I didn’t think I’d ever say words like that again. I didn’t want to belong to someone. I didn’t want to love someone, but Natalia had upended all my plans this season, and why would this be any different? If the only way I could have her was to give her me, then that was the deal. Every part of her was mine. I made sure of that.

I didn’t drive to Austin planning on having a heavy relationship talk. I planned on spending the night fucking the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. But I ended up asking her to move in with me and offering to help her rehab. She was in my head. She was under my skin. I was drowning in her.

I watched her sleep next to me and traced a line between her shoulder blades. Her hair had fallen over her shoulder.

She told me she had to leave by seven to make it to early morning practice, but we still had a lot to discuss. I wanted her with me in San Antonio this week. One week of long-distance phone calls and a drive to see her wasn’t going to be enough.

I hated that Maddie called. I hated that she had my number. That she tried to throw me off my game for my night with Natalia. The moment I was finally happy again, she blindsided me with a desperate plea for help. Damn it.

I didn’t give a shit if she needed anything. I wasn’t her ATM, and I wasn’t her friend. It was enough to scare the hell out of me about getting involved with Natalia. But they were nothing alike. Nothing.

Natalia could never treat me the way Maddie did.

I had to fight the fear creeping under my ribs. I had to fight the thoughts to run and get out before she annihilated me. I was a different man now.

I turned off the lamp next to the bed and stretched my legs out beside her. She sighed softly and I pulled her against my chest. She fit there perfectly. This graceful, beautiful woman fit. Only I had to convince her of that tomorrow before I left. After that phone call, it seemed more important than ever. I needed her commitment. I needed her loyalty. I needed to know she was mine.

* * *

Natalia had been gone for two hours. I was working on making breakfast in the kitchen when my phone rang. It was Cavan.

“Hey, what’s up, man?”

“Sam, I was wondering if I could stop by and pick up one of the playbooks for tomorrow’s game. I never got one and the coordinators said you have those things memorized.”

“Yeah, but I’m out right now. It’ll have to be later.”

“Out? It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

“Working out, man. Have to get ready for the game.” I was staring at the playbook on Natalia’s kitchen table.

“Just tell me where your spare key is and I’ll stop by.”

“Can’t. It’s in my car. I’ll call you when I’m back and you can run over.”

“This is serious. I haven’t seen any of the plays.”

I flipped the bacon over in the frying pan. “Sorry, man. Call one of the other guys or wait until I’m home.”

I was about to hang up on him.

“Fine. Just call me.”

“You got it.”

I shoved the phone into my pocket and continued to work on breakfast. I had muffins in the oven and was ready to whip eggs into omelets, but I wasn’t sure when she’d be home. I didn’t want them to be cold.

I heard her key in the door and smiled when she walked through.

“Hey.” She grinned.

“How was practice?” I asked.

“Dreadful as usual.” She hung her bag next to the door and looped her keys on a hook. “It smells wonderful in here.”

“Bacon always smells good. I was getting ready to make an omelet for you.”

She laughed. “So if I took pictures of you right now making breakfast for me I couldn’t use these as blackmail.” She leaned up to kiss me on the cheek.

“First of all, you wouldn’t do that. And second, yes, the guys don’t know about my culinary skills. So don’t blow my badass cover.”

“Oh, that’s what you call yourself?” She sat at the table to watch me with the whisk.

“You’re looking at the tight end with the most yards, most catches, most touchdowns, and most blocks in his rookie season and I’m on schedule to beat that this year.”

“Wow. I had no idea.”

I stared at her. “Really? No idea?”

She shook her head. “It was never a line. I seriously know nothing about your career or much about football, but I have picked up a lot as a Goddess. We have to go to football class during our summer training camp.”

“So if I quiz you, you think you’d pass?” I added cream to the eggs and whipped furiously. How could she not have heard of my record?

“I think I would. I can hold my own in a conversation with the girls.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, but those girls aren’t professional football players.”

“True, but I’d bet I could pass.”

“Want to make a bet?”

She twisted her pouty lips together. “What kind of bet?”

“If you win.” I stopped. “What do you want if you win?”

She pressed her finger to her chin. “I want a full-body massage. Naked.”

“That sounds like a win for me, but okay. If you win, you get a massage.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked.

“If I win, you try on those pointe shoes for me and let me watch you spin around the studio.”

The smile fell from her face. “Sam, I was trying to be funny.”

“I’m being serious. Take the bet. Prove to me you can pass a football quiz.”

“Fine. I’ll do it. And you’ll be thanking me, because your hands will be all over this body you own.” She eyed me.

“Either way I win.” I winked at her. I turned toward the stove to layer in the first omelet. “Here’s your first question. How many quarters are in a game?”

“Really? That’s insulting. Four.”

“Ding, ding, for the ballerina.” I watched to make sure the edges on the omelet didn’t brown too much. “Second question. How many players are on the field during a play?”

She scrunched her nose. “Twenty-four?”

“Err. No. Twenty-two. But that’s okay. It’s one to one.”

She folded her arms. “Next.”

I flipped the omelet over. “Okay, for your next question can you name four different offensive positions?”

“Easily. Quarterback, wide receiver, tight end,” she paused to smile. “And.” She blinked a few times. “And…”

“Err. That is incorrect. You could have said running back, kicker. I’d take lineman or center. But that’s okay. You were close.”

She scowled at me. And I felt one question away from watching her dance for me.

“For the final question. For my victory question.” I winked at her. “What is the play called a safety?”

“That is not a fair question. Who knows what that is?”

“Err, also incorrect. A safety is when the team who has the ball is tackled in their own end zone, resulting in two points for the other team.”

“Two points? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Look it up,” I instructed as I delivered her breakfast in front of her.

She started typing on her phone and whispered the definition for a safety score out loud. “I feel tricked. That was a trick question.”

“It was not. Now eat up and then put on the shoes. I want to see you dance.”

“Today?”

“I’m leaving today. So yes.”

I cut into my omelet and took a bite. Victory always tasted sweet.