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Coach frowns, absorbing my answer before he nods. “I agree with your analysis,” he says. “Moreover, the key going into the championship game is to stay calm under pressure, read the defense quickly, and trust their checkdowns instead of forcing risky throws.”

Sighing in relief, I immediately tense again when Chris says, “I have the perfect chick.”

“No.” I shake my head.

“She’s hot, sweet, looking for a relationship, and readily available,” Chris adds, ignoring me.

I frown, hating that I’m slightly intrigued. “Who?”

“Liz.”

My eyes widen. “Brynn’s roommate?” I turn to Jace for confirmation, and when he shrugs, I say, “Absolutely not.”

“Why the fuck not?” Chris huffs, sounding affronted, like it’s him I’m rejecting.

“Because when it goes south?and it will?Charlotte and Brynn will have my head.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “You’re scared of my girlfriend? Really, bro?”

I scoff. “Aren’t you? She can be pretty scary when she’s pissed.”

“You make a good point. However, Liz is still an excellent idea.”

“What about the fact that I already know her, and not once has she shown an interest in me.”

“That’s because you’ve been giving every female within a ten-mile radius a permanent resting bitch face,” Jace chimes in.

My brows rise. “Excuse me?”

“Or whatever the equivalent is for a dude. You haven’t exactly kept it a secret how bitter about relationships you are,” he supplies. “And Liz is a hopeless romantic, the complete opposite of jaded, so maybe you’d be perfect together. You’d balance each other out. Opposites attract and all that.” He waves his hand as if the point he’s just made is obvious.

“No. And that’s final.”

“You’re such a man-child,” Chris grumbles as he crosses his arms over his chest, pouting.

I snort out a laugh and turn my attention back to Coach and try my best to focus, mostly succeeding when film review wraps up and the team files out of the auditorium.

I head for the exit, chatting with the guys when Coach lays a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “Can I have a word?” Hisweathered face gives nothing away as he gestures toward his office with a slight nod.

My heart pounds like a jackhammer against my ribs as I tell the guys I’ll meet them outside. Several of my teammates shoot me curious glances as I wait for them to file out of the film room before following Coach into his office.

“Close the door,” Coach says once we’re inside. His championship ring catches the fluorescent lights as he settles into his creaking desk chair, and my stomach twists in anticipation.

I lower myself onto the edge of the seat across from him, my mind racing through every mistake I made during practice, every play I blew during the game.

“Got a call today,” Coach says, leaning forward. “New England’s scouting department.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air between us. “They’re asking if you’re considering an early draft entry. Said they’ve had eyes on you all season but were really impressed with how you handled the pressure of the Atlanta game.”

The world tilts sideways. My mouth goes dry as I choke out, “New England? Like, the Patriots?”

Coach’s lips twitch in what might be a smile. “Unless there’s another NFL team in New England I don’t know about.”

“But I’m only a junior,” I just about manage to say.

Coach leans back, the chair protesting beneath his weight. “That’s the point, son. They’re interested enough to ask about you now, before your senior year, to see what your plans are.”

I grip the armrests, trying to wrap my head around what Coach is telling me. The Patriots. The six-time Super Bowl champions. The dynasty. Watchingme.

“I don’t—I mean, I never thought—” I snap my mouth shut, frustrated with my inability to articulate myself.