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M ILES

Never in my life have I struggled with concentration. Okay. That’s a lie. In school, I struggled on the daily. But on the field? Never.

Not during practice, not during film, never the fuck during a game.

Today’s lift was a shit show. I hadn’t paid attention to the weight I was lifting or how many reps I did.

It wasn’t until Dec called me out for being a pussy when I only had two hundred pounds racked on the Smith machine that I realized I’d spaced out while brainstorming date ideas.

Even now, driving home after practice, I missed two turns because I mentally weighed out the pros and cons of asking her to go to a festival in western Mass I learned about online, or to a wine tasting in Connecticut.

This is what coach’s warnings were all about in college. Don’t let a girl mess with your head. Your time on the field is limited. If you’re lucky and escape injury, you’ll get four years at college.

If you heed coach’s warnings, work your ass off twenty-four-seven, including off season, and you’re lucky enough to have some God-given talent, you may get drafted into the NFL.

If you’re lucky enough to get a contract, you could get some playing time your first year. And if all the gods and stars or whatever the hell you believe in align, you could have a career as a professional football player.

I’ve been one of the lucky ones. Not necessarily because of my God-given talent; I’m nowhere near the caliber of the top tight ends in the NFL—past or present—but I do alright.

The years in therapy Aunt Lynn forced upon me in middle and high school paid off. Instead of getting sucked down a vortex of depression, drugs, or whatever the hell else preyed on parentless kids, I forced myself to be a class clown.

Laughter detracted me from the shit hole my life was, and it made my aunt and sister happy. As a teen who felt responsible for caring for the women in my life, that was always my sole focus. To make them happy.

Aunt Lynn needed me to stay active, so she signed me up for every sport ever offered, and football was the one that clicked.

Because of my size, I played basketball too, but I didn’t have the focus to be a starter. I liked playing defense, and even sitting on the bench, cheering on my teammates.

With football, I only had to be on the field when the offense was up. I needed to be active but also have some downtime to clown around with my teammates.

Being the team cheerleader has always been my thing. Even during film, I’m the one to crack jokes or razz the guys about anything and everything.

It was either that or let my mind wander to the worst day in my life. A scene I can never unsee. I needed—and still need—laughter in my world or I feared I’d never come out of the dark hole.

Ironically, goofing around kept me centered. Even now into adulthood. I know when to keep my mouth shut though. When Coach is in a mood, or our team has fucked up and we’re getting our asses handed to us, I keep my jokes to a minimum.

Or at least on the down low so none of the coaching staff can hear me. My teammates? Yeah, I want them to hear. Laughter is the best medicine and all. Hard games, losses, injuries, all that shit can get in your head and affect not only your performance on the field, but your personal life as well.

It’s why I don’t sweat the small stuff. And in my world, everything is small compared to that day.

Channeling my inner comedian is easy on most days, but lately a gorgeous brunette with the sweetest brown eyes and the most erotic mouth I’ve ever fantasized about has been taking up too much real estate in my noggin.

Correction. Not too much. There’s never too much Rowan. The problem is not enough Rowan McDaniels in my life.

I’ve had my share of women since I hit puberty, but never have I longed to be with someone like this.

I’ve dated supermodels, actresses, singers, and women who could grace the cover of Playboy, but none of them distracted me from football.

Never have I looked forward to planning a date. Looked forward to sex? Hell, yeah. My cock loves a woman’s attention.

But looking back now, I don’t think I’ve ever dated a woman. Dinner, maybe a movie, and most definitely sex.

Never a hike. Never a night of just hanging out that didn’t start and end with one or both of us naked.

It’s not like I’m opposed to relationships, or even dating, but my focus has been on my family, myself, and football. And all require me to be on my A-game.

Something I’m not giving right now.

***

I don’t want to give Rowan the easy way out of turning me down, so I find her car in the parking garage next to the pediatric office she works in and wait.

There are four million gray Hondas in this damn garage, and it takes me forever to pinpoint the one that belongs to Rowan.

