A whistle was blown. Penalty flag thrown. Shit.

I stared at the field where the referee called another penalty for the Rebels. We just couldn’t catch a break tonight. Between the bad calls and San Francisco’s impenetrable defense, we couldn’t seem to score.

I didn’t know why I’d expected anything different—this week had gone from bad to worse. Ever since I’d kissed Tristan, I thought. No, I corrected. I hadn’t kissed Tristan. He’d kissed me. More than kissed, if I were being honest. Which I wasn’t. Because I’d spent the rest of the week trying to forget all about it. If Bastian’s mantra was “never say never,” then mine was “it never happened.” And I’d repeated it in my head over and over and fucking over.

I let out a deep sigh, trying to remain calm. Collected. The team looked to me and the other coaches during a game, especially when we were losing. And right now, we were being annihilated.

Quentin stomped off the field, throwing his helmet on the sidelines. Figured. He was just the type to throw a temper tantrum. Losing a game didn’t make you a loser unless you acted like one. He needed to get it together.

“Fucking nightmare,” he said, pacing in front of me. If he didn’t move the fuck out of my way, and soon, he was going to be eating turf.

“The ref,” he grumbled. But I couldn’t hear anything else over the roar of the San Francisco fans. And since it was an away game, it felt like the entire stadium was made up of San Francisco fans.

I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned and met my eyes. Using my thumb, I gestured for him to take a hike.

“What?” he yelled.

“Go cool off. Get some water,” I said, though I wanted to tell him to quit acting like a baby. He glared at me, standing his ground a moment before marching off.

Were we going to lose? Almost certainly. I wasn’t being pessimistic; it was pretty much assured this late in the game, short of a miracle. But we could go down fighting. And in the likely event that we lost, we should accept defeat with some dignity.

The rest of the game was no better, and I watched the final minute count down with relief. Soon, I told myself. Soon, we would be put out of our misery.

Back in the locker room, everyone was silent. It was our first loss of the season, and it had been brutal. Coach Sawyers made a quick speech, pointing out some of our problem areas, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on it. There were showers to be had, interviews to be given, and a flight to catch. And tomorrow, the cycle would start all over again.

Meetings, practice, and film playing on an endless loop day in and day out. Same schedule, different challenges. Different opponent. It was grueling, and despite my love of the game, I found myself counting down until off-season.

I shook my head as I walked down the ramp to board the plane. What was I thinking? I’d dreamed about this opportunity for years, and I should make the most of my limited time with the Rebels. Because nothing was guaranteed for the rest of this season, let alone after.

I needed to stop dwelling on the kiss with Tristan, my failures as a coach, and the team’s loss. I needed to keep my eyes on the ball and my head in the game. Which meant maintaining a healthy professional distance from the players.

I took a seat near the back of the charter jet, waiting for the rest of the team to file in. I doubted Air Force One was much nicer than this VIP 737. It was like the entire plane had been outfitted as first class, but on an even nicer scale than you’d see on most commercial flights. Even though it wasn’t my first flight on this plane, I still couldn’t get over the opulence.

Oversized leather chairs were clustered in groups of four, centered around a small table for refreshments. And the refreshments…well, they were vastly better than most flights. No alcohol, but all the hard-boiled eggs, sports drinks and bars, and kale chips you could eat. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. No expense had been spared, and whatever the players wanted was all but guaranteed.

Tyrese and Quentin walked down the aisle, bypassing groups of seats. I kept my eyes on my tablet, hoping they wouldn’t try to sit with me. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with them tonight, and I was relieved when they opted for a cluster of chairs on the opposite side of the aisle.

I smiled when Xavier headed my direction. But it immediately turned to a frown when I spotted Tristan just behind him. Tristan ignored me completely, stopping at a seat over the wing, far away from me.

Colt tugged on his arm, trying to get him to venture farther back, but he refused to budge. A good thing too, because I didn’t think I could handle being near Tristan right now. I’d already been avoiding him all week. Well, as much as I could considering our jobs relied on us working together. Interacting with Tristan was unavoidable, but I’d kept my distance as much as possible.

“Is anyone sitting here?” Xavier asked, indicating the chair next to mine.

“Nope,” I said. “Be my guest.”

“Thanks.” He sank down into the chair with a sigh, immediately leaning his head back against the buttery leather and closing his eyes. One of the guys from PR took the seat across from us, immediately putting his headphones on. He was so focused on his open laptop, it was as if he wasn’t there.

Once everyone was on board, the cabin door was closed. The flight attendant gave a quick safety demonstration, and then we were taxiing toward the runway. I leaned my head back, wishing I could leave my troubles behind just as easily as we’d left the ground below.

I sighed, sinking farther into the chair. Away games were freaking exhausting regardless of the outcome. As if the adrenaline rush, the emotional roller coaster of the game, weren’t enough, you had the added whirlwind of travel. It was probably one of my least favorite parts of the job. Because it didn’t matter how late you got back Sunday night, Monday morning was always waiting. And it was even more punishing after a late flight.

