Tristan was in my sights, but he wasn’t going to make this easy on me. My heels clicked against the floors like a horse galloping at a decent clip, though I wasn’t jogging. No, I was—what did the kids at football camp call it?—wogging.

Fortunately, we were the only two people in the hallway, and I wasn’t afraid to resort to drastic measures. I picked up speed, easily gaining on him thanks to my long legs.

“Don’t make me tackle you,” I said, sick of staring at his back. Ugh, why did it have to be so sexy? Sculpted shoulders. Tapered waist. Rounded ass.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He didn’t look back, but I could still hear him.

“Then stop being childish,” I said.

He spun to face me. “You want to talk about being childish?” He grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the nearest room and shutting the door behind us.

The lights flickered on, and it was only then I realized we were in a storage room of sorts. Trophies and photographs lined the walls, a few pieces of office furniture and file boxes scattered throughout. It was a large room, cavernous even, like a treasure trove of Rebels memorabilia and artwork.

“Wow,” I breathed, glancing around to take it all in. There were autographed footballs, jerseys, and more. And it was all just sitting here collecting dust.

Tristan released my wrist, following me through the maze of boxes to explore. Tension simmered beneath the surface, but we were both silent. Reverent. It was difficult not to be, immersed as we were in the history and legacy of the team we both loved.

“Do you remember when you first fell in love with football?” I asked, my fingers skimming along a stack of framed photographs.

Tristan didn’t answer, but I knew he was listening. So, I continued. “For me, it was when my dad took me to my first Rebels game. It was my eighth birthday, and everything about it was exhilarating.” I sighed at the memory. The cannons, the cheerleaders, the fans. It was like a carnival for the senses.

I could remember my mom asking me what I wanted for my birthday, my dad standing behind her at the stove. I’d said I wanted to see a Rebels game, and my dad beamed as he stirred the chili. It probably drove my mother crazy that her only daughter was so obsessed with the sport, but she never showed it.

“Let me guess,” Tristan said, startling me from my memories. “They won.”

I laughed to myself. “No, actually. They lost, even though the game went into overtime.” Tristan shook his head with a wry grin, his earlier anger now a faint flicker like a distant star. “But the level of play was incredible. Even though I was young, I sensed it was something momentous. Something people would talk about for years to come. Something I wanted to be a part of—making history.”

“Are you talking about the 2006-07 season, Rebels versus—”

“Detroit,” we finished at the same time, and I nodded.

Tristan looked at me as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. There was a spark of mutual understanding, a connection that went deeper than a shared love for football. Recognition lit his eyes, and I knew he understood me in a way many couldn’t. That game was the stuff of legend, and we were both driven by the need to leave that sort of legacy. It was clear in everything he did, from his work ethic to his encyclopedic knowledge of the playbook. Sometimes I wondered if he shouldn’t be doing my job, that’s how well-versed he was on the plays.

I lingered by a shelf of trophies, reading the tiny engraved description. I’d given Tristan an opening, and I was going to wait for him to speak. But even the silence wasn’t bad; it was actually comfortable, nice.

“Football is the one thing that was never handed to me,” he finally said. “I worked for it.” He pointed to his chest with considerable force. “I earned it.” He tapped his chest again, punctuating the statement.

“And do you know what my family thinks of me?” he continued, not waiting for my answer. “They think I’m wasting my time when I should be joining the family business. They thought I was joking when I said I was going to sign with the Rebels.”

I guess it didn’t matter who you were—there was always someone who wanted to bring you down. Someone who attempted to crush your dreams. People sucked.

“If they can’t see how talented you are and how much you love it…” I shook my head, unable to find the words to respond. Well, I certainly had a number of things to say about his shitty family, but I thought it best to keep my opinion to myself.

“When I was a kid and people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up,” I said. “I’d always tell them I wanted to play in the NFL. And you know what? They’d laugh, or worse, think it was cute.”

“In all fairness,” he said, stepping closer. “I’d think it was pretty cute if an eight-year-old Blake with blond hair and blue eyes told me it was her dream to play in the NFL.” My hand itched to slap him. “And I’d tell her to go for it.”

“Really?” I cocked my head to the side. “Why?”

