“I’m good. Just want to clean this up before Penelope gets back.”

I move to pull away, but he won’t let me go, standing and tugging me to him. His eyes are worried as he gives me a kiss, soft and slow. “Hey, I know we aren’t just about me and my stuff.” He pushes hair out of my face. “I’m happy about Nashville, happy for you.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you excited about it?”

I nod. “Of course. It’s a cool town.”

I haven’t wanted to bring it up much. When I told him last week, he listened intently, his face unreadable. We even celebrated by going to Cadillac’s with Ryker, Penelope, Dillon, Margo, and Connor. It was a fun, laidback night, but I caught him staring at me when I was talking to the girls about driving up in a few weeks to find an apartment. His eyes were filled with disquiet, his expression drawn.

Is he worried about a long-distance relationship? Maybe. I am.

I keep picturing him in another town…away from me…with “fans”.

He watches me now, his eyes bright. His chest rises. “Charm?”

“Yeah.” My hand holding the paper plates shakes a little. The air feels charged, as if he…

He sticks his hand in his pocket, and I wonder if he’s touching that note. “I know things are up in the air, but we’ll make a plan after I’m drafted. I don’t know where I’ll be, or if I’ll even get selected.”

“You will.”

He looks at the floor then back at me. “I’ve never had someone like you.” His throat bobs and his eyes search mine. “You know…you know how I feel about you, right? You’re the last thing I think about when I go to sleep, the first thing I want when I wake up.”

I set down the plates, slide into his embrace, and put my arms around his neck. “It’s going to work out, all of it.”

He kisses me, and it’s hard and sweeping, part need and part frustration, both of us anxious, wondering what the coming weeks will hold. I get lost there, in his mouth, like I always do. I don’t know how I ever waited so long to have this intimacy with him, to share it with the man I love. His tongue sucks on mine, making me moan, and he gives me more, his hands already in my hair and pulling out my ponytail and palming my scalp, getting me as close to him as he can.

“Charm, baby…” he says, staring down at me, those blue eyes dark with heat. “I brought rope. You got any high-heeled boots?”

I grin. “Already picked out and ready.”

He laughs and leads me to my bedroom.

28

“We both know who’s gonna look good today for that scout,” Archer says, squaring his shoulders, nose to nose with me. “Me.”

We’re standing in the middle of the field while Cedrick Clemmons, the New York Giants scout, watches from the sidelines. I feel the weight of his scrutiny, his assessing gaze on us. Gone is the affable fellow I met in the gym a few weeks ago, and in his place is a hard-nosed businessman looking for talent.

It’s a fucking gift.

An NFL scout has asked to see you and Archer run drills before the Combine.

That’s what Coach Sanders told us yesterday—and here he is today, watching.

Ryker gives me a thumbs-up from the sideline as he talks with the coaches and a few other players who are hoping they get the chance to hop in. He’s not going to throw to us—doesn’t want to risk an injury—so Coach Sanders is standing in.

I reach out my hand to give Archer a quick fist bump before we start.

He pounds down on my outstretched hand like a boxer before a fight.

“Going to destroy you,” he says under his breath.

I grin, but it’s tight, controlled. “Try. I’m faster.”

“Hike!” yells Coach.

I fire off the line, getting my arms under Archer’s ribs right away, and he stumbles back, giving me a crucial second to twist away and run. He recovers and sprints after me, but I stop on a dime and spin around right as Coach throws the ball. Archer flies past me, and I catch the pass twelve yards downfield.

Blaze one, Archer zero.

I flip the ball back to our coach as we both walk back to the line and set up for the next drill. As I pass Archer, I bump him with my shoulder. Beat you, my eyes say.

He sends a grin to Cedrick but then looks back at me. “Pussy move.”

“Ah, you want a pity play now?” I say. “I just saw a wannabe defensive back who doesn’t like contact. Cedrick saw that too. He just wrote down the word soft next to your name.”

Archer rolls his shoulders. “If that’s the way you wanna play it, let’s dance.”

“Hike!” Coach holds the ball and waits for us to run.

