THE TWO IBUPROFEN I swallowed last night have zero effect on my pounding head when I wake up. It's pitch dark in the room because of the blackout curtains, and I slam my hand down on the nightstand trying to find my phone and turn off the loud and insistent alarm.

"Fuck."

Once the sound stops, I turn on the bedside light, squinting into the room with a groan. The bus leaves in forty-five minutes. Thank God I'm packed and ready to go. I take a quick shower, pull on board shorts and a T-shirt, and grab a protein bar on my way out of the apartment. The entire time I'm heading to the bus, small glimpses of my drunk-fest last night flash through my head.

I drink a few beers here and there and don't usually go overboard. I have no idea what got into me last night. My lack of enthusiasm for this coming season and my desire for a sexy little kicker could have something to do with it.

I should have left the party early like I originally planned. Seeing Jordan all buddy-buddy with Lane flipped a switch inside me and alcohol was the only way to shut it off. Didn't work but that was the plan.

My cab pulls up to the stadium beside the bus, and the driver quickly unloads my bags. "Good luck this season," he says before driving away with a large tip.

Several of the guys are talking by the door to the bus and I head over. "Mornin'," I offer.

"Hey," Mason says. "Didn't know if you'd make it."

"Haha, your ass would be draggin' mine out of bed if I didn't," I reply.

"Naaa, I'd worry about catching you in bed with our new kicker."

The fun from a minute before sucks right out of the air. "What did you say?" I hiss.

Mason isn't cowed. "Wow, the look on your face. Not smooth, Patrickson."

Crap. What the fuck did I do last night? I remember watching Jordan with her new best friend smiling and generally goofing around. It was pissing me off. I run my fingers through my hair to gather my thoughts. The guys are watching me closely. Too closely.

Bobby walks around the corner of the bus. "She's loaded up and ready to roll," he says. My savior.

"Hey, Bobby." I give him a customary sweep of his hair, which jogs my memory. A quick flash of Jordan standing between my thighs last night appears and disappears in an instant. Damn, it's bad.

"I've crossed everything off my list and the buses are ready," Bobby adds with his usual bright smile.

"Good job," I tell him with more assurance than I feel.

Bobby is one of the gentlest souls I know. He may look like a teenager but he's actually pushing thirty. His mental capacity is that of a young teenager. He's the heart of this team because in his eyes the players can do no wrong. I'd also put him up against any equipment manager in the league. His OCD is the best thing that ever happened to a locker room for me.

"And here she comes, the kicker with the hot lips," Mason whispers loud enough for everyone within ten feet to hear. "Hot lips" jogs my memory too. Where's a large hole when you need one? Jordan and Lane keep walking toward us. "Is Lane playing in your territory, boss?" Mason asks in a serious tone before they're close enough to overhear.

Hell no this can't be happening. Jordan tips her head at me and offers a tight smile when they walk by. Lane assists her onto the bus with a hand at her waist. Yes, Lane is walking in my damn territory but I can't say that out loud. "She's a teammate and it's not a good idea for anyone to establish territory when it comes to our kicker," I respond like it's not the biggest lie on the planet.

"Seriously, you haven't tapped that?" Mason asks, stunned.

"Tried," I say because my macho radar is in full force. "Lady said no," I reply and board the bus before anyone can reply. I hear laughter behind me.

Lane and Jordan sit toward the back. I sit up front, turn sideways, pull my baseball cap low, and close my eyes. There's instant relief in my head. Bobby greets each of the players as they board. We have two buses and when ours is settled, Bobby heads to the second bus. Mason takes the seat across from me. I know it's him because he goes through his customary bullshit griping about hating bus rides. I peel open my eyes once he's settled. He's sitting in a similar position with his back to the window. When our eyes meet, he mouths, "You're full of shit."

I grin because I am and Mason knows me too well. I won't give him the truth and that will activate his vivid imagination. I don't give a crap. Somehow I need to figure out a way to apologize to Jordan for something I can't entirely remember doing.

She sticks with Lane during the three and a half hour trip. We stop for one break and Lane actually waits in front of the ladies' restroom while she's inside. Jordan has barely looked at me and I feel like I'm back in high school gathering my nerve to approach the prettiest girl in class.

Screw my life.

Football is simple. You move the ball into enemy territory and live to tell the tale. This "whatever it is" with Jordan is complicated whether she thinks it is or not. I need to forget about her and the hottest lips on the planet and concentrate on the season.

Wishing for something and making it happen are two different things. Thoughts of her lips attack my brain throughout the bus ride.

We arrive at the White Sands hotel and receive our room assignments. I'm with Kelson Miller like always. Why the team thinks the two QB's vying for the number one spot should room together is beyond me. I could have it changed but that would cause a bigger problem than I already have with Kelson. He wants to move out of my shadow and it won't happen as long as I have two legs and a throwing arm. In the meantime, he can be a jerk. It suits him.

The rooms are nice, but they are far from the five-star elegance I've grown accustomed to. The upside is we won't be in them much. The real pain starts tomorrow. Is Jordan ready? Crap, I need to punch myself each time I so much as think her name.

I eat in the small hotel restaurant with several other players in hopes that I'll run into Jordan so I can apologize. She never shows.

Kelson surprisingly joins our group. The man usually avoids me and anyone I'm with. Unfortunately, he immediately begins flappin' his fat mouth. "I say we start a pool for the day Miss Pollyanna is carted off the field by medical." My water glass is halfway to my lips and I swear if I squeeze the glass any tighter it will shatter.

Randy Byers speaks up. "Done. There's an app for that. What's the buy in?" He pulls his cell phone out and begins looking for the app, I presume.

"There will be no betting," I snap. "All we need is for a bet like that to go public and we'll be in deep shit. Let it go and let her do her thing."

"Must have lost your touch, Patrickson. I hear she turned you down," Kelson adds.

"None of your business," I respond and cast a glare at Mason, who shrugs with a smile. Don't let anyone tell you gossip is a girl thing. Football players love nothing more than sharing shit they would be better off keeping to themselves.

Kelson refuses to shut his trap. "The bitch has no business playing professional ball. Thank God she's not hard on the eyes. I'm sure her tight little snatch and those wicked lips will keep her on the team as long as she's able to-perform."

Oh, hell no. I set my glass down and glare at Kelson. "You can keep those fucking thoughts to yourself." I clench my teeth so hard it shoots to my head and I fight to hold back a groan.

"Or what?" he taunts.

I rise from the table and he does the same. "Or I'll knock your balls so far up your ass it'll look like you have a vagina," I challenge.

"I'd like to see you try," Kelson grinds out.

"Ladies, please." Myer steps between us.

Our meals are paid for, so I toss my napkin on the table and walk away. Kelson is pushing me. It's easy to see that the confrontation that's been building for three years will come to a head this year. I plan to make it happen. I've had it with his shitty disposition and no way is he talking about Jordan's lips.

I need to get whatever this is with Jordan out of my system. If I can keep my mouth shut long enough for her to cool down, maybe she'll be willing to listen.