Finding the End Zone

Never date a player.

Football god Callahan O'Reilly can keep his blazing blue eyes to himself. I have a scholarship to maintain, and I do not have time to babysit a jock through a make-or-break class project. Even if one smoldering glance from him sets my panties on fire.

Time to change her mind.

Jamaica Winslow opens her mouth and spews sass like a volcano. One look at her uptight package and I want to coax the genie from the bottle, unleash all the passion she hides beneath a mop of unruly curls and a smart-ass attitude. She's not my type, she doesn't know one damn thing about the game that rules my life, and I can't stop thinking about her.

Who said anything about love?

Jamaica does her best to keep me at arm's length, but I'm not a pro prospect because I let the plays come to me. With the game on the line, I always want the ball. When an alum with deep pockets and delusions of grandeur makes demands that threaten my NFL chances and Jamaica's scholarship, I have no choice but to man up and do the right thing no matter the cost.

It started as fun and games. Now I'm playing for her heart-and my own.

Game Time.