Big mistake. So many half-dressed men. Now I feel like I’mwayout of my element.
I freeze, panicking.
A giant, ridiculously good-looking player with damp hair is walking past, pulling a Stallions t-shirt over his insanely muscular chest.
I recognize him immediately. Dallas Connelly. Star quarterback.
I walk straight up to him, flip my ID again like a total lunatic.
“Hi, Ivy Bennett. Where’s Coach Knox?”
Dallas raises an eyebrow, and looks me up and down.
Then—grins. “Damn. I don’t know who you are, but Knox is about to have an interesting night.”
He nods toward a door down the hall. “Office. Two doors down.”
I nod my thanks, then turn and walk toward it.
My heart is a drum in my chest. My hands shake.
And then—before I even reach the door?—
It swings open.
Jackson steps out.
His hair is still damp from sweat. His Stallions jacket is unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up, veins visible on his forearms.
He’s laughing at something one of his staff says. His voice is low, relaxed, and deep.
Completely unaware of what’s coming.
Until he looks up.
And his entire body stills.
His eyes land on mine and freeze there.
The smile fades, and the ease in his stance disappears.
His brow furrows. His chest rises, then falls—like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.
His voice is rough. Disbelieving.
“Ivy?”
I don’t breathe.
I can’t.
Not when Jackson Knox is standing two feet in front of me, staring at me like I just wrecked his entire understanding of reality. Not when my heart is pounding so violently, I swear everyone in the room can hear it. Not when I know what I came here to reveal.
But before I can say another word?—
“Coach?”
A new voice cuts in.