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“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?” His weathered 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. Watching me .

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

“Take a breath,” Coach says, his voice softening slightly. “This doesn’t mean you have to decide anything today. It’s just information. Good information.”

I nod, trying to slow my racing thoughts. My father’s face flashes in my head—how he worked double shifts in construction for years for rich men like Reginald Astor so he could keep me in cleats, and pay for those extra training camps that my scholarship didn’t cover.

“What do you think I should do?” The question escapes before I can stop it.

Coach Green’s eyes narrow. “That’s not my call.

But I will tell you this—you’ve got raw talent that can’t be taught.

Your football IQ is off the charts. But you’re still developing.

Another year of college ball would polish those rough edges.

” He pauses. “Then again, I think everyone is waiting to see what happens with the championship. If we win . . .” He shakes his head.

“Well, you may want to strike while the iron’s hot, if you catch my drift. ”

I nod, slightly numb. “Yes, Coach.”

“No pressure.”

Yeah, no pressure.

I force a smile, as a ball of stress fists in my gut, suddenly scared as hell I might screw this up.

“Now get out of here, will you? We still have afternoon practice.” With the flick of a wrist, he dismisses me, and I make my way out of his office, mind racing with the possibilities: everything that can go wrong, but also everything that can go right, from now until the championship game.

The frigid January afternoon greets me as I push outside, pausing on the sidewalk to catch my breath. When I started this journey, I accepted the fact that much of my career outside of college football is beyond my control.

But the Patriots . . .

Holy shit.

The fucking Patriots are looking at me.

Home of the GOAT.

The team with the most Superbowl appearances and wins.

A team based in the northeast, exactly where I want to be.

My hands fist at my side as determination surges through me, hot and steady, burning away my doubt. I can’t fuck this up. Not now. Not when I’m so close to having everything I’ve ever wanted.

I lift my head, searching for my friends—my teammates—eager to tell them the news when I catch sight of a blonde, crossing the sidewalk. Her golden curls bounce with every step she takes as her long legs, clad in skinny jeans and boots, eat up the sidewalk.

My heart jumps in my chest, like an engine sputtering to life, and I know I’m fucked. Because I have less than two weeks until the championship game, and if I can’t get her off my mind and focus, I’m screwed.

Turning, I nearly smack right into Chris in my haste to get away.

“Whoa.” He steadies me with a hand, his gaze flickering to the girl I was staring at only seconds ago, then back. “You want to reconsider my offer?”

I swallow, thinking about what Chris said?about how I need a distraction, how I need to move on and date someone else?and I wonder if he’s right.

The truth is, I haven’t even entertained another woman since Avery and I split.

Two and a half years of celibacy and a shuttered heart don’t do a lot for healing.

I shake my head, unsure of whether it’s a good idea. “I don’t know, man . . .”

“Wow.” Brandon’s eyes wide beside him. “That’s not a no.”

My insides twist as I look to West, the sound voice of reason in the group. “What do you think?”

“Me?” West points to himself, and I nod.

“Do you really think going out with a new chick right before the championship game is a good idea?” I ask.

West lifts a shoulder. “I don’t think it’ll hurt. It’s not enough time to get invested, but it might be enough to take your mind off Avery.”

I exhale, digesting this information.

“What if you make it a double date?” Jace suggests. “Take the pressure off, so it’s more friendly, less serious?”

“Ooh, I like it!” Chris snaps his fingers, pointing to his roommate.

“Who would I double with?” I ask, still not sold on the idea. “And before you say you or Jace, forget it. I go out with you guys all the time, and it just reminds me of all the reasons I don’t want a relationship. That, and you’ll critique me all night.”

“What’s wrong with a little feedback?” Chris asks, sounding offended.

I tilt my head, shooting him a dirty look. “I don’t need feedback.”

“Fine,” Chris grumbles. “Then, if you’re willing to consider it, pick one of your other jock friends, and I’ll ask Liz to bring a friend along.”

“How do I know Liz isn’t also friends with Avery?” I ask.

Chris shrugs. “I’ll make sure of it when I see Charlotte and pitch the idea to Liz. It’s simple. I’ll tell her under no circumstances can Avery be informed of your plans.”

“I can’t believe I’m even considering this,” I mutter as I scrub a hand over my face.

I have zero desire to date again, but I have to admit, it would be worth it if it meant putting Avery in the rearview mirror where she belongs. Better yet, maybe she’ll find out I’m seeing someone and leave me the hell alone.

But Liz? Looks wise, she and Avery couldn’t be more different.

While Liz’s hair is dark, Avery’s is the color of spun gold.

Liz’s olive-toned complexion and storm-cloud eyes are a stark contrast to Avery’s whiskey-hewn depths and fair skin.

While Avery’s figure is lush and curvy, Liz’s is slender and petite.

Personality wise, however, if I were looking to date, Liz does have qualities I find attractive. She’s soft-spoken and sweet, smart and loyal?far from a jersey chaser?and she doesn’t sleep around.

Chris must sense my internal struggle because he steps forward and gives me a playful jab in the arm. “One date, man. Just see where it goes,” he says, and I crack.

“Fine.” I sigh.

“Fine, you’ll go?” Chris gapes.

When I nod, Brandon just laughs. “Oh, shit. I can’t wait until you completely blow this.”

I flip him the bird, and the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Fuck, yes!” Chris practically shouts. “I won’t let you down, man. Consider me Doctor Love. Cupid’s consultant. The heart whisperer. A love savant. Your personal heart healer?”

“Would you shut the fuck up?” I snap.

“Shutting up.”

“Just make sure Avery has nothing to do with this,” I say in warning.

“Of course.” Chris slashes a cross over his heart. “You can count on me.”

“Famous last words,” I grumble.