The Rebels had been in the news all week, images of the overturned bus splashed on the TV, the internet, everywhere. The driver was still in the hospital, and there was an ongoing investigation into the cause of the accident. No drugs or alcohol had been found in his system, but a story alleging he was driving while overtired was gaining momentum.

Fortunately, all the players on my bus had been cleared to return to practice. And preparing for the next game was a good distraction. I’d been working long days, but I was driven to push myself harder. To help the team succeed in the wake of such a terrifying incident. Which was why I’d stayed at work even later than usual this week. Between the emotional toll of the accident and the even longer hours I was putting in, I was exhausted. And I didn’t want to get up.

I kept my eyes closed, but I sensed something was different. Everything was different, in fact. I didn’t hear Bastian bustling around the loft, but there was the distant sound of a printer making copies. Instead of gardenia-scented sheets and freshly brewed coffee, there was the smell of ink and cleaner.

I forced my eyes open, only to throw my arm over my face with a groan. I’d fallen asleep on the couch in my office. It was still dark out, but something had woken me. I glanced around the room, stilling when my eyes connected with Tyrese’s glittering in the dark.

He leaned against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his athletic pants. His eyes skimmed over my bare feet and legs, and I scrambled to stand. What was he doing here? And more importantly, how long had he been standing there? Watching me? It was creeping me the fuck out.

“Sleeping beauty awakens,” he drawled. His voice grated on me, fraying my already fragile nerves.

I shivered, reaching for the Rebels sweatshirt I’d been using as a pillow. I pulled it over my head, needing to shield myself from his view.

“Do you need something?” I asked in a curt tone.

I grabbed my new phone from the couch, intending to check the time, but also wanting to have it close in case Tyrese tried anything. My tote and most of my belongings had been returned to me after the bus accident. Fortunately, my tablet with the team playbook was fine, but my phone had been damaged beyond repair.

A glance at the clock on my phone told me it was a little after six a.m. If I was going to make it to my first meeting of the day on time, I needed to hustle. I’d have to trek across the stadium to the cheerleaders’ locker room, shower, change, and get dressed. And, if I was lucky, I might have time to snag some breakfast from the cafeteria. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d spent the night here, and I always had a spare outfit on hand.

Tyrese pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room. He eliminated the space between us, effectively blocking my exit. “Have dinner with me.”

I stared at him, completely stunned. You’d think after I’d shut him down that night at Arlo and Henry, he would’ve gotten the point. Not to mention the tiny fact that I was now a coach for the Rebels and, technically, his superior.

“I’m not really into workplace romances,” I said, striking a playful tone. I would’ve tried to keep things light, but we were long past being subtle.

“What about sports romances?” he asked, but I merely shrugged. “Billionaire romances, then?”

I laughed. Even if you took his endorsement deals into account, there was no way he was a billionaire. He was making good money but not that much money. “Are you claiming to be a billionaire?”

He lifted a shoulder, his lips curling at the corners. “Baby, I can be whatever you want me to.”

I shook my head, my shoulders quivering with silent laughter. It was one of the most ridiculous lines I’d ever heard. Second only to the one he’d tried to feed me that night in the bar.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess that was pretty terrible.” I was surprised to see anything other than cockiness from him, and I felt my shoulders relax a hair.

“It was…something else.”

“It sounded better in my head. But, hey—” he held out his hands, palms up “—at least I got to see your beautiful smile.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I knew I needed to handle this situation carefully or risk it blowing up in my face. I didn’t trust Tyrese. I never had, and this conversation wasn’t helping my impression of him. Nevertheless, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. And I didn’t think his intent was malicious—rather, misguided.

“Look,” he said, stepping closer. It smelled like he’d bathed in aftershave.

He reached out for my hand, but I crossed my arms before he could grab it. His face darkened, but he quickly masked his displeasure with a smile.

“I’m sorry for acting like an ass. Again,” he added. “Let me take you to dinner to apologize.”

I wasn’t going to disagree with him about the ass thing, but I didn’t intend to commit to dinner either. Alone. I didn’t care if it was a genuine peace offering, I wasn’t going to spend any more time with him than necessary. Especially not after the stunt he’d pulled the night of the bus accident—boasting that he’d been responsible for the team’s successful escape.

