Excerpt:

I caught sight of Tiller Raine.

No gay man on earth could catch his breath when faced with this guy.

The team’s general manager began the introductions. “Mikey, have you met our newest wide receiver yet? This is Tiller Raine. Tiller, Michael Vining, Coach V.’s youngest boy.”

I stared at the wide receiver like I’d never seen a famous pro football player before, which was pretty funny considering I’d been around them practically my whole life and usually didn’t give a shit one way or the other.

But this guy? I gulped. This guy was freaking gorgeous. Like… melt your feet to the floor and make you beg beautiful. His body was muscled perfection, and his messy golden-brown hair made me immediately wonder what he looked like freshly fucked.

I swallowed again, wondering if I needed a saliva gland checkup since mine seemed to be malfunctioning.

“H-hi?” I managed to say.

Tiller nodded and held out his hand for a shake. His reaction was all business, and his face was impossible to read. “Nice to meet you.”

I reached for his giant paw hesitantly. Wide receivers were known for big hands and strong grips. But when Tiller’s hand clasped mine, it was gentle and kind. I stared down at our joined hands and wondered how much these hands were insured for. Incidentally, I wondered how much I’d have to pay him to keep his gentle, warm hand in mine.

I jerked my hand back and hid it behind my back. “Can… can I help you with something, Mr. Lester?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows at my formal language. He’d known me since I was a preteen, and I’d called him by his first name since I graduated high school. “Mikey, you okay?”

No. No, I was not. I shook my head to clear it from the ridiculous baller-induced brain fog and focused back on my boss. “Yes, sir. Bruce. How can I help?”

“Tiller here needs some help with his nutrition. I remembered this was an area of expertise for you, so I hoped you might be able to help us.”

I nodded. “I spoke to Coach about it last night. I can’t think of anyone who would be a good fit. I’m sorry. You might—”

Just as I was preparing to suggest he reach out to the department at UT to inquire about recent grads looking for work, he held up a hand to stop me.

“You misunderstand,” Bruce said with a kind smile. “I was hoping you might help him directly. You can cook for Tiller through the season and start any new position afterward. That way he gets help learning how to manage his diet, and you have the freedom to continue your search without feeling rushed. What do you say?”

Every square inch of my body began to sweat at once. “Oh.” I could have really used some of that saliva right about now. My throat clicked as I tried to swallow again. “Oh.”