My body darts forward, and I swing in Archer’s direction, acting like I’m going to jam him again, but I do a fake and fly past him at full speed.

He runs to catch me, but I’m faster, my feet eating up the yards. Twenty yards down field, I look for the ball, which is already in the air. In a split second, I realize I’ve beaten Archer on the route, but Coach has underthrown. I dash back, get behind Archer just in time, and leap. I snatch the ball down, and we both fall to the ground. Yes!

Blaze two, Archer zero.

I walk back toward the line and hear Archer breathing, snorting like a bull. “You trying to show off for your girl? What’s the deal with that one? She leading you around on a leash?”

I glance up into the stadium. Charisma and Dillon sit low in the stands. I didn’t see her come in, although I knew she wanted to come. I agreed when she asked, though grudgingly. Part of me wants her here, but the other part is terrified I’ll fuck it up and disappoint her.

“Hike!” yells Coach, yanking me back to the present.

I’m one second late getting off the line, and as I get up to full speed, Archer is right on my hip. I stop and turn for the ball. Coach throws a shitty pass and I twist to grab it, but Archer shoves me in my back. The ball falls to the field.

Blaze two, Archer one.

My fists clench. Focus!

Keep your eyes off her and on him. Right.

“Bitch move, Archer,” I tell him as we line up.

He stares at me, eyes hard. “Your girl reminds me of that stripper at the Furry Kitty Kat, you know the one, big tits and a juicy ass. When she’s done with you, I’m going to fuck that real good.” He leans in until I feel his breath through the cage of my helmet. “What’s her name? Charm? She remind you of the trash you come from?”

I flick my eyes up. She’s got her hands clasped tight in front of her, eyes on me.

“You ready, Blaze?” asks Coach, and I realize I’m distracted.

“Yes, sir,” I bite out as Archer glares at me across the line.

“Hike!”

I blow past him as Coach overthrows the ball, and I put every ounce of effort into driving my body forward.

I dive and reach out to get my fingertips on it just as Archer’s feet tangle with mine. His cleat jams on my ankle hard and the ball ends up just out of my grasp, hitting the ground.

Archer stands first and towers above me, smiling. He reaches out his hand to help me up, but at the last second, he jerks it away. “I’m the superstar here, farm boy. Not you.”

He runs back to the line.

Pain skyrockets from my foot up my leg as I stand. I shake it off. I’m cool. I’m cool. I glance at Cedrick as he scribbles notes on his clipboard. The last thing he wants to see is a prima donna wide receiver complaining about a little pain.

I walk back for the next drill, fighting the urge to limp.

Coach watches me, a furrow on his brow. “You good? Looks like he accidentally came down on your ankle.”

Accidentally my ass.

“I’m fine. What’s the next route?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“You sure?”

“What’s the next route?”

“Deep post,” he replies, gaze wary.

I line up.

Archer leans in and whispers, “You’re hurt, farm boy.”

I realize he’s right after a few more drills, and my gut churns with frustration. I’m nowhere near full speed, and my ankle throbs with each step, adrenaline the only thing keeping me going. I’ve had injuries before, small ones I recovered from, but this…this is…shit.

I come back to the line.

Coach levels his eyes on me, his gaze going to my ankle. “Blaze, get your ass off the field and send in another wide receiver for Archer.”

My shoulders tense. “I’m fine. Let’s run another play.”

He grimaces. “He’s kicking your ass. Doesn’t look good.”

I crack my neck and tighten my jaw.

“Don’t ruin your ankle for a scout, son. Get off the field,” he says, his tone more insistent.

I’m not leaving this spot until I beat Archer.

“Sir—”

“I’m sorry. I know this is big. Get that goddamn ankle looked at.” He crosses his arms, taking no arguments.

I let out a groan. “Please, Coach. Just let me try.”

“No.” He points to the sidelines.

“Where you going, pussy? We’re just getting warmed up,” Archer calls as I stalk off the field. He laughs, but I ignore him and fight not to limp with each step. I can’t even look at Cedrick.