"Still going viral, Smitty?"

"Still going viral, Charlie."

Charlie shifted his cell to the other shoulder as he drove. "Remind me again. Is this normal—for scandalous photos to still be going viral a year later?"

He was having a bit of fun at his PR guy's expense. Not that Smitty had anything to complain about. Charlie imagined this was the secret dream of every public relations agent: to represent a client who generated and survived a media storm of this magnitude. A year later, and the Internet and talk shows were still buzzing about the photos of Dylan and himself together. Just this past month, the photos had seen a new surge in interest, as young couples the nation over took to their high school fifty-yard lines to humorously replicate Charlie and Dylan's famous moment—always with their clothes on and some clever twist, thankfully putting the punchline ahead of any actual scandal.

"You almost to the meet and greet? Your teammates are already here," Smitty complained.

"Yeah?" Charlie grinned as he pulled through Lockhart Bend's so-called downtown. "I'm a minute away. Who all made it out today?"

"On second thought…I'll see you soon."

The line went unexpectedly dead. Charlie would have held the phone away from his face in a perplexed state if he wasn't too busy concentrating on driving. Did Smitty really just hang up on him? Purposefully? Normally he couldn't get the guy to shut up fast enough.

"Huh. Must be busy," Charlie muttered under his breath. He turned into the hospital parking lot and saw that Smitty hadn’t been exaggerating—every spot was full, and there were more local children and their parents shuttling in from the nearby elementary school. He decided to park by the Teamster bus. He flipped a wave to the bus driver, who looked disgruntled but unsurprised to see that it was Charlie Wild breaking the rules. He entered the hospital's noisy gymnasium from the back.

"Now this is my kind of meet-and-greet," Charlie said as he surveyed the laughter and chaos. The children from Lockhart General's Critical Care ward deserved to indulge in a little bedlam. A cluster of kids who saw him roll up, led by Nicholas, rushed over for hugs and overhead lifts.

Across the gymnasium, Teamster cheerleaders dressed casually in their day clothes led children through basic exercises and routines. Five of Charlie's teammates had also made the trip down from Austin to volunteer their time; they lounged behind a long table, autographing free swag and taking photos with the kids and their parents—even a few nurses, Charlie noted. He couldn't remember the last time he saw most of his offensive line grinning and laughing together over something that wasn't a successful play or a post-game line of shots.

And there was Dylan by the end of the table, conversing animatedly with Smitty. Her blue-black hair tumbled in gorgeous, free-flowing waves past her shoulders; the sleeves of her flannel shirt were rolled up, revealing her tanned, toned arms. She was such a sensual vision of a woman that even a casual show of skin seen at a distance drove him crazy. Her dark denim jeans looked painted onto her shapely legs and tight backside. Even Smitty had retired his omnipresent shades to his retreating hairline; his arms were crossed to emphasize his biceps, a posture Charlie wouldn't have believed he was capable of if he wasn't seeing it play out now for himself. Smitty's expression as Dylan spoke to him was a little too attentive for Charlie's liking. He was wading through a sea of kids and making his way across the room before logic could catch up with a sudden surge of jealousy.

"Is this who you hung up on your favorite client for?" Charlie enjoyed the way his question boomed above their exchange; he enjoyed it even more when Smitty nearly leapt out of his hand-tooled leather boots. "Can't say I blame you," Charlie admitted as he draped an arm across Dylan's shoulders.

Dylan rolled her eyes. "You're late."

"Fashionably?" Charlie suggested.

"Trust me—none of these kids or their caretakers care about your so-called fashion. Speaking of which, is that really a pink digital camo bowtie I'm looking at? Which kitschy ESPN anchor dressed you for this low-key meet and greet?"

"I'm staying out of this one." Smitty—the man who had bought him the bowtie—flipped his shades down and was soon assimilated by a nearby group of cheerleaders. Traitor, Charlie thought, even as he pulled Dylan in close. Oh, well. At least now he had his foxy girlfriend all to himself.

"Easy, tiger," Dylan warned, half-heartedly fending him off as his lips pressed a kiss to her temple. "Let's save it for after the meet-and-greet, shall we?" Her lush mouth, so tantalizingly within reach of his own, quirked in barely suppressed amusement. There were still days she struggled with her accidental fame, he knew, but she was adapting to it better than Charlie had ever expected she would. Despite attending the occasional out-of-town fundraiser on his arm, she had somehow managed to keep her life in Lockhart Bend under the radar—and help keep him out of trouble as a result.

"What were you and Smitty talking about?" he asked casually as Dylan, still hooked beneath his arm, directed him over to his signing station.

"The future. Your future," she corrected. "Grab a seat, champ. Don't think I didn't see you deadlifting kids."

"You told me yourself I'm in better shape now than I've ever been." He would love to continue to argue the point, but Charlie let himself be seated all the same. Now that they were officially together, Dylan's fretting felt more like kingly treatment. He still found himself second-guessing whether or not he deserved it. He caught her arm to prevent her from moving off down the table. It was all he could do to resist pulling her into his lap. He knew how well she fit against him now, and it seemed unfair his complementary piece should exist apart from him. But he knew Dylan had her work cut out for her today. Besides, he was working on his impulse control. Doctor's orders.

"Any thoughts on our future?" Charlie smoothed his thumb along the pulse point of her inner wrist. He loved the way it still raced, even a year later, at his faintest touch. He had other ways of making her blood pump, and they both knew it, but understated physicality, as opposed to his usual displays of brute strength, was proving another fun challenge.

An effective challenge. Dylan's cheeks, naked of toner or blush, colored naturally. "Why don't you come over tonight and we can discuss it?"

"Love to." Charlie let her slip away, prepared to claim her invitation as his only victory, when Dylan surprised him by swooping back in for a heady kiss. It was deep, meaningful, and over too soon. Charlie groaned when she pulled away.

"Work before play," she reminded him as she retreated.

Why can't it be both? Charlie thought as he surveyed the eager faces crowding in around him to fill the void Dylan had strategically left.

He was in love with Dylan Rose, and he was in love with life, but a packed stadium could never compare to the love he had found in Lockhart Bend.

"Touchdown," he told the kids. They threw their arms up exactly as he'd taught them. Long after he retired, he knew—long after the roars of the NFL crowd had faded from his memory—he would remember the laughter that surrounded him now.

"Touchdown!" the kids cheered.