Page 7 of The Linebacker

“But Jalen is the worst problem,” she said.

“Jalen’s going to get back on this field tomorrow. That photographer is going to be laid up for six weeks at least,” Amil pointed out.

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about.” She sounded snippy. Was that because she was sexually repressed? He’d like to believe she’d been pining for him for all this time, even though he was pretty sure he knew better. The night they’d hooked up, she’d laid out the ground rules up front.

One night. No strings attached. Walk away in the morning and never speak of it again.

He’d been so attracted to her, he’d agreed. Because at that point, it had been only physical. It wasn’t until later in the night—well, early in the morning—when they’d lain in bed and just talked that he realized he liked a lot more about her than just her incredibly hot body.

“Do you have an idea for how to handle the Jalen situation?” he asked carefully. Maybe she did. Maybe she’d already worked up a way for them to hook up again.

Whatever it was, he was all in.

“Yes,” she said and then paused. “You and Jalen learn to be friends. And you and I stay as far away from each other as possible.”

She spun on her heel and stalked toward the workout facility. He started to call out to her—he needed a hell of a lot more explanation than that—but the lady moved fast. If he shouted at her now, it would be loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the team, who were all standing around waiting to see whether practice would continue or be called off for the day.

An injury cart came charging across the turf from the practice facility, two EMTs holding on for dear life while one of the custodians drove it like he was practicing for the Indy 500. Hopefully, he’d go a little slower once he had the photographer on the back.

And then the photographer was carted away and Coach sent them all to the weight room.

The weight room at this facility was more like a weight arena. Two levels, more machines than most gyms, and plenty of space for guys to spread out and work alone—or buddy up to spot each other on the benches.

Amil hated this part the most when it came to joining a new team. It was the same every time, whether it was high school, college, or the pros.

He never fit in.

Part of it, he knew, was because he had a chip on his shoulder, molded from too damn many past instances where he’d been snubbed in this exact situation. It wore a guy down.

Callahan Stuart, a towel draped around his neck, stepped up next to him. “Hey, man, you want to spot me?”

“Sure,” Amil blurted, too surprised by the invite to say any more.

“Just please tell me it’s leg day for you,” Callahan quipped as they headed toward the benches.

Callahan was their kicker. While he was solid, he was a hell of a lot leaner than Amil, whose job was to stop the guy with the ball, which tended to involve getting through a few giant offensive players first. Amil was bulked up out of necessity. Those fuckers on the field hit hard.

“As a matter of fact, it is leg day,” Amil said with a chuckle.

An hour later, he was showered and ready to go…with no place to actually go. The trade had been a last-minute deal, so he’d basically packed up his truck, driven here from Santa Clara, and moved into a hotel.

He didn’t know shit about Portland. The only time he’d ever been to the city was to play the Mountain Lions. He needed to befriend a local who would help him figure out where to look for a house. He had a real estate agent in Santa Clara prepping his current home for the market, and she assured him it would go quick, so he really needed to get a move on.

He left the locker room and headed down the hall toward the exit. A door opened and Diana stepped into the hall, took one look at him, and rolled her eyes.

“I knew I’d run into you more than I’d like to, but this is ridiculous,” she said.

“It’s been twice in one day. Doesn’t seem that ridiculous.”

She flapped her hand. “I wasn’t quite prepared to actually communicate with you.”

“You mean, from a PR perspective?” Like she hadn’t read his bio or something?

“No, not at all.” She waved her hand again, although it was smoother this time. “That’s all taken care of. That’s the easy part. The hard part is…”

Did her gaze seriously drop to his junk?

She took a deep breath. “The hard part is keeping the past where it belongs.”