THE SUN'S DOWN by the time we leave evening meetings. It's been a long first day and things will grow tougher from here. I head to my apartment for dinner and my bed. Carma will have something waiting for me. She's my housekeeper, primary cook, and shopper. She does all the things my mom made me do myself when I was at home. That's why I love Carma so much. She doesn't mind taking care of a man who is more than capable of taking care of himself. She's in her sixties or I might consider marriage just to lock her into the position.

The elevator takes me to the tenth floor. There are two large apartments on this floor. A banker owns the other and we occasionally pass in the corridor with a brief hello. I'm new money and he's old. He's rarely here and only uses the apartment to stash his latest girlfriend. I figure his wife is fully aware he's a cheating douche. Not my problem if she isn't.

When it's time to finally settle down, I want a relationship like my mom and Ty. Until then, I'll play the field while looking for that special woman. I can't imagine cheating on the woman I love. My thoughts travel to Jordan and I don't dwell on why memories of her crop up while I'm thinking about eventually entering a permanent relationship. Marriage is not in the cards for me right now. When that day comes, I want a woman who's sexy, supports me, and loves football.

"No, not Jordan," I say under my breath to assure myself. I barely know her and just because she's the sexiest woman I've ever met, it doesn't make for a lasting relationship. Both of us need only one thing on our minds right now and that's football.

The locker room grapevine was full of bitching about what happened on the special teams' field today. I can't interfere. Players need to make their spot on the team. It's part of building unity. Disregarding the rules is another matter, and Coach Morely handled that aspect correctly. This doesn't take away from my need to bust a couple heads. Hopefully, a beer will do the trick and I can unwind.

Once I'm inside the apartment, I drop my sports bag in the hallway and head to the kitchen. There's a note on the counter from Carma, which leads me to the fridge where there's an eight inch by eight inch casserole dish waiting. I pop it in the microwave and place my finger on the timer to program the setting.

Hell. I take my finger off the timer.

Thirty minutes later, I find myself knocking on Jordan's hotel room door with dinner and everything else we'll need stuffed in a medium-sized black bag. I nuked the casserole minutes before jumping in my truck and driving over. On the first evening of training camp most players eat in their rooms. Tomorrow night we'll be going out and doing a little partying before leaving for White Sands. I knock again when Jordan doesn't immediately answer. It's possible she didn't get the memo on staying in her room and went out to grab something.

A shadow passes over the peephole and then the door opens.

Her hair is wet and dripping onto a plain white tee that hugs her upper curves. "What are you doing here?" she whispers like the hallway is wired for sound. The wet tee leaves nothing to the imagination.

I lift the bag and do my best to ignore her wet breasts and sexy lips. "Dinner."

She studies the bag for several long moments and I almost think she'll turn me down. "What's for dinner?" she finally asks.

I nudge my elbow into the door, opening it wider, and Jordan steps back. Holy shit. "You always open your door in nothing but a shirt?" And no bra I want to add.

She tugs down the bottom of the tee, which tightens it across her breasts. Her move makes me wonder if she's also minus panties. "Five minutes earlier I wouldn't have answered at all because I was in the shower," she replies grumpily. Jordan, naked in the shower, is not what I should be thinking about, but the vision sticks in my head. "Hey." She waves at me and her boobs jiggle. "If you can pull your eyes away from my breasts long enough, would you tell me what's for dinner?"

I lift my gaze and give her an unapologetic grin. I love a woman who's comfortable in her body. "A casserole made by my housekeeper, so it should be edible."

"And you're sharing it with me?" Her eyebrows scrunch together. "You know you shouldn't be here."

I shrug. "Why not? We're friends, right?"

Her eyes travel down to the front of my shorts where my erection presses against the zipper. "Friends?" she asks with skepticism.

Hell. I really don't know why I'm here. As much as I try to forget about this woman she creeps into my thoughts at least ten times a minute. "I'm trying here. You want to eat or not?" I add a little grumpier than I should. I don't like the fact she's becoming permanently ingrained in my head.

"Eat," she says and walks over to the dining table. The T-shirt barely covers her ass and I catch just a glimpse of white panties. White. The color should be banned from every woman's wardrobe because it's so damn wholesome. She proved how unwholesome she could be last night. She glances back over her shoulder. "You sure you're able to sit at the table with that boner?"

Yeah, completely unwholesome and it turns me the hell on. "I'll manage. It would help if you'd put on a bathrobe-or something besides white panties."

"I bet it would, but just so you know I own nothing but white panties. It's a football tradition I picked up in high school and it's worked so well I won't be replacing with another color anytime soon."

This doesn't help my painfully hard dick. All I can picture is a drawer filled with silky white. Damn. I rest the bag in front of her and pull out everything I brought, which includes napkins. "I heard about your run-in with a couple of players today."

She pulls a plate and utensils in her direction. I remove the lid from the casserole and the aroma of southwestern pan enchiladas fills my nose. Jordan looks at the dish with eager eyes. I place a slice on her plate. "I'd rather not talk about what happened today," she says with finality. Her wet hair continues dripping down the front of her tee.

I take a seat and she's right about one thinga hard dick is uncomfortable. "If they get too rough, take it to Coach Morely."

Her eyes pinpoint in consternation and a small wrinkle appears on her brow. It's actually adorable but I'm growing wiser by the minute and don't say this aloud. "You wouldn't be saying that if I were a man," she snaps.

She's right. "Doesn't mean you don't need to hear it," I offer as a way of saving my ass in this conversation. I dig into the corn, melted cheese, and enchilada sauce. You can't say something stupid if your mouth is full.