Gigi’s addicted to men in tights. She sits on the bleachers. Her back zips straight when I wave to her. Then she descends the steps, a vision in her thigh-hugging leggings and a neck-diving sweater. Gigi stops at the barrier separating the field from the stands, tiny mouth curved into a smile.

"Hey," she mouths.

I blow kisses, and she laughs. Eric, the wide receiver, rips his mouth guard out. "She your girlfriend?"

"Not yet."

"Nice, man. She’s pretty."

Coach Devlin, a bald guy in his fifties who always wears a red baseball cap no matter the weather, blasts his whistle. "Smith, get your ass into gear! You’re in the starting lineup Tuesday. I need you ready."

"I will be."

Coach’s hawk eyes narrow. "Not the way you’re hobbling on that foot. Are you injured?"

I brace myself for the explosion. "It’s my ankle again."

"Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? We’re playing Ohio State!"

"I’m sorry, Coach. I should’ve told you right away."

"When you’re hurt, it’s a weakness for the entire team!" He rips off his cap and strokes his white beard. "All right. You’re benched until I figure out a plan."

"I’m solid. I just need a few days of rest."

"Ohio State players aren’t resting. They’re vipers on the field. Goddamn it, Smith!" Coach cups his mouth, bellowing. "Doc! Get your ass over here."

"That’s totally unnecessary. I don’t need a doctor."

"Shut up." Coach furiously replaces the cap on his head, approaching the man sprinting across the field with a medical kit. "It’s his ankle again."

"Achilles tendon," I grind out, hating the accusatory stares of my teammates. "I’m fine, swear to God."

Doc Galatsky, a young guy in his thirties with a soft-spoken voice, takes my arm. "Let’s go, Smith."

I slide from his grasp. "My ankle’s a bit swollen, that’s all."

"I’ll be the judge of that."

I sigh and follow him across the field. Gigi slowly makes her way over as Doc forces me onto the bench.

"Which one is it?" he asks.

I point at my right, and he unlaces my cleat. Once my foot is free, Doc applies gentle pressure to the joints. "Does that hurt?"

Pain stabs through me. "A little."

He rotates the joint, and I grimace. "It feels tender. You taking ibuprofen?"

"Yeah. Only one pill each day."

"Let’s increase that to fifteen-hundred milligrams daily. And you’re going to elevate your leg every half hour for five minutes with ice."

Great. "Will do."

"With some luck, you’ll be ready for the game next week."

Gigi takes the seat beside me. "Something wrong?"

Her presence is a breath of fresh air. "Same old shit."

Doc rolls down my socks, exposing more flushed skin.

Gigi grimaces. "Looks pretty bad."

"Does that mean you feel sorry for me?"

"A little."

"Good, because Doc says I might need a nursemaid. Sponge baths. You down?" I wince as Doc wraps my ankle in kinesio tape. "Ow!"

"Are you done with practice, then?"

Urgency pulses through her words. She’s hot for me. "Give me an hour, and I’ll be all yours."

"Need ice." Doc stands. "Be back in a sec."

Gigi watches him leave with the air of being glad to see him go. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Uh oh. What’d I do?"

"Nothing." She balls her fists as though steeling herself to say something. "Um—I don’t know where to begin. I-I guess I wanted to tell you that if we’re going to do this, we should keep it secret."

"You mean because I went down on you? That’s the sort of thing you brag to your girlfriends, hon."

"No, I mean, the fact that we’re…you know."

"Dating. What a scandal."

"Imagine if our families found out." Gigi meets my gaze again, eyebrows furrowed. "I don’t want my mom bombarding me with questions. Or, hell, my ex’s family."

Her shyness strikes me as charming. "You want to keep this a secret, so you came to my football practice? My teammates are worse gossips than a sewing circle."

"Oh." She looks embarrassed. "I won’t do it again."

"No, I’m glad you came."

Gigi beams, her rosy cheeks darkening. "I watched you play. You’re really good. It’s impressive."

Admiration shines through her voice. I’ve listened to dozens of women carry on about how great I am on the field, but hearing it from Gigi touches me in a way it hasn’t from the others. Maybe because she’s hated me her whole life, so I know the compliment is real.

"Thank you."

Gigi smiles, still embarrassed. "I guess I should go."

I take her hand. "Wait."

"What is it?"

I don’t want her to go. "Stay with me."

I squeeze her fingers. Then I grasp her chin, surrendering to Gigi’s beauty and my desire for her. We kiss and her arms wrap around me like she’s been waiting to do it all day.

Gigi’s tongue swirls with mine, wetting my lips before sliding into my mouth. I’m not sure what’s hotter—that she’s doing this despite my whole team watching or she’s so attracted to me that she’s forgotten them.

"Keep it in your pants on the field, Smith!" Eric shouts.

Gigi breaks the kiss, mortified. "Oh shit."

"Forget about him." I guide her palm to my chest. "Feel this."

My heartbeat pulses into her fingers.

"Wow."

"This is what you do to me, Gigi." I’m two seconds from dragging her into the locker room. "You’re amazing."

Gigi soaks in my words like a flower absorbs sunlight. "Say that again."

"You, Gigi, are amazing. And I need you. I want you. All of you. And I don’t want it to be in a car or in a shitty hotel."

Desire ripples in her eyes like twin flames. "What do you propose?"

"Come away with me. For the weekend."

"Okay," she says finally. "I can’t believe I’m saying yes."

I wipe a strand of hair from her face, happier than I can express in words. "It’ll be a blast."

"What are we doing, Ronan?"

"Taking it one day at a time."

Gigi grabs my neck and kisses me, her lips white-hot. I fist her hair, the players on the field and my coach forgotten. To hell with them, all I want is her. No one’s ever made me feel this way and leaving her will suck. I’m already dreading our last kiss. It weighs inside me, heavier than lead.

Why can’t I keep her?