You can’t help but look at his hands, the heavily veined forearms and the bulging biceps, and wonder whether the parts of him that you can’t see are as big. You can’t watch him move on the field, making fucking magic with his body, and not wonder what it’d be like to feel it flush against your own. Heat chases down my spine and my mouth becomes very dry. I stare at the table in front of him, as if I can see through the tray of nearly eaten food and the wood and metal to see the signs of his virginity.

Which would be what? Do I think there’ll be a little wooden plaque that says “newbie?” Shit. I shake my head at my own ridiculousness and then make the mistake of looking upward into Masters’ ruggedly handsome face that will no doubt adorn cereal boxes, granola bars, and billboards someday. He’s got grass green eyes and a chin chiseled out of granite. In another era, Masters would be the general of an army immortalized in marble for his exploits on the field. Today he’s a different kind of warrior—one that crushes his enemies in ten yard increments.

His wide mobile mouth knowingly curves upward and I have an uncomfortable sense he can tell exactly what I’m feeling somehow. I’ve never felt so exposed. I want to snatch those stupid aviators off the top of his head and plaster them on my own face.

“For religious reasons?” my brother asks.

“For Knox Masters’ reasons.” Masters’ expression doesn’t change. He’s still smiling, but there’s a definite no trespassing tone to his words. Beside me, Jack turns to Ahmed to talk about their single wing formation. That’s too much detail for even a fan like me. I tune them out, which leaves me with Masters, who hasn’t moved his attention away from me.

I drop my eyes to somewhere around his nose, because his eyes are so green and bright it’s like staring into the sun, hypnotic and dangerous.

“I can’t tell if you want it to be true,” he says in a low voice that I feel as if I’m the only one who can hear.

“I don’t know either,” I tell him honestly. “But if you are, I think I need to go to church tomorrow, because that means impossible things exist like unicorns and the resurrection.”

He laughs then, a wide mouthed, white teeth flashing. “Tomorrow’s Friday.”

I nod. “I know, but it can’t ever be too early to repent.”

I feel, rather than see, his eyes sweep over me for a long moment as if he’s cataloguing my stick straight brown hair, face, and loose T-shirt. “You don’t look like you have much to repent for.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” I say archly with a pointed look.

“They can, can’t they?” he murmurs and the deep rumble of his voice does weird things to my insides. Things I shouldn’t feel for a new teammate of my brother’s. I have two solid gold reasons not to date football players, so no matter how appealing Knox Masters is, he’s not for me—even for a one-night stand to alleviate an itch if he wanted that sort of thing, which apparently, he doesn’t. I’m still not sure I believe him.

His sexual status or lack thereof is none of my business. Sleeping with football players is not on my agenda, so I yank out of Masters’ gravitational pull and turn toward my brother.

“You know some of the guys thought you were a dude because of your name.” Masters has finished demolishing his meal, and I feel the full weight of his attention.

I click my tongue in mock sympathy. “It’s terrible when you feel misled about someone’s identity. What kind of monster does that?”

Masters’ mouth twitches. “Everyone has their reasons.” He shifts to Jack. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Thought I’d take Ellie out. Maybe go downtown.”

“Nah. There’s got to be a party around here.” He leans toward the quarterback. “Ace, what’s the drill for tonight?”

Ace jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Hammer’s throwing a party.”

Masters stretches his long arms across the table, circling his tray and reaching across the invisible center line that separates his space from mine.

“We’re going to Hammer’s party.”

The words spread like a wave from one player to the other. Ace might be the quarterback, but Masters is the leader of this squad. I suspect that if he told the squad to strip and run naked in the quad right now, they’d jump up and start ripping off their clothes without a moment’s hesitation. He holds them in his large palm. As his smile pulls up at one corner, I feel like I’m there too. That’s far too dangerous of a place for me.

I jerk back. Maybe Jack’s back isn’t big enough for me to hide behind. I think I need to put distance between myself and temptation. “I think I’ll stay in tonight. I have a lot of unpacking to do.”

Jack, like the good brother he is, doesn’t point out that I’ve already unpacked everything. He tosses his napkin on the table. “Sure. I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”

Masters stands as we do. “Bring her to Hammer’s party. She’ll enjoy it.”

It’s an order, not a request.

6 Knox

So that’s what scurrying looks like I think as Eliot Campbell runs away. I shake my head. Eliot’s all wrong for her. Her brother calls her Ellie. Ellie fits better, but it’s still not quite right. Maybe mine?

“Hard to believe those two came from the same family. Do you think one of them is adopted?” Telly asks as we watch the Campbells exit the dining hall.

“Kind of plain. I barely noticed she sat there.” Hammer appears out of nowhere. For a big guy, the lineman moves like a ninja.

“She’s got a nice ass.” Telly rubs his chin as if seriously considering all of Ellie's well-hidden charms. Tonight she wore what I guess is the baggiest T-shirt she owns. I didn’t like seeing her in a guy’s shirt, even her brother’s. I had to stifle all my instincts when her brother put his arm across the back of her chair.

Seeing her with another male—no matter how little of a threat he is—rouses a very deep response in me.

As for plain…shit, these boys are blind. Ellie has the prettiest brown eyes that spit fire when she argues, and those lips? Holy hell, I’d like them pressed against me and wrapped around my dick. Whenever she pushed them together, I wanted to pry them open with my tongue. Still do.

“How can you tell under the tent she has on?” someone else asks.

“You are men of little imagination,” I murmur. I check my watch. It’s a little after seven. I should be able to call my brother before I hit Hammer’s place. “What time are you opening the doors?” I ask him.

He’s staring at me. They all are. I may make out with a random girl here or there at parties, but I’ve never shown any serious interest. While my sexual status was a joke when I was a freshman, my ability on the field has made it something of a holy artifact. Half the team believes our success is the result of my intestinal fortitude. “I thought sisters were off limits,” he stammers out.

“They are to you, Hammer.”

•••

Matty Iverson, our weak side linebacker, is in my apartment drinking a beer when I get home. The house we live in is one of eight in a block. A booster bought them and gave them back to the university for subsidized athlete housing, but only the starters live in the Playground, as it’s called. I’m not sure who named it, some alum four teams ago or something.

I’ve got my own place on the third floor, but most of the time one of my teammates is up here.

“Why weren’t you at dinner tonight?” Eating together every Thursday night is a team tradition. It’s not mandated by the program, but you better have a damn good excuse for not showing up. Better to bring your sister, as Jack did, than not come at all.

“The parental units are still in town. They cleared it with Coach at the last minute. I texted you.” Matty lifts his phone to show me his text. I pull my own phone out of my pocket.