My dad named me Charlotte, but he called me Charley. My mom liked to joke that he wanted a boy so badly that he was going to pretend I was one.

He always laughed and played it off, but my dad was an old-school football coach, and there had to be some part of him that wished he could have had a boy who could actually play the game.

Football wasn’t my thing when I was younger. I was more interested in girly things, Barbies and Disney movies and Lisa Frank stickers. That sort of thing. I thought football was for idiots and boring old people, at least until I hit high school.

I remembered the day my father first took me to a Bears game. I was sixteen, and the last thing I wanted to do was sit in the freezing cold to watch a sport I hated.

Except that day, wrapped in layers of coats, I fell in love. I suddenly understood why people cared about football so much.

It wasn’t just a sport. It was a way of life. When you were in that stadium with a bunch of people screaming and chanting and you lost yourself in the excitement and the moment, it was obvious why football was important.

Football was skill and athletics and emotion and everything else. Football was a tiny little slice of life shoved into a sport.

I couldn’t get enough. I wasn’t going to play it, of course, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get involved.

And so I got into journalism. I watched the games, followed the drafts, read the articles, and basically became absolutely football obsessed.

When I got into Notre Dame’s journalism program, my dad practically glowed with joy.

Notre Dame was four years of hard work. I had fun and watched plenty of college games, but I always had my eyes on the prize.

And the prize was a position as a staff writer for NSPN, the biggest sports network in the world.

I wanted to write for the big leagues. I didn’t want to waste my time on some local paper, so I busted my ass and graduated at the top of my class.

Somehow, I landed an internship. I worked hard, wrote articles, made friends, and finally was noticed. I was given a provisional position as a junior copywriter, which was basically the first step on the long journey to full-time staff writer.

Right around the time I got promoted, I met Ryan Bruce. Not long after I met Ryan, I saw Bull Dixon for the very first time.

I’d never forget that moment. That was the night that changed my life forever, and that showed me there might be more to Bull Dixon than I could have ever imagined.

* * *

My heart was pounding as I walked down the street, my heels clacking on the hard sidewalk.

I felt incredibly nervous, and I kept looking around as if I were going to spot some crazy people stalking me or something. I felt totally uncomfortable in the inappropriately short dress I was wearing, and I could only imagine my father’s response. He’d just grunt and frown with disapproval, which is so much worse than him saying something.

I had no other choice, though. My normally conservative outfits weren’t going to do any good for my mission. I needed to blend in, and the only way to blend in at an NFL party was to dress to the nines.

Which meant high heels and a short, tight dress. I’d gotten my hair done, but I drew the line at going overboard on the makeup. I wanted to blend in, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself.

I wasn’t going to this party to make friends or to have fun. I was going to this party to get some dirt on that asshole Bull Dixon.

I’d gotten the invite from Ryan. We met on the set of the NSPN morning show; I got him some coffee, and he complimented me on my shoes. We quickly got to chatting, and we became actual friends. He was the kicker for the Chicago Bears, and so he was my first insider contact among the players.

I felt bad thinking about Ryan that way. I had a feeling he had a crush on me, otherwise I couldn’t understand why he was being so nice. He didn’t know that I was writing an article on Bull, or else I was sure he wouldn’t have invited me to this party.

But he had, and I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. I may never get to go to another one of these parties, and I just had to see it for myself.

Bull’s parties were legendary. Everyone knew Bull Dixon was throwing the best, most over-the-top parties in the whole league, but nobody seemed to care. For the family-friendly image the NFL worked so hard to cultivate, Bull Dixon was allowed to get away with some pretty bad stuff.

These were rumors, but I had a feeling they were true. He once slept with the wife of his team’s coach. He once stayed out for four days, doing drugs, only to get arrested trying to rob a liquor store for fun. He once went to Mexico and missed a game because he wanted to try authentic tequila. People said he slept with a new woman every night, and he never called a girl back.

He was a total pig. I’d seen him interviewed, and Bull Dixon was about as cocky as they came. He loved to grin at the camera and make lewd jokes just to see how far he could push the stations.

But Bull was also the best. He had the most sacks four years in a row, plus the best defensive stats possible. The man was a machine and a legend, and he got away with whatever he wanted.

