Prologue

PROLOGUE

ANDRES MONTOYA

“Twenty max. One minute more, and I swear to god, Andres, I’m heading to my car. I don’t care if you're mid-sentence. We clear?” Red Bridges, the assistant coach to the U of D’s football team, sternly pointed at me, and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Who the hell did this fucker think he was?

“Crystal.” I shook my head.

We walked into the locker room and straight to Red’s office, where I sat straight glaring at the space. Space I had willingly given up. Ryan Goodwin, the head coach, had changed offices, and Bridges had the one I used to call mine. I glanced around feeling a little uncomfortable.

“We could have gone to coffee,” I muttered, but Bridges didn’t give a shit.

“That would have only given you five minutes to talk considering it takes fifteen to get there and find parking,” he clarified, and I sighed. “Here.” He stood and grabbed two water bottles from the small fridge off to the side, handing me one before he popped his own open and settled into his chair. “Better?”

“Why are you so snippy? I don’t remember you being this cranky,” I noted.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, obviously avoiding any kind of small talk. I stared at him for a moment, and my lips twitched before I looked toward the ceiling.

“Jesus Christ, not you, too! What the hell is in the water here?” I groaned.

“Montoya, the clock is?—"

“At first, I thought it was a young guys' game, you know,” I started to say. “Montgomery. Green. Hell, even Castro with my sister.” I grimaced. “Then Goodwin, and now you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denied, and my stomach lurched. I didn’t work for the school anymore, but I was loyal to the school where I’d become who I was. It sure as fuck didn’t need any more scandals.

“You’re in love,” I pointed out. “Who is it? Please don’t tell me it’s another cheerleader like Goodwin.”

“Montoya,” Red warned.

“I’m just saying, the school can only hide away so many scandals.” I held my arms up in innocence.

“For a guy working for a pro team, you’re here a fucking lot,” Bridges gritted through his teeth. “Now, I’m not going to ask again. What can I do for you?”

“Is it a cheerleader?” I leaned in closer. “Or maybe one of the trainers?”

“No,” he clipped. “You don’t know her.”

“Please tell me she’s legal.” I groaned.

“Jesus, what the hell is your problem, Andres?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! And no, she’s not a student. She’s my age. Jesus.”

“Well, I bet the Dean will love that.” I laughed.

“Now that we’re done gossiping, maybe we can save the hair braiding for next time, and you tell me what the hell you want,” Red demanded. “I have shit to do, and the clock is ticking.”

“I like your linebacker. My team is looking for someone?—"

“No.” He shook his head. “You cannot talk to Dominguez.”

“Well, I mean I could talk to him but?—"

“Dominguez is pre-med, Montoya,” Bridges shared. As if I didn’t already know that. The kid actually had ambitions beyond going pro, and fuck me, it was screwing up my recruitment plans.

“I know. It’s why I would like for our team to talk to him.”

“Montoya,” he started to warn, but I raised a hand.

“I’m not the monster you think I am. I can see why you would think that. I do, with the whole thing between my sister and me. I’m not proud of how I let Betty down. I really am not.”

“That’s none of my business.”

“It’s not, yet you’re judging me by it,” I pointed out. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I get it. I came here like a fucking wrecking ball trying to grab players, and the way I behaved with Hemi wasn’t cool.”

“Trying to blackmail, you mean?” Red didn’t mince words.

“Whatever. I regret that. I’m trying to change. For my sister and my relationship with her,” I shared honestly. “Crank Dominguez would do great in the NFL.”

“He will,” Red agreed, and for a moment I thought maybe Bridges would throw me a bone and talk to him. “When he’s done with school.”

“He just decided to double major,” I shared. My eye twitched like it always did when I got irritated or stressed. “That means he’s just added another year of college.”

“And?”

“And I would appreciate your help to talk to him. Look, Red, I like you. Believe it or not, I respect you. I know your story, like you know mine,” I reminded him as gently as I could manage. We had both been pulled from the game. Where Red Bridges had been injured and that had been all she wrote, I’d had to quit because my parents had died in a car accident, and I’d had to stop everything to raise my little sister.