I squeezed between him and my desk, doing my best not to touch him. “Completely unnecessary. Apology accepted.”

He followed me to the door, lingering a moment at the threshold. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

I nodded, wishing he would get out of my office and leave me the hell alone.

“And Blake—” He leaned in, so close I feared he might kiss me. My heart stopped, climbed up in my throat, and lodged itself there. “I really hope you’ll change your mind.”

Not a chance in hell, I thought as I watched him walk away. I could just imagine Bastian repeating his “never say never” mantra with a smug smile. But when it came to Tyrese, I really could say never with complete confidence.

After my weird interlude with Tyrese, the rest of the morning was uneventful. Well, as uneventful as coaching for the Rebels could be. I went from one meeting to another, starting with the coaches meeting, then the team meeting, and ending with the offense meeting. It was always the longest of the three. By the time we’d finished reviewing film and discussing strategy, my brain was fried and my stomach was growling. And I wasn’t even halfway through my day.

I grabbed a protein bar and my tablet and followed the other coaches down to the field for practice. After having a day off, this was one of the most critical practices of the week. It was when the game plan for the week was installed. And it gave the players a chance to walk through the plays and iron out the details.

Two hours later, Coach Sawyers gathered everyone into a large huddle. He addressed some outstanding issues, then left the team to stretch. He approached me while they ran through their routine.

“How do you think Damien did in practice today?” It wasn’t the first time he’d asked for my opinion about a specific player, but he usually stuck to the offense. As a coach, it was my job to keep my finger on the pulse of team morale. And as a sports psychologist, I was even more in tune with each and every player’s mental state.

I shrugged, tearing my eyes from the field and Xavier. He was bent over in a pose that showcased both his remarkable flexibility and his amazing ass. “Not bad, though he seemed a bit…distracted.”

“I agree,” Coach Sawyers said. “Which is why I’d like for you to talk to him, preferably before the media session.”

I tucked my tablet under my arm, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. “I don’t know him as well as some of the other players, but I’d be happy to speak with him if you think it would help.”

He nodded. “I do. The players like you. They seem more willing to approach you than the other coaches. Less intimidated.” When I frowned, he clapped a hand on my shoulder, gripping it in a fatherly gesture. “It’s a good thing, Blake.”

“I know. I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” I said without thinking. My wake-up call from Tyrese had weighed heavily on my mind all day. And while I wanted to be approachable, I would rather have their respect.

His brow furrowed, hand no longer resting on my shoulder. “Is someone bothering you?”

I shook my head, not wanting to make an issue of it. I could handle it myself. And involving Coach Sawyers would only make the situation worse, not better. I just wanted to do my job.

“You’ll let me know if there’s ever a concern.” His face hardened, matching his stern tone. “Because I will not tolerate that kind of behavior on my team. You’re a coach, and you deserve their respect.”

“Yes, Coach,” I said. “Thank you, Coach.” God, he was a football coach, not freaking Gordon Ramsay.

He held my gaze for a moment before finally relenting. The defensive coordinator called his name, and he stepped away. I let out a breath, only then realizing how tightly I’d been gripping my tablet.

I joined the players as they headed for the locker room, some with slumped shoulders and others trash-talking. But almost everyone was happy now that practice was over and it was time for lunch. Colt bumped my shoulder when he passed, flashing me a broad smile as he slowed to match my speed. The definition of his muscles was even more pronounced than usual. And energy coursed through him despite what had to be a grueling day.

He pushed his wet hair back from his face, perspiration dotting his skin. You’d think a hot, sweaty man would be a turn-off, but I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d ever found him more attractive. It was like some primal part of me craved the caveman vibe and pheromones he was throwing off.

As a psychology major, I understood it on an intellectual level. But I’d never experienced that type of visceral response to someone before. It was…unnerving. And annoying. Like I was powerless to do anything but watch him. My eyes roamed his muscular chest and defined abs before dipping lower, imagining what lay beneath his shorts.

“Headed to the cafeteria?” he asked.

“Yep.” My lips popped the “p,” and his eyes were intent on my mouth. He really needed to stop looking at me like that.

“Come sit with us,” he said, and I knew he was referring to Tristan, Xavier, and himself. They always sat together at lunch. Just as Tyrese and Quentin always sat with a few guys from the defense. And the quarterback always sat alone. The Rebels were a team, but there were still cliques.

