Page 7 of Scoring His Obsession

I close my eyes and drift off while hair and makeup comes in. People chat at me, but it doesn’t really warrant conversation. I respond enough to be polite so they can’t tweet that I was a huge dick. Unfortunately, it’s happened before.

The guy with the headset comes in a few minutes after they’ve finished and tells me they’re bringing the girl on now and that I’m not allowed to leave my room until she’s on stage.

His words are a reminder of Joey’s briefing. She doesn’t know I’m coming on the show. She’s a huge fan, and I’m surprising her. I remember now.

Headset guy peers down the hallway. With the door open, I can hear the excitement of the crowd. He calls me forward then, and I get up, checking myself in the mirror one last time before following him. He peers back at me only to have to shift his eyes up to meet my gaze. I’ve seen surprise like that before. I look smaller on TV. People say it all the time.

Headset guy stops me next to a dark wall. Beyond that, I can see the bright lights of the set, but we’re sequestered away for the time being. He points to a monitor, and I’m immediately struck by the sight of one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Honey-blonde curls. A dress that hugs her curves, the hem lying across a pop of calf. For a moment, I confuse the host with the girl I’m surprising, but then it’s all too obvious which one is which.

She’s stunning. Blood pumps through my body, a current straight to my dick as my pants stretch against my growing crotch. The girl speaks with a twang that sucker punches mein the gut. The camera pans to the host for a while, and my chest constricts until they switch to a different angle that shows the girl again. What did Joey say her name was? It was country-sounding. Something that only a few seconds ago was so forgettable, but now a name I wish I knew my entire life.

Her face reddens, and I step closer to the monitor. All the thoughts running through my head drown out their conversation, but I really want to hear what they’re saying. Instead, I’m greeted with a home video. The same girl on the stage is cuddled up on a couch with her dog, who’s wearing an adorable plaid outfit, only this time, the girl is stripped of makeup and naturally gorgeous. Her gorgeous, pouty lips, disheveled hair, and bright eyes.

“But I ‘ove him!” she nearly growls into the camera.

“Honey, you’ve never met him,” another female voice says.

Her cute, confused expression is replaced with a scowl. “Tha’s wha you fink.”

The video goes away, and the crowd cheers. The camera is on her again. She’s clearly mortified, her fingers curling into each other on her lap.

My heart slams in my chest. I pull out my phone and send Joey a text using my voice. “Get me everything you can on this girl, and what’s her name again?”

“Raeann,” headset guy answers. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

I grab the front of his shirt, yanking him toward me with a growl. My finger catches on the cord that runs from his headset down his body, twisting it nearly off his head so it sits askew. I look him up and down, shoulders tight. The same surge of energy that rushes through me out on the field reverberates through me now. I’ve always said I become animal-like, grunting and grinding through D-lines with my sole focus on eating up as many yards as I can. Right now, I want to tear this guy’s eyes out of his body for having the audacity to even look at this girl.

“Whoa,” he stammers, lifting his hands up. The clipboard he was holding clatters to the floor.

My face on the screen captures my attention. It’s barely more than a stock video of me that my PR team asked for. I vaguely even remember doing it, and I certainly didn’t know who I was doing it for.

The camera cuts to Paula when she yells, “Micah Freeman, come on out!”

I have only a moment to register the complete shock on Raeann’s beautiful face before I shake the guy and ease my grip on him. “She’s way out of your league, and…don’t talk about women like that.”

“I just said she was pretty,” he protests.

Is that all he said?The blood rushing through my head tells me it was worse. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that,” I warn before stepping out around the wall and jogging toward the small stage. I usually walk casually across these things because you don’t want to be the celebrity who makes the highlight reel on late-night television because you tripped over your own feet and ended up sprawled across the whole stage. I’m known for my athleticism, but there are always exceptions.

Especially when I’m distracted.

And Raeann is a complete interruption to my psyche right now. I barely register saying hi to the host before turning toward the girl in the flesh. She’s peering up at me, as most people do. She doesn’t even come up to my shoulders. The aroma of salon hair products reaches my nostrils, and I breathe her in deep.

I don’t bother shaking her hand, I go right in for the hug, my arms encasing her, my body needing to feel her against me. Screaming that she’smine.

She goes still, and I’m pretty sure I can hear her reminding herself to breathe before her chest expands.

The brush of her body against mine goes straight to my dick, and I have to pull away before I embarrass us on TV. I take her hand, squeezing it. “Nice to meet you.” A charged connection zaps between us.

There are only a few things I’ve been sure of in my entire life. I’m really good at football. I was born to lead. And Raeann and I are written in the stars.

It’s fate, and I won’t let anyone or anything stand in my way.

3

Raeann

Sitting on the dressing room floor, I hug Athena around the neck. “I can’t believe you humped Micah Freeman!”

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