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MILES

“That all you got, Diego?” I taunt the cocky seventeen-year-old baseball player. “I’ve seen toddlers with better accuracy than your weak-ass arm.”

The kid is going places. No doubt he gets drafted before he finishes college, if he decides to go. Even though we play different sports, I held my own on my high school baseball team over a decade ago. But football was where my heart was. Is.

I hold my long arms in front of me and pretend to inspect my nails, then rub them on my chest. The seat in the dunk booth is fuck-ass uncomfortable, but the kids are having a blast throwing baseballs at the target in front of me.

Since Diego is in the oldest age group and on the baseball team, his marker point is the farthest away and his target is the smallest. Fair is fair. It’s the first year Boston Strong is hosting this event, a fundraiser for student athletes who come from low-income families, and the turnout is crazy.

Riley Bankes runs the organization, and ever since she married our star running back two years ago, the team has helped in a plethora of ways. Either volunteering at the 5K in the fall, raising awareness for the program on our social media accounts, or working the spring fling. It’s the first year in its conception, and a lot for Riley to take on, especially since she’s about to give birth any minute.

“You’re going down, old man,” Diego shouts as he winds up his arm, making a big show of himself in front of his friends.

I just met the kid and his buddies this morning during the first hour of meet and greet with the Boston Revolutions football team, and we hit it off instantly. Probably because he has the same immature sense of humor that I have. Yeah, we’re cool like that.

“Little League signups are next—” It happens so fast I don’t even remember Diego releasing the ball. He nails the target and I plunge into the cold water. “Little shit,” I sputter as I wipe my face.

The laughter coming from the group of teenagers banging on the other side of the glass makes it all worthwhile.

“I can’t wait for you to be inside this booth. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“I thought it was just professional athletes volunteering.”

“Exactly.” I tap my finger to the plexiglass, starting with Diego since he seems like the leader of his pack. “Get good grades, don’t fuck off, and take care of your body, and no doubt the Sox will be calling.”

Diego’s story isn’t unique. Single mom working three jobs to barely make rent while he goes to school, plays three sports, and works weekends. All these kids come from dire straits, and giving up a few hours of our time here and there, writing checks, and signing autographs doesn’t seem enough.

I was once in Diego’s shoes and know all too well the challenges he’s facing, and will continue to face.

“What if I don’t want to play for the Sox?”

“Dude! What the fuck, man?” Mark punches Diego’s shoulder. “You can’t say that in Beantown.”

Mark attends the same high school, I learned earlier today, and plays baseball with Diego, but his heart is on the basketball court.

“Keep throwing pitches like that and you’ll have your pick in the MLB. Same advice goes to all you knuckleheads.” I point at each of the four kids. The other two I haven’t met yet, but if they’re here, they’re hoping to make a future in sports and need financial assistance. “Best advice I can offer.”

“What about the chicks?” the blond soccer player asks.

“I have the same advice for the ladies. ”

“No. I mean, what’s your advice on the hot tail coming our way? You’re a player on and off the field. You gonna tell us to stay clear even though you don’t?” He snorts.

“All I’m gonna say is treat the ladies—everyone for that matter—with respect. Don’t let your ego get in the way of friendships, family, or relationships.”

“You’re photographed with different women all the time.” Diego smirks. “You treatin’ them with respect? What’s your secret?”

“A. Don’t believe everything you read online. B. Always. And C.” I mirror Diego’s smirk. “Some things can’t be taught. You either got it or you don’t.”

“Dude!” Mark clutches his middle and leans over laughing. “You totally don’t have it.”

Diego pounces on his friend and the four of them swagger off, following the girl they’d been ogling.

I’m dunked over and over again, and I may go overboard with the dramatics when an adorable twelve-year-old hopeful gymnast hits the target after five tries.

Declan, the Rev’s quarterback, comes and relieves me, and I drag my soaking wet body from the booth. I bend down to get my shoes, and when I stand, I scrape my ribs against a piece of the metal frame of the tank.

Son of a bitch. Blood soaks through my white Revolutions T-shirt and I cover the spot with my hand so I don’t freak out the kids. It’s just a scratch but it looks like a gunshot wound. Nothing a Band-Aid and a clean shirt can’t fix.

I head toward my truck to change, and even over the loud music, I hear her laughter. It’s a sound that’s made my cock twitch for two years now. Twisting around, I catch a glimpse of shiny dark hair swaying in a high ponytail.