“Maybe tomorrow,” I said, wishing I could join them. I needed to check my e-mail and contemplate what I was going to say to Damien. And I needed to distance myself from Colt and his dangerously distracting body.

God, what was wrong with me? Was I that hard up for sex that I was fantasizing about my players? I mean, it had been a while, but still…not cool.

Maybe I should’ve taken Bastian up on his frequent invitations to go out, let loose. It had been a while since I’d had a night out and some fun, no strings attached. In the past, it would’ve been no big deal. Yet the idea of hooking up with a stranger sounded as appealing as a charred frozen dinner. And I knew from experience how unappetizing that could be.

“It’s a date.” He grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. I didn’t refute it, just shook my head and turned in the direction of the cafeteria.

I could feel his eyes on me, watching me as I walked away. But I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. Instead, I did the opposite of what I should’ve, adding a little extra sway to my hips. I couldn’t justify why I’d done it, or maybe I just didn’t care to examine my reasons. All I knew was that I liked the way Colt looked at me, and I didn’t want him to stop.

I grabbed a salad from the cafeteria and headed back to my office. Free meals were definitely one of the perks of working at the stadium, especially considering the cafeteria was open from six in the morning to six at night.

Since the players had to monitor their weight or risk being fined, calories were listed with every menu item. You’d think in such a health-conscious atmosphere, the food would suck, but it was honestly delicious. My only complaint was I wished they stayed open a few hours later. I knew they catered to the players’ schedule, but the coaches worked just as hard and often stayed long after the team.

I skimmed my inbox, smiling when I saw a new message from Abigail. We’d sent a few e-mails back and forth since camp ended, and I was grateful her dad allowed me to keep in touch. Tryouts for her school’s football team were this week, and I knew how badly she wanted to make the cut. I typed out a reply with a few tips, knowing she’d give it her best. And I hoped she’d be proud regardless of the outcome.

A glance at the clock told me I needed to hurry if I was going to beat the media to the locker room. So, I shot off my response to Abigail, inviting her and her dad to one of the Rebels’ home games.

I sped through the tunnels, intent on the locker room. I rarely visited the players there, and I typically didn’t barge into the space. But this time of day, it wouldn’t matter. It was less changing room and more informal press center, meaning most of the players should be at least partially clothed.

I strode through the door, only to stop dead in my tracks. Steam wafted out from the shower space, and players strode around with towels wrapped around their waists. Everywhere I looked, there were toned chests and chiseled abs, happy trails and V lines on display. One player stood out from the others, though—Tristan. His hair was still wet from the shower, and water droplets ran down his bare chest in rivulets. Each drop caressed his sculpted muscles, only stopping when they reached his towel. Oh, to be one of those droplets, I thought.

Arrow. Scotch Bonnet. Thundersnow. I chanted the names of the plays in my head in a futile attempt to focus.

“Big Mac is in the house,” someone called, and I whipped my head around, looking for my dad. It took me a moment to realize they were referring to me.

And now I was thinking about my dad while surrounded by a room of half-naked, sexy-as-hell football players. Awesome.

At least it got my mind back on track. I shouldn’t be lusting after the guys on my team. It was completely unprofessional. But in the wake of the bus crash, I couldn’t help but see them differently, especially Tristan, Xavier, and Colt.

Quentin sauntered over to me, tightening the towel around his waist. “What’s up, Coach?”

Despite all the temptation, I kept my eyes locked on Quentin’s and my chin held high. “I’m looking for Damien.”

“DD,” Tristan called, throwing his voice low.

Everyone’s head snapped in my direction. Even though I was fully clothed, I felt completely exposed. And this was why I avoided the locker room unless absolutely necessary—it was both incredibly awkward and filled with temptation. It was like passing a bakery window filled with pastries when you were training for the Olympics. The smell of chocolate, the buttery, flaky pastry oh so tempting. One small indulgence could derail everything you’d been working toward.

Okay, so maybe I was a tad dramatic. But the point was—the locker room was somewhere to be avoided at all costs.

I mean, take Tristan, for example. I could not tear my eyes away from his muscles, studying the way they wrapped around his back. What I wouldn’t give for a closer look at his tattoo. It was like the humid air did something to my brain, fogging up my reason and giving me tunnel vision. Abs clenching. Biceps flexing. Thundersnow, damn it.

