Saturday came and went, and then it was game day. I shuffled down to the ballroom for breakfast. I hadn’t slept well the last two nights, tossing and turning as I obsessed over my predicament. I might be conflicted and confused and horny, but at least the team seemed well-rested.

Tristan had been in a much better mood since our one-on-one. And the three amigos seemed as tight as ever. I wondered if Tristan had told the other two about his injury and potential retirement, but it wasn’t my business. If he wanted to talk to me, he would.

“Ladies first,” Quentin said, gesturing for me to go ahead of him.

We’d arrived at the same time, so I didn’t feel bad jumping ahead of him. He brushed against me while I reached for the eggs, and I bristled at the contact. He and Tyrese seemed intent on ingratiating themselves with me, and I still didn’t understand why. Especially not when I’d made my feelings clear.

Xavier approached before I reached the end of the buffet. “Morning, Blake. Want to join us?” He indicated a table where Tristan and Colt were sitting.

Most of the coaches were seated together, but a few were spread out among the team. I nodded, grabbing some fruit before following him over. Tristan was listening to music, his earbuds in and his game face on. The corner of his lips lifted when he saw me, but otherwise, he was in the zone.

“I don’t want to interrupt any pregame rituals,” I said, glancing between Tristan and Colt. “Or bring you bad luck before the game.”

Colt shook his head with a laugh, standing to pull out a chair for me. “Please, you’re like our good luck charm. Ever since you joined the team, we’ve been dominating.”

“Well, clearly,” I said, piercing a piece of pineapple with my fork. “The team’s success is all down to me.”

“Clearly,” Colt teased.

We finished breakfast in silence, everyone focused on the game ahead. I would’ve talked if they wanted, but I sensed they needed my silent support more than anything else. I couldn’t help sneaking glances at them now and then, still trying to understand what it was that drew me to them. Why not anyone else? And why all three of them?

I closed my eyes, blocking everything out. The guys, the team, the noise. As I did before every game, I visualized the plays in my mind. Envisioned the Rebels winning the game. To some, it might seem silly, but these types of mental exercises were ingrained in me both from my time as a player and as a psychologist.

But for some reason, I was having a hard time staying focused this morning. The plays didn’t flow as smoothly in my mind as usual. Despite telling myself we were going to win, the outcome of the game seemed less assured. I didn’t know if it was due to last week’s loss or something else, but doubt pricked at the back of my mind. I drew in a breath and released it slowly, trying to ignore the heaviness weighing me down.

It was nothing more than exhaustion, I told myself as I headed up to my room to collect my things. I followed Tyrese onto the elevator, and Colt darted in at the last minute. When the doors opened to the fourth floor, Colt followed me, even though I knew his room was in the opposite direction. Everyone was acting weird, but I shrugged it off as game-day jitters. Hell, I was probably acting weird.

By the time I climbed the stairs to the bus and assumed my seat near the front, I was convinced something more was going on. Usually, I sat alone, but Xavier insisted on talking to me all the way to the stadium.

The driver from our bus crash had been released from the hospital a few weeks back, and now the team was suing his employer for not following the rules about the frequency and quantity of driver breaks. About the number of shifts employees could be scheduled to work back-to-back. Xavier was concerned for the driver—he knew the man was hardworking and honest. A father of four, who had safely transported the team to and from the stadium for several years. Xavier didn’t want to see him come to any further harm. Nor did I, but I sensed there was more to his agitated state.

He was preoccupied, almost fidgeting. And he kept glancing back to where Tyrese and Quentin were sitting. I was tempted to ask if something else was going on, but now wasn’t the time. Not when we should be focused on beating Jacksonville.

When we arrived at the stadium, the guys went to change in the locker room, and I headed for the coaches suite. Security was tighter than usual, and I didn’t recognize the guard on duty. I flashed my badge, and he smiled brightly.

“Cheerleaders are over there.” He indicated the direction where several members of the squad were gathered.

“Blake, hey,” Amy called, jogging over to greet me. She was dressed in her uniform, her perfectly toned abs on display in the crop top. Her hair looked amazing, and I wondered how much hair spray the cheerleading squad went through to maintain that level of perfection.

I waved and returned my attention to the security guard. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Coach Mackenzie,” I said, extending my hand.

