And then, my gaze landed on Braden Lock.
I knew it was Braden Lock because I knew every player on the team. It was one of my favorite ways to distract myself when I needed to unwind after practicing for auditions. I’d pull up the roster and shuffle through them, memorizing names and faces even though I knew many of those guys wouldn’t even make it past preseason. It’d been one thing that had impressed the director during my interview, that I already had a standard knowledge of the coaches, staff, and players, as well as our opponent lineup for the season.
I prayed that would be enough to get me through tonight.
Some of the players from my study session were fuzzy in my mind, names and faces blurring together.
But there were a few who stood out, who I could point out in a crowded bar if needed.
Braden Lock was one of them.
I told myself it was his impressive rookie season that made him easy to remember, but I knew the truth. That man was the kind of beautiful that made him impossible to forget. I’d done a double take when I’d first seen him on the roster, and when I spotted him shirtless in a candid shot from last year’s training camp, I’d literally spit out my water.
The man was a tank.
He was lean, yes, but stacked with muscles that made me wonder if he’d had even a gram of sugar in the past four years. He wasn’t gargantuan like some of his teammates, but he was a solid six-foot — just tall enough for me to wear heels and fit comfortably under the crook of his arm.
Not that I was thinking about that.
But it was more than his body, his stats, and his quiet, reserved nature that intrigued me.
It was his jaw, square and strong the way I imagined a Spartan warrior’s would have been.
It was his rich brown hair, the golden strands that lined it, how it was thick and just long enough to make me want to run my hands through it, to make me wonder if it felt as silky as it looked.
It was his eyes, honey brown and blazing against his tan skin.
Those eyes were wholly focused on me right now, and I startled at the intense stare for only a second before the corner of my mouth curled.
Like what you see, big guy?
He frowned a bit, almost like he was studying me.
I was ready to start using body language to communicate across the field when suddenly, all the noise in the stadium rushed back to me at once, the lights blinding, the cheers around me deafening, the sweat running down my chest so vivid I felt like I was on ecstasy.
Because the director had called my name.
“Emily Huxley!”
Braden
Emily Huxley.
The name imprinted itself into my brain just as much as the image of the girl it belonged to as she stood.
I tried to decipher why as I watched her make her way down to the field, the crowd of cheerleader hopefuls around her clapping and congratulating her as she walked past them. Unlike the ones who had been announced before her, she didn’t jump up and down or cry or scream.
She smiled like sheknewher name would be called, like there wasn’t a doubt in her mind.
Confidence rolled off her like steam, searing my senses as I allowed myself a stolen moment to take all of her in now that I could see her more fully. I hadn’t meant to stare at her at all — her, or anyone else here, for that matter.
But she’d caught my eye, my gaze being pulled to her like she was a star in an otherwise dark abyss.
It unnerved me because I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had that effect on me.
For years, my single focus had been on playing football and providing for my family.
Of course, I couldn’t remember a timeeverin my life that I’d seen a woman who looked likeher.