Fuck. I’ve imagined wrapping my hands around that hair while I fuck her from behind.

Rowan McDaniels.

Best friends with Riley and Kendall, who are married to my fellow teammates, Walker and Nash. I’ve been around Rowan enough times to call her a friend, although we’ve never spent much time together. We’re always in a group and she’s always laughing with her friends or Walker’s brother Jackson and his husband Taylor.

I’ve never been one-on-one with her, and yet that’s all I think about.

The red cross on the tent over her head is the perfect excuse to see her. My legs move before my brain registers what they’re doing. Or it could be my dick acting as a third leg, sending my body toward Rowan.

The only other person with her in the tent is a teenage girl who has her leg stretched out, resting on a makeshift bed, a bag of ice draped over her knee.

“Twenty minutes are up,” Rowan says, lifting the ice. “Don’t be a hero. If your knee bothers you again, come back and see me, or I’ll get one of the athletic trainers back to take another look.”

“I’m good. It’s just a little sore from my knee surgery a few months ago. I think I overdid it in the jumpy house.”

“You think?” Rowan bops the girl’s nose with her finger. “Don’t rush your recovery, Anastasia.”

“I won’t.”

When Anastasia leaves, I step into the tent.

“Hey, Miles. Having fun?” She gives me a quick glance as she empties the ice bag and straightens her work area.

When she bends over, giving me an epic view of her ass, I swallow and nod. “Yeah.”

Even in nursing scrubs, the woman is hot. Hell, I’ve only seen her in the baggy jerseys she wears to our games, and even then she’s gorgeous. She’d be hotter if she wasn’t wearing Bankes or Humphries on the back. It’s only because her best friends are married to Walker and Nash that I don’t tear those jerseys off her every time I see her with her friends after a game.

Fine. That’s a lie. Even if she was wearing my jersey, I’d still want to rip it off her, but only after I fucked her wearing my number, eight-six, then fucked her again wearing nothing but a smile.

“The turnout is awesome.” Rowan stands and directs her smile my way. “The kids are—Miles!” She rushes to me and places her hand on my chest. My dick swells and all my fucking dreams come true. Finally, Rowan is paying attention to me .

I reach for her face and she lifts my T-shirt up. Holy shit. Does she want to get it on right here, right now? I’m normally not big on voyeurism, but hell. What Rowan wants, Rowan gets.

“What happened? My god, you’re bleeding.”

Well, that’s a fucking ego smasher.

“Does it hurt?”

My blue balls? Hell, yeah.

“Sit down. Let me clean this out. You might need stitches.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I stare down at the back of her head as she studies me, gently touching around the gash with her fingers. Do I suck in my abs and flex a little with her hands on me and her face so close? Fuck, yeah I do.

“Let me put on gloves.”

I want to tell her we don’t need protection, that I’d like to have her bare, but my tongue is fucking tied, and I don’t get tongue tied. I’m a smooth talker. Always quick with the wit and the banter. But being alone with Rowan for the first time has me turning into a virginal fool.

My cock got the virgin memo too. One little touch from her gloved hands and it’s twitching up a storm, asking to come out and play. It’s getting harder and harder—no pun intended—to hide my reaction to her touch.

I tilt my hips backward and think about double sessions, green beans, and Coach’s ass when he bent over and accidentally dropped his towel in the locker room last season. Unfortunately, none of those unpleasantries help tame my raging boner. It doesn’t help that I lean down and breathe in her scent. Vanilla and sugar. Almost like carrot cake.

Now I want to lick her. Nibble her. Eat her.

Fuuuuuuuck .

“It’s long but not too wide.”

“That’s not what she said.” The words tumble out before I think to apply my filter. I’m not the filter-applying kind of guy, but Rowan has girl-next-door vibes and is the sweetest human I’ve ever met.

She snorts and pats my uninjured side. “Nice to see the scrape didn’t alter your personality.”

“Scrape? My intestines are practically hanging out. I’m gonna need a mouth-to-mouth, Doc.”

Rowan points to the table and I hop up.

“FYI, your intestines extend from the bottom of your stomach to your anus.”

I laugh like a ten-year-old boy. “You said anus.”

