Paige laughed.
My brother rolled his eyes.
"I wonder if the roster shakeup influenced Amazon's decision," Paige said.
Logan stared at the floor but didn't say anything.
"It's possible. Beatrice told me they're looking at a couple of narratives, and one is following the new players as they assimilate into the established culture of a team, college and pro." I shrugged. "But that's just one possibility."
Logan muttered something under his breath. Paige narrowed her eyes at him.
I cocked my head in his direction. "What was that?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I said I think I know who they want to film. Dammit."
Paige slowly pushed the swear jar back in her husband's direction, which he ignored as I stared him down.
"Who?"
Logan slicked his tongue over his teeth and stared me down right back. "This is a horrible idea, and you should turn down the promotion."
"Ummm, no. Why on earth would I do that?"
"Molly."
"Logan." I crossed my arms. "What's your problem?"
"You have worked so hard, kid," he said, and my arms dropped at the sudden seriousness of his voice. "So damn hard, and I'm so proud of you."
Paige glanced back and forth between us, and I shrugged.
"Who did we sign, and why does this freak you out so badly?" she asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes for a long moment.
I grabbed my phone. "Fine, I'll google it."
"Noah," he said. "We signed Noah Griffin this morning. Press had barely got wind of it by the end of the day."
Paige somehow managed an, "Ohhhhhhh shit," even though her half-open mouth barely moved.
The phone clattered out of my hand, and I sank back down into the stool.
"Like, Noah Noah?" I pointed at the house behind ours, the one he hadn't lived in for years. "That Noah."
Logan's look was enough affirmation. Paige covered her mouth with one hand.
My younger sister Isabel appeared around the corner with a half-eaten protein bar in her hand. "What about Noah?"
We all looked at her but didn't answer.
I dropped my head into my hands.
"What about Noah?" Isabel repeated. "I heard Miami dropped him because of some drama in the locker room. Which is weird because he's like … uber football robot man. I don't think I've seen him smile in three seasons." She whistled. "But damn, his QB sack record is bananas. Off the charts."
Isabel would know. Our resident sports know-it-all.
I thought my mind was racing before. How cute.
"Molly," Logan said quietly. "Come on, think about this. If they're showing up to film him, then taking care of him will be your job. Do you think that's smart?"
I snapped my head up. "I'm not a kid anymore, Logan."
"What in the hell is going on?" Isabel shouted.
Paige pushed the jar in her direction as Logan ignored everything except me.
"Molly—" he said again.
"No," I interrupted. "I'm not turning this down. I was sixteen the last time I saw him. That was forever ago. I'm sure he's forgotten all about it, just like I'm going to."
Paige cleared her throat obnoxiously because we all heard the bullshit in my words.
Like I'd ever be able to forget Noah Griffin.
Former next-door neighbor, the college boy I crushed on for two years before I snuck out, climbed into his bedroom window, and attempted to seduce him before his dad caught us. The same college boy I could've ruined if his dad had walked in much later, and anyone had found out he slept with a minor while on a full ride football scholarship.
Yeah, that Noah Griffin.
Looking around the room, I noted all three of their faces were frozen into variations of this is a horrible idea.
"You guys," I stated, "I've totally got this. They probably aren't even coming to film him. We have thirty-one other players to pick from. It'll be fine."
Oh, how very, very wrong I was.
Chapter Two
Noah
Almost nothing about my job intimidated me.
A three-hundred-pound offensive lineman could curse me out just before the snap of the ball, threaten my mother and spit through his helmet all the ways he was going to grind me into the turf, and I wouldn't feel the slightest twinge of apprehension.
I didn't become the best at my position by getting scared off easily. I did it by living, eating, breathing football.
Nothing came before it. Nothing ranked above it.
Practice always took precedence over anything I might find fun, which was why my former teammates in Miami used to call me The Machine. I was the first one in the weight room, the last one to leave the film room, the copious notetaker at meetings, and probably one of the only unapologetically celibate football players in the league.