“Because everyone deserves to believe in the beauty of their dreams. If people didn’t dream, we wouldn’t have smartphones or rubber-soled shoes. We wouldn’t have airplanes or astronauts.”

“Exactly,” I said, our earlier anger replaced by respect and mutual understanding. There was something more there too, but I didn’t dare explore it. Immersed in Rebels memorabilia, steeped in football history, I remembered what was important to me. I remembered the beauty of my dreams.

“Blake.” He stepped closer, and I feared he might kiss me. Feared it as much as I craved it. “I owe you an apology. I was upset about my shoulder, and I crossed the line.”

I nodded, digging my nails into my palm to stop myself from touching him. “I should’ve been more professional, both that night at Jared’s and since. I’m sorry I took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed support.”

He chuckled, creases lining the corners of his eyes. Why did he have to be so sexy? This was torture.

“Took advantage of me? Pretty sure I was the one who took advantage of the situation.”

“Either way,” I said. “I don’t want to mess with your mojo anymore.”

“My mojo?” He burst out laughing, the action completely transforming his face. He was no longer the tortured man with secrets; he was stunning. His smile reached his eyes, his face alight with joy. “I think my mojo will be just fine.”

“So, does that mean you’ll stop with all the brooding BS?” I asked.

“I’ve been told it’s my best quality,” he deadpanned.

I rolled my eyes. “While you may excel at it, I’m afraid if you keep it up, you’re at risk of being renamed as the mope instead of the Monk.”

He frowned. “That’s the most ridiculous nickname I’ve ever heard.”

“Well then, you better stop moping,” I teased before turning more serious. “Or at least stop pushing everyone away. You have to know they’re all worried about you—Coach Sawyers, Colt, Xavier, the team.”

“And what about you?” he asked, inching closer. His eyes were focused on my mouth, and a sigh left my parted lips.

“Tristan.” I placed my hand on his forearm before realizing what I’d done. I quickly yanked it away. Still, that didn’t stop the jolt of awareness that shot up my arm. “I respect you as a player, and I see how hard you work. I’m here for you, but don’t mistake my kindness for anything more. I meant what I said—the incident at Jared’s never happened.”

He stared at me a moment, his moss-green eyes searching mine. Finally, he nodded and stepped back to give us both some space.

“Is this going to be an issue?” I asked, needing confirmation that we could move forward. That we could work together without further incident.

He shook his head. “I am the Monk, remember?”

“Yes, you are,” I said. “Just don’t take it too far, okay? Talk to someone about what you’re going through. I don’t care if it’s me or Colt or even Amy.” His eyes flickered to mine, brows furrowed. “Just don’t keep your feelings to yourself.”

I was such a freaking hypocrite. I was encouraging him to share his feelings, when I was keeping my own bottled up. But what choice did I have? I was attracted to Tristan, but today’s trip down memory lane was a powerful reminder to keep my eye on the prize.

Later that week, I let myself into the apartment after work, surprised to find Bastian sitting on the couch watching TV. He rarely stayed home on a Friday night, though it was still relatively early.

“Hey, B.” He glanced over the back of the couch.

“Hey.” I slipped off my shoes and set my tote on the floor. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Nothing. Why? You want to go out?” he asked as a cooking show played in the background.

I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” I didn’t have to be at work until eight in the morning. A few drinks wouldn’t kill me. Besides, I felt like I’d earned them.

“Really?” He gaped. “You never go out anymore. You never let loose.”

“Then you better take me up on it before I change my mind,” I threw over my shoulder as I walked toward my room. Bastian didn’t say anything, but I heard him switch off the TV and shuffle toward his own room.

Thirty minutes later, I was ready to go and waiting for Bastian. What was new? I perched on the arm of the couch, watching TV. A clip from the Rebels game last week came on, and I cringed when San Francisco intercepted the ball.

That entire week had been a mess from start to finish. It was like the kiss with Tristan had set off a downward spiral that ended in defeat. Fortunately, this week had been much better. Tristan and I had reached a new understanding after our one-on-one. The lines between us had been redrawn, and I’d resolved to resume a professional relationship. No touching. No kissing. Nothing more than colleagues.

