I MANAGED SOME sleep and feel like a new person. I was just too exhausted to search out dinner and my brain needed the downtime. Luckily, I'm one of the few players without a roomie. Being the only female has its perks.

A bus will transport us to the practice field at seven-fifteen sharp. It's already hot outside when I head to the hotel lobby for a quick breakfast before leaving. I jump on the bus with a bottle of water and apple that's half eaten. Most of the players are on board and I'm relieved when I don't see Aiden. I assume he is on the other bus. I take one of two free seats up front and Lane joins me a few minutes later. He looks rested too. Nervous energy is in the air during the short bus ride.

Lane doesn't say more than a quick hello. I watch the scenery closely on the way to the practice field. Rolling white sand dunes surround the stadium that we'll be calling home for the next three weeks.

The stadium isn't as large as our home turf, but it has the necessities and that's all that matters.

"Jordan," I hear after Lane and I walk off the bus.

I turn. It's Bobby. I wait for him to approach. "They built you a private shower in the locker room. I'll show you."

I smile. "Thank you, Bobby, that would be great."

"What the hell?" Tobias Landy thunders behind us. He's glaring at me. "You have no business in the guys' locker room."

Bobby takes a step toward Tobias and I place my hand on Bobby's arm to stop him. His freckled face is red in anger and I give him a gentle smile. "I got this," I say over my shoulder to Bobby. My full attention then goes to Tobias and several other players who have stopped to see what the hold-up is. "It's not your decision," I tell him in the most worry-free voice I can hustle up. "Having a dressing room in the locker room is in my contract. Deal with it." I stand there until he grumbles a few swear words and walks away.

I turn to Bobby, who's obviously still angry judging by the way he's clenching his fists. "It's okay," I tell him. "Let it go."

He smiles sheepishly and his hands relax at his sides. "He needs to see you kick and score points. He'll be fine after that." His grin expands and I can't help smiling back at him. I wish I had his optimism.

"You're right," I assure Bobby. "After I prove myself in a game, things will be easier." How I wished this was true. I'm beginning to think I'll never truly belong.

My dressing room and shower are in the back corner of the locker room. It's a large space with hooks for my clothes, a dry place to change, and a shower in the back. On one wall of the changing area there's a shelf with towels. I unpack my football travel bag and place deodorant, shampoo, and conditioner on the shelf.

A whistle blows in the main locker room and a coach shouts, "Hustle out. This isn't cheer camp."

I smile and with a last look at my small domain, I hustle out with the other players.

***

That evening I can barely keep my eyes open during my shower. I'm exhausted and everything hurts. We ran plays, ran laps, and worked drills. The team has robotic tackle dummies that someone with a twisted mind designed. They kick ass and never grow tired. The coaches are also in rare form and I suspect they stay awake at night dreaming of evil torture for players.

The cool water feels wonderful on my skin. During one of my breaks, I watched Aiden tossing the ball to Kelson Miller, the second-string quarterback. Aiden's powerful arms held so much control over the ball and he made a fifty yard spiral pass look easy.

My hand slides down my abdomen and moves between my legs. I use the other hand to massage my breasts and pinch my nipples. In my mind, my tongue travels across Aiden's throat and moves down to his chest. My fingers work faster, I pinch a little harder, and an orgasm rockets through me.

Damn.

Hunger eventually pulls me from the shower. As soon as I put on panties and a bra there's a knock at the door. I pull a tee over my head and slip into a pair of running shorts. I don't bother checking who's on the other side of the door because I'm pretty sure it's Lane. I throw it open.

Double damn.

It's Aiden holding a bag, which by the smell I'm assuming is dinner. He glides past me like he has that right.

"What are you doing?" I ask in confusion.

He sets the bag on the table and turns. "I owe you an apology and figured you would be tired, so I ordered dinner."

"I'm having dinner with Lane and I don't need your apologies."

He gives me a smirk that turns my insides to jelly. No one should be that gorgeous. "I brought enough for your boyfriend. I figure the three of us can get to know each other."

He's such an ass. "You know damn good and well he's not my boyfriend." I look at the flash in his eyes and realization dawns. "You're jealous."

He nods. "I admit it. I'm jealous."

My heartrate accelerates. This should not be happening. I open my mouth to answer, but I hear Lane from the other side of the open door. "Is three a crowd?"

I whip around. Heat fills my cheeks. "Apparently our star quarterback is sharing dinner with us tonight. He brought dinner for three."

Lane's eyebrows rise. "How about I go my own way and leave the two of you to work things out."