Rolling her eyes, she sets out gauze and antiseptic shit. “Your boo-boo is a surface wound. No surgery required. I would, however, recommend liquid stitches, if not the real deal.”

“You gonna stitch me up, Doc?”

“Me? No, because I’m a pediatric RN, not a doctor. When I was an emergency room tech, that was one of my jobs, but not anymore. I can give you a sticker though.”

“No lollipop?” Or something else to suck on? My gaze drops to her chest, hidden behind scrubs decorated with footballs, baseballs, and soccer balls.

She cleans up the blood, which isn’t gushing anymore, and pours some antibiotic on the wound. It’s cold and stings, which has me flinching.

“Need me to hold your hand, big guy?”

“Yes.” Or my dick. Fuck me, I gotta clean up my brain. Rowan’s too sweet to be on the receiving end of my thoughts. Those lines work on women looking for a quick hookup, but when I talk dirty, I only mean it ten percent of the time.

Rowan chuckles and wipes the area dry before applying the liquid stitches. She’s gentle and attentive, and that makes me want to be gentle and attentive to her. Not something I’ve ever strived to be before.

I’ve been secretly crushing on Rowan from afar, or at least, from the other side of the room, for freaking ever. If she were the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of girl, I would have approached her long ago, but she’s the kind of woman you wine and dine.

Movie dates. Strolls through the park. The kind of girl you bring home to your parents. Or aunt , in my case.

Rowan peels back the casing to a Band-Aid and sticks it on my uninjured side. “There. I don’t want to cover the wound just yet, but you were such a good boy and deserved a boo-boo covering.”

I glance down at the pink princess stuck to my rib.

“I’m not sure if you have the most impeccable or the worst bedside manner, Doc.”

“Nurse. And it’s impeccable.” She beams at me, her chocolatey eyes dancing with mischief.

Fuck me. Why have I been such a pussy about approaching her?

“Hey, Row. You’re officially off the clock.” A male nurse joins us in the tent. “Oh, wow. You’re Miles Buckingham, right? Love watching you play.” He dips his chin to my hands. “Hell, the media is right. Your hands are enormous. No wonder you’re so good at catching balls.”

“Thanks.” I’m not immune to the attention my hands get. At six-five, I’m a big guy. I wouldn’t be a pro-bowl tight end if I couldn’t catch a football, and my hands are part of what make my stats so good. There are even Buck my Hands fan pages on different social media accounts. Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.

But right now, more than anything, my hands want to catch something else. Some one else.

“Anything I need to know before you take off?” he asks Rowan.

“Nothing major. A girl was in here not long ago icing her knee. Recovering from an ACL surgery. Trainers took a look and told her to take it easy. Her name is Anastasia, so be on the lookout for her.”

“Will do.”

Rowan heaves a backpack over her shoulder and heads out of the tent. I follow on her heels. “You sticking around?”

“I’m going to see if Riley needs any help before grabbing some lunch from one of the food trucks.”

A bunch of us chipped in to pay for the food trucks, and a handful of players who aren’t away on vacation signed up to do whatever Riley needed us to do today. Our downtime between seasons is long, and I’m itching for preseason in two months.

I spot Bankes and know Riley must not be too far away. “There she is.” I point across the park.

“The turnout is amazing,” Rowan says to Riley when we reach them, hugging her as best she can.

“Damn. You look like you’re gonna pop any second.” I make a show of trying to wrap my arms around Riley, avoiding her massive belly. “What’s your husband doing letting you run around like a mad woman? He should be taking better care of you. Say the word, Riles, and I’ll step in and be your man.”

“Fuck off, Buck. And good luck getting my wife to do anything she doesn’t want to do. And for fuck’s sake, put on a shirt.” Bankes puts an arm around Riley’s shoulder and draws her into his side. Such a caveman.

Not that I can blame him. I’d want my pregnant wife off her feet too. An image of Rowan, swollen with my baby—who no doubt would be a beast—pops into my head. It kinda freaks me out, and kinda doesn’t at the same time. Which freaks me out even more.

“You’ve been on your feet since six this morning. You really should take it easy,” Rowan says.

“Blah, blah, blah.” Riley waves her hand through the air. “I’ll have plenty of time to sit once the baby is born. From what I’ve read, I’ll be nursing twenty hours a day anyway. I need to stay busy or I’ll die of boredom waiting for this little nugget to be born.” She rubs her belly and beams up at her husband.

