Tristan

My phone chimed so many times in such quick succession, it sounded like a damn slot machine declaring a win. I grabbed it from the counter, wishing I could hurl it off our balcony. Instead, I switched it to vibrate as I skimmed the deluge of incoming messages.

My agent.

Carrie.

Several of the coaches.

Teammates.

Family.

My number was unlisted, but everyone who had it was trying to get a hold of me. Everyone except the one person I so desperately wanted to hear from—Blake.

Her words rang in my ears as I stared at the phone, willing her to call, to text. Anything. I could only imagine how she felt. I’d been livid on her behalf, outraged by the childish behavior of my teammates. A bet on who could fuck her first? It was fucking ridiculous.

Tyrese and Quentin were lucky I’d found out when I did. Though there had been so many witnesses, so many cameras, I’d never live this down. My legacy wasn’t going to be as an upstanding athlete with a great career. No, it was going to be as the player who lost his shit on the field and punched one of his own teammates. Though, as I’d said after we were escorted from the field, I’d do it again.

What the fuck had gotten into me? I was known as the Monk, the man of discipline and dedication. I was devoted to football. I didn’t lose my temper, and I certainly didn’t crack under pressure. At least, not in the past. But hearing the way Tyrese spoke about her… I clenched my fist, nearly crushing my phone in the process.

Xavier strode into the kitchen, his expression glum. “Have you heard from her?”

I glared at him. “What do you think?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, man, I’m just as pissed as you are.”

“You sure about that?” I asked. “I didn’t see you throwing any punches on the field.”

He pressed his palms to the counter, leaning over it. “Don’t pull that. Don’t act like I didn’t have your back,” he said, his eyes boring into me.

I knew I was being irrational, taking my anger out on one of the few people who had my back. One of the few people I knew wouldn’t turn on me the moment the public did.

I didn’t have to read the news or switch on the TV to know what would be said about me. The Monk starts fight on field. The Monk punches his own teammates. The Monk has lost his mind.

And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I also couldn’t refute any of it, at least not if I wanted to protect Blake. Because despite her protests, I wanted to protect her. I needed to. Not because she was weak, but because I was when it came to her.

I could handle the press and the potential fines. I could even handle a temporary suspension. What I couldn’t handle was hurting Blake.

She’d been like a breath of fresh air this season and not at all what I’d expected when Colt first told me about her. It wasn’t until I met her, until I saw her at practice, that I truly understood. She was remarkable.

I’d never met another woman like her. I was continually impressed by her knowledge of the plays, her passion for football, and her dedication to the team. Not to mention her body was incredible—legs for days, a narrow waist, and tits that made my mouth water. I groaned just thinking about the feel of her perfect tits, her mouth on mine, her…

My phone buzzed again. Five new messages, but none from Blake. If I kept texting her, I ran the risk of scaring her off. But what other option did I have? Leaving the loft was out of the question. The paparazzi had been stationed outside our building even before we’d left the stadium.

I stopped pacing and scrubbed a hand over my head, my short hair tickling my palm. I’d never had a woman drive me crazy, but Blake had me questioning my sanity. This wasn’t the first time I’d lost control when it came to her, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Because for the first time in a long time, my restraint was cracking. And while it should’ve bothered me, it didn’t.

I’d meant what I’d said to her that night in the bathroom. I wanted to let go. I wanted to give in.

Colt blew through the front door—if you could call the elevator doors that opened to our floor that. He joined Xavier and me in the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smirked, and I wanted to punch him. Too bad my knuckles were still raw from smashing Tyrese’s face. Besides, I figured I’d injured enough of my teammates for one evening. I didn’t need to add another to the list.

“Colt,” I growled. I didn’t have time for games.

“Fine,” he huffed. “So you know that girl I dated a while back? The blonde who worked for a plastic surgeon.”

“Which one?” Xavier asked from his perch on a barstool. He’d been so quiet, I’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Ha-ha,” Colt said. “You know, the one with the amazing rack you guys swore wasn’t real?”

“Because it wasn’t,” Xavier said.

“Whatever.” Colt sliced his hand through the air. “Anyway, I remembered that she always went on about her office’s epic fantasy football tournament.”

“Does this story have a point?” I asked, glancing at the time on my phone. Still nothing from Blake.

Colt tilted his head, staring me down. He was silent a moment, putting my patience to the limit. Finally, he said, “So, I remembered her complaining that one of the guys had an unfair advantage. She claimed he was cheating because his best friend was a football-obsessed Amazon.” He stared at me expectantly.

“And you think that football-obsessed Amazon is Blake?” I asked, and he nodded. “Okay. So, how does that help us?”