“Oh, I apologize,” he said, the tips of his ears turning red. Poor guy. He seemed genuinely embarrassed by his mistake. “I shouldn’t have assumed. Good luck today.”

“Thanks,” I said, walking past him to where Amy was waiting.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

I laughed, hauling my tote bag higher on my shoulder. “The security guard mistook me for a cheerleader.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re gorgeous, athletic, tough. I’d be thrilled to have you on the squad.” I just laughed as she linked her arm through mine. We walked toward the locker rooms. “All the girls on the squad love you. We still feel terrible about what happened at the charity game.”

“Thanks,” I said, not wishing to discuss it further since it only reminded me of Colt and the lines that seemed to blur every time he was near. “Ready for the game?”

“Definitely.” She grinned. She glanced around before speaking again in a lower voice. “I know you’ve grown close to some of the players, just…be careful.”

I stilled, my heart lodged in my throat. Did she know about what had happened between Tristan and me? Or perhaps someone had commented on my friendship with Colt, Xavier, or Tristan. Or worse still, someone could’ve spotted Xavier leaving my hotel room last night. We’d developed a habit of talking before the game, and I could see how the circumstances could be misconstrued.

I thought I’d been good at hiding my interest, but the attraction was undeniable. I gravitated toward the three of them like an outside linebacker trained on the opposing team’s quarterback. It didn’t matter what my head said, my body was intent on them. I’d been reckless. Obvious.

I schooled my expression into something neutral, trying to decipher the hidden message. “Did you have someone specific in mind?”

“Just gossip. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She smiled brightly, waving a hand through the air.

The knot in my stomach tightened, twisting like a boa constrictor as it choked the life out of me. Apart from the incident with Tristan, nothing physical had happened with any of the guys. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t wanted it to. The more time I spent with them, the more I got to know them, the more attached I became. And Friday night at O’Malley’s had forced me to see just how attracted I was to them. I glanced at my watch with a growing sense of unease.

“Sorry I mentioned it,” she added, her lips downturned. “Please, forget I said anything.”

I nodded to reassure Amy before wishing her good luck and heading inside. Still, the tightness between my shoulders wouldn’t dissipate.

Players, coaches, and trainers bustled around the space, making their final preparations for the game. Tristan’s shoulder was being taped. I spotted Xavier listening to music with his eyes closed. Colt was nowhere to be seen, and I was grateful. Of the three, I knew he’d immediately sense something was wrong, and I didn’t want there to be any distractions on game day.

The other coaches were clustered around the makeshift workstation with computers plugged into a large screen overhead. A huge digital clock hung on the wall, and I knew the pregame shows had already begun. Soon, we would be marching onto the field to defend our turf.

The Rebels struggled the first half, but we were working well as a team. Despite the fans, the security, and the other distractions, game day really wasn’t any different from practice. The repetition and routine had paid off, and I watched my guys with a sense of pride. I was part of that success.

Come halftime, we still hadn’t scored. I glanced at my tablet, coordinating with Steven and the other coaches to update the strategy based on how the game had gone so far. When we returned to the field to resume play, I was confident we had a solid plan.

Colt and Tristan seemed tenser than usual, but Jacksonville was a formidable opponent. Still, they kept casting me anxious glances, and I wished I could reassure them.

The Rebels returned to the field and play restarted. It was the third quarter, and we finally scored our first touchdown. Tyrese kicked a field goal, making the score fourteen to seven. The crowd was going wild, the stadium packed with fans since it was a home game. I knew my dad and Bastian were among them, and I beamed with pride, my gloomy mood from earlier finally lifting. It was as if the clouds had parted, allowing the sunshine to burst forth after a week-long absence.

But when I glanced back at the field, the sun was gone and a storm was fast approaching. I frowned at the sight that greeted me. Tyrese and Tristan should’ve been celebrating, yet they appeared to be facing off. They glared at each other, fists clenched. It looked like they were poised for a fight.

There was a flutter of cobalt mylar in my peripheral vision, as some of the cheerleaders shook their pom-poms. Next thing I knew, Tristan was in Tyrese’s space, his chest nearly bumping the kicker’s pads. I couldn’t hear the words being exchanged, but he gripped Tyrese’s jersey and got up in his face.

