AIDEN PATRICKSON IS the most aggravating human being alive. He has a strong mother and two strong sisters and he still can't get over the realization that a woman can possibly play football.

I sink back against the couch cushions when the door closes behind his amazing ass. Today's practice wore me out physically and emotionally. Aiden showing up with dinner doesn't help. Aiden might be fucking gorgeous but he's also a class "A" dick.

After a long sigh into my clasped hands, I go to bed. Tomorrow will be rougher than today and since I didn't manage sleep last night, I really need to catch a break tonight. I toss and turn for about an hour and then exhaustion wins out and I fall into a deep sleep.

My alarm goes off long before sunrise. I splash water on my face and pull on my running clothes and shoes. I decide not to risk the chance that Aiden is waiting for me at the side door and head straight to the front lobby. It's too early for the media to be here, which is a relief. The run to the stadium clears my foggy brain and helps me mentally prepare for today's practice.

I put in an hour of warm-up and stretches before other players and coaches arrive. I don't see Aiden until we sit down for morning practice tapes. These highlight everyone's performance yesterday. I try to ignore Aiden while the coaches analyze plays. It's dammed hard. My heart doesn't want to accept what my brain knows. Aiden is not the man for me. This unfortunate silent recital doesn't keep me from checking him out, though. He's wearing a practice jersey that's cropped mid chest. His ripped abs beg for my tongue. God, I can practically taste him. The way his black cut-off sweats hug his muscular thighs doesn't help either. We catch each other's eye occasionally. When it happens, we quickly turn away.

What are we, twelve?

It's a relief when we head outside for the morning session. Lane and I add a little muscle building into our routine, which helps pull my thoughts away from Aiden. He also helps me work on-side kicks. I'd love to say they improve but it's going to take more practice.

See goal, kick ball through posts. That's how my brain works for kicking. Sending the ball end over end more than ten yards is my Achilles heel but I'm determined to increase my success ratio.

Working with Lane is no hardship. He has the man goods and I can't help but enjoy watching him sweat. Unfortunately, Lane's good looks don't have the same effect on me that Aiden's do. This is why I need to stop checking out the guys and focus. There's no room for anything besides football in my life right now. This becomes my new mantra.

Lane and I head to a local restaurant for lunch. We enjoy sub sandwiches and get to know more about each other. He's a city boy from Detroit. He also has a degree in bioengineering, proving jocks can be as smart as the next person. He signed his contract with the Pronghorns and left his mom and dad behind. He also left a girlfriend, but the long distance relationship didn't last, so he's single and spends a lot of his off-season time working with some area charities. What a guy. Of course it still doesn't help take my mind off Aiden, because I'm attracted to the douche.

I don't see the star quarterback until the late afternoon wrap-up. His freshly washed hair leaves drops of water sliding down his neck. I mentally kick myself as my tongue flicks behind my teeth, and the only way I can stop the longing to lick him is to dig my fingernails into my skin. I look away as a means to save my sanity. When I glance back over, Aiden is staring at me. More preciselyhe's zeroed in on my mouth. Ever so slowly, I lick my lips to see what happens.

Aiden's expression changes subtly as he watches me make a sweep of my lower lip and then the upper. I then bite my lower lip and his eyes snap to mine. His grin is evil. His eyes start perusing my body until they stop at my lips again and we play our little game over. When I've just about reached the point of grabbing him and pulling him to the nearest closet, the coaches cut the evening meeting short. Tonight is the team's traditional dinner party.

"You're going to the dinner aren't you?" Lane asks as we leave the meeting room.

I shake my head. "I think I'll pass and work on my beauty sleep."

"Come on, I'll meet you at your room. I don't drink and I'm staying at the same hotel. I'll give you an early lift back if you want. You can even have a couple of drinks. They'll help you sleep."

It's entirely too tempting and after a brief hesitation, I take him up on the offer. Lane drives me to the hotel and we part company in the elevator when he gets off on the floor beneath mine. I shower and then look over the few clothes that are hanging in the closet. I have one black sequined dress with me and a pair of red Manolo Blahnik pumps that I found at a thrift store. The entire ensemble is probably too fancy for a dinner with a bunch of rowdy football players looking to let off a little steam. I don't care. Evenings are my own and the last thing I want to look like is one of the guys. I slip into the ensemble and add the locket my mom and dad gave me for my eighteenth birthday.

Lane knocks at the door right on schedule. I step back and do a pirouette when he whistles. "You clean up nice, Givens."

"I bet you say that to all the kickers," I say with a small laugh.

"No, I can honestly say I've never complimented another player's choice of clothing."

I look him up and down. "You're not so shabby yourself." He's wearing a black polo with khaki slacks, a thick gold chain around his throat, a very nice Rolex watch at his wrist, and several large rings on his fingers. His dirty blond hair is slicked back. I'm not really into the hair style, but Lane carries it and doesn't make me think sleazy car salesman.

"You dance?" I ask as we head to the elevator.

He stops, takes my hand, and twirls me around before bringing me in close. His other hand splays on my waist beneath my breasts and he whispers in my ear. "I'll dance that little black dress right off your hot ass."

Ah, oh. I don't want this to be a date. "How about I keep the dress on and you keep your hands in the proper place." I don't smile.

He immediately releases me and lifts both hands in surrender and laughs good-naturedly. "Understood. I hope this comes off the table when you kick a field goal so I can slap your ass."