I could feel myself getting heated as I stopped at the entrance to the building. I was in the middle of downtown Chicago, and I’d walked by this building a hundred times before but had never had a reason to really look at it. I took out my phone and texted Ryan to let him know I was here.

I quickly checked my purse again. I’d gone to this cheesy little store on the edge of the city that sold magic supplies and “spy” devices. I’d managed to find a camera that looked exactly like a lipstick tube. I pulled it out, checked to make sure it was on and ready, and then quickly put it away.

Ryan came down not too long later. He grinned at me as he walked over to me and kissed me on the cheek. He was cute in a boyish way. He was a few inches taller than me, thin but muscular, with short brown hair and simple brown eyes. He was quick to smile and was a nice enough guy.

“Damn,” he said, laughing. “Have I ever seen you in anything but a sweater and jeans?”

“Nope,” I said. “Now let’s go inside before I freeze my butt off.”

He laughed and led the way. The building was incredibly modern and beautiful on the inside. The security guard at the front desk nodded at us as we walked past him, and I guessed he recognized Ryan’s face. He was a good kicker, though he wasn’t really well known outside Chicago.

“You ready for this?” he asked me.

“Of course,” I said. He hit the elevator call button.

“I should warn you. Bull’s parties are wild.”

“I’ve heard,” I said. “How can that be that bad, though?”

“Well,” he said, shaking his head, “Bull has a knack for throwing parties. Just be warned. You can’t talk about anything you see up there.”

“I wouldn’t,” I said.

“Seriously, Charley, you can’t. I know you’re a journalist, so I’m taking a risk bringing you to this thing. I’ll be fucked sideways if anything leaks.”

“I won’t,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. I felt horrible for lying to him, but I had no other choice.

He smiled, bashful. “Good. Sorry. I had to say that.”

“I understand. You have a career you need to protect.”

“Not just that. It’s just, you don’t know Bull.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Are you afraid of what he’ll do to you?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I mean yes, but that’s not it. Bull’s a good guy. He gets a lot of shit in the media, but you don’t really know him.”

“He’s almost more famous for partying than he is for playing ball,” I said. “I can’t see how he’s such a good guy.”

“You’ll see. Come on.” The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside.

I felt a stab of nervousness as the elevator shot up into the sky. I couldn’t believe I was really doing this. I was a nobody in the business, barely a step above an intern, and here I was getting an insider’s view into one of Bull’s notorious parties. As far as I could tell, no other journalist had ever been invited in.

The elevator stopped at the very top floor. “Prepare yourself,” Ryan said. I reached out and took his arm, knowing he’d like that.

The doors slid open. Music blasted us both in the face, and my breath caught in my chest.

The whole top floor was Bull’s apartment. The elevator opened directly into what looked like his living room.

And the place was packed. Instantly I recognized a few faces, other players and at least one coach. There were servers walking around with trays of alcohol and appetizers, and beautiful women in sexy dresses were standing all over the place, some chatting with the guys and some just looking bored.

“Come on,” Ryan said. “Let’s get a drink.”

I nodded but was too busy gaping around me. The place was packed, and there must have been a hundred people at least. Ryan greeted a few people as we moved into the crowd, winding our way past couches, where I could have sworn I saw a famous quarterback snort a line of coke. Ryan stopped at the bar, and we had to wait a minute for the line to die down.

All around us, people were shouting and laughing, and music was pumping into the room. I couldn’t see Bull himself anywhere, but I did start recognizing more players. That famous quarterback stood up and roared with laughter as he passed the coke to one of the best college running backs in the country. On the other side of the room, I watched a defensive player from the Philadelphia Eagles approach one of the bored-looking women and pull her back down a hallway, disappearing into the back part of the apartment.

“Who are all these girls?” I asked Ryan as we stepped up to the bar.

He grinned at me. “They’re hookers.”

I stared, my mouth open. “What?”

He looked at the bartender. “Whisky and ginger ale for me, and a gin and tonic for her.” He looked back at me. “That’s right, yeah, hookers. Bull always has hookers at his parties. All on him, of course.”

I shook my head, shocked. We’d been at this party for five minutes, and already I’d seen hookers and drugs right out in the open. I couldn’t imagine how these things were kept a secret, or at least how someone hadn’t exposed it all already.

These were professional athletes. They were supposed to be role models. They were supposed to treat their bodies with respect, since their bodies were how they made their living.

