Derek

The concrete walls don’t provide much of a view as I circle around the track for the twelfth time. I’m supposed to be at training camp right now, out in the sun and surrounded by the buzz of excitement that always comes with a new season.

There was the added excitement of me breaking the NFL’s consecutive games played record with our season opener. I didn’t think anything could keep me from setting that record.

My father raised me on his own, and one of the things he drilled into me was not to dwell on things I can’t affect. Control the controllables. Let the rest go. I took care of myself in the off-season, like I always do. I follow the same diet year-round, I don’t drink, I get enough sleep. I did all the workouts my trainers assigned me. I never bitched.

I did my part. And now I’m trapped in a fucking hole in the ground that I paid other people to dig. The irony makes me shake my head.

One week in, and there’s still a lot I don’t know. The more time that passes, the less I care how the hell we got down here. I just want out.

I know I’d pay a shocking amount of money for a fucking pillow and blanket. We’ve been covering up with bath towels at night, and they leave a lot to be desired. And I know the food down here isn’t ideal. I’ve mostly been eating jerky and beans, both of which have preservatives.

I’m not getting the fresh food I need to stay in top form, and I’m not getting my usual weight training. My team is in camp now. Where do they think I am?

I blow out a breath, reminding myself not to wonder about questions I can’t answer from down here. It just drives me crazy.

Instead, I drop down to the track and knock out some push-ups. I’m doing a plank hold, trying to find a zen spot in my mind, when a pair of high heels enters my field of vision.

“Hey you,” Kenna croons. “Want me to make you some lunch?”

I look up at her. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Well, what can I do for you?”

“Got a stick of dynamite I can blow that door open with?”

She laughs. “Sorry, no. All I can do is try to help the time pass easier while we’re stuck down here.”

I push myself up to a standing position. Kenna is looking me up and down, her eyes bright with appreciation for what she sees.

Does she have a boyfriend? I’ve never asked. I hope something will keep her from trying to hook up with me down here, because things will get awkward quick like if she does.

“What’s everyone doing?” I ask, diverting her attention.

She shrugs. “Erin and Matias are playing a game. Bryce is watching TV.”

I nod. I want to strip off my sweaty T-shirt, but I’d better not do it out here.

“Look, Kenna,” I say. “You don’t need to do anything for me. I don’t consider you my assistant down here. We’re just five equals, trying to get through a crazy situation.”

She nods, then meets my gaze and bites her lip.

Fuck—the lip bite. That’s the universal, unmistakable code for fuck me. And I’m not remotely interested.

“I know,” she says softly. “And if you think of anything that might help us…get through…I’m game.”

“I need some water,” I say, heading for the door back into the bunker.

It’s a relief to walk through the door and hear Erin and Matias laughing. I don’t want to be alone with Kenna. She picked a shitty time to start hitting on me. Not that I would’ve been interested before—I don’t sleep with women I know well—but being trapped underground with a scorned woman sounds like a special kind of torture.

I glance over at the chessboard as I pass the dining table to get to the refrigerator.

“She’s about to cornhole you with that rook,” I tell Matias.

Erin lowers her brows and glares at me. “Mind your own business, Derek.”

I grin at her, then look at Matias. “I’m right.”

“You stink. Go take a shower.” Erin wrinkles her nose at me.

“Move your queen,” I tell Matias.

“Hey,” Erin says indignantly. “Who am I playing here?”

Someone’s got a competitive streak. Even against Matias, who doesn’t seem to be feeling well, Erin’s got her eye on the prize. That surprises and intrigues me at the same time.

“Easy, tiger,” I say. “Game’s already over, and you know it. But I’ll play you after you beat him.”

“Who says she’s gonna win?” Matias protests.

“She’s gonna win.” I pull my sweaty T-shirt up and over my head. “Is anyone here gonna be offended if I wear a towel while I wash my clothes?”

Bryce waves a hand from the couch, not looking away from the TV. “Have at it, man.”

“Go for it,” Kenna says from across the room. I didn’t even hear her come in from the track.

“I don’t care,” Matias says, shrugging. “I look exactly like you underneath these clothes, by the way.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “You feeling okay, man? You don’t look like yourself today.”