My brain struggled to process what I was seeing—fights between players on opposing teams weren’t unheard of. But a fight between players on the same team? This was bad.

When Tristan’s fist connected with Tyrese’s jaw, all hell broke loose. Colt tackled Quentin, and Xavier was on the verge of jumping into the fray. The crowd finally seemed to latch on to the drama, and a hush fell over the stadium.

I stood there for a moment, observing the melee in horror before the shrill sound of whistles snapped me into action. I rushed over along with several other members of staff, my breath coming in short pants as I jogged across the field.

The players were pried apart, but Tristan’s eyes remained fixed on Tyrese. His chest heaved with every breath, and he looked ready to murder the kicker. I wondered how far it would’ve gone had someone not intervened. Colt was glaring at Quentin, and even Xavier was pacing the turf, hands clasped behind his head.

Quentin and Tyrese were sent in one direction, and I was to escort Colt, Tristan, and Xavier off the field in another. Without another word, I followed my offensive players and stadium security into a corridor off the field. They didn’t dare meet my eyes, and I didn’t know whether to be more concerned or pissed by their behavior. I could only hope they had a damn good explanation.

“That fucking bastard,” Colt seethed once security had left, his cleats pounding against the concrete floor as he paced the corridor.

Tristan was silent, scrubbing a hand over his head. His expression was murderous, his jaw clenched so tight I thought he would crack a molar. Xavier glanced between us, his eyes wide. Of all of us, he was the calmest.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” I asked when no one offered an explanation. I felt like a pot that was boiling over, and I needed answers.

None of this made any sense. Any disagreements should be handled off the field, not during a prime-time game. So many witnesses, so many cameras, it made my head spin.

I just hoped they wouldn’t be fined, or worse, suspended. I knew it was likely, but what I really wanted to know was why.

“Why did you do that? Why would you do that?” I wondered aloud, more to myself. I turned to Tristan since he appeared to be the instigator.

No one answered.

“Well, I hope you’re happy with yourselves,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “What a mess. Carrie is going to be pissed,” I said, imagining the fallout from a scene like this. It was every reality-TV-show producer’s dream.

“Shit. Scary Carrie’s going to have our heads,” Xavier said, swiping a hand down his face. “Her and Coach.”

“I’d do it again,” Tristan spat, and I wondered what I was missing.

What were the three of them so worked up over that they were willing to attack their fellow teammates during the game? This wasn’t a fight between our team and the opposition; it was far worse. And with it coming on the heels of Williams’s fight at that birthday party, I tended to think the commissioner might be less lenient than usual.

“That bet.” Colt shook his head. “Given the chance, I’d tackle that motherfucker again. Harder.”

I stilled. “Bet?” I glanced between them. “What bet?”

Three sets of eyes turned to me, and I could tell from their guilty expressions I wasn’t going to like the answer. Yet none of them spoke.

“Tell me. Now,” I demanded in a voice I didn’t recognize. Every cell in my body vibrated with rage.

Colt stepped forward, taking the lead when no one else would. I could always trust him to give it to me straight. Even though Tristan was controlling, he and Xavier almost always deferred to Colt. Colt was the most outspoken of the three and the unofficial ringleader of the trio. The instigator. Except, in this case, Tristan had started the fight.

“A few of the guys on the team made a bet that they would be the first to sleep with you.” Surely, I’d heard him wrong. But when Colt said nothing more, I knew he was serious.

My eyes darted to Tristan’s, and I briefly wondered if he’d been in on it. Was that what the night at Jared’s was all about? Was he trying to sleep with me for the sake of a bet? A fucking bet?

“How many?” I asked. My pulse quickened, blood pounding in my ears so loud it sounded like there was a bass drum keeping time in my head. “How many players were involved?”

“I don’t know.” Colt shrugged. “Maybe three or four,” he said, looking to the others for confirmation.

“So—” I stared them down, hands on my hips “—you thought, what? That you’d run interference for me?”

“Something like that,” Xavier mumbled, having the decency to appear chagrined.

My hands were shaking, my entire body vibrating with rage. “News flash—I don’t need someone to take care of me. I don’t need someone to protect me. I can do that just fine all on my own.”

Colt’s shoulders slumped, the fire going out of him. Xavier looked like he might be sick. And Tristan was silent. I was pretty sure a black eye would be making an appearance soon; a bruise was already starting to bloom over his skin.