Instead, I was seeing the total opposite. I wasn’t some silly prude who thought all drug use was evil and sex was bad, but I was shocked by how blatant it all was. These guys worked hard and needed to blow off steam, which made total sense, but it was way too over the top. The league had rules about this sort of thing, and these guys were supposed to obey them.

Ryan handed me my drink and we wandered into the party. I took a sip and looked around, totally shocked by everything. Hookers were everywhere, sitting in guys’ laps, mingling with groups, and I saw more than a few kissing men I recognized and a few that I didn’t.

“Ryan, what up, man?”

We stopped, and I nearly dropped my drink. Merril Owens, one of the most famous wide receivers in the history of the game, shook Ryan’s hand and gave me a big grin.

“What up, M.O.?” Ryan said.

“Who’s this little thing?” M.O. asked.

“This is Charley,” Ryan answered.

“Hi,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

He shook my hand, grinning. “Well, you’re fucking adorable as shit. How’d you get an invite to this shit show?”

“I brought her,” Ryan said.

“To this?” M.O. laughed. “Good for you, man.”

I took a sip of my drink. “Why wouldn’t he bring me here?” I asked him.

“No real reason,” he said. “It just ain’t the kind of place for a nice-looking girl like you. You get me?”

I shook my head. “Who says I’m so nice?”

He laughed and shrugged. “I got an eye for that sort of thing.”

“Good seeing you,” Ryan said, and steered me away. Once M.O. was gone, Ryan shook his head. “That guy is a dick,” he said.

But I barely heard him. I was too busy staring across the room. Just as we stopped and Ryan started talking again about practice or something boring, I spotted him coming into the room.

It was like a wave washing ashore. People turned toward him and conversation dimmed ever so slightly, almost as if out of respect for his presence.

Bull Dixon was a big man. All of the NFL players were big guys, but Bull was one of the biggest. He was fast and lean and strong, all muscles and intense power. He had a big smile on his face as he walked around the living room, shaking hands and talking to people.

He looked different in person. I felt that nervous excitement return as I nodded my head at Ryan, letting him keep talking as I watched Bull out of the corner of my eye. On television and on the field, Bull had this primal energy about him, something dark and scary.

He still had it, but he also looked more human. He wore a tight, black button-down shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly, and he smiled like he was completely at ease with all eyes on him. He was even more handsome than I had realized, with tattoos that snaked up his arms and cut muscles he wasn’t afraid to show off.

I felt suddenly afraid. What if he saw through my tight little dress and realized what I was? There were other rumors about Bull, rumors about his beating the hell out of teammates for failing to live up to his standards. There were rumors of his violent and terrifying temper.

Would Bull Dixon hurt me if he knew that I was trying to write about him?

His eyes swept the room, and suddenly they settled on me. I went completely still as our eyes met, and I felt like I was getting sucked into his deep green eyes. A small grin slowly spread across his face, and he cocked his head at me.

Oh shit. I wanted to run away. I wanted to get back in that elevator and get the hell out of there as fast as I could. I was way out of my depth, and Bull Dixon was staring at me.

Ryan said something, but I didn’t hear it. He repeated it, and I was forced to looked away from Bull and back at Ryan.

“Everything okay?” he asked. “I know this is a lot.”

“No. It’s great,” I said, unnerved.

“I was saying, did you see the hang time on the third kickoff of the second game last season? It was unnatural.”

I nodded my head, but I had no clue what he was talking about. Nobody cared about the kickoff’s hang time.

“Is this guy boring you?”

I nearly jumped. Ryan turned and laughed. “Hey, Bull,” he said.

Bull grinned down at me. Up close, he was incredibly imposing. I tried my best to smile, but I felt like I wanted to scream.

“Who’s your friend?” Bull asked Ryan.

“This is Charley,” he said. “Charley, meet Bull.”

“Hello,” I said softly. “You have a nice apartment.”

He laughed, this loud and roaring thing. “Thanks,” he said. “You look like you want to run away.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Don’t run away. I’d have to chase you. It’s an instinct, you know. I want to chase and destroy anything that tries to run around me.”

Ryan laughed. “That’s why they call you Bull. You can’t help yourself.”

“That’s not why they call me Bull,” he said, still staring at me. “Do you want to know why, Charley?”

