Filthy mouth. Dirty mind. Messy past. I’m no saint, and I hear my reputation precedes me, but you can’t believe everything people say.
I’ve made a living playing by the rules only when the clock is ticking, the ball has been snapped, and I’m cleat-deep in AstroTurf. But I screwed up last year. I went too far with the girls and the partying and the benders, and I created a PR sh*t storm for my team in the process. As a result, the team owner sentenced me to live in some gated, Floridian retirement village until I can “calm down.”
Football is my life, and I love my team. They’re the only family I’ve got anymore, so I’ll do what I have to do to stay where I am.
The rules are clear: no girls, less booze, zero publicity stunts. If I lay low and repair my reputation, I won’t get cut. It’s that simple. Everything was going well. For the first time in my life, I was living by someone else’s rules . . .
. . . and then *she* showed up for the summer.
My next door neighbor’s great niece is visiting, and it doesn’t take long for me to see Delilah Rosewood is the perfect mix of sexy and smart. She makes me want to break all the rules and draw every penalty just to get a taste. She’s all curves and opinions and bee-stung lips, and I’m all trying-to-do-everything-I-can-to-convince-her-to-give-me-the-time-of-day.
But there’s one problem: she hates me with the passion of a thousand Florida suns.