MAKE NO MISTAKE, quarterbacks are the prima donnas of football. No one will argue, especially not me. We're also paid exorbitant amounts of money, even though I personally have a long way to go to catch up to the amount Killian MacGregor makes. Three years ago, I had high hopes for the Pronghorns, but if things don't look up this season, I need to keep my options open. Bottom lineI'm tired of losing.

Defensive and offensive starters have the luxury of the best practice field. Many players are vying for roster spots and training is intense. After warming up, the offensive line, which I'm part of, runs through drills during the first hour of practice. We work this part of our day at half strength. It's more to get the feel of the plays and make them part of muscle memory.

The afternoon practice intensifies and we'll be in pads and helmets. Taking down the QB will still be off limits, but I won't deny the sound of helmets clashing and the squeak of new shoulder pads get my blood pumping. While we go through the motions, my thoughts turn to Jordan.

Yeah, I really pissed her off this morning. It kind of slipped out and I'm not such an idiot that I didn't realize it hurt her. The entire situation sucks because the Pronghorns desperately need a good kicker. It's Jordan's ability to take a hit that bothers me. If quarterbacks are prima donnas, kickers are cream puffs, and when the preseason games begin, she'll be toast. I've already heard the guys talking about her first hit from a defensive lineman. I've seen this play out before on the field. When the guys want someone out of play, they make it happen. Usually with bad blocking. They consider getting rid of deadweight a tune-up for the team.

The way they see itthis year's tune-up is Jordan.

I want to think I'm riding the fence on this one but flat out, Jordan has no business here. Maybe I am stuck in my ways and unwilling to give a little. The strong women in my life make me appreciate the male atmosphere of football more. I've loved everything about the game.

Sharing my negative thoughts with my mom and sisters would have me banned from dinners for life. For many years I was the man of the family, even though I was only a young boy. In my mind it was my job to care for my mom and sister. When Ty came into our lives, I resented him for taking on my role. I was ten years old then. The only mental relief I got was playing football. Candice's birth brought me back into the family fold because she was so darn cute I couldn't carry my attitude on my shoulder forever.

Even so, football grounded me. As the women in my life grew older, I escaped to the locker room for guy time. No hormonal hysterics to contend with, no makeup left on every available surface, or girly talk to drive me crazy. My first locker room in junior high was the start. We were boys, but in there, we were men playing a man's game.

We take a short breather while the coaches talk among themselves. I glance around. Usually there are cameras set up on the sideline. Not today and it doesn't take long to figure out that they're on the smaller practice field with Jordan. So much for my quarterback fame. The Pronghorns have a new star. I down some water and hustle back onto the field.

We go through the same two plays more times than I can count. When the whistle finally blows, we jog to the locker room. I hit the shower fully aware Jordan could walk in at any moment. The guys noticed her name on the cubby, but no one comments. That's also not a good sign. We bitch and moan and rarely keep anything in when it affects the team. We are all caught between a rock and a hard place on this one. If we dare say what we feel, we're misogynist pigs. Which we are. It's just not something we can blast to the head office or the media.

I turn my attention to the players. They're bitching about running the same plays we do every year. When that conversation fizzles out, they start in on what the roster will look like after first cuts. It's a hard time of the year for most players and many, once cut, will never play pro ball again. I don't see it working for Jordan either. From the locker room to the field, she doesn't belong.

Female sports reporters are lumped in with the news teams and only allowed in here at designated times. Jordan will have free roam. No, I don't like it or anything else about the situation.

After my shower, I pull on jeans and a T-shirt and head toward the meeting room. Jordan is waiting in the hall. She's still in her practice clothes and only gives me a quick glance. Damn, she's sexy with her sweaty hair and reddened cheeks. Get control of yourself, Patrickson! Football and sexy do not go together. Unfortunately, my dick doesn't quite agree with this assessment. Being around Jordan is like taking a double dose of Viagra.

I fight the need to look over my shoulder after we pass each other. I feel her eyes on me, though. I reach the meeting room and grab an assortment of foodsandwich, vegetables, chips, and waterand then sit so I'm facing the door. The offensive line takes seats around me and we talk about this morning's meeting and practice. This is only day one of training camp. As the days progress, exhaustion will set in and things won't be as jovial. It's a known fact that many players think of quitting each year at this time. Not that they would, but if there is a time when you hate your job, it's during training camp.