“Sure,” I said.

“It’s because I’m fucking hung like one.”

I gaped at him as he roared his laugh again. What an incredibly crude man. I tried to laugh along with him, but he was just so cocky.

“How about a tour of the whole place?” Bull asked me.

My heart nearly skipped a beat. I glanced at Ryan, and he shrugged. “Fine with me, if you want to.”

“She’s not your girl, is she?” Bull asked Ryan. “No, she’s not. No fucking way you could pull a cute fucking girl like this.”

“A tour would be great,” I said quickly.

“All right then, Charley,” he said. “Right this way.” Bull took me by the hand and pulled me away from Ryan. I saw him smile and nod at me as Bull dragged me off.

“Right this way,” he said. “This is the living room. I don’t really use it.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Too fucking big. You can get lost in this fucking room.” We moved through the party, toward the hallway I’d seen a man disappear through.

“A few bedrooms,” Bull said, gesturing at some closed doors. I could have sworn I heard a moan, but we kept moving.

“You don’t have to show me around,” I said to him, “if you’re too busy entertaining.”

He laughed at me, smirking this knee-shaking smile. “Why would I be too busy for you?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You’re new. I like to give the new people a tour, get to know them. Especially the pretty fucking girls.” He kept walking and then stopped. “Kitchen,” he said, pointing through an archway.

The kitchen was huge. There were staff members working in there, cooking up finger foods and pouring drinks. “You actually live here?” I asked him, laughing.

“I do,” he said. “And guess how often I use that room?”

“Never,” I said.

“Never,” he agreed. “Well, maybe once. I boiled some water.”

“Impressive.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He kept moving. “How do you know Ryan anyway?”

I choked up. I couldn’t tell him the truth, or else he might suspect something. “At a bar,” I said lamely. Oh god, that was the stupidest excuse ever.

But Bull didn’t seem to notice. “Ryan is a good guy,” he said. “Bit of a fucking wuss, though. All those kickers are pussies, except for David Akers. That guy was a fucking champion.”

“Ryan isn’t a pussy,” I said.

“Sure he’s not.” Bull smirked at me. “You ever see Ryan throw a fucking tackle?”

“No,” I admitted.

“There you go. Akers, he fucking tackled people. And there’s no better feeling in the world than when your body collides with another man’s body and you fucking win.” Bull laughed and then paused in front of an open door. “Game room.”

I poked my head inside. A pool table took up the center space with some old pinball machines on the edges. “Nice. Pinball?”

“Greatest game ever.”

“I thought football was the greatest.”

“Football is a sport, princess. Come on.”

I hustled to follow him down the hall. He pointed out a few more rooms before finally opening a pair of double doors at the end of the hall.

“And here is where the magic happens,” he said. “The master bedroom.”

“Nice,” I said.

His room was large, with a big couch in the middle, a television on the nightstand, and a little sitting table to the side. It was neatly decorated and very, very clean, which surprised me.

“That’s it,” he said. “Everything is good to go, except for my room. The extra bedrooms are fair game, but first come first serve. Stay over if you want; I don’t give a fuck. The staff will feed you.”

“Thanks,” I said stupidly.

“Come on. Let’s find your date before he thinks I’m fucking you mindless.”

“Is that something you do?”

“Fuck women mindless? You know the answer to that already.”

I frowned. “No. I mean steal girls.”

“No,” he said, “it’s not, but people think things about me. Can’t help that.”

I followed him back down the long hallway and couldn’t help but feel a thrill run down between my legs. Bull was big and strong, and he easily dominated the conversation. But more than that, he was charming in a really crude way. I realized that I was already wet thinking about him stealing me away from Ryan and showing me if his nickname was for real or not.

Instead, we got back to the living room and he flagged down Ryan.

“Nice meeting you, Charley,” he said, giving me a look.

“Same to you, Bull.”

“Enjoy the party, and be good to Ryan, the fucking pussy.”

Ryan appeared at my side and Bull nodded to him. But as soon as Bull turned to walk away, there was a commotion on the other side of the room.

“What’s that?” Ryan asked me. I strained to see.

“Holy shit! She’s dying!” someone screamed.

Bull instantly waded over into the mess of people. “Move!” he bellowed, pushing people out of the way.

