Bobby's face turns a shade darker. I put my hand out and he shakes it quickly. "I know who you are, ma'am. Nice to meet you. The front office told me to appropriate larger towels so they cover more." He doesn't quite meet my eyes the entire time he talks. "Here they are," he hands me two large, fluffy, white towels. "I'll have fresh ones for you each day. Your kicking stats are impressive and you're exactly what our team needs."

It's so hard not to smirk at Aiden. At least this kid has an open mind. "Thank you, Bobby. How did you come across my kicking stats?"

He shuffles his feet and looks down at the floor. "I tallied them myself. I saw the story about you on TV a couple years ago and started following your games."

This kid can't be more than eighteen or nineteen. He also isn't in the loop that I'm to be treated like I'm not here. That's the normal MO of the guys before they adjust to having me around. "Don't say that too loud or the team might overhear you and you'll lose your job," I say in all earnestness. The heat in Aiden's eyes right now could fry eggs. I have no idea why he's upset. He, like the majority of players, doesn't plan on giving me a chance.

Bobby just laughs and kicks the carpet. "Don't worry. Rick Dove is my dad."

Wow, I didn't see that coming. "Even if Rick wasn't your dad, you would still be my new best friend. Quite a few players don't have your attitude about girls playing football." Yeah, if looks could kill, Aiden would drop dead when I turn a glacial flash of eyes on him.

Bobby finally looks me in the eye. "They'll come around. I'm friends with all of them. If you have any trouble, just find me and I'll take care of it." He glances around the room with pride. "I'm usually here in the locker room keeping it organized. That's my job."

He's precious and I'm glad to have someone on my side.

"See you around, Bobby," Aiden says and heads for the door. "I'm hitting the treadmill to warm up my muscles." Oh. He just had to mention his damn muscles. What I would give to lick the sweat off his abs after he warms them up.

Stop! I'm so damn pathetic. Bobby has no idea what's going on between Aiden and me and I would like to keep it that way. Licking Aiden's sweat will definitely give it away.

He also doesn't appear suspicious of Aiden's quick departure. He pushes his red hair out of his eyes and then points toward the back. "They're building you a special shower and changing room. The workmen will start when you leave for training camp. It should be finished when you return."

This means the front office staff has faith in me. "Thank you so much, Bobby. When do you think the other players will start arriving this morning?"

He scratches his hairless chin. "Aiden is always first, then Coach. Tobias and Kelson will come in next." Bobby proceeds to give me the exact order of the players' arrivals. "I can give you a better rundown tomorrow after the new guys show up for today's practice."

He's literally a fountain of information. "Thank you. I'm going to change into my practice uniform and hit the gym."

He shows me to a bathroom stall, which has a few clothing hooks on the inside of the door. The showers are stalls with no doors and I'll be doing my showering at the hotel until my private one is in place. Bobby didn't mention it but they are also placing doors on the guys' showers. Yes, having me in this room will be a huge awakening for the team.

I change before leaving the locker room. Coach Mitchel and Coach Morely enter just as I go to open the door and I step back.

Coach Mitchel gives me a surprised look but recovers quickly. "Jordan, I'm handing you over to Roger Morely. You'll be with him from here on out. He'll give you a rundown of what's expected."

Coach Morely holds out his hand and I shake it. We've met but he didn't say more than a few words to me. He's in his fifties, has a strong grip, and looks no more excited than Coach Mitchel does about having me here. "Warm up in the gym before the general morning meeting and then stick around for the special teams meeting," he says.

I'm suddenly nervous again. "Thanks, Coach. Heading to the gym now."

The men turn away and I walk out. Aiden is on a treadmill when I enter the gym and he ignores me. I hit another treadmill and start running at a slow pace to warm my muscles before stretching. More players enter. Aiden receives greetings while I'm treated like I don't exist. It's exactly how I thought it would go. Their attitude only helps solidify my resolve.

A few minutes before six, we head into another room I haven't seen before. It has tables in rows and a state-of-the-art audio video system in the front of the room. Kelson Miller sits down beside me. He's the second-string quarterback and will be my ball handler. In all the videos I've seen of him he never looks happy. I guess coming in second place to someone younger must irk him. He doesn't bother to greet me, so I keep my mouth shut.