I’d taken a job at the university and slowly moved my way up the ladder until I became head coach. When Betty started at U of D, I’d felt it was time for me to try my luck at working for the NFL and left to recruit for the pros.

“Red, you, of all people, know how fickle Lady Luck can be.”

“Hmm,” he grunted.

“Crank is healthy. He’s fucking fast and big, and the way he can read the field is uncanny.”

“He does have a good eye,” Bridges agreed.

“The Rams want him. I want him to go pro. I think we can draft him in the third, maybe second round.” I shared shit I had no business sharing.

“He has big plans for his future, Andres.” Bridges shrugged, and I knew no matter what I said, I was hitting a dead end.

“Dr. Crank? You think people are going to go see a doctor named Crank? This isn’t The Emperor’s New Groove .” I sighed.

“That was Kronk,” he corrected, and I rolled my eyes.

“The NFL has had one of those, too,” I argued.

“He’s a good kid. Like you said, it’s within your right to go talk to him. Which, seeing as you know about the fact he’s decided to double major, I have a feeling you already have.”

“The kid likes school.” I made a face, and the asshole laughed. Holy shit, Red Bridges was really in love if he was laughing and crap!

“I get it. I loved playing football, but classes?” He shrugged. “It wasn’t my thing.” I nodded and then tilted my head.

“Yet you became a high school teacher,” I pointed out, and Red chuckled. Again

“It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbled.

“Maybe. Either way, I think Crank would be a great addition to—" Red’s hand rose and he shook his head.

“Gotta tell you, if you’re here trying to talk me into somehow convincing him to enter the draft and put his education on hold, I’m sorry to tell you, you’re wasting your breath,” he shared, and I knew I didn’t have a chance of talking Red into talking to Dominguez.

“But—"

“I get it. Time isn’t always on our side. Shit could happen. But out of all my players, Crank Dominguez is not one I am worried about. The guy is good. On and off the field. Not just physically"—his fingers pointed at his chest then moved to his temple— “but mentally.”

“Red—"

“Now, I gotta get home,” he cut me off, and I knew I’d officially lost an entire fucking day.

“To the little woman?” I guessed, crossing my arms over my chest. Betty would say I looked like a damn toddler about to throw a temper tantrum. I opened the bottle of water and chugged it down.

“You know, I don’t know what you have against relationships, but maybe finding someone would help.” Was he fucking serious?

“Help?” I scowled. “Help with what? I’m a fucking ray of sunshine.” And again, the motherfucker chuckled. Loud and carefree.

“Right. Well, they do say admitting you have a problem is the first step. Denial is a bitch.”

“Hmm.” I rolled my eyes. “You really don’t think I could convince you into talking to him?” I asked, ignoring his advice to find someone. As if.

“Not even a little bit.”

“Fine,” I groaned and stood up, dropping my business card on his desk. My old desk.

“Man, they give you a bunch of these or something?” Red teased.

“Just take it, in case you change your mind or if you think of a way to help me out.”

“Look… you should save that one.” Red pointed at the business card. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only guy in this century still handing these fuckers out. You’ve handed me over ten of them since I started working here. Save that one and drop it into a free lunch giveaway at a diner or something.”

“Cute. Whatever.” I grabbed my jacket.

“I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just saying I got your card, and I won’t be calling you. Not for Dominguez.”

“You have anyone in mind?” I asked, wondering if there was something he wasn’t saying.

Red Bridges went on to tell me about their kicker. It wasn’t a bad idea. Ours was thinking about retiring

“I’ll think about it. Thanks for the tip.” It wasn’t much, but it was something to think about. I turned around.

“Montoya!” Red called. I looked over my shoulder.

“Just so you know, it might be the water.” He pointed at the half empty bottle in my hand. “We bottle those here, so be careful,” he teased. My nose flared. I flipped him the bird before walking out of the office and directly toward the parking lot.