Colt stepped closer, his stormy gray eyes focused on mine. “We know that, Blake. We respect you.”

“And maybe instead of feeling insulted,” Tristan said, a vein bulging in his forehead, “you should realize we had your back. We were protecting your blind side.”

How dare he. How dare he talk about protecting my blind side, when all along he’d been checking out my backside. Playing me so he could win a bet.

“Were you?” I asked, my gaze unflinching. “Because you’ve left me feeling more exposed than anyone.”

His face contorted, pain marring his features at my blatant questioning of his motives. And for a split second, I felt bad. But then I remembered the bet, I remembered Amy’s comment, and I saw red. I stared him down, trying to determine what, if anything, was true. If he’d ever really liked me in the first place. If he’d ever had any respect for me as a coach…or if it had all been a lie.

Colt and Xavier hovered nearby, but they were both silent. And I knew they had questions. I didn’t blame them. I was questioning everything. Replaying every interaction with the guys on the team, especially Tristan. Especially that fateful night at Jared’s.

Had it all been part of an elaborate ruse to sleep with me? And what about Shay? Was she in on it? Maybe she wasn’t the innocent bystander as I’d assumed, but a witness tasked by Tristan to document his triumph.

“I thought we were a team,” Tristan said, his voice hoarse.

I wanted to believe he was telling the truth, that he wasn’t in on the bet. But I was so enraged, I couldn’t see straight. All I could see was that I’d been a fool, and so had they. They claimed they were trying to help, but they’d only made the situation a million times worse.

“I’m not your quarterback,” I said through gritted teeth. I wanted to throttle him. All of them. “I’m your coach. Coach,” I nearly shouted, my voice climbing in pitch. “And instead of coming to me with the problem, or reaching out to someone on the staff who could’ve handled this discreetly, you’ve cocked it all up.”

None of them spoke then, and I wondered if it was because I had steam pouring out my ears. I was livid. And now that I’d started my tirade, I was on a roll, taking out my hurt and anger over a stupid bet on the three men who probably least deserved it. In my head, I knew that, but I was too far gone to stop.

I’d worked so hard to earn my place, to prove myself. All for nothing. It wasn’t about the potential fines or suspension; it was about the lack of respect. I’d thought we were getting along, that I was making a difference. Only to learn it was a farce. I was a bet, a conquest. A joke.

“Do you know what the postgame shows are going to focus on tonight?” I asked, not waiting for an answer. “Because it’s not going to be the amazing pass Xavier caught in the second quarter, or even the fact that the Rebels overcame a fourteen-point deficit to win the game, assuming we can still win the game after this.” I glared at them, almost more upset about the impact on the team than the bet itself. “All everyone will care about is the fight. And when they discover the cause…” I covered my mouth with my hand, shaking my head.

Oh god. This was so bad. In my worst nightmares, I never could have conjured something like this.

I started pacing, and my feet pounded the floor with every step. I wished I could go for a run instead. I was so angry—at Tyrese and his friends, at the media, at the unfairness of the situation. I’d just proved the naysayers right. They said a woman didn’t belong on the football field, predicted I would be a hindrance, a distraction. Tyrese Jackson and his band of miscreants were immature and repulsive, but the fact remained that a woman came between members of a team, confirming everyone’s predictions.

“Blake, I’m sorry,” Tristan said, stepping closer.

I backed away from him and held up my hands. I’d already said more than I should, and I needed some distance. I couldn’t deal with the three of them right now, especially not Tristan. Not when I didn’t know if I could trust a word coming out of his mouth.

I turned and walked away, ignoring the slump of their shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Xavier called, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.

“Unlike the three of you, I have a game to finish,” I said, marching toward the field. I might not want to go back out there, but I sure as hell wasn’t one to cower, especially when I’d done nothing wrong.

“Where does that leave us?” Colt asked.

I whipped around to face him. “Security will escort you to the locker room to shower. I suggest you use this time to get your heads on straight before your postgame meeting with Coach Sanders,” I answered, intentionally misinterpreting his question. There was no “us,” and there never could be.

I straightened and headed for the field. I didn’t know how I was going to handle this situation, but I could really use a Hail Mary right about now.