“I’m so excited,” Xavier muttered with absolutely zero enthusiasm.

The corner of my mouth curved into a smile, and I turned to look at him. “Oh yeah? And why would that be?” I asked, amused that he was employing my little reverse psychology trick.

“Kale chips, of course,” he deadpanned. He inclined his head toward the aisle, where the flight attendants were filling drink orders and handing out snacks.

“Hey!” I opened my mouth in mock outrage. “I happen to think they’re delicious.”

“You think everything’s delicious.” He grinned, his arm brushing against mine.

“I do not,” I said, surprised by how upbeat he was, considering the loss. While everyone else was busy playing on their tablets or resting, Xavier was joking with me. “Just because I can’t cook to save my life doesn’t mean I have no taste.”

I moved my arm so we were no longer touching. After the-incident-that-never-happened with Tristan, I’d been on edge all week. I felt guilty for what had happened, or not happened, as I kept telling myself. And I felt like everyone knew what we’d done and could sense it.

“Prove me wrong. Name something that tastes disgusting to you.” He lifted an eyebrow, challenging me.

“Hmm.” I tapped my finger to my lips. “One of Bastian’s brews this summer tasted like air freshener.” I shuddered at the memory.

Xavier cringed. “That sounds awful. He brews his own beer?”

“He’s kind of obsessed with it. At least for the moment,” I joked.

“And what’s your latest obsession?” he asked.

You. Tristan. Colt.

But I couldn’t say that. Shouldn’t have even thought it. So, I went with the least sexy thing I could think of. “Socks.”

“Socks?” he sputtered a laugh. “What kind of socks are we talking here? Cotton, cashmere, crew, knee-high?”

We were veering into dangerous territory, our witty banter borderline flirtatious. And it was my responsibility to steer us to safer waters. I was the coach, and I was in control. I hadn’t been with Tristan, but I vowed not to let something similar happen with Xavier.

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my sock obsession.” I waved a hand through the air.

He grinned. “I’m quite positive I do. And the more you stall, the more curious I become.”

“Shouldn’t we—I don’t know—be talking about the game or something?” I asked, remembering where I was and who we were.

“I’d rather hear more about you.” His chocolate eyes blinked back at me, and I knew I couldn’t refuse him. Of all the players, Xavier was one of the sweetest. He was also talented, handsome, and so much more. So, when he said he wanted to hear more about me, he was merely echoing my thoughts about him.

“Fine,” I huffed, annoyed with myself for caving so easily. Annoyed by my lack of restraint when it came to Xavier, Tristan, and Colt. Annoyed with them for making me reckless. “But if we do this—” I narrowed my eyes, pointing at him over the armrest “—you have to tell me about one of your quirks.”

He thought about it a moment before he said, “Deal. Now, spill.”

After accepting some snacks and a drink from the flight attendant, I launched into my lifelong quest for the perfect sock like I was a knight searching for the Holy Grail. I expected Xavier to be bored out of his mind, but he was actively listening. He was making jokes and smiling, interested to know more about my weird obsession.

“So, how expensive are these magical socks exactly?” he asked when I told him about my latest discovery. They were the most amazing socks I’d ever worn, and I’d stocked up in fear they’d change the style or go out of business.

“Let’s just say I’ve thrown more money at socks over the last year than most women spend on lingerie.”

His eyes darkened, the milk-chocolate color turning molten. Oh, dear god. I swallowed hard, my skin heating. If Xavier kept looking at me like that, I was going to be peeling off more than my socks.

“All right,” I finally said. “Your turn.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked, his expression open, his lips parted. He was so beautiful, his ebony skin a stark contrast against his pearly white teeth.

I’d always been intrigued by his dreads, and I couldn’t help myself. “I gotta know—what’s the story on your hair?”

He leaned his head back against the seat, a soft chuckle bubbling out of his throat. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What?” I shrugged. “It’s a valid question.”

“One that a quick internet search would answer.”

“Let’s pretend I haven’t searched for info about you online. Because, you know, I’m not a stalker,” I teased.

“Should I be hurt you haven’t Googled me?” he asked, a sardonic twist to his luscious lips.

“I haven’t Googled anyone on the team. Well, that’s not true,” I added. “I did pull up your stats and a few of the other players’ for Bastian’s fantasy draft.”

“Aww.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I’m on his fantasy team?”

I nodded. If Bastian could see this warrior of a man gushing over the fact that he was on his fantasy team, Bastian would die. Though I’d given him tickets to the home games, I hadn’t introduced him to any of the team yet. Well, apart from that morning he’d briefly met Colt and Tristan. For one, there hadn’t been time. But I also wasn’t sure Bastian could be trusted to behave himself.

“So…the hair?” I asked.

“Right, the hair,” he huffed, turning serious. “It’s for the ladies.”

“It is not.” I slapped his arm, both of us laughing a little too loud.

A few of the players around us turned to look, but they quickly resumed ignoring us once again. I shook out my hand, my palm stinging from the impact of slapping his bicep.

