I was in Rebels territory, surrounded by the entire team as we listened to a motivational speaker. Colt’s thigh brushed against mine, as it had several times before, but this time he left it there. We were joined at a single point, yet it felt like the epicenter of an earthquake. Shock waves radiated out from that connection, lighting every nerve ending on fire.

Not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to have him touch me, kiss me even. What his hands would feel like on my skin. What kind of lover he would be? Would he be gentle and reverent or a rough dirty-talker?

The team broke into applause, shattering my daydreams. I shifted away, my eyes darting about the room to see if anyone had noticed.

How could a seemingly innocent touch affect me so strongly?

Colt was magnetic. And if it had just been a physical attraction, it would be easy enough to ignore. But it was so much more than that. I didn’t just admire him as an athlete. I genuinely liked him as a person. He continually surprised me, and I was drawn to this sexy man and the intricacies of his personality. He made feel exhilarated yet centered. And at that moment—the eve of season opening—I needed to feel centered.

There was a restless energy in the air. The Rebels exceeded expectations in the preseason, and everyone was amped up with adrenaline, excitement, and nerves. I felt privileged yet again to be part of this team, experiencing my dream. I might not be playing football, but I was part of something much bigger.

And that was exactly why I couldn’t fall for Colt—or any man. Because I’d worked too long and too hard for this moment. I’d sacrificed too much to let it slip away now. Especially when there was so much more I still wanted to achieve.

“Be in your room by eleven and get some rest,” Coach Sawyers said after he’d made his way up to the podium. “It’s time for the Rebels to dominate.”

He called Tristan up to lead the pregame chant. As Tristan called out the words, it was the most passionate and animated I’d seen him off the field. His energy was contagious. I could feel it pulsing through the entire room, firing up each and every member of the team. I felt it too, especially when I joined in for the response, everyone pouring their hearts into it.

“Dismissed,” Coach Sawyers said once the team had finally calmed down enough so he could be heard.

Some players hung back, while others rushed to their rooms to begin their pregame rituals or bid their family goodnight. Even though it was a home game, everyone stayed at the hotel. It was team policy—no exceptions. As I’d seen during the preseason, it helped the team focus, and it created cohesion. Plus, the stadium was a madhouse on game day. So consolidating the team in one location meant transporting us there by bus was easier. Though, after the accident, I still got anxious any time I boarded a bus.

Tyrese and Quentin approached. I always got the impression they were testing me somehow. I couldn’t put my finger on it—they were friendly and courteous, flirtatious even. But our interactions felt forced, like they were trying to one-up each other. It was odd. Were they trying to intimidate me? Flatter me? I felt more bored than anything. I saw them as a nuisance, and my gut told me not to trust them.

I spotted Colt watching from a few feet away, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. His behavior threw me for a loop; it was the complete opposite of his norm. If the NFL gave out awards for Mr. Congeniality, Colt would definitely win. He was always circulating the room, friendly with everyone despite his affinity for Tristan and Xavier.

“Hey, Coach,” Tyrese said. “You pumped for the first game of the season?”

“Definitely.” I smiled. “You feel ready?”

“I’m ready for anything,” he said, leaning in close as he brushed past.

I bit the inside of my cheek before I could respond with a snide remark. I refused to let him believe he’d affected me. And the night before the season opener was not the time to stir up trouble.

“Sleep well,” Quentin said. His eyes scanned me, making me feel exposed. I wondered if I was imagining things, finding meaning where there was none.

Once they were gone, Colt’s shoulders relaxed, and he sauntered over to me with a smile on his face. “Have a good night, Blake.”

“You too,” I said, recovering my smile.

“You feel good on those plays we discussed?” I asked Tristan when he approached.

I was invested in the success of every player on the team, but I felt even more dedicated to helping Colt, Tristan, and Xavier. Colt for obvious reasons—he’d recommended me for the job and taken care of me after the concussion. I admired the three of them, and I’d grown closer to them in the past few weeks. Thanks to spending hours together day in and day out at work, and I felt like I understood the three of them better than anyone else.

Tristan nodded. “I feel great. Ready to dominate.”

I grinned. “Good. I feel it too—you’re ready. The team is ready,” I said with conviction.

“Goodnight,” he said, squeezing my forearm.

It was nothing more than a friendly gesture, one common among teammates. So why did my skin tingle where he’d touched me? And why was I searching for an excuse to make him stay?