“Because I called the blonde, and she gave me Bastian’s number.”

“No shit.” I was impressed. Colt could charm anyone into giving him what he wanted. But how he’d convinced an ex to help him was beyond me.

“Do you think he’ll help us?” I asked. I’d only met Bastian once, the day I’d shown up at their apartment with flowers. He seemed nice enough, if a bit pretty.

“I don’t know,” Colt said. “But it’s worth a shot.”

Xavier, who’d been quiet this whole time, said, “I’m pretty sure if Colt calls, Bastian will do anything we want.”

I scrunched up my face. “What makes you so sure?”

“Blake once told me Bastian has a huge crush on Colt.” Xavier waggled his eyebrows at Colt.

Colt grinned. “See, everybody loves me.”

“All right, America’s Heartthrob, let’s not get carried away. You might not be such a beloved figure after tonight’s showdown on the field.” Though, if anyone could come out of this untarnished, it was Colt.

“Enh.” Colt lifted a shoulder as if starting a fight during a prime-time game wasn’t a big deal. I’d never done anything so reckless in my entire life, and I envied his cavalier attitude. “It’ll blow over eventually. It always does.”

“Mm-hm.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “People are still talking about Williams’s fight weeks later.”

Colt’s eyes blazed with anger. “I really don’t give a shit. Can you honestly tell me you do?”

“Not for myself,” I said. “But I hate that you and Xavier got sucked into this. Not to mention, it reflects badly on the team.”

“Do you think Quentin and Tyrese will hold up their end of the bargain?” Xavier asked, his brow etched with concern.

I gnashed my teeth, my blood pressure spiking at the mere mention of their names. “They better.”

They may be unprincipled assholes, but I knew they’d do whatever it took to keep us quiet. We had too much dirt on them. And maintaining their deplorable lifestyle of drugs, women, and luxury cars was too important. Though none of us wanted them on the team, protecting Blake was our priority. She’d done absolutely nothing wrong, and she didn’t deserve to be punished.

“It’s a good thing Amy has no filter when she’s drunk,” Colt said. “That party at Quentin’s was insane. And we have the pictures to prove it.”

“Idiots,” Xavier muttered.

“So, what are we going to do about Blake?” Colt asked. “Should I call Bastian?”

“I don’t know, man,” Xavier said. “Going behind her back to talk to her best friend—it’s risky. What if it only pushes her further away?”

I pounded the countertop with my fist, hissing from the impact to my injured hand. “We have to do something.”

My hand ached, but I craved the pain. Pain helped me forget—about my shoulder, about the threat of retirement, about the fight, about the wounded look on Blake’s face when she’d discovered the bet. I didn’t know which was worse—her hurt or her disappointment.

“I agree,” Colt said. “I’m concerned she’s going to do something stupid like tell Coach Sawyers about the bet or quit.”

“Quit?” Xavier hollered. “She can’t do that.”

“You don’t think she actually would, do you? This is her dream,” I said, thinking back to that day in the storage room. The look of awe and adoration on her face. The passion in her voice when she spoke about football. It had taken all my willpower not to take her in my arms and kiss her again.

Colt hung his head. “A dream that’s turned into a nightmare.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. You should’ve seen her after the game.”

“After the game?” I asked. “I didn’t think you saw her again after our apology in the coaches suite.”

The tips of Colt’s ears turned pink, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Interesting.

“Colt,” I prodded.

“I may have talked to her for a minute before we left the hotel. She was sitting in her car, and I had to see her.”

All evening, I’d been focused on the bet and the repercussions from the fight, but I’d missed the bigger issue. I was falling for Blake, and I wasn’t the only one. As I looked at my teammates, my best friends, I realized Xavier and Colt were just as consumed by this woman as I was.

They wouldn’t have jumped into the fight if they didn’t care about her. The anger in their eyes, the barely restrained fury matched my own. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized how true it was.

Xavier was always talking about Blake, and I’d never seen him so at ease with a woman. And Colt had been obsessed with her from the beginning. Despite his outgoing personality, he was usually slow to trust, slow to let someone in. But not Blake.

If any of us had the strongest claim to her, it was Colt. He’d seen her first, and he’d known her the longest. Except…I’d kissed her. A sudden thought occurred to me—what if Colt or Xavier had kissed her? I’d almost expect it of Colt, but I didn’t get that feeling. I knew these men better than anyone else.

In the end, it didn’t really matter. She was still our coach, at least for now. None of us could have her, yet all three of us wanted her. I’d already put my career on the line for Blake. Was I willing to risk my friendship with Colt and Xavier too?