“Are you okay? I didn’t see you when I came around the corner.”
“I’m fine.”
He nods quickly and I swear he licks his lips as his gaze looks me over from head to toe. Then he focuses on my eyes.
“Have a good day.” He winks before jogging through the tunnel toward the field.
When I look at Hope, she has a hint of humor in her eyes and a huge smile on her face.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Isaac Flores, wide receiver.”
“That’s Isaac Flores? He’s not just any wide receiver. He was drafted straight out of high school. He’s the best in the NFL.”
“You know football.”
“Yeah, not so much. I wasn’t much of a fan before I started working at the stadium in New Jersey. That first year, I had a manager who was a huge fan and could spit out any stat or fact from the past fifty years. Her enthusiasm was definitely contagious. We started watching games together when we weren’t working and now, I follow several teams including the Giants and Jets. I’m not great at remembering stats, but I know a few key players.”
“I can see those being teams you follow. Sometimes, it’s about proximity. My dad’s the reason I love the Dolphins. I guess I’m the reason my kids love the team.”
“That makes sense.”
After a stop at the HR office to get my photo taken for my badge, Hope leads me back to the office, where Sandy is waiting with papers spread across the conference room table. After completing paperwork, Sandy gives me a map of the stadium to add to my folder, then we spend a few hours going over the information Hope gave me when I first arrived.
By the time five rolls around, my new badge has been delivered, so I can access the building anytime. Even though I’m mentally exhausted, I try to take my folder and laptophome to do some reading and to learn more about the new job, but Sandy insists that I take a break for tonight. She’s right. I need to let my brain rest. For me, that’s not always a good thing. A resting brain only allows me time to think about all the shit I can cause to go wrong in the next few weeks.
FOUR
ISAAC
Practice was brutal today, but it always is this time of year. We have less than six weeks before our season opener, and we have a lot of work to do. By the time I make it home, my muscles are screaming. I toss my keys into the bowl by the front door and grab a bottle of water from the fridge before connecting my tablet to the surround sound and blasting my favorite boy-band playlist through the entire house. Backstreet Boys fills the room. I drop onto the couch and open the greasy bag, pulling out three burgers, two large fries and an apple pie. This is the perfect end to a long day. My favorite music, greasy fast food, and the most comfortable couch I’ve ever sat on. I’ll be lucky to make it past eight o’clock before passing out from sheer exhaustion.
While I tear through my burgers, visions of a sexy smile flash in my head as I think about the man I almost clobbered today—tall and lean with short, brown hair, perfectly-trimmed facial hair, brown eyes, absolutely gorgeous. He wasdressed to impress in khaki pants and a blue polo that looked amazing against his pale skin. I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind. He invaded my thoughts during practice, in the shower, while Coach gave us his after-practice lecture, driving home, and now as I eat dinner. I have to find out who he is. I hope he is a new employee, and I will run into him again. I’d ask Carter Masters since the guy was with his mom, but Carter doesn’t know I’m gay. No one knows and I’d like to keep it that way.
Meeting guys is almost impossible as one of the most well-known NFL players in the country. I do my best to keep a low profile. I rarely go out and haven’t dated in years. I have no desire for my private life to be blasted all over the internet and that’s exactly what will happen if my secret gets out. There has to be a way for me to figure out who this guy is and still keep my personal life private.
I try to keep thoughts of that gorgeous man out of my head as I clean up my mess, take the trash out and wash the dishes I left in the sink this morning. Instead of returning to the couch, I drag myself down the hallway to the master suite. If I sit back on the couch, I’ll wake up there in the morning and that’s the last thing my body needs. My frame is much too big to stretch out on the couch and I always regret it when I fall asleep there.
My phone dings with a text as I get comfortable on my California king bed.
Tyson: Come out with us. Heading to South Beach to hit some clubs.
I consider ignoring his text, but if I do, I’ll catch hell tomorrow. Who am I kidding? I’m going to catch hell when I turn him down again. I’m all for a good party, but not during the season when practice is kicking my ass.
Me: Not tonight. I’m already kicked up with some trash TV.
It’s not really a lie. I haven’t actually landed on a show, but I’m scrolling through my options.
Tyson: Come on, Old Man. You’re the baby of the team, but act like my grandpa.
Tyson: Actually, I think my grandpa parties more than you.
Tyson is always teasing me about being old. In fact, he coined the nickname ‘Old Man’ about two years ago and it stuck. If it wasn’t so damn true, it might piss me off.
Me: Guilt me all you want. It’s not going to work.
Me: Call grandpa. He can take my place.