They’re a cute couple. Rocky start, but they’re solid, and I respect the shit out of both of them. Not that I’d tell them that to their face. I have an image to protect, and being serious isn’t part of the package.

“I’m heading to the trucks for lunch. Want to join me?” Rowan asks.

“ Me not us ? And here I thought I was having a lunch date with you.” I hunch my shoulders forward in a pout.

“Maybe you should put a shirt on first,” Riley says. “You’re getting an awful lot of stares from the girls.”

“Shirt on or off, I can’t help it.”

“Miles got a little scratch and I stitched him up.”

“Little scratch? You got up close and intimate with my insides, Row. I’d say we’re bonded for life now.”

“While you two figure out if Buck needs an amputation or a brain replacement, I’m doing one more walk-thru with my wife, then taking her home to rest.”

“I said I’d go home if everything is running smoothly. And we’re coming back tonight to help clean up.”

“It’s smooth, baby.” Bankes kisses her temple, takes her hand, and leads her away.

“They’re going to be the best parents, and that baby’s going to be so spoiled.”

“I’m sure you’ll be the favorite aunt.”

Rowan’s smile is like a lightning bolt to my heart, giving it a surge of explosion before it settles again. Fuck. I like being on the receiving end of her bolt way too much.

“Let’s grab some grub.”

“Maybe a shirt first? You are drawing a lot of attention.”

I haven’t paid attention to anyone but Rowan, but I glance around and see I am the object of a few stares, and plenty of phones point my way. Not that I mind. If my NFL career ever falls flat, I’m not above starting an OnlyFans page.

My hands get me money now, but my abs and ass could bring in a nice penny or two.

“If you’re afraid your drool will get all over my food, I guess I’ll cover up. I wouldn’t mind getting out of these wet shorts either.” Granted, now that Rowan’s hands aren’t on me, I’m a little cold down there. Not turtling cold, but my wet shorts aren’t the most comfortable. “I’ve got a change of clothes in my truck.”

“I can meet you—”

I don’t give her time to finish that dumbass statement and grab her hand, tugging her toward the parking lot. No way in Hell I’m leaving her unattended so all the single males can get to her. For the first time since I met her, I’m not competing for her attention.

She’s not blanketed by Kendall or Riley or the other players’ wives. Not being accosted by my other single teammates. I’ve got her full attention and plan on taking advantage of every second I have with her before someone else swarms on her, dragging her away from me.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy from all the blood loss. I’d feel better if you were close by in case I faint or something.”

“Right. Because I’ll be able to catch you.”

“You’d at least break my fall. Lessen the blow.” And now I’m picturing my body pinning hers to the ground.

Her snort-laugh is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. I unlock my truck and grab my bag from the backseat. I yank out another shirt and tug it over my head and pull out a pair of gray joggers.

Rowan gasps when I drop my shorts, and I look over my shoulder at her. She spins around so her back is to me and I chuckle.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m used to changing in locker rooms in front of the guys, and even the press.” I strip off my boxer briefs and tug on my joggers. Instead of fishing around for a dry pair of briefs, I go commando and pull my joggers up. “Strip show’s over.”

The open door of my truck shielded me from the field, and the parking lot was empty, so I’m pretty sure no one got a peep show. It’s not the best PR to have my naked ass—no matter how tight and toned it is—to be flashed all over social media.

“You have no shame, huh?” Rowan chuckles and turns around. “Much better—” Her eyes dart down my chest and stop at the front of my joggers. Her cheeks turn bright pink and my junk stiffens.

Maybe going commando wasn’t the best idea. Especially not in front of hundreds of teens and their parents. I scratch the side of my neck and turn back to my truck. I have a hoodie tossed back here somewhere. It will hide a little more than my fitted T-shirt.

“Uh. Okay. Yeah.” She shakes her head and turns away again. “So, uh. Lunch?”

“Sorry about that.” I close and lock the truck door and walk with her toward the food trucks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I should have thought about my surroundings before dropping my pants.”

“It’s okay.” Fuck. That laugh. “I’m a nurse. I’ve seen it all.”

“Please, fuck. Don’t tell me I look like a kid in your pediatrics office.”

Rowan bursts out laughing. “Not in the slightest. I meant when I was working in the ER. Trust me. I saw every shape, size, and, uh, embarrassing moments.”

