I SURVIVED THE early morning show bedlam and answered the same ten questions three times in a matter of hours. I even signed a few autographs, which threw me for a loop. Larry stayed by my side up until we returned to the airport for our flight back to Albuquerque and his cell phone rang. One of his star athletes had a crisis and Larry changed his flight and left me on my own.

I send off a quick text message to my college coach saying I'll call once I'm settled. I do the same for my dad and promise to call him tomorrow. I press speed dial for Reg.

"Holy shit, sister, I can't believe you've kept this from me." He's called me sister since he hooked up with Laura and discovered it was serious. To some, his use of the word might seem weird. But even when we had our friends with benefits relationship, we both knew we made better friends than lovers. It was only a matter of time before one of us found someone. Thank God it wasn't me.

"Let me talk to her, you phone hoarder," I hear Laura demand in the background.

The phone makes a garbled sound and she takes over. "You're playing with Aiden-fucking-hottest-quarterback-in-the-NFL-Patrickson?"

"Hey," Reg yells.

"Hey yourself. You're nothing to sneeze at but you're no number fifteen. I'll make it up to you later, promise."

"And dream about number fifteen?" I add to their conversation.

"You bet your booty, girlfriend."

Laura always makes me laugh. "He's hot," I tell her.

"Smokin'," she fake whispers.

"He smells delicious too," I say in the same whisper, very aware there are ears all around me.

"Is he hotter than Killian?"

"I don't know. I haven't met Killian-yet."

"Yet?" she screams and I pull the phone away from my ear.

"I'll meet him eventually, I'm sure." I don't add if I survive training camp and preseason, because I refuse to let doubt fill my mind. When I meet Killian MacGregor I'll give Laura a full report.

"I could so tap that. Ouch, don't pinch me," she says with a giggle. "I promise no quarterback tapping if you'll do that special thing with your tongue tonight."

I really don't want to hear this. I also don't remember the special thing she's talking about with Reg's tongue. Gross is all I can think because he's my brother now by default. "It's time to board my flight. Tell Reg that Aiden's dick is small. That should make him feel better."

"Oh my God you saw his dick?"

I glance around to be sure no one heard her blaring yell into the phone. "No, but I don't want Reg leaving you because then I'll be forced to let him cry on my shoulder."

"You're right and I don't want him crying on your shoulder either." We both laugh. Getting to this stage in our friendship has been a long process. "Bye bye, buttercup, and don't you dare let anyone keep you away from your dream," she says.

I hate hanging up without talking to Reg again but I know I can't ask. "No way, no how," I answer her. "Bye, Laura, and tell Reg bye for me too."

I click End and head to the gate. An hour later I'm comfortably seated in first class. "Would you like a beverage?" a steward asks before we take off.

"White wine, please." It's been a long day and maybe if I mellow out a bit, I can sleep during the flight. I sip on my wine as other passengers board. Minutes before the plane takes off I tip my head to the side and shut my eyes. I don't even realize when the steward removes my glass and adjusts my tray to the upright position. The last thing I recall is a vision of Aiden Patrickson staring at my lips.

***

Saturday morning I make phone calls. I'm worried about buying a place to live before the regular season starts. I should just bite the bullet and start looking but it's like a bad omen or something. I need a rental until I'm solid as the Pronghorns' kicker. I walk to a convenience store down the street from the hotel to purchase a newspaper so I can check apartment ads. I'm in line waiting to pay when I receive a solid bump to my hip and I stumble sideways.

"You think you can play with the big guys?" sneers a large man who's puffed up and ready for a confrontation. He's shorter than me but broad shouldered. He's somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. A baseball cap is sitting backward on his head and he looks like a typical redneck wannabe who probably thinks football is more important than world peace.

He assaulted me and my brain is slow in processing exactly how I'm getting myself out of this situation without leaving him with a black eye. The other customers are staring at me and stupid guy to see what happens.

"I think you've mistaken me for your wife or girlfriend." I take a defensive stance balanced on the balls of my feet. "I hit back and if you touch me again, you'll discover how hard." I'm seething and more than ready to defend myself if it comes to that.