“Now, what’s the real story?” I kept my voice low, leaning in so we were huddling over the armrest like a pair of co-conspirators.

“It’s for my mom.” That surprised me. If anything, I’d assume she’d want him to keep it short. To have a more traditional hairstyle. “She sacrificed her dreams so her children would be able to achieve theirs. She’s the reason I have a college degree. And she’s the reason I’m here today, playing in the NFL. Everything I have is because of her.”

“Wow,” I breathed, stunned by his admission. “But why dreads? Why not—I don’t know—a tattoo?”

“She always liked it when I grew my hair out. So, it seemed like a fitting tribute to her.”

I already thought Xavier was one of the sweetest guys on the team, and this confession only cemented that belief. The way he spoke about his mom—with such reverence and respect—made my heart ache. I understood what it was like to love and admire your parents. And I also knew what it was like to have them make sacrifices for you.

As always, my thoughts drifted to my mom and the choices she’d made. Family over a career. Love over her dreams. She’d missed out on going on a space mission and spent a lifetime wondering what could have been. I didn’t want to wonder.

“You can say it,” Xavier said, breaking me from my somber thoughts. “Everyone does. I’m a momma’s boy.”

I laughed. “I think it’s really sweet. And I bet she couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“What about your parents?” he asked. “Are you close to them?”

“My dad, yes. He comes to all the games, and he’s always been my biggest fan.” I didn’t mention my mom. It had been an emotional day, and there was no way I could talk about her now. Not without crying.

I shifted in my chair, needing a change of subject. “So…let’s talk maintenance. Are they a pain to take care of?”

“Not too bad,” he answered, though I sensed he wasn’t telling me everything. And when he dipped his head to his chest, unwilling to meet my eyes, I knew I was onto something.

“Come on, Xavier. You’re talking to a girl whose male roommate has a collection of skincare products that could rival Sephora. And remember what I always say—”

“Judgment-free zone.” He held his pointer fingers in the air and drew the outline of a square.

He finally muttered something, his voice barely audible over the hum of the jet engine. So I leaned closer, cupping my hand to my ear. He smelled so good, I could lick him—coconutty and tropical, like a piña colada.

“My shampoo is absurdly expensive. Like, I’m embarrassed to admit how much it costs,” he said.

“Are we talking a hundred?” I asked, thinking the amount had to be less than that. I was sure you could buy shampoo for a hundred dollars, but not in any store I visited.

He jerked his thumb upward, indicating it was more. “Two?” I asked, trying not to gape.

Xavier hung his head, clearly dismayed by his indulgence. I could honestly say it surprised me he would even consider spending that much on hair products. Especially in light of how frugal Xavier was the rest of the time. He drove a car that wasn’t the latest model. He wore nice clothes, but they weren’t the high-end designer labels Colt and Tristan preferred. And he mentioned setting aside money for his family. Everyone had their thing—that one thing they splurged on—and apparently, hair was Xavier’s.

“I’m ashamed to admit that the amount I spend on a bottle of shampoo could feed a family for a week.” Most guys at his income level wouldn’t have given it a second thought, spending money on luxury items without a care for the extravagance. Not Xavier.

I stared at the ropes of hair hanging from his head in neat lines. Sometimes, during practice, they frizzed out, creating this fabulous fro. But today, they were shiny. “Your hair is pretty awesome though.” He grinned, and I felt bold or stupid enough to ask, “Can I touch it?”

“I wish you would,” he husked, though I wasn’t entirely sure if he was referring solely to his dreads at this point. Maybe I was imagining things, I told myself.

My wanting to touch his hair had nothing to do with my attraction to him; I was merely…curious. Yeah, that was it.

I reached over, using my thumb and pointer finger to explore the strands of hair woven together. It was…different than I’d expected. His hair was surprisingly soft, though I could feel a core of strength. I could only imagine how odd it felt to have dreads on your head. Though, I guess like anything else, you got used to it.

“Interesting,” I finally said.

“Interesting good? Like, oh, this bacon chocolate bar is delicious even though it’s a little different. Or interesting bad? Like, I just drank craft beer that tastes like mold, and now I need to exfoliate my taste buds.”

I laughed at his analogy. “Are you hungry?”

“Always,” he said.

“You wouldn’t be if you’d accepted the kale chips.” I held up my now almost empty bag. “And I’d definitely go with good interesting.”

His lips curved into a smile, and I warmed from the inside out. Spending time with Xavier was like drinking a mug of hot chocolate. He was sweet and warm, his presence comforting. And it only confirmed my earlier assessment—he was a big teddy bear.

By the time we touched down in Boston, I was floating. Thanks to Xavier, I no longer felt weighed down by defeat. I’d even forgotten about the situation with Tristan, at least temporarily. Because when Xavier smiled and laughed, when he opened up to me, speaking in that rich voice of his, I was compelled to listen.

He was just as passionate about my interests as I was, and it gave me pause. Because for the first time in years, I could actually see a future with the man sitting next to me. Unlike most men, I didn’t view Xavier as a threat to my dreams, but rather an asset to help me accomplish my goals.