Chapter 2
TJ
The Green Bay River Foxes are a force to be reckoned with on the gridiron.
We’re defending Super Bowl champions, and this year, we’re playing like we’ve got something to prove.
Our locker room is usually buzzing with pregame music and pep talks or post-game celebrations and speeches.
There’s always someone—often me—walking around in a towel.
Tonight, things look different. Sure, the locker room is still full of oversized dudes.
Kennedy just sashayed by in a towel, bless his heart.
There’s music pumping through the built-in speakers and excitement crackling through the air.
But the air itself smells of cologne rather than Biofreeze.
We’ve traded in our uniforms, pads, and helmets for tuxedos, suspenders, and bow ties.
My teammates and I are getting ready for the Green Bay River Foxes Holiday Gala, the first annual charity event of its kind.
“I feel like a penguin who had too much to eat.” Lawrence Poe, our team’s star tight end, tugs at his collar and frowns at his reflection in the mirror.
“Come on, man. Your attitude is stinking up the locker room,” I tell him from where I’m sitting in my locker, lacing up my dress shoes. “This is going to be great.”
“Says the guy who loves a party,” Poe shoots back.
“You thrive when you’re the center of attention.
A charity gala and being the featured player in a date auction are right up your alley.
Some of us would rather fly more under the radar.
Looking all flashy like this”—Poe points to his own chest—“isn’t my idea of a good time. ”
“If I told you that you didn’t look all that good, would it make you feel better?” I stand, flashing Poe a grin. He scowls at me, and I laugh.
These guys are like my brothers. We rib each other all the time. I have their backs; they have mine … both on the field and in life. I’m not worried about ticking Poe off. I do love poking fun at his reserved, stoic self.
“Stand next to me. No one will pay you any attention because they’ll be too busy swooning over me.”
“Careful, Teej. Your ego is about to bust out of that tux,” Anton, our quarterback and the team’s leader, deadpans, but his eyes are framed with telltale crinkles of laughter.
Poe just stares at me like I’m being ridiculous.
If I’m a golden retriever packed full of energy and enthusiasm, my tongue hanging out so I can lap up every experience with a hungry slurp, then he’s a Great Dane: imposing in size with a calm, gentle demeanor …
and a killer side eye. Which he’s giving me right now.
“I don’t really dance. Not like this. Give me a sawdust-covered floor, some nineties country, and a line dance sequence, and I can hang with the best of them, but I’m with Poe … I’ll be out of my depth out there,” Del, our team’s center, says with a shrug.
“Don’t worry, guys. I can show you some sweet moves.” Anton does some sort of shoulder shimmy, hopping in my direction.
“Keep your sweet moves to yourself, please, and thank you.” I shove him away, and Anton chuckles. “Still not sure what Rose sees in you.”
Anton reconnected with his ex-girlfriend last year.
They had to work through some things, but there was never any doubt that the two of them were endgame.
They support each other and build each other up, and it’s actually been pretty incredible to witness.
I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a pair more perfectly matched … except for maybe my grandparents.
“That’s because I save all my best moves for when I get her alone.” Anton winks, but then he sobers. “I miss her. Is it pathetic that I miss her? I literally saw her two hours ago.” He checks his wristwatch. “Think I have time to sneak out into the Atrium and find her before we’re announced?”
“Dude. You are whipped.” I stand and put my hands on his shoulders, giving him a shake. “The definition of ‘obsessed with my girlfriend’ would have a picture of you next to it in the dictionary.”
“There aren’t phrases in the dictionary, TJ.” Poe knocks his shoulder into mine, and we all shuffle toward the locker room exit where Ned Norbertson, our team’s VP of Marketing and Fan engagement and our all-around communications manager, waits to bring us to the stage.
I roll my eyes. “That’s beside the point.”
“The point is”—Anton raises his voice over our bickering, used to being the one to reel us back in—“I’m not even mad about it. I’m happily obsessed with Rose. You guys should really find someone to love. Ten outta ten, would recommend.”
I glance around to gauge the reactions of the other guys. Del looks wistful. Poe looks doubtful. Me? I’m grinning, but there’s a slight ache at the base of my sternum—a wound that no one really knows about, hidden behind layers of skin and bone and buried deep in my chest cavity.
I had someone to love, once upon a time.
Someone I thought I’d love forever. Then she was …
gone. You don’t come back from a loss like that.
At least I don’t. I don’t want to risk opening myself up to renewed pain.
Not after years of healing. I’m a strong guy, but I’m not strong enough to endure getting my heart pulverized again.
I smile instead. “Pretty content with a new pretty woman every weekend, my man.”
Anton shrugs, pinning me with one of his quarterback looks. The kind that tells the defense that he knows better than them and he’s about to call a play that’ll leave their heads spinning. “You’re missing out, TJ.”
“Maybe,” I say noncommittally. Even if I am, I’m happy this way. I’ve got my friends and women who are happy to date me casually. I go out. I have fun. I come home. The end.
I’ve got my grandparents, and they’re the one long-term relationship I intend to keep.
Speaking of them …
I slip my phone out of my inside jacket pocket as Ned gives us our marching orders. Go onstage. Get announced for all the donors and big spenders we’ve invited. Yada yada yada. I tune him out and type out a message.
TJ
Heading into my event with the team tonight. I’ll touch base with you guys later this weekend. Love you!
I pocket my phone without waiting for a response.
It’ll take my grandparents a solid twenty minutes to figure out who’s going to text me back and then pointer-finger type out a response.
When it finally does come in, there will be lots of capital letters and emojis and far too many exclamation points.
