Page 1 of The Game

Chapter One

Dani

The only illumination in the gym is the security lights above the doorways. Everything else is cast in shadows. The squeak from my tennis shoes sounds loud in the quiet space.

I cringe. God, I hate that sound. Why didn’t I put some powder on the bottoms of the soles? The neon green and blue striped sneakers are my favorites, but until they’re broken in, they’re going to drive me crazy.

I dig my office keys out of the front of my tote and unlock the door. As I step into my space, the light snaps on and showcases my desk, high-backed roll chair, and an assortment of team memorabilia.

This is my first day back in the office after three weeks at our sister facility for training camp. My office sure beats sharing a place with three other trainers.

I boot up my computer and scan through my schedule for the day. As the newest personal trainer for a professional football team, I’m low man on the totem pole, or woman, in this case. Not that I mind. This is a dream come true.

From the main gym, the clanging of metal causes me to jump. Shit. I clutch my chest. Who’s in here? After shoving my chair back, I stand and move to the doorway. When I came in, I didn’t see or hear anyone

The sound of banging reverberates rhythmically as I stand at the entrance to the gym. Why didn’t they switch on the lights? As I weave through the exercise equipment, I scan for the culprit.

On one side of the room are a row of weight benches and ellipticals, the next section is filled with workout benches, weight benches, and assorted free weights. I don’t see anyone in any of the areas.

I flip on the lights and quickly scan all corners of the room until I see Gunner Sinclair operating one of the Smith Cages. His eyelids are closed as he uses his leg muscles to push up on the weights and his upper arms to pull down the restraints in front of him.

Dangling from his ears are white wires that lead to the pocket of his drenched gray t-shirt. The muscles in his arms ripple with each movement, and my heart skips a beat.

The man is beauty in motion. Not that I’m the first girl to notice. He’s the quarterback for our football team. There isn’t a woman in the city between the ages of seven and sixty-five that doesn’t think he’s kissable.

With his next upward thrust, his thick thighs bulge under his black jogging shorts. Holy moly. Fuck. Stop it. You’ve already gone down the hot football player route and gotten burned. Not going to go there again.

I snort. Gunner Sinclair is not a college QB like Theodore Ramsey was. He’s all man, and I wouldn’t stand a chance with him. I’ll be lucky if he speaks to me one time this year for anything more than a ‘Here, take my towel and toss it on top of the rest of the laundry.’

I rotate on my heel and meander back to my office. Focus on what’s important – doing a damn good job and not getting fired.

Several minutes later, I hit ‘print’ for the trainers’ schedules and roll over to the printer.

“You’re here early.”

“What?” I squeak and jerk around to stare at Gunner. Holy shit. He’s even bigger up close. Stop drooling. Inhale

. Get your head out of your ass.

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