My head knew it was a good thing, but my heart wasn’t convinced. Because my heart kept telling me it wanted Xavier, Tristan, and Colt. And my heart needed to shut the hell up and stop acting crazy. One player on my team would’ve been bad enough, but three? Three made absolutely no sense. How was it even possible to be attracted to three men?

I told myself it wasn’t surprising we’d grown close, considering the circumstances. Common interests and mutual goals. A grueling schedule not many outsiders understood or could relate to. The pressure cooker environment we lived in. It was only natural I cared about them. I was their coach, after all. Wasn’t it a good thing I respected and admired the players on my team?

But when it came to Xavier, Colt, and Tristan, it was more than that. So much more. I was attracted to sweet and humble Xavier. I was drawn to caring and mischievous Colt. I was sucked in by Tristan, who was disciplined and passionate. Not to mention they had incredible bodies, like works of art. So yes, I wanted Xavier, Tristan, and Colt, but I didn’t have to act on it. I couldn’t.

Which was why I had a new plan. I’d decided my attraction was nothing more than the result of an extended dry spell. I’d been so busy with my job, so distracted by the three amigos, I hadn’t had sex in months. And that was why I was going out with Bastian tonight. I was going to get the three of them out of my system once and for all.

A wolf whistle startled me from my thoughts. “Damn,” he said, drawing out the word. “You look hot,” Bastian said, his eyes scanning the navy dress that clung to my curves. “You ready?”

I scoffed. “You’re asking me? I’ve been ready for twenty minutes.”

“You don’t have to be salty about it,” he teased, locking the door behind us. “So, where are we going tonight?”

“I actually get a say?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t you always?” He leaned forward to press the call button for the elevator. “How about O’Malley’s?”

“I thought ‘the beer was shit’?” I asked, quoting him.

“Perhaps I was a bit harsh.” He sniffed, lifting his chin.

I took a moment to look at him, really look at him. Bastian always looked nice—well dressed and well groomed. But he seemed to have put in a little extra effort tonight. Interesting.

“This is about a guy, isn’t it?” A blush bloomed on his pale cheeks, and I knew I was onto something. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“They hired a new bartender, and he’s super cute. Plus, I totally get the vibe that he’s interested.” I hadn’t seen Bastian get this excited about a guy in a while. Though, I hadn’t gone out with him in a while either. Not since I’d started with the Rebels.

“Does this mean you’ve finally given up on Colt?” I asked.

“I’ll never give up on Colt. But…I don’t know. Jason’s sweet and funny.” A soft smile graced his lips.

“And cute,” I said, surprised by all the fluffy adjectives. Bastian usually went for the guys who were tattooed and standoffish, not cute. And he never got to know them well enough to talk about their personality. He must really like this Jason guy. Which only made me even more curious to meet him.

“So, O’Malley’s or what?” he asked.

“Sure.” I shrugged. O’Malley’s was as good a place as any to pick someone up. Plus, it was close.

The bar was packed, music and conversation battling for dominance. Bastian pushed me ahead of him, using me as a human shield to part the crowd until we finally made it to the bar. One of the bartenders smiled when he spotted Bastian, reaching across the counter to shake hands with him. I figured he must be Jason, and my suspicions were confirmed a moment later when they started eye-fucking each other.

When they finally broke out of their trance, Bastian introduced me and then ordered us two beers. He leaned on the counter, sipping his, while I scanned the crowd, contemplating my prospects. Too short. Boring hair. Creepy vibe.

“Did you have a good week?” Bastian asked.

“I did.” I took another sip of my beer.

Even though I continued to assist Steven with the QCC role, I was also spending more time working with the players on their mental game. I was less stressed than I’d been in weeks, and I found myself enjoying the job more. For so many years, I’d been driven by the idea of coaching in the NFL. Now I’d experienced a brief taste of it, and I only wanted more. But different.

I wanted to spend less time watching film and analyzing the opponent, and more time understanding my team. I wanted to know what made the players tick. I wanted to know what motivated them. I wanted to know what I could do to make them better, stronger—inside and out.

And I’d been calmer now that Tristan and I had cleared the air. I almost began to believe we could forget all about the incident that “never happened” and be friends. Still, a sense of unease plagued me, especially in quiet moments. Could I trust Tristan to keep the kiss a secret? And what about Shay? There was no denying what she’d walked in on. If she decided to tell anyone what happened, we were screwed.

