SHE'S AS COOL as a wide receiver on a Hail Mary pass into the end zone with no one around for miles. I just don't buy it. Before we entered the locker room and were waiting on Givens to come out of the ladies' room, her agent pulled me aside.

"I have something I want you to read. Keep it to yourself and take a look when you have time. Jordan tricked her way into my office. These are a copy of the papers she gave me," he said as he handed the folded sheets to me. "This is why I signed her as a client. Read them and give her a chance on the field." His jaw tightened. "She's earned it." He walked away and I stuffed the papers in my pocket.

Right now I'm lifting weights and thinking about the pages he gave me. They're sitting in my locker unread. I'll look at them tonight.

"This is shit, you know that, right?" It's Randy Byer, one of the best fullbacks in the league. The problem is you wouldn't know it by the way he's played the past three years.

"I won't deny it," I answer after lowering the weights. I sit up and grab a towel. There's no music in here today. It was only a matter of time before the complaints began.

"Hell, Patrickson. We'll be laughed out of the league and you know it."

That amuses me. "If we play another year like the last three, it'll happen anyway. This is a publicity stunt." I look around the gym where all the guys have stopped their workouts. "Could be good. Could be bad." I throw my towel to the nearest bin with a three-point shot. "Not our problem to worry about. Winning is. Let's try focusing on that."

I hate myself for the brown-nose strategy I just bullshitted to the other players. This is what the team captain title does to you. For the next two hours the guys grumble and let off steam. Their comments make me laugh at times and grumble along with them at others. The word "pussy" comes up more than once and I don't like where it takes my mind. To admit I have the hots for another player is just wrong, and somehow I need to get the thought of our new kicker's pussy out of my head entirely.

We'll see if she makes it past day one. I can always approach her when she's no longer on the roster.

***

My lack of sleep the previous night combined with today's circus leaves me worn out as I make my way out of the stadium. My cell rings when I reach my truck. I look at the caller ID and see it's my baby sister, Candice, who is sixteen going on two. I accept the call without thinking.

Her loud squeal fills my ear and I move the phone away from my newly punctured eardrum.

"A girl. You'll be playing with a girl," she screams. "O-M-G, big brother. This is monumental. A girl is playing pro football. Oh, God, she's pretty too. I can't believe it," she screams again.

I should have expected this reaction from Candice. I'm the middle child. My sister, Stephanie, is two years older. My mother raised Steph and I alone from a young age. I remember our father, so him being out of the picture is a good thing. It remained the three of us until she met Ty. They got married and my mother had Candice within a year. The only reason Ty made it in my mother's life was because he's not intimidated by strong women. Put my mother and two sisters in the same room for more than a few minutes and it's estrogen central. Football is the only man-sport in my mom's house and that's only because I play the game. Ty being a girls' softball coach keeps the hormonal imbalance in full force.

The women of my family will be celebrating tonight. Too bad I don't have the balls to join them, because I know the best course of action is keeping my mouth shut. The last thing I want is to be barred from Sunday dinner at Mom's place. Saying what's really on my mind would do exactly that. I can't cook for shit and Sundays are my housekeeper's days off so Sunday dinner is something I look forward to when I don't have a game.

"Tell me all about her. I need the 411 so I can tell the girls on the team." Candice is the reason Ty coaches softball. Like me, she's a gifted athlete. Unfortunately, for a player of her caliber, there were no softball coaches available when she was in junior high. Ty played college baseball, used what he knew, and began training himself in the fundamentals of girls' fast pitch softball. Now he's the high school coach as well as the head coach of the elite travel team Candice plays for.

"You need to bring her for Sunday dinner. Mom and Steph will want to meet her and so do I. I bet she doesn't know anyone here. We can be her family away from home."

I don't need to see Candice to know she's jumping up and down. We're a family of ADHD on steroids. None of us could ever sit still. Mom fortunately turned it into a plus. From dance class to track to whatever sports practice we had, she made sure we were worn out at the end of the day. And yes, I said dance class. She enrolled me in jazz and ballet when I was six and I continued until I was twelve. I have great balance and a way of getting out of tight spots as a quarterback. I owe this to dance. I've taken my share of ribbing from teammates through the years. I don't care. I'm good enough on the field to negate the pictures of me in dance tights.

"I'm sure she has plans this weekend," I break into Candice scheduling Jordan's calendar from this day forward. "She still needs to make it through training camp and preseason, so don't get your hopes up too high." I know this tactic won't work, but I at least need to try to let Candice down gently.

"But she's on the team. A woman playing football." Another scream in my ear and suddenly all I want is a quiet evening and a beer. We end the call after a few more screams. I get it. My mom raised all of us the same. I did dishes and cooked even though I sucked at it. My sisters took out the garbage and changed the oil in the cars when it was their turn. My oldest sister is a welder of all things. She's also an artist and my apartment has some beautiful pieces she's designed. She struggled and fought her way into high-paying jobs in a male-dominated field. This doesn't make Jordan playing for the Pronghorns any easier for me to stomach.

Jordan also left me hot and bothered. I give serious consideration for a booty call to relieve some of the pressure. Tomorrow will work better for that. Tonight I'm celebrating silence with that beer.

***

I'm finally sitting on my couch with cold bottle number three in hand. I turn the folded pages over before putting my beer down and straightening the sheets out on the coffee table in front of me. The top one is hand written.

Mr. Modiess,

You don't know me other than my abrupt entrance into your office. I'm a football kicker for Standom Community College. I've played football for five years and I can kick a football as good as any man can. Most of the time better. I would like you to represent me as the first female player in pro football. I'm not exaggerating my abilities. I'm that good.

My only dream has been to play football. It takes love of the game and a gift from God to be above average and play in the big leagues. I have both.

The next page holds my college stats. My field goal average is 87.062. This places me above Stephan Gostkowski, who is the number four kicker in the league. Yes, I know mine is a college stat but it's all I have right now.

Sincerely,

Jordan Givens

I flip the page and look at Jordan's stats. She's good. Damn good. Then I flip to the next page to find a message to me from Modiess.

Aiden,

Jordan staked out my office for a month. She followed me at ten AM every morning when I walked a block to get my coffee. I never realized she was there. On the day I met her, she arrived at my office at nine thirty in the morning with my coffee in hand and told my secretary I ordered it. When the secretary buzzed my phone, Jordan barreled through the door during an important meeting. She introduced herself, handed me these papers, and walked out. It wasn't until that night that I took the time to read what she wrote. I checked her high school football record too. She's damn good.

I sent her stats to Buck Mitchel and because 'Jordan' is a unisex name, it got her in the door for negotiations. She convinced management that she has what it takes regardless of gender and she's earned the opportunity to play with the big boys.

Larry's signature scrawl is unreadable.

"Damn," I say aloud. Her story is one the media will love. Unfortunately, Jordan Givens will be annihilated in the first preseason game if she even makes it that far. No way will the players protect her. They want her gone and the sooner the better. Coach Mitchel knows what's going to happen. It's men like Rick Dove, who never played the game, who don't understand.

My only hope is that Jordan's capable of walking off the field and they don't need to call an ambulance.

"Double damn!"