With a deep commanding voice, Coach Mitchel starts the meeting and reviews what's expected from us. Most of it centers on injuries and reporting them immediately. If we have bruises, muscle aches, strains, anythingwe report it. Before each morning meeting we'll meet with trainers to review our injuries. No exceptions. Outdoor practices will be from nine to eleven and two to four and then back to see trainers so we can report any new injuries and they can give us a plan of action or seek advice from team doctors'. Afternoon practices are in full pads. In two days we leave for our official training camp in White Sands, which is ten degrees hotter than Albuquerque. Oh joy.

When Coach Mitchel stops talking, Aiden, Kelson, and the third string QB leave while the rest of us stay in the room with Coach Morely. Morely talks about the practice films we'll be watching tomorrow morning and what he expects of us. "Jordan, you'll be sticking with Lane. He'll explain what you'll be doing during morning session. The two of you will join special teams each afternoon." I don't show my relief but I'm glad to be with someone who knows the ropes. From the information I found online, Lane is twenty-eight, he went pro directly out of college, and he's single. He has fair skin, blue eyes, and short brown hair. He's good looking, though no Aiden Patrickson in my opinion. The first thought I had when I saw his picture was that he reminds me of Reg.

We file out of the room and I head back to the locker room for my helmet. Lane walks up beside me. "You won't need it or anything else. Let's hit the field." No hello or God forbid welcome to the team. His words are short and clipped. So not my Reg.

I follow him. Of course we don't go to the main practice fieldwe head to a practice field where there are a few benches on the sideline and yards of green grass minus bleachers on the sidelines. I breathe in the smells of the football field. Earth, freshly cut grass, and warm beautiful air. It's my small piece of heaven. To the side of the benches there's a kicking net and a mountain of tees thrown in a pile. I swear my feet tingle at the sight.

The special teams' players hustle out on the field and line up for warmups.

"We'll stretch and practice some kicks after we're warmed up," Lane says with absolutely no enthusiasm.

He's barely looking at me and my patience is at an end. I step in front of him and place my hands on my hips. "Look," I say and wait for him to finally meet my eyes. Up close he's better looking than in his pictures but right now is not the time dwell on it. "You don't need to like me. Frankly, I don't give a damn. We'll be together quite a bit and I don't want each day to drag on because you won't speak to me. Go ahead, tell me to fuck off. At least you'll be bringing me into the conversation." I blow a few tendrils of escaped hair from my face and continue staring so he knows I'm not backing down.

Lane gives me a long, thorough stare-down too, which doesn't intimidate me in the least. I hold eye contact until he looks away and mutters something I can't hear. He starts stretching without responding and I mimic his moves with frustration pounding blood through my veins. Special teams' players are running up and down the field circling their arms and going through a complete warmup routine. Nope, not me and Lane. After a quick and totally inadequate round of basic stretches, Lane sits on a bench and reties his shoelaces. Without looking at me, he pats the spot beside him. I raise my eyebrows and a moment later sit. I check my shoes, which don't need tying.

"Know what I'm doing?" he asks as he unties and reties his shoes a second time while I look at him puzzled.

"Being lazy?" I quip.

"Kickers' wind sprints," he deadpans.

I burst into laughter and the nerves I've had since waking up this morning fade. "Like that, is it?"

He re-ties his shoes in the same slow, methodical way he did a moment ago. "Exactly like that," he finally says. "We may want to be part of the team but those guys," he waves his hands in the direction of the players, "don't think of us that way."

"It wasn't this bad in college," I say truthfully.

"Welcome to the pros, Jordan. If you want to piss these guys off, let them leave blood on the field and then when the game's on the line and it's your turn-score. They win, they hate you, and you don't give a shit. It's the life of a kicker."

I'm well aware of this but I don't want him to stop talking. "It'll suck if I don't get at least one pat on the ass," I say in my best dreamy girl voice. He finally looks over and meets my eyes. I give him an exaggerated wink.

His lips twitch. "Head my way after you score and I'll make sure you're not left out. Do me a favor and avoid me if you miss, though."

"It's a deal. Just so you know, if you pinch my ass, I'll deck you." He ignores that and I find the courage to ask about something on my mind. "Were you friends with Lee Conner?" Lee is the kicker I replaced.

"Yes and we're still friends."

Okay then. "Is it a problem?" I ask because I want to know up front what I'm dealing with.

"No. Ready to do some kicking drills?"

I guess that's the end of that. "Sure. Will it be this boring every day?"

"Probably worse. Afternoons are better. Now smile for your fan club and let's get to work."

Reporters and cameramen are lining up on the opposite side of the field. "Oh goodie, I love putting on a show."