“What about you?” I asked, not wishing to dwell on it. Worrying wouldn’t change anything, and tonight was about having fun, letting go.

“Can’t complain,” he said. “You think we’ll win this week?”

“I think we have a great chance.”

When my glass was almost empty, Jason placed a fresh beer in front of me. “From the guy down there,” he said with a lift of his chin.

I followed his eyes to where a guy was leaning against the bar, elbow resting on the surface and a glass of whiskey in hand. He was tall, taller than me if I had to guess. Which was definitely a point in his favor. His dark brown hair was parted to one side and smoothed over, and he was dressed in jeans and a tailored jacket. Not bad, though a bit buttoned-up. I could be totally off base, but he probably worked as a financial advisor of some sort.

He was handsome, and he was interested. And that was really all I needed to know. So, I smiled and lifted my glass in his direction.

As I’d expected, it didn’t take long for banker boy to approach. He was even more attractive up close, but I didn’t feel anything. No jolt. No spark. Not when he touched my hand, nor when he leaned in to speak in my ear. I had a gorgeous man who was totally interested, yet I couldn’t muster an ounce of excitement.

Determined to follow through on my plan, I leaned closer and placed my lips against his ear. “Meet me in the bathroom.”

He nodded, and I felt his eyes on me as I walked away. When I got there, all I could think about was Tristan and our bathroom encounter. His lips, his body, his hands. Gah. Stop.

The door opened, and banker boy let himself in. I didn’t know his name, and I didn’t care. I just needed to get off so I could get on with my life.

I pulled him to me, and he smashed his lips to mine. He was a fine kisser if a bit aggressive, but nothing like Tristan. His hands were all over me, his hard-on digging into my belly. And I stood there, trying to feel something, anything. When he skimmed his hand up my thigh, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

“I can’t do this,” I said, placing my hand over his to stop him.

Dazed eyes met mine, his hair wild, and his lips swollen. “Come on, babe.” He placed his hand back on my thigh, his other pulling me roughly to him.

I batted his hands away. “I said stop.”

He didn’t listen, continuing to paw at me despite my protests.

“No.” I placed my hands on his chest, using all my strength to push him away.

That finally got his attention, and he stared at me in disbelief. His chest rose and fell in an exaggerated movement, his breathing ragged. “I didn’t take you for a fucking cocktease,” he said in a guttural voice.

“And I didn’t take you for a complete dick,” I said, straightening my clothes. “Now get out of my way before I knee you in the balls.”

He stepped aside, and I left him standing there with his pants undone and no regrets.

“Let’s go,” I said to Bastian as soon as I reached the bar.

“Done already? That must be a new record,” he teased.

“Changed my mind. Now, are you coming or not?” I glanced around, keeping an eye out for banker boy. I really did not want to face him again.

Bastian stood, taking one last gulp of his beer. He waved to Jason, and the bartender smiled back at him.

I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure banker boy wasn’t following us. I knew he was pissed about having blue balls, but I just could not follow through. I didn’t owe him an apology. I didn’t owe him anything. Still, I shivered just thinking about the dark look in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Bastian asked once we were outside.

“Yep,” I said, though I totally wasn’t.

I was shaken by banker boy’s aggressive behavior, but it was more than that. He was handsome and willing, and I’d had zero interest in him. And I had a feeling it wasn’t who he was, but rather who he wasn’t—Tristan, Xavier, or Colt.

My plan had backfired spectacularly. I’d left with the intent to fuck them out of my system, and I’d ended up screwing myself over in the process.

“You sure?” he asked, his tone more serious. “It’s not like you to turn down some D. Did something happen?”

“Wouldn’t you be the first to know if it had?” I asked, and my chest tightened. Bastian was the one person I’d always been completely honest with. The one person who knew everything about me and still loved me. Everything but this.

I could barely admit to myself I wanted Xavier, Colt, and Tristan. Individually, they were incredible, and I’d be lucky to have any one of them. But together, my breath hitched. Together, they were an unstoppable team, and they’d somehow managed to blitz their way into my heart.