“The fucking water,” I muttered when I stepped out. The spring semester was coming to an end, and the parking lot for the stadium was empty. Just a staff and athletes parked about. And my rental.

I didn’t want to set out to my hotel. Not yet.

I glanced at my watch and frowned. It was too late to call my sister to see if she and her guy would want to grab dinner. I didn’t have friends in town. Most of the guys I somewhat considered buddies were from the team I worked with were all traveling trying to find solutions for where the team needed help this upcoming season. If I left now, I’d go directly to my room, maybe have a drink and dinner at the bar on the bottom floor and head back up.

That sounded fucking terrible.

Pathetic.

I rolled the sleeves of my dress shirt up my forearms and carried my designer suit jacket in my hand while I walked the campus that had been the background of more than half my life. I loved it there. It might be in the desert, but the campus landscape was beautiful. Trees and greenery mixed with natural succulents gave it a peaceful vibe.

My feet took me directly to my favorite place on campus. A bench that overlooked the quad. But the bench that was usually empty was occupied. I stopped mid-step and blinked. Surprise turned into a frown then morphed into a deep scowl.

A girl sat there.

Or a woman.

I couldn’t tell her age from where I was.

Something inside of me, the reasonable, practical, cynical-as-fuck side of me, shouted at me to turn around. Ignore the onslaught of emotions that slammed into me like a damn Mack truck.

The bench was taken, and if she was on campus at this time, she more than likely was a student. I had no business staring at a twenty-something like everything inside of me wanted to. Like I couldn’t get enough of the sight of her while my body woke up and other parts of me took notice.

Despite that and the multitude of red flags waving in the forefront of my mind, I didn’t move. I didn’t dare take my eyes off the woman who even from a distance was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.

I stared like some kind of creep.

I couldn’t help myself.

I soaked in every detail I could from afar. The easy calm way she sat. Criss-crossed on the bench, it was obvious her attention wasn’t on anyone in particular. Bright white headphones over her head, dark hair that was wrapped up in a low bun. Her head bobbed up and down to the rhythm of whatever she was listening to. She dropped her book and looked around, and that was when everything inside my body came alive.

Alive in a way I had never felt.

Something started to uncoil and breathe life into me.

She was stunning.

Smooth, caramel skin. Bangs that kind of skated over her glasses. And her eyes? I couldn’t make out the exact shade, but fuck if my feet didn’t start to move. Not away like I should have, but closer.

Step by step, I neared. Slowed down as I approached the bench. Our eyes connected for a moment, probably a mere second. But just like that, I fell into an abyss of green with flecks of gold. Jesus, she was beautiful. Mine. The thing inside of me that had started to unfurl hissed. Mine. Mine. Mine!

As quickly as the moment arose, for my own sake, I passed her and kept walking. Sat my ass four benches away and pretended to check my emails on my phone. Mine, that little voice in my head murmured a little louder. Ten minutes later, she stood, and my eyes widened. I knew I was going to follow her before I did it. Damn the consequences.

My head was filled with so much shit I didn’t know which way was up. But I couldn’t ignore the need to know a little more about her. Is she a student? Staff? Professor? I couldn’t make out how old she was. Not by the way she was dressed or how she carried herself. And I knew that because I followed her like some kind of goddamn stalker.

Right into the library.

Students waved at her with familiarity and ease. I frowned. Who is she? She walked to the information desk, where she talked to some of the staff, and I heard a kid call her Miss Villalobos. My girl had a last name, and by the way everyone knew her, it was obvious she was someone they worked with.

She was someone in charge.

I sat down, still within eyesight of the woman who had mixed up my head and set my shit on the table. I quickly looked up the school directory on my phone. Carmen Villalobos, Librarian.

Carmen. The name suited her. Classic. Pretty with a little spice. I sat back and picked up the bottle of water and brought it to my lips. When I finished it, I scowled.

What the hell is in the water here?