture rigid.

Clearly, his family was a sore spot, and I wondered what the story was there. The Holmes name was synonymous with Boston wealth, tied to so many development projects across the city, it made my head spin. Yet Tristan seemed to want to have nothing to do with them.

I turned to Colt. “And what about you?” I asked. “You don’t strike me as the type to ever be lonely.” I didn’t like the bitter ring to my tone, but the image that popped into my head of him wrapped around another woman was even worse.

It made no sense. I had no right to him, no claim. But I felt possessive all the same. I told myself it was because of the night we’d spent together, the tenderness he’d shown me. But I knew it was more than that. I cared about him, him and Tristan and Xavier.

He met my eyes, his gray ones piercing. “Lonely, no. Alone, yes.”

Conversation turned to football after that, and I was relieved to be more in my element.

I stole glances at each of them, observing Xavier, Colt, and Tristan as I sipped my cappuccino. We might be twenty stories above the ground, but my head was in the clouds. I was captivated by the dynamics of their relationship. They were all so different—Colt, the flirt, Tristan, the monk, and Xavier, the teddy bear—yet they just fit. And somehow, I’d found a place with them.

“So…how was coffee?” Bastian asked when I got home later that afternoon.

I shrugged. “Nice.”

“Nice? That’s all?” He stared at me, stalking me down the hallway and into my room. “Come on, B. Give me something more than ‘nice.’ You were gone half the day. I find it difficult to believe you and Tristan Holmes hung out in a coffee shop for hours.”

“We didn’t. We went back to his place.” I grabbed my laundry basket and brushed past him, intent on getting some laundry done.

Bastian’s eyes bugged out. “What?”

“For coffee,” I said. “With Colt and Xavier.”

“Colt and Xavier.” He was breathing heavily now, practically panting as he followed me through the apartment like a puppy dog. “What were Colt and Xavier doing at Tristan’s place?”

“They live there.” I set the basket on top of the dryer and began to unload dirty clothes into the washer.

“All three of them?” His voice was strangled, and I laughed.

He got that dreamy far-off look in his eye, and I knew he was likely fantasizing about the three of them. Considering he’d sided with Tristan this morning, I decided it was time for a little fun. Besides, I knew he’d never leave me alone unless I divulged some details.

“Mm-hm,” I said. “You should see their rooftop pool. The water is heated, and it goes right to the edge of the twentieth floor.”

“Heated pool,” he muttered, all but drooling now.

“And when they stripped down to their underwear, you should’ve seen the abs on them. And the V lines…”

“Wait a minute,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “There’s no way you would’ve allowed that. Do they even really live together, or were you just fucking with me?”

I smirked. “That part was true.”

“Oh god,” he said, swallowing hard. “That’s so hot. I think we need to relocate.”

“They live in the Jameson,” I said flatly, knowing Bastian would know the building. Everyone knew the Jameson. It was state of the art and certified for being energy efficient. Not to mention it was a beautiful historical building that had been renovated to preserve its heritage while modernizing it. And the rent was astronomical.

“Oh wow. That’s…swanky.”

“I know.” I pictured their apartment once more, remembering how nice it was. And I hadn’t even seen the bedrooms. I could only imagine the finishes in the bathrooms. Large soaker tubs, heated floors. At least that’s what the online listing for other units in their building promised when I’d looked it up on the way home. It sounded heavenly.

“What was it like inside? Please tell me you took pictures.”

I scowled at him, pausing with my finger on the Start button for the washing machine. “Pictures? What do you take me for, a stalker?”

“Well,” he hedged. “I’m sure you could’ve taken a few at least.”

I rolled my eyes and pressed Start before unloading the clean clothes from the dryer into my basket. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous. Besides, think of the money you could make on those puppies. Exclusive photos of the penthouse apartment of Tristan, Colt, and Xavier? You’d be set for life.”

I halted, my underwear half-folded as I turned to stare at him. “Please tell me you’re joking. I would never ever do that to them.”

He held his hands up in the air. “Geez, B. I’m just kidding.”

“Swear it.” I poked my finger into his sternum, a fire burning in my chest.

“I swear. Come on, Blake. You know I would never do something like that. Have I ever told you about any one of my patients?” he asked. I opened my mouth to respond, but he beat me to it, preempting my protest. “Apart from the vaguest of details?”

I shook my head, knowing he was right.

“Then you can trust me with this. I respect Colt, Xavier, and Tristan’s privacy.”

Bastian was right. I knew I could trust him, just as I knew I was overreacting. But now that I worked with them, was friends with them, I felt even more protective of Xavier, Colt, and Tristan. I told myself it was because I cared about them as players, but I knew that wasn’t the full truth—I liked the three of them, and not just as friends. And that was a problem.