I’d only been with the Rebels for a short time, but I already felt like part of the team. I’d overcome any initial prejudice, and I felt welcome, respected, valued. And much of that was thanks to Colt, Xavier, and Tristan. I’d earned my position, but they’d played offense for me with the rest of team. The three of them consistently encouraged me and advanced my goals, just as they worked together on the field to advance the ball. I wobbled on my heels, overtaken by these unexpected emotions.

“Blake? Are you okay?” Tristan grasped my forearm, holding it as if afraid I’d fall.

I was afraid I’d fall too—for the man standing before me. Which was completely ridiculous. We barely knew each other. But I had his expressions and mannerisms memorized like my playbook. I knew how he’d respond and not just to a play on the field. And that realization scared me.

“I’m great,” I said, backing away. I needed to put some space between us. Because the way he was looking at me—his emerald eyes swirling with concern—made me want something I couldn’t have. Made me believe it might actually be possible.

“You sure?” he asked, brow furrowed. His hand lingered on my arm; he was seemingly reluctant to let go.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks.” I withdrew from his touch and felt the loss immediately. Was I drawn to his charisma, captivated by his allure? Or was I just tired?

I’d been working twelve- to eighteen-hour days since I started, with only the one day off for a concussion. The season was grueling, the work never-ending. Though I’d followed the sport almost my entire life, there was a huge learning curve when it came to working for the Rebels. It wasn't enough that I knew the playbook back to front. And despite my best efforts—hours of watching film, time spent in meetings or coaching the team—I never felt fully prepared. It was a demanding job. One I loved and felt privileged to experience, but one that was intense nevertheless.

I waited until the ballroom cleared, staying behind with the other coaches before finally making my way up to my room. I had so much pent-up energy, I wished I could go for a run. I was tempted to visit the hotel fitness facility, but I knew it would only make things worse. With my body pumped up with endorphins and adrenaline, I knew it would be impossible to sleep.

Instead, I decided to review my playbook and watch a few video clips before drawing a bath. I grabbed my tablet, heading for the bed when there was a knock at the door. I figured it was one of the other coaches, so I was surprised to find Quentin standing in the hallway.

“Hey, Coach. Can you review a play with me? Real quick?” he added, perhaps sensing my hesitation.

I wasn’t opposed to helping someone who wanted to improve, but I questioned his motives. He’d had more than enough opportunities to speak with me earlier. Yet he’d waited until now. When we’d be alone, in my hotel room.

“What’s this really about?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. I was in no mood for bullshit.

“Just want to review the Scotch Bonnet, Coach.” He shrugged, but I didn’t buy it. He knew that play inside out. I’d seen him run it successfully countless times.

“Mm-hm,” I said, skepticism evident in my tone. “Then you should talk to Brian about it,” I said, thinking the coach for the special teams was better suited to address these issues.

“He’s on a call with his family. Something about his daughter being sick.” He shrugged, and I hoped everything was okay. “Anyway, thought you might be able to help me. Because I’d hate to go into the game without being fully prepared.”

I sighed, knowing he had me there. I would despise myself if I hadn’t done everything within my power to make the team successful. Just because I worked closely with the offense didn’t mean I wasn’t well-versed on special teams.

So, I moved aside, allowing him to enter. Quentin followed me over to the bed, where my tablet lay on the comforter. When I turned around to face him, he was standing inches away, and I nearly fell over.

He reached out to steady me. “Whoa there.” He grinned. We were almost evenly matched when it came to height, but he had a solid hundred pounds on me.

I stepped back to evade his touch, but the backs of my knees collided with the mattress. He inched forward, eliminating the remaining distance between us. Warning bells sounded in my head, my skin prickling with awareness at his dangerous proximity.

“Quentin,” I said, my voice stern. A warning.

“Yes, Coach.” He gave me a wicked grin, and I shuddered. The way he’d rasped my title made it felt more like a sexual ploy than a term of respect. Everything about him and the situation made my skin crawl.

“You need to back up.” I was thankful I sounded more confident than I felt. I wasn’t afraid to knee him in the balls if necessary, but I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Oh.” He shook his head with a smile, everything about him at ease. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

“Mm-hm,” I said, more to myself.

I led him over to the couch, far, far away from the bed. He sat right next to me, his thigh pressed to mine. Where Colt’s touch invigorated me, Quentin’s repulsed me. I inched away, but he resettled moments later, so we were connected again.

I cued up the video so we could see the play in action, trying to reestablish our professional boundaries. When he leaned into my space so he could touch the tablet, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood, nearly headbutting him in the process.