I'm listening to Randy Byer complain about a young draft pick on his ass for his spot when Jordan walks in. Talk in the room noticeably slows, but Jordan ignores it and fills a plate with food before she beelines to a table off to my right. With his foot, Lane Grisham pushes out the empty chair across from him and Jordan takes it. He doesn't say anything and neither does she. The noise level resumes.

"the guy's a pansy and when shit's on the line, Coach would be stupid to go with him." Randy is just getting started. I listen to these identical complaints every year. He's a great player but has a chip on his shoulder when it comes to confidence in his own abilities.

I do my best to hide the fact that I'm keeping an eye on Lane and Jordan. Lane's a strange one even for a kicker. He has few friends on the team and mostly keeps to himself. Right now, I appreciate that he's made a place for Jordan at his table. A few special teams' players move over and talk to Lane. They ignore Jordan, but she listens attentively without giving input. Lane speaks to Jordan suddenly and the two stand up, drop their plates on the counter by the door, and leave while I'm left with Randy and his complaints.

A few minutes later, I can't take it anymore. "I'm getting some shuteye before this afternoon's practice. See you then." I clear my chair and walk away without waiting for Randy's acknowledgment.

We have several options during noon break. Beginning tonight, many players will stay at the same hotel where Jordan is registered. The hotel is close to the stadium and convenient for the long days we're putting in. When we leave for training camp, we'll all be in the same hotel and sharing rooms. My apartment is located downtown five minutes from the stadium because I get my fill of hotels throughout the season. There are a few places here at the stadium where you can get a few minutes of sleep, but that's not why I left. I need to figure out where Jordan and Lane went. I check out the players' lounge first. Jordan's voice stops me before I turn the final corner to the lounge.

"It's the hang-time that changed my mind. Go back to basic physics," she says. "A football is not a ball at all, it's a projectile. I changed things up and kicked both types of balls at the end of soccer practice in order to judge the physical differences and the ability of each ball."

Lane's voice reaches me next. "How old did you say you were when you started this research?"

"Twelve. The year after they turned me down from playing youth football. There were kicks I made with a football that didn't transpose to a soccer ball and I was curious."

"You think I can improve punting by adding more hang-time?" Lane asks.

I'm surprised Lane is actually listening to Jordan. He said practically nothing to her at lunch.

"It's absolutely hang-time. That's not always a bad thing. Most of the time with a punt you want distance"

I'm engrossed in the conversation but it doesn't stop me from hearing footsteps approach. I walk toward the sound so I'm not caught spying. It's Randy. He obviously wants to talk, but I wave him away from the lounge and have him follow me to the locker room.

"What the heck?" he asks after the door closes behind us.

"Jordan was giving Lane a lesson in kicking physics and I didn't want to disturb them," I say and watch a stunned expression cross his face.

He huffs a laugh. "You think she knows more about kicking a ball than Lane?"

"I don't have a clue but he's listening. You know what your problem is, Randy?"

He puffs up and I know I'm heading into dangerous territory. I don't know why I even bother. "You need to get your crap together. You should be another captain on this team but you spend more time cutting down players than seeing who needs your help."

He steps into me so we're toe to toe. "You got something going with the girl?" He doesn't wait for me to answer. "Women think they're as good as men but that's bullshit. There are some things they'll never be as good at and one of those is football." My fists tighten as Randy continues going off. "She's only the beginning. If we give an inch, we'll be invaded by pussy. I'm with Mason and ninety-nine percent of the team on this one. Football is no place for a woman unless she's giving us a pussy peek from the sidelines."

I inhale slowly through my nose and concentrate on keeping my cool. It's not just the meaning of Randy's words but the degrading way he says them. Hell, only a few minutes ago I was thinking close to the same thing. But Randy saying it adds to the uncertainty I'm feeling.

"You do, don't you?" Randy breaks into my thoughts. "You got a thing for the new kicker."

I need to cut off Randy's observation immediately. "I got a thing for all my teammates because that's what a captain's job is. My job is also to win games. Try catching more than sixty percent of the balls I throw your way this season if you want to keep your place on the team." I'm pissed and day one of camp is the last place to show it. We have a long road in front of us and I need to remember what's on the line. Randy's speculative look lets me know I haven't gained any traction where he's concerned.

Somehow I need to keep my mind off Jordan and stay focused.