Page 5 of Touchdown, Tennessee

“The viper from the paper.”

“Gray Gilman, right?” Luke said, pondering the name. “Wasn’t his dad tossed in jail? Wait, maybe it was hismom. We should just ask him?—”

“Shhh,” I said, walking behind Linford. “Don’t give him attention. That’s what he wants.”

I looked over at Gray like he was a sore spot I couldn’t stop touching.

A dark slash of hair.

A black long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

He only had one tattoo, but it was big, peeking out from where his sleeve was pushed up: a panther that spanned the length of his forearm.

He’d been in one of my summer classes a few months ago, and I’d stared at that tattoo almost every day, getting distracted as the professor talked endlessly about Greek history.

I liked the tattoo.

I’d actually found it really hot, before I’d known who Gray was.

I used to watch him from the back of the classroom as he raised his hand, answering the professor’s questions in his deep voice, clearly smarter than anybody else in the room.

But I didn’t give a fuck how hot he was now.

Luke didn’t seem bothered. “It’ll be a puff piece, Peachel. You’re still the golden boy of the Tempests.”

“Thanks, Luke.”

“The headline will probably beAndrew Peachel is Officially the Most Perfect Football Player to Ever Walk the Tennessee North University Field. One Hundred Percent Chance of Going Pro.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a kiss-ass.”

“Your ass is a good ass to kiss.”

I could still feel Gray’s eyes on me. “He’s been watching us like a hawk all game. Waiting for us to fuck up so he can write about it. He thinks he’s a hard detective or something.”

“Hard foryou, maybe.”

I frowned. “Meaning…?”

“He’s been watching you like he wants to strip you naked all game,” Luke said.

“He’s looking at me like a piece of meat tobutcher, not to eat.”

“How bad could it be?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Clearly he gets off on…exposingpeople. He wants to ruin my chance at the draft.”

My one mistake weighed on me heavily, following me, taunting me.

How bad could it be?

You have no idea what I did to that blond guy in the bar.

Knocked him out, accidentally. Paid his medical bills for a broken nose.

Paid him even more, so that he wouldn’t tell a goddamn soul.

The pro football league was known to reject anyone with a violent past. It was an obvious reason for “character concerns.”