"I like that idea," Aiden says from beside me.

"I don't," I say furiously. I hold onto the need to stomp my foot. "If you leave, I leave," I tell Lane while completely ignoring Aiden.

"What's for dinner?" Lane asks with a grimace of understanding. I know I'm putting him in a bad spot but I don't want to be alone with Aiden. Something bad might happen-like my panties melting off me or something equally as terrible.

"Chinese takeout. I brought an assortment." Aiden unpacks the meal like he didn't just tell Lane to leave. I'm tired, sore, and hungry. Aiden is far too much to deal with right now but food wins. We sit down and divvy up the cartons. "How was your first real day of practice?" Aiden asks after we're settled.

I don't bother looking up from my plate as I twirl noodles onto a plastic fork. "My legs are killing me and I'm bitchy."

I hear the smile in his reply. "Duly noted. How about you, Lane?"

"My back hurts because of the reporters."

I look at him having no idea what he's talking about.

Lane nudges my chair and I realize we've fallen into the role of brother and sister very quickly. He enjoys ribbing me about the media attention I receive and he'll make an occasional jab about Aiden. He looks straight at Aiden and says, "You know-I stand up straighter and puff up my chest more because they're always tagging along with our new kicker. My muscles aren't accustomed to all the attention."

"Haha," I say without mirth. "You know you dig those cameras."

He ignores my comment and continues speaking to Aiden. "She's stealing all your limelight this year. Any chance this will throw you off your game and Kelson will claim your spot?"

"Not a chance in hell," Aiden grunts.

"Good to know. Kelson needs to make his own way on another team. His attitude sucks and he'll be holding the ball for Jordan. I don't think it's a good thing."

"Hello. I'm right here." They both look at me. "If I have problems with Kelson, I'll deal with it. The two of you butt out."

They look at each other again and continue like they didn't hear me. "Has he given her a hard time?" Aiden asks.

"Nothing overt. He glares and mumbles. That seems to be his MO with anyone he doesn't like, including you."

Aiden grabs a packet of soy sauce and liberally covers his meal. "He's usually more bark than bite but he's pushing it right now. Let me know if he steps out of line and I'll handle it."

I can't take it anymore. I take a small sip of water from the bottle in my hand and then liberally splash it at both of them. Lane jumps back from the table. Aiden simply wipes the water from his eyes and keeps talking. "Camaraderie on the team will make a bigger difference once we get into regular season. If he's not a good mix, Coach needs to know."

Before I can punch Aiden, Lane reaches over and wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me closer. He kisses the top of my head, releases me, and then stands. "Sorry to eat and run but my bed is calling. Don't stay up talking too late." His eyebrows go up and down in a ridiculous manner.

I scramble up and follow him to the door. "What the hell are you doing?" I whisper frantically.

"Work it out and get your head in the game. It's affecting your kicking ability." He steps back and pulls the door closed in my face.

"Am I affecting your kicking?" Aiden asks from a foot behind me, making me jump. I also realize how close I am to the door. I don't want him trapping me and us having a repeat of the night I ate dinner at his mom's. I give Aiden a wide berth and head back to the table.

"He's full of crap. Of course you're not responsible for how I kick." I sit and take another bite of food. Aiden's fingers cover my shoulders. I'm about to object but they dig in and he begins working my sore muscles. The moan that escapes me is almost embarrassing.

"I remember some of what happened at the party. I know I stepped out of line in front of the team. For that I'm sorry."

My head has fallen forward. "No worries." I breathe out a sigh. God, am I easy or what? His fingers feel so darn good. I rest my fork back in the container of takeout and pray he doesn't stop. A minute later, he moves and wraps his arms under my legs and around my back. He lifts me from the chair like I weigh nothing.

"What are you doing?" I ask dreamily.

"You'll see," he whispers and places me on the bed. This can't be good. I should never get near a bed or a door with Aiden around.

He moves away and reaches for my left leg. My shoe flies off the side of the bed followed quickly by the other one. "Oh, hell," I mutter when he begins massaging my instep. "I remember three years ago and my first training camp. I could barely walk for days. You need to take advantage of the whirlpool. Consider taking ibuprofen if it's too bad."

I want to ask if he'll come by and do this every night. I don't, though. He moves to my calf and I moan again. I can't believe he's doing this. His fingers move up the muscles of my legs and he doesn't stop until he's inches from my inner thighs. I'm about to object. Truly I am. Before I can properly form words, he moves to my other leg and begins the process over again.

I'm so damn easy.