“I’m okay.”

I look to the other side of the table, meeting Erin’s gaze. “Okay with you if I wash my clothes?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Make sure it’s a big towel.”

I arch a brow in amusement. “Gotta be a big one to cover up my goods.”

“Oh no.” She groans. “Don’t start that.”

Her discomfort makes me smile. “I’m just stating a fact, Sherpa.”

“Sherpa?” She gives me a pointed look.

“Yeah, you know, a seasoned mountain guide. A sensei. A Yoda.”

Erin rolls her eyes and laughs. “I know what a Sherpa is. And I never said I was one.”

“Okay, Miss 5.14b.”

Her lips part, and then she laughs. “Okay, then. Go get your towel on, and let’s play some chess.”

“You think you’re gonna beat me?”

“I’m definitely gonna beat you.”

I hold her challenging stare, the light blue of her eyes reminding me of the sky on a perfect noon game day. It feels damn good, that momentary connection with the outside world.

“You think ’cause I’m a jock I can’t be good at chess?”

She scoffs. “You think ’cause I’m a blond I can’t be?”

“We’ll see, Sherpa.”

“Soon as you stop talking and start playing, we will.”

I shake my head and head for the storage room to wash my clothes, still wearing a stupid grin. Once I drop my sweaty boxer briefs into the washer, that’s all I’m wearing. I grab a towel and wrap it tightly around my waist, fastening it at my hip.

Erin said I stink. Now I’m wondering if I do, and not really wanting to go sit three feet away from her if I do. I sniff one pit, then cringe.

Shit, I do stink. Wearing the same clothes for a week will do that. I tell Erin I’m taking a quick shower on my way to the bathroom, and she tells me to hurry up because she’s ready to kick my ass.

It’s been a while since I played chess, but I used to be great at it. My dad taught me as a kid. Football is a lot like chess, he told me. The quarterback has to be aware of all the different players and what their next move may be.

Any distraction from my thoughts is welcome. Thinking about what I’m missing on the outside is tearing me up.

I’ve been through this bunker inside and out, trying to find any means of escaping or getting a message out. The ducts are too small to fit through, and the place is soundproof. It was designed to be impenetrable, and it is. Just as it’s impossible for anyone to break in, it seems impossible for me to break out.

It’s a shitty deal, being trapped down here, but I have to keep my shit together. I need to keep up with my physical training as much as I can and stay mentally sound.

I lather my body, hair, and week’s worth of dark beard, then rinse and dry off. No reason to shave down here, I figure. Might as well go full caveman.

There are razors in the bunker, but they’re locked in a safe the others don’t know about, along with a couple guns. When the contractor told me he could add a secret safe for that stuff, it seemed like a good idea. Tempers can flare in stressful situations, and even though everyone down here seems okay, I don’t want to risk anyone hurting themselves or someone else. Depending how long we’re down here, things could get ugly.

Erin seems to have settled down in the past week. Like the rest of us, I think she’s accepted that for now, this is our situation.

We may not have blankets and pillows down here, but at least we have food and unlimited water. We’re alive. And hopefully, help will come.

I take a deep breath and rub the steam off the bathroom mirror, lingering over the face of the man staring back at me. Thirty-two years old and I still look pretty okay. Full head of hair, a few lines starting at the corners of my eyes.

I can’t look at my own face without also seeing my dad’s face. My whole life, we’ve both given our all to my football career. It’s paid off in many ways. I wasn’t born exceptionally talented—I had my skills drilled into me and practiced most every day as a kid. To make it to the NFL was a big fucking deal for me.

But I’m standing out even in that elite company. Setting records. Unlike some of the guys I compete against, I don’t have any distractions in my life. I’ve never let myself get tied down in a serious relationship.

There’ve been women I saw when I had free evenings for a few months at a time, but I never made promises. And they inevitably got tired of hoping I’d change my mind about wanting more.

Football is my more. Every aspect of my life is tailored around the season—even my off-season training. I’m at my peak, and I’ve never loved the game more.

I can’t let myself think about where I’m supposed to be. Control the controllables, I remind myself as I wrap my towel around my waist again.