I glanced at Ryan and then quickly followed Bull, my heart hammering. This was the sort of thing I wanted to see, something dark and bad, something to prove that Bull was the asshole that everyone knew he was.

There was a group of people I didn’t recognize all standing around a young woman, clearly one of the hookers. Bull pushed his way into the group of people.

“What happened?” he called out.

“Drugs, man,” someone said. “I think she OD’d.”

“Oh fuck,” someone murmured next to me. People started to slowly filter back toward the doors.

I glanced at Ryan. He looked horrified. The girl was young, maybe in her early twenties, and had thick blond hair and fake breasts. She was pretty, and she was lying on the ground, not moving.

I slowly got my lipstick camera from my purse.

“Move,” Bull said, shoving someone aside and away from her. “You, call the fucking doctor.” He pointed at a random guy who nodded and got out his phone.

I started taking pictures. Bull reached down to the girl and listened to her breathing, felt her pulse, and then started to do CPR.

I stopped taking pictures. Bull was trying to save the girl’s life, I realized with a shock.

More people were leaving, jamming themselves into the elevator. There was a stairwell next to that, and a lot of the players were skipping the elevator to take the stairs.

Ryan took my elbow. “Come on,” he said softly. “We need to go.”

“What? She needs help.”

“Bull and his people can handle this. You don’t want to be here.”

“Why not? We can’t leave her.”

He sighed. “Come on, Charley, we have to go.”

I glanced back at Bull and the girl, but I let Ryan lead me away. I didn’t know why, but based on the way all of the guests were getting out of there, I had a feeling that something strange was about to happen.

And Bull hadn’t asked for an ambulance. He’d asked for “the” doctor, I realized.

Something was strange about this situation. I snapped a few more pictures before dropping the lipstick into my purse. Ryan opted for the stairs, and I followed him, holding on to his arm to keep from falling in my heels.

Something strange had just happened. It wasn’t just the girl having an overdose, which was horrible in itself, but it was the way Bull reacted and the way everyone decided to get out of there as fast as they could.

Bull was trying to save her life, but everyone was acting like they were suddenly in danger.

It made no sense to me. “Why is everyone so upset?” I asked Ryan when we were halfway down.

He looked nervous. “I can’t say.”

“Please?” I asked him. “I’m scared.”

He sighed. “These girls are all mob hookers. Most of the people here know that if a mob girl goes down, it’s not a good thing.”

I stared at him, shocked. “Bull is involved with the mafia?”

“Yeah,” he said, “but you didn’t hear it from me.”

I shook my head, surprised as hell.

I knew Bull was a bad guy. I knew he was cocky and violent and an asshole. But involved with the mafia?

That was something I never would have guessed.

As we finally got down to the bottom floor, Ryan walked with me outside. He walked me to the corner and we paused there. I was slightly out of breath from all that walking, and my feet were killing me.

“So,” he said, “come back to my place?”

I stifled a laugh. We just saw a girl nearly die, or maybe she did die, and this guy was inviting me to his place.

“Sorry,” I said, getting out my phone to call an Uber. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, we just saw a girl nearly die, so I’m not really in the mood to go home with you.”

‘Are you kidding me?” he asked. “I just brought you to one of Bull’s private parties. That shit is worth at least a blowjob.”

I couldn’t believe he had just said that. I quickly summoned the Uber and then gave him a stern look. “I don’t think so, Ryan,” I said. “Thanks for bringing me.”

“You bitch,” he said, turning nasty so fast that it shocked me.

“Okay,” I said. “Good night, Ryan.”

I quickly began to walk away.

“Good. Run the fuck away, you bitch!” he called after me.

I couldn’t believe how fast Ryan had turned nasty, but I was happy it had happened right away at least. Maybe I could have tried to play him a little more, but I wasn’t going to whore myself out for a story.

Besides, he’d already given me plenty. That asshole was clearly a real prick, pussy or not, and I didn’t feel bad about using him one bit. He was clearly trying to use me, too.

As I got into the back of the Uber, I kept thinking about the way Bull had looked at me, his huge body filling the hallway, his cocky smile. I kept seeing him run to the girl and start CPR like he really wanted her to live.

And I kept thinking about his ties to the mafia. I didn’t know how or why, but that was a huge deal.

There was clearly a story there, an even bigger story than I could have guessed.

And I was going to crack it, somehow.