The typos will be hilarious, and there will probably be four different texts because they hit send before they meant to. Gosh, I love them.
I follow the guys into the holding area behind the stage.
Anton and Del are ahead of me and Poe. It’s eerily similar to how we wait in the tunnel before running onto the field on gamedays, and a familiar zip of anticipation courses through me as the good-natured chatter of the guests reaches our ears.
I turn to Poe, brushing the lapels of my jacket. “How do I look, man?” I adjust my mask, pulling it down over my eyes. “Like a sexy running back Batman who’s about to steal the show?”
Poe rolls his eyes. “What I wouldn’t give for a modicum of your confidence.”
“What’s a mode-a-crumb?”
He shoves my shoulder, pushing me forward, and I’m grinning as we file out onto the stage. Raucous applause rings out, and I beam my million-dollar smile out over the crowd.
Scott Bass, our team’s general manager, stands behind the podium, and the guys and I split off so we’re standing on either side of him.
“I know I speak for the entire team when I say how grateful we are for your support not only tonight, but this season,” Scott says.
We all clap, and those in attendance cheer.
“The city of Green Bay is a special place to play ball. No one else has the history we have, and as a River Foxes organization, we feel like it’s the least we can do to give back to the town that gives us so much, right, gentlemen?”
My teammates and I all answer in the affirmative.
“To begin, I’m going to do some introductions. Up for auction tonight, we have some excellent options, including getting up close and personal with some of your favorite River Foxes.”
A couple of people in the audience squeal.
I try to find the source of the sound. I’m one of the guys up for auction.
I’m hoping whoever bids on me is nice and normal.
I can make conversation with a houseplant—and I do, on occasion—but it’ll be more fun if I actually like the person who plunks down some cold, hard cash to have dinner with me.
Scott drones on about how the bidding will work on the silent auction and what’s up for grabs there, but my attention is drawn to the top of the staircase that leads down to where we’re all standing in the Atrium.
The sight before my eyes is arresting, and the air is zapped from my lungs.
A woman dressed in an antique ball gown stands on the landing.
Her dress is a creamy white with a high neckline and long sleeves.
The whole thing glitters in the dim lighting of the Atrium.
Her dark brown hair is up in a curled pile with loose pieces softly framing either side of her face.
A beaded band sits like a crown on her head.
There’s some sort of belt thing at her waist, and then a full skirt puffs out and around her like an upside-down wine glass.
She looks like a vintage Cinderella, and I can’t rip my gaze from the sight.
I’m drinking her in. No, guzzling her in.
Her mask hides much of her face, but I’m enraptured as she scans the crowd below. I’ve seen my fair share of beautiful women over the years, but there’s something about this one that makes my blood hum with a different kind of heat. A dangerous kind.
She’s holding her shoulders back, and her spine is stick straight ... like she’s nervous, almost hesitant. Like she might bolt in the other direction at any moment.
I hold my breath, eyes never leaving her, as she takes a step down the center of the staircase.
A tremor of fear trickles through me because I realize that she could trip and stumble down the wide flight of stairs.
Dresses and heels have got to be impossible to walk in, right?
Especially when there’s so much fabric and the floor is all shiny and slippery.
Why isn’t she holding onto the railing? Why is no one there to offer her a hand? Why do I want to offer her my hand?
I know why. I’m intrigued. She’s stunning, and while she looks a little rigid, I’d bet money on my ability to get her to loosen up.
She makes it halfway down the stairs, and I blow out a relieved breath. She seems pretty steady on her feet. I don’t know how women walk in heels, but she obviously has some skills in that department. Now I’m praying no one comes to join her.
“Dude!” Poe hisses from next to me.
“What?”
His eyes go wide beneath his mask. He waves his hand ahead, motioning toward Scott.
“Huh?” I flick my gaze toward the podium.
“TJ?” Scott beckons me forward. “Want to come on over here?”
I step forward, but not before I take one last look at the mystery Cinderella, hoping I can spot which direction she goes so I can track her down later.
With my gaze on her, I don’t realize the up lights on the stage are right in my path, and I stumble as my foot connects with the nearest one, sending it skittering around. I manage to catch myself before I fall flat on my face. The crowd takes a collective breath, and my teammates start chortling.
“Easy, Teej! You trying to blind me?” Del has a hand over his face. The light spun around and is now spotlighting him.
“Just trying to make sure everyone knows what a good-looking center the River Foxes have,” I say easily as I shove my hands in my pockets and stroll the rest of the way to Scott.
The mic picked up my comment and the crowd ate it up.
Del gives me a jaunty salute and steps forward, doing a pageant wave for the fans.
I lean toward the mic. “He’s single, in case anyone’s wondering.”
Del’s face turns bright red, and he gives me a murderous look. You’re welcome, I mouth in his direction before turning my attention to Scott, who’s shaking his head and smirking at me. The organization is used to my antics.
The crowd is cheering even more loudly for Del, and when the applause subsides, Scott puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes, giving me a good-natured shake. “Here you have him, ladies and gents. The team charmer and—apparently— matchmaker?” He arches his eyebrows at me.
I lean toward the mic. “Wingman extraordinaire, that’s me.
Also”—I point at myself, having mercy on Del and putting the focus back on myself—“single and willing and able to mingle.” I hit the fans with an overdone wink, and there’s lots of squealing.
I pan the crowd, but I’ve lost sight of Cinderella.
I say a silent prayer that I can find her later.
If I’m lucky, she’ll be single and ready to mingle too.
Scott laughs, resuming his position behind the mic. “We’re grateful TJ is a little more fleet of foot on the field than on this stage, am I right, folks?”