The man looks around. "See her," he says pointing at me like he's a two year old. "She's the new kicker for the Pronghorns. I didn't think the team could get any worse. Some player's going to lay her out in practice and there will be too many pieces to pick up." He laughs loudly following this announcement.

There's an older gray-haired woman in line. She steps in front of me and gets right in the man's face. "You're a bully. You want to try pushing me around or any of the other women in this store?" She balls her hands and moves them up to chest level. "When I fall, I'll break something and your sorry ass will sit in a jail cell until hell freezes over. When they push me in front of the judge in a wheelchair you'll look like the moron you are. Didn't your mamma teach you manners?"

To my surprise, several people actually clap. The man backs off, shouts a few choice words, and walks out. My hands are shaking.

"Don't worry about slimy pond scum like him," the older woman assures me. "As much as I would have enjoyed seeing you put that man on his ass, I'd rather see you stay out of trouble and play a game. Nothing good was coming out of that."

"Thank you." I add a genuine smile to show how much I appreciate her help.

The woman tucks in behind me and gives up her place further up the line. "My name's Doris," she says and shakes my hand. "I liked the way you handled Mike Goodwyn at the press conference Thursday. He's a blowhard and he thinks his poop don't stink. It's easy to get behind a winning team. Wearing your team colors with pride when they're losing is another story." She sticks out her chest and I feel like an idiot for not noticing the Pronghorns' shirt she's wearing. This woman is amazing.

"Do you mind if I get your name and number? I'd love to give you a ticket to my first game."

She gives me a quick hug. "You're a sweetie. My husband and I would love it if you could spare two tickets. He was a Detroit fan before the Pronghorns came to town."

Even if I never play a pro game, I'll find a way to get this woman and her husband the best opening day tickets available, despite the fact that her husband was a Detroit fan.

Being assaulted in public is something I never considered. I need to ask other Pronghorns' players if they receive this type of treatment too. Somehow I don't see the man who pushed me doing it to Mason Jackson without a death wish.

When I arrive back at the hotel, I comb through the apartment rentals. Most require a six- or twelve-month lease. Maybe a lower-priced hotel room than the one I'm currently staying in is the answer. If they have something with a kitchenette, it would hold me over until I prove I'm capable of playing with the boys.

I head out for a long run before settling in for the night. The run was exactly what I needed for a good night's sleep. My cell phone ringing at seven o'clock the next morning wakes me up. I check the number and don't recognize it.

"Hello?" I say sleepily.

"Miss Givens?"

"Sorry, you have the wrong number." I know exactly who's on the other end. His deep voice sends a tingle clear to my toes.

There's a pause before he barks out a laugh.

"I thought you were going to call me Jordan," I answer, instantly awake.

"Jordan," he says and my insides melt a little more. Aiden Patrickson is so damn hot and that includes his steamy bedroom voice.

My mother and sisters would like to meet you and you're invited to dinner tonight at my mom's house. She's the best damn cook in the state and you'd be a fool to pass up the invitation. If your league of fans can do without you for the evening, I'll pick you up at five."

"Hell," I whisper under my breath.

"What was that?" Aiden asks with a smile in his voice. He heard exactly what I said.

"I mean, um, great. I'd love a home-cooked meal. Are you sure this isn't a way to lure me into the desert and hide my body?" I hope he knows I'm teasing.

"Truthfully," he says with a chuckle, "I thought about it, but I'm too afraid my mom would ban me from Sunday dinners. I tried to explain that you're a big girl but she's decided you need support and she and my sisters are your new cheerleaders."

Wow. The man of few words has sisters and a mother. I thought he rolled out from under a rock or something. "I'd love to come and I'll be ready at five. Are you picking me up at my room or do you want me to wait in the lobby?"

His voice sounds a little strangled when he replies. "Reporters are everywhere and you're a hot commodity right now. I'll pick you up at the west side entrance of your hotel at five sharp."