Chapter 1

1

Tre knew it would be difficult to get out of Miami the weekend of the football championship, but he never thought he would be trapped in the damned city. It seemed like some sort of cruel joke when his plane was delayed for the fourth, and final, time of the night. There were nothing but blue skies in Miami, but apparently it was snowing everywhere else, including Chicago, where his sister lived. He couldn’t even get a flight to Atlanta because everybody else in Miami seemed to have the same idea.

But they would comp him for his stay at one of the many less-than-great hotels in the area. The woman behind the counter informed him of this with a shy smile, like she was suggesting something scandalous. He wanted to tell her to calm down, he wouldn’t be spending the night in her room. Which would have been rude, and maybe she wasn’t trying to flirt with him.

Once Tre confirmed his flight had been rescheduled for nine the next morning, he made his way out of the terminal and down to flag a taxi, ignoring the stares, the pointing fingers, the whispers. Well, he tried to ignore them. He knew they didn’t mean anything by it. Nobody ever said anything rude to his face, and when he looked at the kids’ faces, he saw excitement and wonder. He never saw disappointment. But just because he didn’t see it reflected in their eyes didn’t mean he didn’t feel it acutely.

Because they had every right to be disappointed in him. Football fans could be fickle, but forgiving. If his next season was a good one, they’d forgive him the mistakes, the short runs, the fumbles that ruined everything. Maybe. He wished he was home. His sister wasn’t impressed with him, and his sister didn’t have stars in her eyes when it came to football players. She wouldn’t let him feel sorry for himself, and her frankness and honesty would be a refreshing change of pace.

He needed a drink by the time he reached the hotel. Or several drinks. He considered just ordering a few beers to be brought up by room service, but it would be quicker to stop at the bar. And a quick glance confirmed that the bar was nearly empty. Either he had just beat the Friday night crowd, or he’d just missed them. Or maybe people had better things to do with their lives than hang out in a bar in a hotel out by the airport. Tre didn’t know, and as he sat down to enjoy a quiet beer, he didn’t care.

He was just getting his drink when another man sat beside him. He stiffened, pointedly not looking at or acknowledging the newcomer in any way. Sometimes, fans would leave him alone if he ignored them. Not often, but it was worth the chance. And what would this guy be doing sitting next to him if he wasn’t a fan? Nearly the entire bar was free. He could have taken a stool on the other end.

But the new person merely gestured to the bartender, then grabbed the newspaper sitting nearby. Curious, Tre studied him from the corner of his eye. His first reaction was to internally shake his head. No wonder this guy doesn’t recognize me.

Wireless glasses perched on his long nose, and his dark hair was trimmed short and immaculately styled. Everything about the man was long in fact—a long jaw, long fingers with the nails carefully cut, a long body and even longer legs. He was probably as tall as Tre, though not nearly as broad. Nicely shaped, though, he thought as his gaze flickered over the sharp shirt and pants. He was what Tre’s mother would have called a tall drink of water.

Tre might have gone back to ignoring him, except he caught the strange man’s request. Tre couldn’t resist snorting in derision. “Who goes to a bar to order a ginger ale?”

The man turned to look at him with a frown. The eyes behind the glasses were a piercing green, shrewd and intelligent. “Excuse me?”

Tre waited for the moment of recognition—the widening of the eyes that always led to, “Holy shit, you’re Tre Griffin,” but it didn’t happen.

“I said, why would you order a ginger ale at a bar?” Tre offered an easy smile. “But it was a rhetorical question.”

“Beer gives me a headache,” the man replied, as if he didn’t hear the latter part of Tre’s comment. “And I have a stack of papers to get through this weekend.” He sighed, and for a moment, his full bottom lip almost jutted into a full-blown pout. “Which is why I’m here, clearly avoiding facing what will inevitably give me a headache anyway.”

Tre didn’t reply immediately. He eyed his half-finished beer, weighing his options. He could engage this man in a friendly conversation, or he could go back to his brooding bad mood.