When I walk out of the bathroom, Kenna looks up from the book she’s reading on the couch and gives me an approving once-over. Fuck. That situation’s not going away anytime soon.

Erin’s waiting for me at the table, the board already set up. There’s a cup of ice water on the table next to my side of the board.

“For me?” I ask her.

She half shrugs. “Figured I should foresee any more excuses you might make.”

My single note of laughter is wry. “The shower was because you said I needed it.”

She gestures at my chair with her palm. “So have a seat, then. And keep that towel closed.”

Unlike Kenna, Erin doesn’t even spare me a glance. She only looks at the board, taking her time with every move she makes. When she’s thinking, she brings a closed fist to her mouth and rests her pursed lips on her knuckles.

“Ohh,” I say, shaking my head as she moves her hand toward her rook. “You sure about that?”

Her hand freezes, and she narrows her eyes at me. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I weren’t sure.”

I shrug. “Go ahead.”

“Stop trying to mess with my head.”

I give her an indignant look. “Me?”

She glares. “I’m confident in my move, so just worry about your own next one, ’kay?”

She moves her rook and then sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. I capture it with my remaining knight. “Check.”

Erin knits her brows together and shakes her head. She’s looking at all the pieces, running through possible moves in her head.

“I’ve got this game,” I say, leaning my elbows on the table. “But we can play it out if you want.”

She meets my gaze across the table. Damn, she’s got pretty eyes. I can’t believe I’m just now noticing that.

“You’re sure?” she asks.

“Yeah. But you played well. It was still anybody’s game until two moves ago.”

She looks down at the board, then lifts her chin to meet my eyes again. “Okay. Let’s play again.”

My cock twitches beneath the towel. I can’t help my physical response to Erin right now. It’s not about her looks—though she is beautiful. She’s got an amazing body, and her skin has a smooth, golden glow from time spent outside.

She’s the first woman I’ve ever known who reminds me of myself. Other women flip their hair and feign interest in football. They laugh too loud at my jokes and offer themselves up for anything I want.

But Erin is more interested in this game than in me. She lost with grace, but I saw the spark in her at the moment she conceded. It’s just like every time someone outran me in a sprint at a football practice growing up. Every time a coach told me I’d missed a pre-snap read.

Let’s do it again.

That had always been my response. I always wanted to try again and again, however many times it took to win. To be the best.

“Where’d you learn to play chess?” she asks me as we line our pieces back up on the board.

“My dad. You?”

“I used to play with my uncle and my cousins when I was a kid. It’s been a while since I played.”

“I’m not great at many things,” I admit. “Chess just happens to be something I’m decent at.”

Erin gives me a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. I’m not buying the whole humble Derek thing.”

I arch my brows and laugh. “I am humble.”

“You just have your assistant let everyone know you’re the highest-paid quarterback in the league,” she murmurs, her tone playful.

I glance at Kenna, who’s sitting on the couch holding her hand in front of her, studying her nails.

“I’ve never asked her to do that,” I tell Erin.

We finish setting up our pieces at the same time, and then we lock eyes across the board for a few seconds. My cock is still stirring beneath the towel. Is she feeling anything right now, or is it just me?

“You’re white.” She nods at the board. “Make your first move, hotshot.”

“I prefer hot shit.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. “Move, Derek.”

I arch a brow. “You planning to make symmetrical moves?”

She scoffs. “I’m not telling you what I plan.”

“You don’t have a plan, do you?” I smile knowingly.

“My plan is to win.”

I reach down and rotate the board so she’s got the white pieces and I have the black.

“I don’t care if I’m first,” she says.

“You should. White is statistically more likely to win. But if the black player makes symmetrical moves, it sometimes psychs out the white one.”

“Ah!” Erin’s face lights up, and she points at me. “That’s how you beat me! You were white last game!”

I roll my eyes. “Please. I outplayed you, Sherpa. I’ll play you as many times as you want and you can be whatever color you want every time, and spoiler alert—I’ll still win.”

“So humble.”

She holds my gaze for another second before looking at the board to consider her move. My eyes stay on her, though.

Good thing I’ve played thousands of games of chess and I know what I’m doing. Sitting across from Erin, it’s really easy to be distracted. And right now, a distraction is just what I need.