“Do tell me about these embarrassing moments.”

“You wouldn’t even believe the objects we had to fish out of inappropriate places.”

“You forget I have the brain of a teenage boy. I can imagine.”

“How could I forget?” She giggles.

When we reach the food area, I follow her as she checks out every single truck. Twice. My stomach growls, and I’d be annoyed and impatient if she weren’t so freaking cute studying each menu, then going back to compare the choices. Seriously. Cute girls don’t do it for me. At least, they didn’t use to.

“What are you deciding between?”

“I haven’t had a burger in forever, but the grilled chicken and onions smell so good. And then there’s the fresh cut fries or onion rings. Or the sweet potato fries. But I also want fried dough.”

“I don’t see what the problem is. Why not get it all?”

“The problem is I rarely eat fried food because it all goes straight to my ass.”

Since I’m not a respectable gentleman, I bend to the side to check out her ass. Not like I haven’t been all afternoon. Fuck. All year. She doesn’t often wear tight-fitting clothes, but if you look close enough—and, yes, I look—you can see the shape of her round globes under her scrubs.

“Like I said, I don’t see any problem there.”

Instead of blushing or taking the compliment as most women would, she blows it off like I’m not being serious. Does she know her ass is even more tempting because of how hard you have to work to picture the shape of her body under her loose-fitting and shapeless scrubs?

“I guess I’ll have the chicken,” she says.

We step up to the food truck and I order two chicken bombs, sweet potato fries, and a couple waters. I ask Rowan to wait for the food while I cross over to the other food truck she was ogling and order two burgers, onion rings, and fries.

The food is ready around the same time and her eyes grow wide when she sees how full my hands are.

“Worked up quite the appetite in that dunk booth, did you?” She sets her tray on a picnic table and I take the seat across from her.

“Figured we could share. Just don’t hog all the onion rings. They’re my favorite.” I spread out the food and hand her a chicken bomb and a burger.

“I can’t eat both of these.”

“That’s why I only ordered two of each. I’ll finish what you don’t eat.”

“You can seriously eat two burgers and chicken?”

“Have you seen me?” I glide my hands down my torso. “It takes a lot of fuel to keep this engine running.”

“I guess so.”

We talk about the success of the event, the upcoming football season, and Riley and Walker’s baby. When we crumple our trash and toss it in the garbage, I brainstorm ways to spend more time with Rowan.

“Do you think they’re going to have a girl or a boy?”

“I hope a girl. I’d love to see Walker wrapped around her little finger like Nash is with Paisley.”

Funny that the two guys I’m closest with on the team are married and have kids. Nash was a single dad to Paisley for six years before he met Kendall. With the way Nash and Kendall are all over each other, no doubt Paisley will have a little sibling in no time.

I used to hang out with the single guys more often. Declan, our quarterback, and I are pretty close, but he’s only twenty-four and is often with the young guys. Not that thirty-two is old, but in the NFL world, it means you’re looking at retirement and keeping a watchful eye on your future outside the game.

Brock and Trenton are cool guys, and with Nash and Walker married off, I’ve been spending more time with them, but the bar scene is getting old. I used to thrive on being the center of attention, but sometimes it’s nice to chill. Hard to do when the guys you’re with are just looking to get their dicks wet.

Hell, that was all I wanted for a fuck ton of years as well. It wasn’t until recently that my attention shifted. Could be hitting my thirties. Could be I’m finally maturing. Ha. Not quite. Could be meeting Rowan.

For the first time in my life, I see the appeal.

“I’m betting it’s a boy. Bankes has got an extra-abundance of testosterone in his DNA.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Walker is the sweetest.”

“Oh, he’s sweet for Riley, sure. But have you seen him on the field? He’s a beast.”

“And you’re not?”

“Well, hell, little darling. Are you flirting with me?” I tap my hand over my heart in mock shock.

“Please. Like you don’t know how good you are. I’ve been getting evil eyes from all the kids here who want to spend time with you.” She pats my arm. “You go off and play with your fans. I’m going to see what needs to be done so Riley doesn’t have to come back. Thank you for lunch, Miles, and take care of your boo-boo.”

She gives my bicep a little squeeze and walks away. I stare at her ass for too long before a group of kids come over and ask to play pass.

Catching footballs is easy.

Catching Rowan is hard as fucking shit.