“All right, I think we’re done here. You can discuss this with Brian in the morning. You need to get some rest, as do I.”

“You need to relax,” he said with a wicked grin. He drew out the word “relax” so it almost came out as a hiss.

“Out. Now.” I pointed at the door, unable to muster a witty comeback. Typically, I would’ve used humor to defuse the situation. But I was so rattled, all I could focus on was getting him out of there and bolting the door behind him.

He lingered a moment longer. “Sleep well.”

He’d pushed the boundaries, but he hadn’t done anything wildly inappropriate. In fact, his actions could be considered quite tame compared to Colt’s. Even so, I felt uncomfortable about the whole thing, violated. But there was no need to report it because there was nothing to report. And calling him out on his behavior when he hadn’t actually crossed a line would only make the situation worse. He was nothing more than an entitled asshole who thought he was God’s gift to the world.

After I’d locked and bolted the door, I shed my clothes as I headed for the bathroom. If I’d thought I was amped up before, I was definitely on edge after Quentin’s unexpected visit. This called for a bath bomb, and I had the perfect new scent to try. Music played from the speaker on my phone, echoing against the tiles. The bath bomb fizzed and bubbled in the water, the scent of vanilla and ylang-ylang perfuming the air.

I sank into the large tub, letting the water lap at my skin as everything else faded away. There was something magical about a good soak, as if you could wash away all your cares in the world. I could already feel myself beginning to relax, and I closed my eyes.

Tristan’s image popped into my head unbidden, followed by those of Xavier and Colt. I couldn’t reconcile my feelings for them with what I wanted in my career. But my body—traitorous bitch that she was—didn’t care about goals or reason.

My hand drifted to my breasts, tracing and teasing them before I reached for my vibe on the edge of the tub. I switched it on, thankful it was waterproof for only about the millionth time. I slid it between my legs, teasing my clit, feeling the pressure build.

Colt’s lips. Tristan’s mouth. Xavier’s—

Someone rapped on the door to my room, and I froze. I mentally cursed whoever had interrupted me, while chiding myself. What was I thinking? Fantasizing about not one but three of my players?

The vibrator continued to hum against my clit, teasing the sensitive nub. When I didn’t hear anything more, desire prevailed over reason. I couldn’t help myself. It felt too good to stop, and I told myself maybe I’d imagined the whole thing.

I was so close, too close to stop.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I was like a dog who kept getting too close to the electric fence, and every knock pulsed through me with a warning. Stop. Turn back before you get hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut and switched off the vibrator. Whoever it was, was insistent. And if it was one of the coaches, it wouldn’t matter if I were asleep, they’d expect me to answer. If Quentin had returned, well… I intended to give him a piece of my mind.

I hopped out of the tub and secured the robe around my waist, water droplets making an abstract connect-the-dots pattern on the carpet in my wake. I opened the door with a huff, only to find Xavier on the other side. He kept his eyes on the floor, twisting his hands together as if plagued by uncertainty.

“What can I do for you, Xavier?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe.

What was with these guys? It was the night before a game. They should be relaxing in their rooms, not hitting up their coach for last-minute advice. Or sex, in Quentin’s case. Yet here I stood, opening the door for my second player of the evening.

I was irritated with him for interrupting my bath. But more than that, I was mad at myself for fantasizing about Xavier and two other players. The universe was playing a cruel joke on me—sending me one of the objects of my fantasy, while reminding me exactly why I couldn’t have him. What the hell had I been thinking?

He lifted his head, scanning my bare feet, my body clad only in a plush white robe. The fabric was soft against my skin, but my nipples tightened, rubbing against the cloth. He was standing only feet away, but it felt like we were miles apart. I didn’t understand why the urge to touch him was so strong, but I knew I had to fight it.

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave me a sheepish grin. “Hey, Coach,” he said, his usually rich voice somewhat strangled.

“Xavier,” I said, my voice curt.

When he hesitated, I realized maybe he was waiting for me to invite him in. We were silent a moment longer, him staring at the patterned carpet of the hotel hallway. He seemed genuinely distressed, and I finally relented, taking pity on him. I didn’t want anything standing in the way of his performance tomorrow.

“You may as well come in,” I sighed, knowing my bath was now ruined, and my inappropriate fantasies with it.

I noticed him glancing around the room as if looking for something—or someone. His eyes darted to the nightstand where my tablet was resting, and I was grateful I’d left my vibrator in the bathroom.