DD lumbered around the corner. When he spotted me, he grinned, the apples of his cheeks rising high. “Hey, Coach. What’s up?”

“Hey,” I said, feeling a bit foolish and a lot flustered. “When you finish getting dressed, can you meet me in the hall?”

Despite his bravado, I sensed disquiet simmering beneath the surface. Just this weekend, he’d seemed so happy, so lighthearted. But the crash had put a damper on everyone’s spirits. Was that the reason he was down, or was something else going on?

He nodded. “Sure thing, Big Mac.” I cringed at the moniker.

“Oh, and uh, don’t call me Big Mac. That’s my dad.”

“How about Queen B, then?” That coming from another player.

“Like Beyoncé?” I asked with a laugh. “What do you take me for—a diva?”

“If the diamond-encrusted shoe fits…”

I kicked my foot out to the side, showing off my gray sneakers that were plain and simple. They were made from merino wool and had absolutely no labels.

“B like Blair Waldorf.” I whipped my head around to find Colt grinning back at me. Thank god he was dressed, though his clothes did nothing to hide his spectacular body.

“How do you know who Blair Waldorf is?” I asked, stunned he’d referenced one of Bastian’s and my favorite TV shows of all time.

He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal that he’d name-dropped a character from Gossip Girl. “I have a younger sister.”

The door burst open, and Carrie blew in like a hurricane. “Doors open to the media in five.” That was my cue to leave.

“How about just Coach?” I said, eager to escape. “Or Blake.”

“Suit yourself.” Colt smirked. He turned his back to me, and I slipped out the door before I could say or do anything stupid. Although, if I was being honest, it was probably already too late for that.

I’d just finished meeting with DD when I spotted Xavier leaning against the wall, eyes closed. He was dressed in khakis and a Rebels polo, his dreads hanging neatly along his face. I watched him for a minute, noticing the way his chest rose and fall in a steady, controlled rhythm. His lips were parted slightly, his breath coursing between them.

“Hey,” I finally said, hoping I wouldn’t startle him. “You okay?”

His eyes fluttered open, pools of dark chocolate staring back at me. He glanced around as if surprised to find himself there. He cleared his throat. “Yep. I’m good.”

“You sure?” I asked, curling my hand around his bicep.

I felt a strong need to comfort him and not just because I was his coach. I was grateful to him after the bus crash, and I liked him, respected him as an athlete. Though he was quiet, he was always listening, observing. His opinion wasn’t given freely, but I always found his answers insightful. He was with Colt and Tristan more often than not, but he was friendly to the rookies, perhaps more than any other player on the team.

All of which made my desire to protect him mildly amusing considering his size. I was positive Xavier could take care of himself, at least physically. Emotionally, well, everyone needed a friend now and then.

“This is going to sound ridiculous,” he said, dipping his head. “But I get really nervous when I have to address the media.”

“That doesn’t sound silly to me,” I said. “I always get super anxious before a photo shoot. One time, I nearly passed out.”

He cocked his head to the side, appraising me with those dark chocolate eyes. “Really? You seem so…fearless.”

My chest warmed at the compliment, a small smile gracing my lips.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” I said, leaning closer. He smelled so good, almost tropical. Was that coconut? Mmm, delicious.

He turned his head to face me, our noses inches apart. We were breathing the same air, and when I exhaled, he inhaled. It was…intimate. Nice.

“What’s the secret?” The rich timbre of his voice swirled through me, sending pleasure through my body and making my toes curl.

“Um.” I swallowed hard, my eyes intent on his plump lips. “What?”

“What’s your secret to overcoming anxiety?” he asked, his eyes hooded.

“Oh, right.” I shook my head. “Whenever I’m feeling anxious, I smile really big and say ‘I’m so excited’ like I mean it. Even if I don’t, it sort of psychs me into thinking I am.”

He pursed his lips. “Interesting. So, practice a little reverse psychology on myself.”

“Exactly.” I smiled and forced myself to back away, when all I wanted to do was lean in.

Xavier took a deep breath and grinned. “I’m so excited.” He was so enthusiastic, I almost believed it.

He straightened, and I was convinced he was less anxious and more confident. Now, if only I could convince myself that I didn’t like him as more than a colleague or friend.