I don’t have her plate memorized, but I remember seeing the Yankee Candle air freshener hanging from her rear-view mirror when she got into her car one night after hanging out at the Whiskey Buckle.

I park two floors up and jog down to her car and check my phone. It’s almost five, and I have no idea what time she gets out of work.

By five-thirty, my stomach growls. I should have thought this through. What if she walked somewhere for dinner with her coworkers? Or worse, what if a date picked her up?

I make it another level in candy crush when I hear her sweet voice.

“Miles? What are you doing here?”

Pocketing my phone, I lift my head and smile. “Hey, Doc. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah. Fancy you sitting on the hood of my car. Hopefully you didn’t leave a dent in it. If so, you owe me a new one.”

Hell, she’s cute when she teases me. She’s especially cute in her scrubs.

“Are those bananas on your shirt?”

She glances down and pulls her top away from her full chest. “And apples and strawberries and oranges.”

“Very fruity.”

“I guess so.” She fixes the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Did your car break down or something? Or did you need to make an appointment with Dr. Sherman? You’re a little older than most of our patients, but I can pull some strings if you need me to.”

“Why would I need Dr. Sherman when I have you, Doc?” I hop off the hood of her car and take the keys from her hand.

I unlock the car and open the passenger side for her.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding the door for you.”

“I usually sit in the driver’s side. It’s easier to reach the gas and brake pedals from that side.”

“I’m taking you out to dinner.” Not what I had planned, but I’m good at winging it. Especially since planning dates isn’t my normal go-to.

She crosses her arms and tilts her head. “Taking or asking?”

“Both?”

“I’m not dressed for dinner.”

My eyes trail down her body, taking in her fruity top that would look ridiculous if she wasn’t a pediatric nurse, to her plain green scrubs pants and sneakers. Her curves are hidden under the unflattering clothes, but I’ve seen her in a bathing suit. Those curves have been tattooed in my brain and not even Pittsburgh's steel wall defense can knock the image from my skull.

I drag my gaze back up her body and laser in on her lips. Full. Pink. Wet.

I wonder if her other lips are the same.

Fuck. I take my baseball hat off and run my fingers through my hair before turning it around and wearing it backwards.

“You’re perfect, Doc.” I try to keep my tone light so she doesn’t hear the lust in my throat and notice the stir she’s caused in my athletic shorts. “Besides, I’m not fancied up either. I could go for pizza but didn’t feel like eating alone.”

Not exactly flattery but not a lot of pressure either. Unless you count me keeping her keys hostage.

“You came all the way out to Jamaica Plain for pizza?”

“Haven’t you heard?” I reach around her and rest my hand on her lower back, guiding her into her car. “Best pizza in the city is around the corner.”

“I’m partial to Da LaPosta. Their Fungai pizza is amazing.”

“Fungus pizza?”

“Cremini, oyster, and shiitake mushrooms. It’s so good. Or the ricotta and hot honey pizza.”

“Honey on pizza? I’m all for pineapple and ham, but honey is for tea.”

“Drink a lot of tea, do you, Miles?”

“Apparently not enough.” I close her door and round the hood. I try to climb into the driver’s seat but my knees ram into the steering wheel. I move the seat back as far as it can go and start her car.

“Have you ever had potato and Brussels sprouts pizza?”

“What the hell?” Her car is small, and I twist my body to stare at her to see if she’s kidding. “Those are side dishes to a steak. Maybe a roast. They don’t belong on pizza.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“I’m a simple guy. Pepperoni, ham, bacon, sausage. A vegetable or two. I dunno about all that weird stuff, but if that’s what it takes to get you to go out with me, I’ll try it.”

“Go out with you as in...”

I quirk my lip and put the car in reverse, letting Rowan fill in the blank. Because, yeah, this is a date. I may not have asked, and I may have blindsided her, but once we’re at the pizza joint, she’ll appreciate my caveman act.

I’ll show her rocky road.