“Looks like you’re, uh, you’re alone.” He rocked on his heels. For such a big guy, he was surprisingly agile.

My brow furrowed. “Of course, I’m alone. It’s the night before a big game. No one is allowed to have overnight guests. You know that.”

“Right, yes.” He shook his head, and suddenly I felt bad for being short with him. “Well, that’s good. I just, I thought your boyfriend might be visiting. And I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Boyfriend?” I cocked my head to the side. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh. I thought…well, I’ve seen you with a tall, pale guy with red hair,” he said.

I shook my head and laughed. “That’s Bastian.”

“The roommate?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Yes. And—” I leaned forward, not sure why I felt the need to share “—he has a huge crush on Colt.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh, I see. Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

He turned and headed for the door, and I wondered why he’d stopped by. If it had all been a pretense. But for what?

“Xavier, it’s fine. Is something bothering you?” I asked. He seemed on edge, but it could just be pregame jitters.

He let out a loud huff, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” I said, sensing it was definitely something. “Tell me.”

“I need to bring my A game this season.”

“Don’t we all?” I asked, understanding the desire to win. The need to win. There was a lot at stake—careers, money, lives.

His shoulders slumped, his expression was downturned. I sensed this went deeper than a need to succeed. From what I knew of Xavier, I couldn’t imagine him getting into trouble like so many other players, but still, I had to ask.

“Are you in some kind of trouble? Drugs? Women? You can tell me. This is a judgment-free zone.”

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “No,” he said more firmly. “I don’t do drugs or women.” His eyes widened, and I spluttered out a cough. “Wait. I do women. Oh, geez,” he said, covering his face with his hands. Poor guy, he was adorably shy, and I found his good-natured innocence refreshing.

“Xavier,” I said, placing a hand on his forearm and tugging gently. My palm tingled from the touch, from the heat radiating from his skin. “I understand what you were trying to say. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

He uncovered his face, and I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m under a lot of pressure this season, more than ever. My contract is up for renewal, and my family relies on me. Relies on my income.”

I found it endearing that a man like Xavier could own up to his fears. Despite being bashful, he wasn’t shy when it came to sharing his feelings. And to me, that showed great strength.

“I can understand that,” I said, wanting to know more about this man and his life beyond football. I told myself it was because it would give me insight to help him be a better player, but I knew that wasn’t entirely true. “Is your family pressuring you?”

He shook his head. “No. Not intentionally, anyway. I just know how hard my momma worked her whole life. And I can’t bear the idea of disappointing her.”

“Xavier,” I said, placing my hand on his back. It looked minuscule in comparison, dainty and fragile even with my long fingers splayed across the broad surface. “I seriously doubt you could ever disappoint your momma.”

“I hope you’re right.” His expression was glum, and I wanted to reach out and give him a hug.

“I know I am,” I said with conviction. “If you give it your best, there’s nothing more anyone could ask of you.” He nodded, and I knew he was absorbing my words. “And I’ve seen you in practice and the preseason games. I see you putting it all on the line.”

He finally glanced up, his gaze meeting mine. “Thanks, Blake,” he said. His shoulders were more relaxed, and a smile played at his lips.

“Now, you better get back to your room before bed check,” I said. “I don’t think Momma Lee would approve of you being busted on curfew because you were in a woman’s room. Even if that woman also happens to be your coach.” I grinned.

I followed him to the door, unable to resist checking out his butt. Lifted and firm, it was ripe for the pinching. I shook my head, returning my gaze to a more appropriate location.

“She wouldn’t be happy about it, though I do think she’d like you.” He smiled, his brilliant teeth blinding me like a toothpaste commercial. I found myself imagining his minty fresh breath playing across my lips, and I schooled my expression into something more neutral.

“I’d love to meet her,” I said, watching as his forearm flexed with the motion of opening the door. Why was my body so attuned to his every movement?

“And Xavier—” I was careful to keep my voice soft as I leaned out of my room and into the hallway. He turned back to look at me. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

He met my eyes as a warm smile formed on his full lips. “Me too.”

The door shut with a snick, and I leaned my forehead against it. What was I doing? I was glad Xavier felt comfortable sharing his concerns with me, and I’d meant what I said—this was a judgment-free zone.

That said, maybe I needed to look at my own thoughts and actions with a more critical eye. Supporting a player, being a friend was okay; lusting after them, fantasizing about them was not. Xavier, Colt, and Tristan were a distraction, and I needed to get my head in the game.